His son was not only a boy but the oldest child. He was also much like his mother, extremely intelligent and self-assured. Christophe uncannily had displayed signs of both from a very young age. Although Apollo had not liked sending him either, it had caused less unease.
However, Ilsa had gone to that school, as her father had before her and his before him. It was, in truth, the finest school in the Northlands. And it had always been her wish that her children would attend it.
So he gave into that wish, even after her death.
Maybe especially after her death.
When she was alive, they had had plans, of course, to spend much of their time in Benies while the children were at school. And when it was safe for them to go back, Apollo decided that he and Madeleine would do just that.
“I’m glad you’re home too, darling girl,” he replied then arranged his face into mock severity. “But don’t think with your papa home today and me allowing you to be away from your studies that you can be lazy every day. It’s back to your tutor on the morrow.”
She made a face, clearly not looking forward to this, and he again smiled.
“Élan, my love, bath time,” Bella, the children’s maid called from the door.
“Oh no!” Élan cried, twisting and sitting in her father’s lap to look to her maid. “I don’t want to take a bath now.”
Bella put her hands on her hips. “Then can you tell me when you’d desire your bath, little miss?”
“In an hour,” Élan tried.
“In an hour, you’re to bed, eyes closed, dreaming good dreams,” Bella returned.
Élan gave it a moment and came up with a different plan.
“How about I skip it tonight and take one tomorrow?” she pushed.
“I don’t mind if you don’t bathe,” Apollo put in and his daughter’s happy eyes came to him. “In fact, you are more than welcome never to bathe again. However, this would make you stinky and I wouldn’t hold my girl in my lap if she was smelly.”
Élan made another face, this time scrunching her nose. But his words also served to get her moving. She jumped from his lap only to dash two steps toward Bella, stop and dash back.
She jumped back on the sofa, threw her arms around Apollo and whispered in his ear, “I’m happy you’re back, Papa.”
Apollo wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close and took in her scent, which was far from unpleasant.
Then he returned her whisper in her ear and said, “Give your father a goodnight kiss and go to Bella.”
She pulled back, grabbed his face in both hands and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek before she again jumped off the couch and ran to Bella.
Taking her outstretched hand, she followed the maid out as Bella called, “Chris, you’re next.”
“All right, Bella,” Christophe called back and Apollo’s eyes went to him.
“Son?”
Christophe looked up at his father.
“Sit with me,” he ordered.
Rolling side-to-side as only a child would do, he got his feet under him and came to the sofa.
Apollo studied him as he did so.
Christophe had, some time ago, eschewed what he called “little boys’ clothes” and demanded to wear breeches, or trousers and high boots, not just breeches and ankle boots. He’d also taken to wearing full cloaks that fell to his calves, not short ones that fell to his backside.
Apollo had allowed this. If his son wanted to be a little man, there was no reason why he couldn’t be. He did excellent at his studies and was talented on a horse, not to mention, showed great promise with a bow and his wooden sword.
And anyway, Apollo had hated ankle boots when he was Christophe’s age so he saw no reason to force his son to wear them until he was thirteen.
Apollo watched as Christophe sat on the sofa at the opposite end to him, arranging his boy’s body in his father’s exact pose as best he could with his much shorter frame. That was to say, leaned back with one leg crossed, ankle resting on the other knee. However, he didn’t have his arms spread wide along the back and the arm of the couch as his arms didn’t reach.
Apollo quelled his smile and caught his son’s eyes.
“With your sister gone, I thought we’d talk, man to man,” he began.
Christophe’s chest swelled up and Apollo was forced to quell another smile.
“You’re well?” he asked quietly.
Christophe nodded. “Yes, Papa. I’m all right. And Élan is too. I knew Achilles and Derrik wouldn’t let them get to us.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, son,” Apollo noted carefully.
Christophe looked to the carpets. He knew what he was talking about.
“Look at me, Chris,” Apollo urged and Christophe looked back to his father. “Madeleine, which is what she wishes to be referred as in this world, is very anxious about meeting you, knowing how she will appear to you.”
Christophe said nothing for long moments but he didn’t look away from his father.
Then, he blurted, “Nathaniel told me.”
Apollo blinked.
Perplexed at this change in subject, he asked, “Nathaniel told you what?”
“He was watching through a crack,” Christophe went on, still not making sense.
“Son,” Apollo started. “Explain.”
“A crack,” he hesitated, “in the gardener’s shed.”
Apollo drew in a sharp breath.
Christophe took his ankle from his knee and leaned into his hand in the sofa, asking excitedly, “Did she really stick a man with a knife, Papa?”
Apollo stared into his son’s bright eyes and did not answer. Instead, he stated, “Nathaniel should not have been doing that nor should he have shared what he saw with you.”
Christophe held his gaze.
Then he whispered, “She did.”
Bloody hell.
“She was tired and cross,” Apollo told him.
He watched his son’s mouth quirk before he remarked, “She’d have to be very tired and very cross to stick a man.”
In other circumstances, not these, he would agree with his son that this was amusing.
This time, he didn’t.
He had other concerns.
“What else did Nathaniel tell you he saw?”
Christophe sat back, his shoulders slumping. “Nothing. Lees saw him when he was taking the lady…I mean, Madeleine out and he pointed at him so he thought it best to run away.”
Apollo relaxed.
“He said she was meaner even than Laures,” Christophe went on.