Page 3 of Only You

Paris

Captain Damien’s favourite part of the day was sparring with recruits.

They only received a few for the Republican Guard every spring and even fewer lasted long enough to put on an official uniform, much less grow in rank.

Part of his job was to vet aspiring corporals, usually from the countryside looking for prestige, and test their resilience.

He couldn’t resist the smirk that came to his face every time one stepped forward to take up his challenge: land a single blow.

This time it was four against one, which was impressive.

Even after discovering that Damien was the best, most recruits tried to defeat him on their own, steal their moment of glory, instead of using strategy.

Maybe there was hope for this group yet.

It took no more than two minutes for Damien to get them on the ground. The soldiers around him were rowdy, shouting from the sidelines and probably making bets while enjoying the show. Damien did nothing to discourage his audience even when he spotted his superior scowling at the edge of the crowd.

Uniform crisp, beard neat, and stars decorating his chest, the man’s experience was etched in the hard lines of his face, speaking to his status. General Roulet made his way through the raucous group. Some were smart enough to quiet as he passed. Damien, however, laughed and threw his hands up.

‘General,’ he called. ‘You’re finally here to join the fun.’

‘And what fun might that be?’

‘It would be teaching the lesson of resilience to these fine recruits, of course.’ Damien grinned as one of the recruits groaned.

The general smiled but there was nothing approving about it.

‘I don’t know who is more foolish, them for thinking they can take on a high-ranking officer, or you for slacking on your duties for this petty contest.’ His gaze turned sharp, and everyone grew quiet.

‘Recruits, go back to your caserns . Captain Cadieux, take over for Captain Damien. Captain, come with me.’ The lingering smile left Damien’s face and his eyes hardened.

‘The rest of you, get back to your posts.’

The crowd slowly dispersed as Damien made his way over to General Roulet, falling in step with him.

The general said nothing as he led him towards his office.

Most soldiers would stay several paces behind their general, but Damien stayed by Roulet’s side.

He always pushed for more, to be equal despite the hierarchy.

Granted, General Roulet was no better; he let Damien get away with it.

‘How concerned should I be about this?’ Damien asked quietly, nodding to the guards as they passed.

‘Not at all,’ General Roulet told him as they walked the halls of Caserne des Célestins .

Damien could vaguely hear the stomp of the horses as they passed the cavalry training grounds.

Damien waited for Roulet to explain further but the general motioned for the captain to be quiet as they continued to pass other officers in the echoing stone hallways.

They climbed three sets of stairs until they reached the fourth floor, heading to an office that overlooked the casern’s main training ground.

‘You remember the favour I asked of you last month?’ Roulet asked, sitting behind the desk.

‘The protection job for your landlord friend,’ Damien recalled.

‘Correct. His ship finally docked, and he has requested our presence this afternoon. I figured you wouldn’t have much to do today.’

Damien chuckled. With the turbulence surrounding the city and people constantly accusing each other of being spies or zealots of one cause or another, there was always something to do.

Still, constantly fighting zealous protestors was wearisome.

They weren’t real soldiers. There was spirit but no skill, like handling gangly children.

‘Do you know what this friend of yours needs protection from?’

‘Not particularly. Only that there was some kind of investment that needed to be handled in person.’

‘How delightfully vague.’ Damien checked his pocket for his money, his belt for his sabre and revolver before heading to the door. ‘Where is he staying?’

‘Just outside of Paris, in Saint Germain,’ Roulet said as he gathered his own revolver and hat. ‘When we get in there, control yourself. I want none of your usual antics. Do you understand me?’

‘I’m no fool,’ Damien replied.

‘True, but I know your temper,’ he said, his gaze narrowing. ‘I have given him my word that you are a brave, level-headed soldier. Do not make me a liar.’

Damien narrowed his eyes, mirroring his general, but relented, nodding once in agreement. He heard Roulet let out a sigh of relief and knew why. It was a good day when Damien decided to co-operate.

Several hours later, Roulet knocked on the door of a summer villa with an expansive yard.

While it was not as grand as other homes of former nobility, it spoke to the family’s wealth.

Whatever land General Roulet’s friend held, it profited well.

Before he could contemplate much longer, the door opened, revealing a tall man with smooth, sand-coloured skin, only a few shades lighter than Damien’s own and an intimidating glare.

By the man’s protective stance, a revolver resting comfortably in his hand, the man had to be a soldier.

His guard went up; he had a feeling that there wasn’t much need for ‘protection’ in this household.

He stayed silent as the man led them through the house without a word.

More men were scattered around, talking or eating, quietening as they spotted the guests.

They were a direct contrast to their opulent surroundings of marble and gold finery, dressed in bright, patterned tunics and trousers with weapons within arm’s reach, alert eyes betraying their laid-back demeanours.

After the long walk down the hall, they approached a study, the south-facing windows letting in plenty of light.

There, in the centre of the room, a man stood over a map of Africa.

He was an imposing figure, tall like his guards, his skin the colour of coffee.

Unlike his men, he wore a French-style suit, though quite colourful with the flowers embroidered on the coat.

While Black people weren’t rare in Paris, Damien usually saw people of his background in an inferior state, often working the lowest stations available.

Yet, this man seemed to bow to no one. It made him even more daunting despite the pleasant smile he presented when he spotted General Roulet.

‘Good to see you, old friend.’ The man’s accent rounded out many of French’s hard consonants, holding his hand out to shake. It was musical yet odd to Damien’s ears.

Roulet clasped the man’s hand without hesitation. ‘You as well,’ he said. ‘I see you came with a small army.’

‘One can never be too careful in foreign lands,’ the man replied, watching Damien slyly from the corner of his eye. ‘But no need to rush off and tell your newest king.’

‘President,’ General Roulet corrected. ‘We’re long past the days of Versailles.’

‘Is that what you call them now?’ The man’s smile turned mischievous but followed with a hearty laugh, his friendly demeanour returning. ‘Either way, me and my men will be returning as soon as my daughter is settled here.’

‘How is Mademoiselle Sabine?’ Roulet asked.

‘Spirited as ever,’ his friend replied, grinning proudly.

‘If her mother were here, she’d probably have a fit about how much she takes after me.

Were she a boy, she’d have been a terrific soldier, but we will have to settle for finding her a strong husband.

’ The men shared a laugh before turning to Damien.

‘Damien, this is Kwame Kouassi, one of our liaisons from the Ivory Coast.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Damien said gruffly nodding once.

Kwame looked at him curiously before chuckling.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he replied. He gestured to some seats nearby.

Damien and the general sat down on the sofa and Kwame sat down on an armchair in front of it.

‘Your general speaks highly of you and your skill. I have been a first-hand witness to them through your training sessions over the years and must admit, I am impressed.’

‘Thank you.’ Damien remained stoic, unsurprised by the common praise. The words had lost their lustre years ago. What did raise an alarm was the mention of ‘years’, because while Damien prided himself on being a top-notch soldier, he’d never seen Kwame before. Why wouldn’t he make himself known?

‘General Roulet has also told me that money isn’t as common as it once was. We are indeed much removed from the days of Versailles.’ Kwame chuckled as Damien tensed at the words. ‘Be still, young man. I mean no mockery. I am simply here to present a quite lucrative offer.’

‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Damien said, his eyes lingering on the art that littered the walls. ‘Though it begs the question of what could be so important to protect?’

Kwame raised a brow before chuckling. ‘Perhaps your general has not kept you well informed.’ Damien clenched his jaw as Kwame clarified, ‘My home country is C?te d’Ivoire.’

Ah , Damien thought, the new colony . He had seen headlines about the country in the news years ago, a few of his comrades being stationed there. He had inquired about doing the same to General Roulet, but the general was adamant about keeping him in France.

‘France has been working to… mend its international relations with us for the past few decades with little success until I came along,’ Kwame continued.

‘You see, young man, there would be no C?te d’Ivoire without me, my land, and my influence with the Grand-Bassam kings.

Cousins of cousins and whatnot. Bloodlines are a tricky thing, don’t you agree, Captain?

Anyway, not all my countrymen agree with my position and that’s caused some… strain, to put it lightly.’