Chapter Four: The Broken Vows
472 Words
A Wedding in Sunlight
The chapel of Notre-Dame-de-la-Me glowed with candlelight, its stained-glass windows scattering jeweled hues across the gathered guests. Sophie Lefèvre stood at the altar in a gown of ivory silk, her auburn hair braided with pearls, her hands steady only because Ermic's fingers were laced through hers.
"You look like a dream," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
She laughed, tears glistening. "And you, Captain Valois, look terrified."
The priest cleared his throat, smiling. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony was a blur of vows and whispered promises. Lucien, standing as Ermic's witness, clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. But he smiled. He clapped. He played the loyal friend.
The Feast of Fools
Wine flowed like rivers in the courtyard of the Montclair estate. Fiddlers played reels; guests spun in wild dances. Even Henri de Montclair, usually stern, toasted the couple with rare warmth.
"To Ermic and Sophie!" Lucien called, raising his glass high. His voice didn’t shake. His hands didn’t tremble.
Sophie kissed his cheek in thanks, her lips brushing skin still burning with guilt.
Then—
The Knock That Shattered the Night
The doors burst open.
"Ermic Valois!"
Six Gendarmes Royaux marched in, their blue coats stark against the revelry. The music died.
"You are accused of treason against the Crown," their captain declared. "By order of His Majesty, you are to be detained."
Sophie’s grip on Ermic’s arm turned vice-like. "This is madness!"
But the soldiers were already moving, overturning chests, tearing through trunks. And then—
"Here."
A gendarme held up the letter. The phoenix seal, cracked but unmistakable.
Ermic’s blood turned to ice. "That’s not mine."
Lucien stepped forward, face the picture of shock. "Ermic… how could you?"
The Bastille’s Maw
They dragged him away in irons, past Sophie’s screams, past Henri’s stunned silence. The trial was a farce. The sentence—imprisonment in the Bastille, the fortress of black stone that loomed over Paris like a gargoyle.
They called it "The Oubliette of Kings"—where men were sent to be forgotten.
Men went in. None came out.
A Lover’s Corruption
On the steps of the Palais de Justice, Sophie collapsed to her knees as the carriage carrying Ermic vanished into the night. Lucien knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms.
"I’ll fix this," he whispered into her hair. "I swear it."
(He didn’t.)
The Whipping Post
In the bowels of the Bastille, Ermic learned the truth of his chains.
Every dawn, the guards came.
Every dawn, they asked: "Who gave you the letter?"
Every dawn, when he refused to name a name he didn’t know, the lash bit deeper.
Blood crusted on his back. Salt festered in his wounds.
And in Paris, Lucien brought Sophie roses.
And in the dark, the Count of Shattered Chains began to plot.
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