Trigger Warning: This chapter contains themes such as self harm and attempted suicide. Read with caution.  

Voices rise up from behind her and carry out onto the balcony where Lidya stands, staring off into the distance. Her face is gaunt and pail, eyes puffy from crying, but her face is no longer tear streaked. She feels dead inside, her heart shattered into so many pieces that she’s not sure it’s even there anymore. She can’t take it, not the funeral going on behind her, not the people who looked at her with judgment and malice. Everyone silently blaming her for her son’s death, calling her names when they think she can’t hear them.

Her gaze shifts to the courtyard beneath her and her mind begins to wonder. What if I just fell off. She wonders and takes a step closer to the edge, lifting herself over the railing. She lets her toes dangle off the ledge, her hands lightly gripping the top of the rail behind her. It would be so easy to just let go.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and lets her grip loosen, but before she can fully let go, strong hands wrap themselves gently around her wrists.

“Don’t.” A deep voice whispers from behind her and she startles, her eyes flying open, her feet lose their place on the ledge and she slips. Her eyes squeeze shut as she feels herself drop off the side. Something jars her and she has a moment to think, If this is dying, it isn’t so bad. Before the voice is once again whispering in her ear.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” It says and she finds it oddly soothing. Her eyes snap open, growing wide as she sees her feet dangling high above the ground, a pair of warm arms are wrapped around her, keeping her from falling further.

“Are you an angel?” She asks softly, her voice shaky with a mixture of sadness and nerves.

The person behind her chuckles softly before pulling her back over the railing. “Sorry to disappoint. My name is Ansley. Duke Ansley Wessex of Marseille.” He tells her before placing her softly on the ground.

Lidya turns at his words, her breath catching as she meets the deep blue eyes of her savior. For all his words of denial, he very well could have been an angel. Her very own guardian angel. 

***

“So you are Countess Lidya.” Ansley speaks softly as he winds his arm with hers to better guide her through the Dupont’s luscious gardens.

“Lady.” She corrects him in an unsteady voice and Ansley slows his pace for a moment so he can get a better look at her face.

She looks lost, her eyes gaunt and vacant, like a walking corpse and a wave of understanding overtakes him. There is only one reason for a title change such as this and it makes him feel sad in her stead.

Carefully, as to not scare her off, he leads her over to a bench and sits her down so that he can take her hands in his own. They feel cold in his palms and he suddenly regrets not noticing earlier. It is late December and she has been out in the cold without a covering for who knows how long.

Without thinking too hard about it he removes his own coat and drapes it around her shoulders, pulling it close over her chest to keep in as much heat as possible.

“Countess.” He addresses her softly, still adjusting the coat and she looks up at him with tentative eyes. A question hidden within their lovely green depths. “I care not for titles nor birthright.” He answers her, her face going soft at the edges.

“I don’t disgust you?” She asks softly, her voice so faint he almost misses it.

Ansley stops fiddling with the coat for a minute in order to look at her, really look at her. She is beautiful and elegant. Even with her puffy, red rimmed eyes, she is the most breathtaking thing he has ever seen and he feels inexplicably drawn to her, as if he had been searching for her his entire life without knowing it.

“No, you don’t.” He answers just as softly and leans closer to her so he can meet her eyes. “No one can control who their parents are and no one should be held responsible for their parents actions.” He continues and she gives him a small smile that almost makes him want to melt.

“Thank you.” She whispers and Ansley takes a deep breath. He has the most insane urge to lean over and kiss her, but the image of Aldora’s face flits into his mind, stopping him. Instead, he just takes her small hands in his and holds them until it becomes too cold to stay in the gardens anymore. Only letting go, when they reach the doorway that will take them back into the house.