He shook himself out of his reverie and put on his coat. It was time to face the life he'd chosen. He got out of his tent and meticulously folded the letter and put it into the pocket of his jacket.
He saw Wellington speaking with a few soldiers, and he was prepared to go to them when a cannon resounded in the stillness.
"We're under attack!" Some soldiers yelled, and everyone was hurrying to their positions.
What followed was a blood bath. Bullets were flying right and left. Anguished cries clouded the judgment.
Royce didn't even have the time to think of Elis one last time. He used his rifle with practiced perfection and tried to evade the bullets aiming for his persona.
"You've done great, son," he heard a gruff from behind.
"Now listen to me. Up ahead, we have our provision of firearms, but it seems they have taken them over. I want you to try and divert them as much as you can, and a few others will try and get them back."
"Yes, sir." He said, recognize the authoritative voice as being Wellington's".
He hurried and put himself in the enemy's line of sight. He started firing and firing, but between all those shots, he didn't realize anymore, which were his and which were theirs.
He felt a numbness overcome his body, and his knees couldn't hold his body's weight anymore. He crumbled to the ground but not before shooting one last time and hitting the highest-ranking officer square in the chest.
His vision was clouded, but he thought he heard Elis' laughter.
"Am I going home?" He croaked.
"Yes, sergeant, you are," a voice whispered.
April 1814
When he came around, it had already been two weeks since the end of the war. The victory was theirs!
Everyone was celebrating and drinking and cursing Napoleon. His exile to Elba was welcomed by people of all ages, ethnicity, and sex. It was as if the whole of the earth had but one common enemy: Napoleon.
Royce wasn't feeling particularly energetic. He had taken three bullets in. It was a wonder that he was alive. Wellington himself had come to congratulate him and to announce him of his future distinction. It seemed that he had won himself a title for helping secure the victory and for killing a general. Well...There was that. Besides the fact that he ached all over and his wounds did not let him stand up very well, he was hopeful for the future. He was finally going home! To Elis!
She must have had her first ball by now. He felt sorry he had missed her come out and the dance she had reserved for him. Suddenly, with a pang of pain, he wondered if she wasn't already married by now. Fear gripped him. It was certainly possible.
"When can I go home?" He asked his doctor when he came into the tent.
"Oh, don't worry, within a week, you'll be boarding a ship home."
Royce sighed and allowed himself to rest. A week... He had to regain his strength. He just had to.
CHAPTER 4
"Francis, where are you?" Elis asked as she made her way through the garden. She was sure she had seen him go through the garden doors. Her come-out ball was a total bore. Francis had danced with her for her first dance as promised, but after that, he had quickly excused himself and wandered off somewhere. She had had to bear the company of obnoxious gentlemen all night; she had even had to dance with them. This was all Royce's fault. If he had been here... but she didn't want to dwell on that. She couldn't let herself think of him...
"Ahh," she heard giggles in a corner, and she hurried.
"F..." she was about to say his name when she caught sight of him and a lady...embracing.
"What about that silly debutante...What was her name? Eleanor? "
"Elis," Frances corrected the woman.
"She was all but panting all over you. I swear the girl is so infatuated." She laughed, and Elis could feel her cheeks reddening.
"She's always been like that, following me around. She has some strange notion that I am going to marry her." He said, his voice half mockery.
"And are you?"
"God, no! I'm not daft!" He laughed and started kissing the Lady's neck.
"Are you sure? She's got quite a dowry, or so I hear."
"All the money in the world could not make up for her lack of manners. The girl is a hoyden!"
Elis could not hear anything more. She dashed for her room, not caring that it went against every rule of etiquette. Tears were falling down her cheeks, and she was doing her absolute best not to start wailing. She certainly felt like it. How could he talk like that about her? It was enough that he didn't return her affection. She'd known that so a certain degree. But to speak so maliciously, so mockingly of her... All her hopes were destroyed in a moment.
"Good lord..." she whispered once she managed to get to the confines of her room.
"How dare he?" She hurled herself onto her bed and continued to cry until she fell asleep.
"If only Royce were here..." was her last thought.
A month had passed since her come-out ball. As soon as she awoke, as usual, Elis went to her desk and penned a letter to Royce. She knew it would never reach him; she wouldn't even bother to send it. But he was her best friend, her only friend it seemed. He would comfort her and be kind to her had he been here. She was still harboring some hope that he was alive. There had been no notice of his death, had it? That meant hope. Although she had already started mourning him...
Dearest Royce,
She started as she started every day.
"Elis," she heard a voice at her door.
"Yes, mother, come in."
Her mother, a plump woman of five and forty, strutted
