August 13th, 1799

Francis arrived in Lievre and literally collapsed into Laura's arms. Laupin had helped him get a small break from the army, and secured him a few days of rest next to his wife —which were very much needed—.

The commander was exhausted, and had also injured his shoulder whilst working at the construction site in Varennes. He had accidentally pulled a muscle, but had to ignore his pain for the sake of his personal safety. Taking a day off wasn't an option, after all. And if a guard found out he was hurt, the chances of him getting killed were high.

Finally at home, he slept like a rock for hours. Laura didn't leave his side for a single second. Madame Laupin brought her lunch and also left a few snacks for Francis to munch on, after he woke up. But the poor man was drained, and by the time he opened up his eyes again, it was supper.

—How are you feeling, love? —his wife asked him, running her hands through his hair.

—Better now that I'm here —the commander whispered, then sighed—. My shoulder's getting worse, though.

—You'll need to wear a sling until it heals. Which means you'll stay around here for a little while.

—Oh, I'm so sad about that —his own sarcasm made him smile.

Someone knocked at the door of their room. It was madame Laupin.

—I came up here again to check on you both —she walked inside—. How are you doing?

—Great, ma'am. Also... I realize I did not thank you enough the last time I was here, for your kindness, hospitality and understanding nature, so... Thank you, ma'am, for letting us stay here while we get our affairs in order. I promise you I'll make good use of my days in capital to buy myself and Laura a new home...

—Oh, there's no need to thank me, Francis. And there's no need to hurry either, Camille and I are always glad to have company... But are you two going to join us downstairs for supper? Or should I bring your plates up here?

—No, there's no need. We'll be down there soon. Thank you, anyway —the man replied—. And I'm sorry for missing lunch.

—Stop apologizing, boy —the woman smiled warmly, and shook her head—. You needed to rest. And so did Laura. She was very distressed about your absence. Thank the good Lord we were able to find you in Varennes. And just in time for the Duke's trial too.

Oh yes. Alphonse's trial was going to take place the next day, during the afternoon.

Since Laura had used her name and old nobility ties to help the revolution and the republic, she had been pardoned and offered protection by the Directory. She had also been named a "Republican Commissar of Foreign Affairs" —a title which years later would become known as a "diplomat"— and was one of the people in charge of negotiations with the Karras Kingdom and the Vannes Kingdom.

So, she had been saved from the threat of the guillotine and the hanging pole, while her disgraced husband had run straight towards them.

And oh, it was amusing to Francis that perhaps the old fuck would finally die tomorrow. Sure, he wouldn't have the pleasure to kill the bastard himself, but he'd be content with watching his head fall down into a bloody basket, have his neck broken by a thick rope, or simply be thrown out of the scaffold and into the excited hands of the public, to be dismembered and disemboweled. His skull could be spiked and displayed in the city square, which would be even more entertaining to see.

After all of the humiliating arguments and violent beatings he'd put Laura through, this would be the most merciful of endings.

If Francis had it his way, he'd castrate that fat turd, break all of his fingers, bust his kneecaps, and scalp him before throwing his abused body into a ditch, to be forgotten for the rest of eternity, and haunt the land as a nameless pathetic little ghoul.

But no. Things did not work like that in the civilized word. At least not in the new republic.

He'd be judged, declared guilty and quickly executed. It was a simple affair.

—Francis? —Laura snapped her fingers in front of his face, bringing him back into the present.

—What?

—Madame Laupin asked if you'll attend the trial tomorrow.

—I'm worried about your health, that's all. You have spent quite a long time working for the prison. You must be exhausted still. One day's rest won't solve that.

—I could be bed ridden cripple forever, and I would not dare to miss this trial, ma'am —the commander said to the older woman—. I'll go. And I'll have the pleasure to see Alphonse's face drop once his fate is sealed.

—He still could be freed, you do know that, don't you? —Laura asked.

—Well, if he is, I'll make sure to kill the bastard myself. I'll challenge him to a duel.

—Don't say that —his wife shook her head, cleared bothered by the idea—. I don't want you to get hurt.

—I won't. I'll shoot him before he has a chance to even turn around. To hell with etiquette. He never respected anyone but himself, then why should I respect him?

—Well, hopefully justice will be served tomorrow and we won't get to that point —Madame Laupin replied, and seemed quite concerned with his anger as well—. I'm going downstairs. Are you two coming?

—We are.

—Can't you just give us five more minutes alone, please? —Laura asked over her husband.

—Of course... I'll see you both soon, then.

Madame Laupin left the room and closed the door. The former Duchess let out a tense exhale, massaged her face, then looked at Francis.

—Please tell me you weren't being serious about that stupid idea of dueling.

—I am.

—You can't be.

—Laura...

—No! I forbid you from dueling against him!

—He won't hurt me...

—I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN, FRANCIS! —she finally snapped, and the commander seemed to at last understand that his absence had taken a huge toll on his lover—. Not when I just got you back...

—Sweetheart...

Laura shed a few tears, but wiped them away quickly, even though she knew she didn't have to hide her true feelings from her husband. It was just a reflex, left from her days being the Duke's consort.

—Ever since this war started I've been terrified of losing you. And in a way, I did lose you, because I didn't see you in person for two whole years. You left me in 1797. I spent months on end thinking of all the ways you could be killed in the battlefield, far away from me. And once I was forced to leave the Suzanettes' home, and I stopped receiving your letters, that fear only grew bigger and stronger. I believed you to be dead. Until I found the Laupins' and I learned of your alleged "heroic deeds" on the siege of Pessarock... I say alleged, because I know you. And I know the truth of what happened. You blew yourself up with that ship because you knew it would be an honorable death. Because you knew it would be an easier way to rest. It was a suicide mission. I have no doubts about it.

—Laura...

—I don't want to see you die, Francis. I can't bear it. So please... —she sighed, and cried some more—. Please don't do anything as stupid and impulsive as that ever again. Because by making me lose the only thing I hold dear, the only thing I still love with all of my body and soul, you won't be a hero. You'll be the greatest villain that ever entered my life... You'll kill me along with you. So spare me of that suffering. Of that disappointment. I beg of you. Don't duel Alphonse. Don't go in any more self-sacrificial quests. If not for your sake, then for mine.

Truth be told, Francis had never seen Laura be so clear and loud about her feelings before. She was eloquent, sure, but only when practical themes were being discussed. Expressing emotions usually was a hard task for her.

Which meant that this little speech meant a whole lot to the woman. She rarely spoke so freely about her deepest fears, after all.

The only time he'd seen her be this affected by something, was the day he shared with her his wishes of joining the revolutionary army and fighting for the future of the republic.

—Alright... —he slowly nodded, grabbed her hand, and kissed it—. I promise you I'll... I'll be more mindful of the things I do in the battlefield, and I'll stop putting myself in danger unnecessarily.

—Promise me you won't duel with Alphonse if he gets freed. 

—I promise.