The room smelled of dampness, old wood, and a bowl of soup growing cold-untouched-sitting on the table near a dim lamp by the bed.
From the window, only a faint orange glow of sunset crept in, while the curtains danced with the soft March breeze.
Warm... and cool.
On the makeshift bed-blankets laid over a straw mattress-lay a woman with a pale face.
Her long hair, once chestnut, now dull and clinging to her neck with sweat.
Sunken eyes. Cracked lips.
Margot coughed weakly, her chest rattling with each dry breath.
She slowly turned her gaze, breathing low and slow, until her eyes met those of a little boy with black hair and soft blue eyes.
Lifting her hand, she reached out to him, a faint smile trembling on her lips.
"...Desmond," she whispered, her voice broken.
"Come here... my love..."
The boy, just seven, obeyed.
He barely reached the edge of the mattress, climbing up carefully-as if his weight might hurt her.
Once seated beside her, he leaned closer, his wide eyes tender and clear like a summer lake.
He still believed that if he behaved, his mother would get better.
She looked at him in wonder as he asked his innocent question.
"Are you feeling better today?" he smiled, as if her life wasn't fading away before him.
She smiled softly with her eyes, though her lips barely moved. She gently shook her head.
Slowly, she placed her hand over his.
"Listen to me, Desmond... You'll have to be strong.
Stronger than any child should ever have to be.
Can you promise me that...?"
He blinked, confused, watching her speak in a whisper, trying to smile.
"Your father..." she paused.
Inhaling deeply, she let out a slow breath.
"I know I never told you about him..." she said, caressing his small hand, watching his eyes try to understand.
"I'm sorry for that...
You remember the tree we planted together, don't you?
Take care of it... because where it stands-that will be your home.
That's where you'll bear the name... Duke Fontclair."
She softened the weight of her words as she spoke them.
"So please... be strong.
Even if I can't be with you anymore...
Promise me you'll grow to be a great man...
Will you, my love?"
She asked, as the boy nodded, swallowing hard, his breathing slow and steady.
She then took his tiny fingers and brought them close to her lips, kissing his knuckles with a trembling mouth.
Then she held his hand with both of hers like it was a treasure, as a tear slid down her cheek.
The boy leaned in and hugged her gently, patting her shoulder softly.
His cheeks flushed warm, and his vision blurred with tears that finally fell.
"You have a beautiful heart, you know that?
We built it together...
That tree in the garden-
That's what you are.
Don't let them rip it out of you..."
she whispered, looking at the ceiling, returning his embrace with her frail arms.
Desmond closed his eyes and wept, not fully understanding.
She held him close-one last time.
Margot's breath grew lighter, thinner... whisper-like.
It faded, and her arm slipped from his back.
"...Mommy?" the boy asked.
"Ma... mama?" he called again.
No answer.
Slowly, he lifted his head from her chest and looked at her-
She looked asleep.
He barely blinked, letting tears spill silently as he stroked her cheek, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead one last time, eyes glassy and dim.
Before he could speak again-
A knock at the door.
The boy wiped his face with his arms and climbed down to answer it.
He stood on his toes, his breathing shaky, as he reached for the handle.
Then, a tall man in a long navy coat with black gloves stepped inside-without waiting for permission.
His stare was dry, hollow, and unflinching.
With each step, the wood beneath his boots creaked.
"Desmond Fontclair," he said, voice guttural.
His cold, steely eyes stared down at the boy-
Saying his full name with a tone unlike anything he'd ever heard.
He didn't even glance at the woman's body in the bed.
"You've grown enough," he said flatly.
"From now on, forget everything you've known-
And whatever little you are.
You'll be under my command,
And you'll become a true Fontclair."
Desmond had never heard such a voice-
So firm, so final.
He didn't move, staring upward at the towering figure.
Only his eyes shifted briefly toward his mother...
Then back to the man, gaze frozen.
Finally, he looked down-
Not out of respect...
But out of fear of what he'd see in those frozen eyes.
When the boy gave no answer, the man stepped forward,
Seizing his arm in a harsh grip and dragging him toward the door.
Desmond struggled with what little strength he had.
"No!! I can't!! My mama-my mom!
I can't leave her alone!
Let me go!!" he screamed, sobbing and gasping for air.
The man yanked him sharply, and the child fell forward onto the floor.
Another man lifted him like a sack of grain over his shoulder.
Desmond cried out-
A short scream muffled by a firm hand clamped over his mouth.
"...Mmmhpf!!"
He thrashed and wept, his body trembling-
Eyes wide with terror-
Watching the man inside as he was taken away...
Farther and farther from his mother.
Inside, the man turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
His eyes narrowed, letting out a short, cold breath.
"I gave you enough time.
You won't get in my way again-
Especially not with him."
he growled, his voice low and gravelly, like thunder dragged through his chest.
Then he turned, walked out-
And stepped into a navy carriage bound for the Fontclair estate.