Page 55 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“But they do not make me sweat.” In truth, they are the most sumptuous garment in which I have ever been clothed. The cloth is fine and soft, molding itself to the body in the sweetest of ways. I am baffled as to why the people of this era, with their progressive ideas about clothing, are wearing anything other than this finery.

“The idea, I believe, is that you would eventually do so.” Though Henri’s tone is casual, his frown tightens. Given the bizarre manner in which he met me an hour ago, I would have a similar composure. It is another reason why I keep the conversation on simpler subjects, such as getting into the short black frock—he called this part a T-shirt—that is an equal godsend of comfort to my skin.

As I stretch the garment over my torso, I surrender to a groan of complete pleasure.

Henri tautens again, clearly misreading my sound as disapproval. “I apologize, monsieur, that I do not have more suitable attire to offer you.” He gestures to my ensemble. “I only have these because of coincidence. A guest left them two weeks ago and told us not to bother with the return shipping.”

“Why?” I do not hide my incredulity.

He shrugs. “I imagine they purchased others.”

“That quickly?” I lift the bottom of the shirt and again examine its hem. “But stitchery like this must take weeks, if not months!”

“Yes. Well…” He looks me over from head to toe, appearing relieved for the chance to openly scrutinize me another time. “Perhaps we should simply be grateful he was built more like you than I am.”

“Very grateful.” I chuckle, hoping he feels invited to join me. When he remains as stoic as a priest, I risk reaching and clapping him on the shoulder. “Monsieur, please be not troubled any longer. I am profoundly thankful for your kindness. You found a stranger in your library, rolling around on the floor with your dog, and have now nearly given that man the clothes off your back.” The tension in his shoulder slackens. I attempt a new smile. “That stranger is deeply in your debt.”

“Stranger.” His grunt strips away the word’s credence. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you believe that, Maximillian.” He nods as I stiffen my stance. “Ah. So that is your name, then.”

I look back up but only get as far as the end of his bold, straight nose. A nose uncannily similar to mine. “I think we both know the answer to that, Henri.”

“My God,” he says. With his long De Leon fingers, he scrubs one side of his jaw. “It cannot be—and yet it truly is.”

“So…you do know?” My spine is now as stiff as the steel pieces of his hanging coat rods. “The whole story?”

He nods in shaky spurts. “I—I am sorry.”

“Why?” I counter. “I would not believe it if I were you either. I certainly did not when Kavia first chanted that terrifying spell, and—”

“Oh, my God.”

“Pardon me?”

He sinks to the bed, dropping his hands and gripping his knees. “Kavia,” he utters. “You…you actually know her name.” He looks back up, unabashed about his stare now. “Like the whole story about the spell, it was not a detail made public, especially during the months after that wretched day.”

Now I do not mask my curiosity. “Apologies for the necessity of repeating myself, monsieur—but why?”

He compresses his lips. “The staff, Kavia included, felt it best that his lordship’s disappearance remain shrouded by mystery.”

“Like his true identity.” I do not distill a note of my bitterness. I never knew about being the unacknowledged dauphin to the throne, so it was never a personal hardship—until now. I shall never truly know if the secret was the radicals’ motivation for targeting our family, especially after our generosity to all of them—so the sting of their hatred will always burn doubly deep.

There is naught to be done about it now. The new tenderness in Henri’s gaze demonstrates he knows that too.

“It cannot be easy to hear that,” he murmurs. “Good God. None of this can be easy for you, my boy.”

I turn around, bracing hands to my waist. “I believe ‘easy’ is now over two hundred years in the past, my friend. But I cannot even be certain of that, considering all I have heard today…about the Revolution.”

Henri’s nod is solemn. “Ten years that changed our land—in good ways and in bad.” The crush of his scowl intensifies the impression. “But none of it forged without spilled blood…and rolled heads.”

My throat is fire as I swallow hard. “So that day…when Kavia evoked the spell…was just the start of the madness.”

The man nods. “Ten years’ worth.”

“Christ.”

I raise a hand and pound the wall. But while my memories are the instigators of my rage, it is those same recollections I draw on for new strength—and much-needed focus.

“Kavia,” I grit out. “Wh-What about her? And Carl? And the others on staff?”