and her cleaner’s uniform. “I think we should proceed to the banquet. The Matrone is waiting for you.” He tried to usher the Patriarche away, across the terrace, but Lyon resisted, pushing his way back to Alouette.
“Lisole!” he said again. This time, it wasn’t a question. It was an answer. A sigh of relief. “I thought you were … They told me you were …” His voice trailed off. And that’s when Alouette saw something on his face that confounded her to the very core of her being.
Affection.
Confused and overwhelmed, Alouette started to back away, but something on the advisor’s green robe caught her attention, freezing her in place again. Her gaze fell to his front pocket, where an intricate emblem was stitched into the fabric.
And suddenly, every sound for thousands of kilomètres seemed to fade from existence, and all she could hear was an intense drone in her ears.
She felt herself leaning closer, like she was being pulled into the gravity of that small image.
Two lions standing on their hind legs, mouths open mid-roar, paws in the air.
They were the exact same lions as the ones that had been engraved into the lid of her mother’s titan box. The box had been destroyed on the voyageur, but Alouette had stared at its surface for so many hours, she’d studied its intricate carvings and designs for so long, she could have reconstructed it from memory.
And yet, for some reason, she hadn’t pieced it together.
This was the Paresse family crest.
She’d seen drawings of the majestic insignia countless times in the Chronicles. But she hadn’t associated it with the engraving on her mother’s box until now. Maybe it was because the two things seemed so unrelated. Her mother and the Paresse family were as far apart as Usonia and Sol 1.
What had her mother been doing with a titan box adorned with the Paresse family crest?
“Monsieur Patriarche,” came another voice. This one was low and clipped, and even though Alouette had never heard it before, it chilled her to the bone. “Is something wrong? We are waiting for you on the other side of the terrace. We must proceed to the banquet now.”
At first, all Alouette saw was the white jacket coming toward her, with its row of dazzling titan buttons. Then she saw the tall frame, the wide shoulders, the thick hair, the hazel eyes—almost identical to Marcellus’s—and every molecule inside of her clattered and collided like an exploding sol.
“But look, General!” the Patriarche blustered, his words garbled and his eyes glassy with confusion. Like someone just waking from a dream. “It’s her! It’s Lisole. H-h-how is this possible? You told me she was dead.”
The general’s cruel, piercing gaze settled on Alouette, and something in the clench of his jaw and the slight widening of his eyes told her he knew exactly who she was. “I agree, the resemblance is uncanny,” he said evenly. “Why don’t you join your wife and proceed to the banquet, and I will sort this out.”
Run.
The word flittered through Alouette’s mind, and she knew instantly that it was her only option. But evidently, so did the general, because before she could take a single step, his large hand wrapped around her arm, and he began to drag her back toward the side staircase.
She struggled against his grasp, trying to wrench herself free, but he was too strong. He gave her a rough yank and whispered angrily into her ear, “I know why you’re here. I know what you’re after. But I have not worked this hard and for this long to have everything stolen from me by the daughter of a worthless blood whore.”
He snapped his fingers at two officers in white uniforms who were patrolling nearby and beckoned them over. Alouette swallowed hard, feeling like her heart might beat right out of her chest.
“Officers,” he said in an impervious tone. “This servant was caught trying to steal from the Patriarche. Take her into custody and I will handle the situation after the banquet is over. Do not let her get away.”
- CHAPTER 68 - MARCELLUS
“PLEASE WELCOME YOUR ILLUSTRIOUS HOSTS for this evening, Patriarche Lyon Paresse and his beautiful wife, Matrone Veronik Paresse!”
The entrance was a grand one. The Patriarche was dressed in a forest-green jacket with a plush silk cravat tied around his neck. The Matrone was wearing a billowing dress that was almost as wide as she was tall, and her dark curls were wound up into a towering structure that was held together