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"Ah, the fervor of youth," the king mused.
"Or the burn of curiosity," Bernard added.
"Curiosity," Eloise echoed, a faint smile touching her lips. "It does tend to keep one awake at night."
"Then may your dreams be tranquil tonight," Bernard said.
Eloise nodded, her resolve hardening like the jewels adorning her gown. She would find the truth hidden beneath the veneer of royal pleasantries. For Theron, for her peace of mind, and perhaps, for the love she still hoped was real.
Eloise traced the intricate patterns of the tapestry that hung in the grand hallway, her fingertips skimming over the threads as if she could unravel the secrets woven into its design. With each step she took, the echo of her heels against the marble floor seemed to punctuate the growing rift between her and Bernard.
Dinner had been an excruciating affair, with laughter that never quite reached the eyes. They were actors on a stage where the script had been lost, fumbling through their lines with feigned ignorance of the audience's discerning gaze.
"Bernard," Eloise began, pausing near the grand staircase where he stood. Her voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of emotion that threatened to breach the dam of her composure. "We need to speak."
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Of course, my love. What concerns you?"
"Concerns me?" She let out a mirthless chuckle, one that carried more weight than humor. "I'm beyond concern—I am ensnared by trepidation. Our marriage bed has grown cold, and our conversations are empty."
Bernard's brow creased ever so slightly, a testament to his disciplined façade. "Eloise, you’re painting a picture most dire—"
"Am I?" She cut him off. "Or is it merely the reflection of truth?"
Taking a deep breath, she withdrew a bundle of papers from the folds of her gown. The evidence lay bare between them: letters, maps, a coded diary. Each item was a piece of the puzzle.
"Explain this." Her words were both a plea and a demand, the delicate balance of her emotions swaying like the pendulum of the grandfather clock nearby.
"Where did you find these?" Bernard asked.
"Hidden away, where you thought they’d remain unseen. But I have seen, Bernard. Am I pawn in your game of thrones? " Her voice cracked.
"Eloise..." Bernard reached out, his hand hovering in the air between them—a bridge yet uncrossed.
"Speak the truth, Bernard!"
His hand fell to his side. In the heart of the palace, where whispers echoed through halls and truth was a currency rarely spent, Eloise stood ready to face the tempest her questions might unleash.
She watched him, her heart caught in a vice of anticipation. The air between them was thick with the unsaid, the walls of the opulent study seemingly inching closer with each silent second that passed.
"Bernard," she entreated, her voice no more than a whisper now, yet carrying the force of a royal decree. "We are beyond pretense, you and I."
His mouth opened, then closed. Bernard's hands, those same hands that had once caressed her cheek with such tenderness, now balled into fists at his sides. The muscles along his jaw worked silently.
"Your silence speaks volumes, but it is words I need." A touch of mirth danced in her voice.
"Words," he echoed, his voice raw, as if the act of speaking caused him pain. "You deserve...words."
"Yes, I do." She took a step forward, closing the gap between betrayal and hope. "Speak them. We need to clear the air between us."
For a heartbeat's span, she thought she saw a glimmer of the man she had fallen in love with. But it was gone before she could be certain.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice steady as the roots of the ancient oaks lining the palace drive. "But brace yourself, for the waters of truth may run deeper than you imagine."
Chapter Fourteen
Bernard paced the length of the hall. Eloise watched him, her eyes tracking his restless energy.
"Bernard," she called out, "you're wearing a path in the rug. Whatever is troubling you, please share it with me."
