A Secret Disclosed

As he laid upon the perfumed bed belonging to the girl who had so easily lured him into her chambers, away from the current master whom Lord Etienne instructed him to serve, Matthieu Fontaine felt his defenses fall so rapidly, and the familiar surge of emotions which physically he never exactly knew how to respond to the moment the beautiful little one /touched/ him.

He knew her by fame, perhaps her name and that she was related to the man whom the Lord presented him to.


She whispered something to him. It was not exactly a command that she ordered him to carry out — it seemed more a request, a lover's wish he must fulfill. As the dredges of the euphoria in him wove out of his psyche like a drug-induced haze, her need floated like wisps, the words strained and torn - 'everything you know', 'Christian von Karlach.'

'Christian von Karlach'

His head sank back into the softness of the pillows, and the boy's pearl-grey eyes lid open dreamily. He had seen this man before, this tall silent man, with such strong perfection in his features and hair so pale blonde it seems almost silver. He never dared to talk to Christian von Karlach; because Lucien hated him.

Hated him because of Rasha Moncreiffe’s rejection.

“Monsieur von Karlach…” The boy struggled to respond, his slender, small fingers clenching fistfuls of the soft sheets he laid upon. He remembered something he’d overheard a month, maybe two months back while he took the empty wine bottle out of the boudoir that night – that night when Etienne d’Aquitaine met with a youth of dark hair and laughing blue eyes.

“My Lord d’Santorus said he is a very dangerous man to have in our theatre. He said that to another man. That man…”

He fought hard to recall for all he wished was to drift into that blissful sleep that usually followed these intimate touches.

“The man is very beautiful too. And Monsieur von Karlach is a murderer, my Lord said to this man.”

“And the other man said that Monsieur von Karlach will murder one more time. But the other man did not say whom…”

Matthieu twisted slightly on the bed, trying to curl his body towards the arousing awe he felt from Salome. “Mademoiselle…” he began imploringly, tipping the edge of his fingers towards the little girl’s hand. “Please, do not tell my brother Lucien what I’ve said. He hates Monsieur von Karlach very much.”

Sensing perhaps Salome would question why, Matthieu blurted out without even a thought in his head. “My brother loves Mademoiselle Moncreiffe. But she has only eyes for Monsieur von Karlach.”

The boy seemed to cry, or even weep, the faint glint of rounded tears had welled up in his lids. He festooned that hand upon Salome’s, clinging to it tightly before drifting to sleep.

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