Nimue remained in bed long after Fleur had gone, her cheek pressed into the soft indentation in the pillow where the older girl had slept. The fabric still held a faint, lingering scent of winter air and floral soap. She traced the outline of the hollow with her finger, feeling the heavy stillness that had settled over the room in the wake of the early morning.
Cinder jumped onto the mattress a moment later. His russet fur was slightly ruffled, and his amber eyes were wide and curious as he sniffed her face, his stiff whiskers tickling Nimue's nose.
"I'm fine," she whispered, pushing him gently aside. He didn't seem convinced, settling onto the pillow beside her and resting his chin on her shoulder with a small, huffing breath.
The connecting door between the suites opened, and Jane stepped through. She was already dressed for the day in dark trousers and a cream-coloured jumper, her hair pinned up in its usual neat arrangement. She carried a pair of small, polished leather shoes in one hand.
"Get up, ma chérie. Breakfast is waiting for us."
Nimue sat up slowly. Her white hair was a tangled mess, and a faint crease from the pillowcase marked her pale cheek. Jane sat on the edge of the mattress and began to brush through the white strands with her fingers, her movements practiced and gentle.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes."
"Did you have nice dreams?"
Nimue thought of the quiet moments in the dark and the steady beat of Fleur's heart. She nodded. "Yes."
She sat patiently while Jane braided her hair into a single plait that hung over her shoulder, the silver clips catching the morning light.
.
The hotel lobby was quiet at this early hour. A few guests sat in deep velvet armchairs near the fireplace, reading newspapers or speaking in hushed tones that didn't carry across the marble. The grand chandeliers had been dimmed, and the polished floors caught the grey morning light filtering in from the tall, arched windows.
The breakfast room was a long, elegant salon on the ground floor with windows facing the Rue de Rivoli. Crisp white tablecloths draped every table, and a massive buffet stretched along the far wall. It was a lavish spread of flaky pastries, crusty breads, soft cheeses, cold meats, and vibrant fruits. A silver pot of hot chocolate steamed in the cool air, its scent rich and inviting.
Nimue paused at the threshold. Her eyes moved across the room to take in the glitter of the crystal chandeliers and the fresh flowers on every table. Waiters in black vests moved silently between the chairs like shadows across the carpet.
The Delacours were already seated at their usual spot. Apolline sat with a porcelain cup of coffee while Philippe reviewed a morning newspaper. Fleur sat between them. Her blonde hair had been brushed until it shone and was tied back with a neat blue ribbon. She looked up the moment Nimue entered the room.
Nimue walked straight to the table and climbed into the chair beside Fleur without waiting for an invitation. Jane sighed softly and took the seat across from her.
"Bonjour," Nimue said.
"Bonjour," Fleur replied. Her ears were slightly pink, but she didn't look away from Nimue's green gaze.
.
When they walked to the buffet, Fleur pointed to each item, naming it in French and then in English when Nimue looked confused.
Nimue chose a croissant, a small ceramic pot of yoghurt, and a glass of fresh orange juice. Fleur added a thin slice of ham to Nimue's plate without asking, and Nimue didn't object.
The adults sat at a table near the window. Jane and Apolline were deep in conversation, their heads close together as they spoke. Philippe continued with his newspaper while Jack poured coffee from a heavy silver pot.
Saoirse sat nearby, working her way through a pile of pastries with focused determination. Nimue climbed back into her chair between Jane and Fleur. Cinder waited patiently under the table. His nose was pointed toward the floor in search of any fallen crumbs, his russet tail occasionally brushing Nimue's ankle.
.
The hotel felt like a sprawling maze of corridors, grand staircases, and rooms with soaring ceilings.
After breakfast, Nimue and Fleur went to explore. They walked down hallways lined with paintings. There were portraits of women in antiquated, heavy dresses and landscapes of places Nimue had never seen. One large painting of a horse seemed to track them as they passed.
"Il me regarde," Nimue said, pointing a small finger at the canvas.
(It's looking at me.)
"Ce n'est qu'un tableau."
(It's just a painting.)
"Ses yeux bougent."
(Its eyes move.)
Fleur looked closer, her blue eyes narrowing. The horse's eyes didn't move while she stared, but when she looked away and then glanced back, they seemed to have shifted.
"Peut-être que c'est magique," she said uncertainly.
(Maybe it's magical.)
"Mais on est dans le monde des non-magiques."
(But we are in the mundane world.)
"Parfois, la magie reste. Dans les vieux endroits. Elle s'accroche."
(Sometimes, magic remains. In old places. It clings.)
Nimue stared at the horse for a long moment before she nodded and walked on. They found a sitting room on the second floor with velvet sofas and a cold, ornamental fireplace. A grand piano stood in the corner, its lid closed to protect the keys. Nimue ran to the instrument and lifted the cover to reveal the polished black and white keys.
"Tu sais jouer?" Fleur asked.
(Do you know how to play?)
"Un peu. Mama m'a appris."
(A little. Mama taught me.)
Nimue sat on the bench and placed her small fingers on the keys. She played a simple melody, moving up and down the scale before transitioning into a small, skipping tune that Jane had taught her. Her fingers were tiny, and a few notes came out wrong, but she didn't stop. Fleur sat beside her on the bench until their shoulders touched.
"Continue," Fleur said softly.
Nimue played the tune again, slower this time. The notes echoed in the empty, high-ceilinged room, sounding soft and a little sad.
In the afternoons, they sat by the window in Nimue's room and watched the street below. Cinder lay across their laps, his warmth spreading through the wool blanket they shared.
Fleur brought a book from her room, a collection of French fairy tales with illustrations in gold and blue. She read aloud while Nimue listened. Nimue's head rested comfortably against Fleur's arm.
"La Belle et la Bête," Fleur read. "Il était une fois..."
(Beauty and the Beast. Once upon a time...)
Nimue traced the pictures with her finger. The Beast looked sad, even in his anger, while Beauty looked kind, even when she was afraid.
"Pourquoi elle n'a pas peur de lui?" Nimue asked.
(Why isn't she afraid of him?)
"Parce qu'elle voit ce qu'il y a à l'intérieur."
(Because she sees what is inside.)
Nimue thought about this, looking at Fleur's profile and the way the winter light caught the stray strands of her hair. "Je vois ce qu'il y a à l'intérieur de toi," she said quietly.
(I see what is inside you.)
Fleur stopped reading. Her hand tightened on the edge of the book. "Qu'est-ce que tu vois?"
(What do you see?)
"Quelque chose de doux. Et de lumineux."
(Something soft. And bright.)
Fleur didn't answer. She turned the page and continued reading, though her voice was noticeably softer than before.
On evening, the adults gathered in the sitting room. The fire had been lit, and the dancing flames cast long, flickering shadows on the walls. Philippe had brought wine from the hotel's cellar, and Jack had found a box of dark chocolates. Nimue sat on the floor near the hearth, building a tower out of playing cards while Cinder watched from the warmth of the fire. Fleur sat beside her, handing her cards one by one.
"Plus haut," Nimue said.
(Higher.)
"Ça va tomber."
(It's going to fall.)
"Non. Regarde."
She placed another card with a steady hand. The tower wobbled, but it held.
Apolline watched them from the sofa. Her chin rested on her hand as she observed the pair. "Elles passent tout leur temps ensemble," she said to Jane.
(They spend all their time together.)
Jane nodded. "Je n'ai jamais vu Nimue comme ça. Elle est généralement... plus réservée."
(I have never seen Nimue like this. She is usually... more reserved.)
"Fleur aussi. Elle n'a jamais été aussi proche de quelqu'un d'aussi vite."
(Fleur too. She has never been so close to anyone so quickly.)
The two mothers watched the girls in silence. The card tower reached seven levels before it finally collapsed into a heap. Nimue laughed, and Fleur laughed with her.
On the third day, they walked to the Tuileries Garden. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky a pale, watery blue. The gravel paths were wet and dark, and the bare trees dripped with leftover moisture. Nimue ran ahead, her boots splashing in the puddles, while Fleur followed at a slower pace with her hands tucked into her pockets.
"Grande sœur, cours!" Nimue called.
(Big sister, run!)
"Je suis fatiguée."
(I'm tired.)
"Tu es toujours fatiguée."
(You are always tired.)
Fleur quickened her pace until she caught up and took Nimue's hand. They walked together toward the pond, where a few ducks floated on the grey water. Nimue pulled a piece of bread from her coat pocket. She had saved it from breakfast and tore it into small pieces. She threw them to the ducks, and the birds paddled closer, their heads bobbing in expectation.
"Tu aimes les animaux," Fleur observed.
(You like animals.)
"Oui. Ils sont plus simples que les gens."
(Yes. They are simpler than people.)
Fleur considered this. "Parfois, les gens sont compliqués."
(Sometimes, people are complicated.)
"Toi, tu n'es pas compliquée."
(You are not complicated.)
"Comment tu sais?"
(How do you know?)
Nimue looked at her. "Parce que je te regarde."
(Because I see you.)
The ducks fought over the last piece of bread. Nimue brushed the crumbs from her gloves and took Fleur's hand again.
. . .
The days blurred together, each one warm and full of small, meaningful moments. They ate breakfast together every morning, and Nimue learned that Fleur liked her chocolate hot but not scalding. She also noticed that Fleur always ate the top of her croissant first, saving the bottom for last.
Fleur learned that Nimue would eat almost anything put in front of her, but she saved her yoghurt for the very end because she liked the cold sweetness after the warm bread.
They explored the hotel further, and Fleur showed Nimue the swimming pool on the fifth floor. It was a long rectangle of blue water with gold tiles around the edge. Nimue pressed her face to the glass door and watched the light dance on the surface.
They found the library on the second floor, a small room lined with books in French and English. Nimue couldn't read most of them, but she liked the smell of old paper, leather, and the dried flowers on the desk.
Fleur pulled a book from the shelf, a collection of fairy tales with a green cover and gold letters. She sat on a velvet ottoman and began to read aloud in a soft, low voice. Nimue sat at her feet. Her head rested against Fleur's knee as she listened. Cinder curled beside her, his chin resting on her ankle.
On third evening, they watched the sunset from the window at the end of the fourth-floor corridor. The sky turned pink and gold, and the Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance.
"Je vais regretter ça," Fleur said quietly.
(I'm going to miss this.)
"Quoi?"
"Toi. Paris. Tout."
(You. Paris. Everything.)
Nimue leaned against her. "Tu peux venir en Angleterre."
(You can come to England.)
"Peut-être. Un jour."
(Maybe. One day.)
"Ce n'est pas assez."
(That's not enough.)
Fleur looked down at her. "Qu'est-ce qui serait assez?"
(What would be enough?)
Nimue thought about it, but she didn't have an answer. She only knew that she didn't want Fleur to leave, and she didn't want to leave Fleur. "Reste avec moi," she said.
(Stay with me.)
"Je ne peux pas."
(I can't.)
"Pourquoi pas?"
(Why not?)
"Parce que je dois aller à l'école. Parce que j'ai ma famille. Parce que..." Fleur hesitated. "Parce que ce n'est pas comme ça que le monde fonctionne."
(Because I have to go to school. Because I have my family. Because... because that's not how the world works.)
Nimue didn't answer. She turned back to the window and watched the sky darken into night. Fleur put her arm around Nimue's shoulders, and they stood like that until the stars came out.
.
On forth evening, Nimue couldn't sleep. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling while Cinder curled at her feet. Through the wall, she could hear the faint murmur of her parents talking. She slipped out of bed and padded to the connecting door, pressing her ear to the wood.
She heard nothing.
She knocked softly. A moment later, the door opened a crack. Fleur's face appeared, her hair loose and her eyes heavy with sleep.
"Nimue? Il est tard."
(Nimue? It's late.)
"Je n'arrive pas à dormir."
(I can't sleep.)
Fleur opened the door wider. The room behind her was dark, and Nimue could see the shapes of Apolline and Philippe in the large bed, both asleep. Fleur took her hand and led her back to Nimue's room. They climbed into the bed together, and Nimue curled against Fleur's side.
"Raconte-moi une histoire," Nimue whispered.
(Tell me a story.)
Fleur thought for a moment.
"Il était une fois une petite fille qui vivait près de la forêt. Elle avait des cheveux blancs comme la neige et des yeux verts comme l'émeraude."
(Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived near the forest. She had white hair like snow and green eyes like emerald.)
"C'est moi," Nimue said.
(It's me.)
"Oui. Et cette petite fille avait un renard qui s'appelait Cinder. Et un jour, she a rencontré une grande sœur qui avait des cheveux argentés et des yeux bleus comme le ciel."
(Yes. And this little girl had a fox named Cinder. And one day, she met a big sister who had silver hair and blue eyes like the sky.)
"Et après?"
(And then?)
"Elles sont devenues amies. Pour toujours."
(They became friends. Forever.)
Nimue smiled in the dark. "J'aime cette histoire."
(I like this story.)
"Elle n'est pas finie."
(It's not finished.)
"Raconte la suite."
(Tell the rest.)
Fleur continued, her voice soft and low, until Nimue's breathing slowed and her hand went limp in Fleur's.
. . .
On the fourth of January, it snowed. Nimue woke to a world of white. The rooftops across the street were covered, and the cars below wore thick caps of snow. The sky was pale and soft, and the air through the window was cold and clean.
"Neige," she said, pressing her nose to the glass.
(Snow.)
Fleur came to stand beside her. "Oui. Tu aimes la neige?"
(Yes. Do you like snow?)
"Oui. Elle est calme."
(Yes. It's quiet.)
They dressed in coats, boots, and scarves, and the adults took them to the Tuileries. The garden was empty, the paths covered in fresh white, and the trees wore delicate coats of frost. Nimue bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. It was cold and light, melting between her fingers.
"Comme la pierre," she said softly.
(Like the stone.)
"Quelle pierre?"
(Which stone?)
"La pierre froide. Celle de ma chambre."
(The cold stone. The one in my room.)
Fleur remembered. It was the grey stone that never warmed, the one that held colours like trapped starlight.
"Ta magie," Fleur said.
(Your magic.)
Nimue looked at her. "Oui. Ma magie."
(Yes. Ma magie.)
She threw the snow into the air, and it scattered like dust, catching the light for one bright moment before it fell.