Helpless Page 7
“No, I, um— I wasn’t— I didn’t—” he stammers. By the Creator, when did it get so hot in here? “I was looking at the map.”
“It’s all right, you know.” She moves around the desk and returns to the seat she had vacated, resting her hands on her knees. “You haven’t opened my gift.”
“I . . . Oh.” He pulls it from his pocket, where he had stashed it when the guard had appeared in the hallway. For some reason, he had felt the urge to keep it secret. Liselle shifts to the edge of her seat as he tugs the ribbon free. The fabric falls away, revealing a little wooden figurine, no more than two inches tall.
“Do you know what it is?” Liselle asks.
“It’s . . . a figurine.”
“It’s an idol of the Old God Myrbellanar. Have you heard of him?”
“Vaguely. He fought against the Creator in the Great War, didn’t he?”
She nods. “They were the last two standing at the end of the War. When the Creator slaughtered him, he shattered Myrbellanar’s soul into thousands of pieces, each of which he placed inside the bodies of the elves he crafted to serve his most prized creations—humans. Those of us who worship the Old Gods believe that one day, Myrbellanar will return to save us from the enslavement and mistreatment we have endured for hundreds of years.” She rises and moves to Ghyslain’s side, her voice softening. “I see his hand guiding you, Ghyslain. He has raised you to the throne to help us reclaim the freedoms which were stolen from us by the Creator. It won’t be easy, and you will face lots of opposition from your advisors, but I hope this serves as a reminder of everyone who supports you. You’re not alone in wanting to do what’s right for your people.”
He swallows, fighting to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. “You must think quite highly of me to believe I can change so much.”
“I knew you were different when you saved me from Drake. Simply the way you’ve been speaking to me—as if I’m your peer, not property to be ordered about—is enough to convince me that you will be so much better than the kings who came before you.”
“Even my father?”
“Even your father.”
“I don’t know what to say, Liselle.” He stares down at the tiny wooden idol in his hand, at the pointed ears sticking out of Myrbellanar’s mop of curly hair. He closes his fist around the figure and holds it to his heart. “Thank you.”
She beams, and in that moment, he’s struck again by her beauty. Her eyes sparkle as she grins, crinkling a bit in the corners. Her dark curly hair is swept back into a loose braid down her back, a few inky black strands falling out to frame her face and the tips of her ears.
“You wanted to ask me something, Ghyslain?” she asks, jarring him from his thoughts.
He blinks and slips the idol into his pocket. “Yes.” He clears his throat. “I want you to serve as my advisor.”
Her jaw drops. “Your what?”
“My advisor. I can’t give you a spot on my royal council—the rest of the council would likely riot—but I need your insights if I’m to do everything of which you think me capable. You know what life is like for the poor and the enslaved. You know the best ways for me to bridge the gap between my world and theirs.” He smiles. “If I’m to champion a cause as controversial as abolishing slavery, I can think of no better person to have by my side. What do you think?”
“Will Elisora know?”
“She . . . could. I don’t know if she shares the same views now, but . . . I’m sure she could be persuaded.” Liselle’s expression is still doubtful, so he continues, “Or we could meet in secret. Until Elisora and I are married, I’ll send for you whenever we must speak—I’ll make up excuses. After the wedding, you’ll be living here as her handmaid, so it won’t be difficult to plan in private.”
She hesitates. “It would be risky. If any of the nobles find out, they could accuse me of trying to corrupt you—”
“They won’t find out, I promise. Please. I need your help.”
At that, she finally nods, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Very well.”
In that moment, Ghyslain sees something change in her eyes, feels something shift within him in response. It isn’t the same indescribable something he had seen pass between his parents, still hopelessly in love after thirty years of marriage, but the possibility of it starts his heart pounding against his ribcage. You’re engaged to Elisora, his traitorous conscience whispers, but he pushes the thought away. She doesn’t love me. She may never love me. Why should I subject us both to decades of a miserable marriage? She could be so much happier on her own.
Perhaps his anger at Elisora causes him to say what he says next. Perhaps he wishes to hurt her the same way she had hurt him. Or . . . perhaps after everything he has endured over the past week—the death of his father, his rise to the throne, his fight with Elisora—the thought of letting the chance to be happy with a woman who might truly love him slip through his fingers is simply too much to bear.
“Wonderful,” he says, taking Liselle’s hands in his. She beams at him, the hope in her eyes infectious. With her on his side, Ghyslain’s sense of helplessness disappears. He takes a deep breath and presses a gentle kiss to the back of her right hand, then her left. “How shall we begin?”
A note from the author
Helpless is a companion novella to Merciless, the first book in the Born Assassin series. If you enjoyed reading Ghyslain’s story, please leave a review on Amazon so other readers may discover this series.
Thank you so much!
~ Jacqueline Pawl
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About the Author
Jacqueline Pawl is the author of four young adult historical fiction and fantasy novels. She is a Midwest native, travel junkie, and video game fiend (particularly all things Dragon Age). When not busy writing, she can often be found shopping for even more books to add to her constantly-growing TBR pile.
www.authorjpawl.wordpress.com