Our Revolution
By: TalktomeinClexa
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None in this chapter; Blood and Injury, Violence in others
Status: Complete
Summary: Lexa, an Assassin saved by Titus when she was a child and trained by him since, is injured during a mission and saved by a young physician named Clarke. The two of them rapidly become close, despite Lexa's dangerous life. As the French Revolution plays around them and the Templar threat increases, will the two women survive long enough to see it through and get their happy ending
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Chapter 52: February 1793
An odd silence lingered over the city of Bordeaux on that evening of early February 1793. The streets, usually filled with people chatting about their day before strolling home for supper, were mostly deserted. Only a few groups of men hung out by the inns and cafés, talking in hushed voices that contradicted the jerky moves of their hands.
“As if Austria and Prussia weren’t enough, now we’re at war with Britain, too.”
“Not only Britain. I heard the Netherlands as well.”
“My brother says we might declare war against Spain soon.”
“This is insane. How do they expect to fight on so many fronts?”
“And with what army? Many of the volunteers of last year have left. I’m telling you; there’ll be a draft. There’s no other way.”
“I’ve already paid my dues,” the tallest man said, lifting his right arm to show the stump that had been his hand. “And for what? The king’s gone, and it’s not like we lot are eating any better. If the Convention1 wants a war, they can go fight it themselves.”
In the midst of their conversation, the men didn’t see the boy approaching. Aden had been listening to them for a few minutes, hidden in the shadows, and decided to strike before they left. His clothes were too thin for the winter, and many holes let the icy wind bite his pale skin. But despite his shivers, he made quick work of the ties holding the coin purse of the man with his back to him.
He was retreating slowly when a shout came, “Hey, you! Come back here.”
Aden spun around and ran as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. His feet protested in his too-small shoes, soon joined by his empty stomach, yet he sped up when the steps of the men chasing him grew nearer. If they caught him, he would be in for a thrashing. Or worse.
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