by EM Castellan
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to find anything else to say. “I’m sorry.”
Not only had the spell failed because of me, but I had also let myself be caught in it like a neophyte stumbling through their first enchantment, causing everyone a fright and sending Philippe—whom I had sworn never to hurt—into a frenzy of worry.
My apology felt inadequate, but it was sincere, and I turned to Louis to ensure he knew it was so. His face unreadable, he didn’t acknowledge my words.
“We’re just glad you’re alive,” he said instead.
“I’m sorry about the spell—”
But Philippe cut me off with a growl. “No one cares about the bloody spell.”
“Actually, I do,” Louis snapped back, his tone cold.
Both brothers stiffened on opposite sides of the bed. All of a sudden the tension in the room was palpable, and I raised a weak hand in an attempt to stop them from arguing.
“Please—”
My plea went utterly ignored, as Philippe stood up.
“This ends now.”
A hint of disbelief crossed Louis’s inscrutable features. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” Philippe replied, anger swiftly replacing distress in his expression. “I’m putting a stop to this nonsense. From now on, you will not use Henriette for her magic anymore. You can find another Source for your self-aggrandizing plans.”
Louis snorted. “This has nothing to do with you, and you don’t get a say in these matters. Or shall I remind you who’s king here?”
“Shall I remind you who’s her husband?”
He was shouting now, and my temper rose alongside his. The two of them were talking about me as if I weren’t even there. As if they were still boys and I was a doll they were arguing over the ownership of.
“Stop it,” I said.
But Louis raised his voice to answer his brother, and my command was lost in the noise.
“Henriette being a Source has nothing to do with you! Her duties to me have nothing to do with her duties to you. You do not get to decide anything on this matter.”
“She nearly died!” Philippe shouted back. “Are you so arrogant that you can’t see that? When does it stop, if not now?”
I had enough. Anger warmed my skin and tightened my lungs. How dare they behave that way in front of me? I was a princess. I shoved aside the blankets wrapped around me and pushed myself off the bed. My unsteady feet landed on the floor and I wobbled, but I followed my momentum and my irritation, gripping the bedcover for support. My breath came out in wheezing gasps.
“Stop it!” I barked. “Stop it, the both of you!”
My lungs hurt. My limbs hurt. Dark spots danced across my vision, and the room oscillated like a pendulum.
“Stop it,” I repeated.
But the weak sound that came out of my mouth didn’t match the indignation lacing my veins. The gilded room tunneled into a dark corridor, and the bedcovers slipped between my fingers like eels. The world became silent again, and then dark.
* * *
Light filtered across my vision, like golden filigree across a black fabric. I squinted against the brightness but forced my eyes to open. The blue canopy of the king’s bed greeted me again, and silence surrounded me. Candles had been lit to chase away the shadows of the gloomy day. Embroidered bedclothes covered me, and the sweet smell of magic permeated the air.
“Louis and Prince Aniaba performed that spell on the air so you’d breathe better.”
Turning my head was easier this time, and I met Philippe’s gaze. He sat in an armchair by the bed, alone in the bedchamber.
“How long was I…?”
“Not long.” He chewed on his lower lip, guilt and concern warring on his face. “And this time it was our fault, anyway. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, grateful for the apology. He made a vague gesture at my lying form.
“How are you feeling?”
I breathed in the crisp scent of the room, filled with the smell of fresh-cut grass and sweet-blooming flowers. The magically altered air coated my lungs with ease and soothed my breathing. My mind clearer, I straightened against the pillows.
“Better, I think.”
Philippe surveyed me for a moment, and I waited for him to speak.
“Louis is going back to Paris,” he said at last. “With everybody. We’ll follow when you’ve rested.”
He paused, and I let him take his time, sensing he had more to say.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he added after a while, his voice low and calm. “It wasn’t right to speak for you, but I still mean what I said. I think when it comes to magic, both Louis and you struggle to know when to stop. I’m not interfering because I’m your husband and I get to decide what you do. I’m interfering because you both seem to have lost sight of what should come first here. Your health. Your well-being.”
He stood up and circled the canopy bed with slow steps.
“I don’t pretend I know what it feels like to do magic. I’m not a magicien. I’m certainly not a Source. I don’t know what happens when you cast a spell and reshape the world to your liking. What I know, however, is what it does to you.”
He stopped his pacing to meet my gaze.
“And it’s killing you, Henriette.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then found it hard to argue. I was lying in a bed, my limbs weak as a newborn foal, with no recollection of how long I had been there. I bit my lip and remained silent.
“I can’t stop you,” Philippe added when I didn’t reply. “If you want to be Louis’s Source, I can’t stop you. But I’m asking you— No, I’m begging you to stop. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I certainly don’t want you to die. So please. Get some rest. Get your strength back. Let Louis find another Source for now.”
He knelt by the bed and grabbed my hand in his. “Believe me, his world won’t stop turning if you’re not in it. But mine will.”
I held his gaze, thoughts of duty and magic and love tumbling through my mind. He was giving me a choice, yet of course it was no choice at all.
He was asking if I loved him more than his brother.
And the answer was yes.
CHAPTER III
Sparrows fluttered amid the buds in the chestnut tree branches above me, their chirping loud in the quiet afternoon. Removed from the Parisian bustle behind the brick walls of the Tuileries Palace gardens, I lounged in my reclining chair, the fragrant flowerbeds of the geometric parterres swathing me with a sweet smell.
Five days had passed since my return from Versailles, and it was my first time outside. Modern medicine argued that the crisp atmosphere of the outdoors would cause me more harm than good, but I chose to ignore the physicians’ dire warnings in order to escape into my favorite place in the world: my garden. While Mimi investigated every scent under the trimmed bushes, I breathed in the fresh April air, relief at being freed from the suffocating confines of my apartments loosening my chest.
“Are you certain you’re warm enough?”
Athénaïs tucked my blankets more firmly around me, fussing like an overbearing nurse. Her brow furrowed in suspicion, she surveyed the blooming flowers and clipped topiaries as if looking for signs of an imminent attack from Mother Nature.
“I’m perfectly all right,” I replied, an amused smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Now stop worrying and tell me everything.”
I grabbed her gloved hand so she’d stop fidgeting, and she settled in the wooden chair next to me at last. Her presence was my second treat of the day: Freshly returned to court, it was the first time we met after months apart. The last time I had seen her was at Versailles in November, when she was about to leave for Gascony to get married. She now returned as the Marquise de Montespan, dressed in a fashionable ruby-red gown that highlighted her dark hair and round figure.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked. “Your doctors gave me such stern admonitions against getting you flustered that I scarcely
dare broach any subject aside from maybe the weather.”
My smile turned into a giggle. “Don’t tell me you’ve started listening to advice from old men.”
Her eyes widened in mock horror. “Never! Which is why I’m asking: What piece of gossip do you want to talk about first?” She gave me a conniving grin.
I squeezed her fingers, more solicitous than playful. “Tell me about you, first.”
Last summer had seen her in love with Prince Aniaba, whom her parents had refused to consider as a possible match for her. She’d been distraught at the news of her arranged marriage with a provincial nobleman, and for a while I had feared her to be the brokenhearted maiden from the seer’s prophecy. I had to know where her feelings stood now.
She waved the request away. “What’s there to say? I’m back, which is the most important piece of news about me.”
“What about the marquis?” I insisted.
She was my friend, and I refused to let her hide behind a mask of cynicism with me. Listening to her was the least I could do for her.
She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “My husband is exactly as you might imagine a twenty-two-year-old marquess from the southern confines of France who finds himself at the Sun King’s court for the first time: embarrassingly eager and hopelessly unsophisticated. But we seem to get along for now.”
Half-reassured, I was about to ask for details when she went on without prompting.
“And I saw Jean yesterday. I wouldn’t say it was a delightful conversation, but it wasn’t an ordeal either. Water under the bridge and all that, I suppose. He’s busy with his work, nowadays, and I’ve moved on too, I suppose.”
Jean Aniaba was a Source as well, and I knew the king had called upon him to assist with the artist magiciens he was gathering at court in preparation for the second phase of renovations at Versailles. The prince’s magical gift was especially impressive when used for artistic spells, as his partnership with the Comte de Saint-Aignan had shown the previous year.
“In any case,” Athénaïs concluded her own train of thought. “I hope now he and I can be friends.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Speaking of friends,” she added, her eyes bright again. “I heard the most ridiculous rumor at the Louvre yesterday. I’m glad you’re sitting down, because I nearly fell off my own chair when I heard it, I laughed so much.”
I gave her an incredulous look, wonder at what nonsense was currently going around court pulling up my brows.
“They’re saying that Armand is in love with you.” She let out a laugh and shook her head. “Of all the absurd tales to spread! As if anyone is going to believe this foolishness for a moment!”
Cold that had nothing to do with the weather spread through my limbs. Was this why Philippe had broached the subject at Versailles? Because he’d known the story was going around court? My anger at the Duchesse de Valentinois rose in my chest anew, promptly replaced by disquiet.
Rumor was the poison of the French court. People loved nothing more than a scandalous piece of gossip to whisper behind fans at the gaming tables or over a glass of wine at dinner. The more shocking the tale, and the higher ranking its object, the better. Sometimes the rumor died out on its own, but other times … reputations could be tarnished in a few days, marriages ruined in a few weeks. I couldn’t afford my hard-earned safety and place at court to be jeopardized by a malicious word from a spiteful courtier.
My alarm must have shown in my features, for Athénaïs’s laugh died on her lips.
“Oh, Henriette, don’t let it upset you! It’s so outlandish no one believes it for an instant! I just told you because I thought it would entertain you.”
I threw her a doubtful look, and she squeezed my hand.
“I promise you everyone I’ve heard mentioning it was doing so to dismiss it and to share a good laugh with a friend. No one takes it seriously.”
But someone had taken it seriously, to the point that he’d felt compelled to ask me about it. And for that reason alone, I needed this rumor to end now.
“But this isn’t funny,” I said. “And this has to stop. I don’t want Philippe to have to deal with this.”
“All right.” Athénaïs’s expression turned serious. “Then if I hear it again, I’ll tell people off for spreading lies. You have nothing to worry about.”
The hint of fierceness that underlined her words was a stark reminder that she had never been one to be underestimated at court. I had once been among those who dreaded her venomous tongue, and I was glad she was now on my side.
“It’s already old news anyway,” she added in an obvious effort to reassure me even further. “You know how courtiers are: give them a new shiny plaything to focus on and they’ll forget the old one.”
“So what’s the new shiny one?” I asked, warmth returning to my body as my worry deflated. The French court was fickle, and if a more exciting piece of gossip landed at their feet, they would flock to it like scavenger birds.
“A newcomer, of course,” Athénaïs replied. “They already call him the Angel, he’s that handsome.”
“A man, then?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow, my tone turning sarcastic. “More interesting than me?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “He’s the younger son of the Comte d’Armagnac. Nineteen years old. Very clever and charming. Not the best catch pedigree-wise, but no one seems to care, and everyone’s already under his spell.”
How interesting. How long would it be before Louis took umbrage at this attractive charismatic nobleman? I wondered.
“I’ll have to meet him, then,” I said.
“You shall,” Athénaïs agreed. “He’s at every party. As soon as you rejoin us, I bet it won’t be half a day before you two run into each other. The Gazette will headline: ‘Madame and the Chevalier de Lorraine: The two most exciting people at court meet at last.’”
I acknowledged the compliment with a smile, even if her comment brought the topic of my health back to the forefront of my mind. Despite my eagerness to be active and part of the court’s daily life again, my body still protested too much for me to do more than sit in a garden for an hour every day.
“Speaking of which,” I said, “I think I’d better go back inside now.”
Clouds had gathered above us while we chatted, and getting caught in a shower was the last thing I needed. At once Athénaïs stood up and her fussing resumed as she helped me out of the blankets and up from the chair. I called for Mimi, who bounded ahead of us with her tail wagging, and disappeared into the building.
Arms linked, Athénaïs and I made our way back inside, our feet crunching on the gravel path. The afternoon lull meant the corridors of the small palace were quiet, but as we reached the ornate entrance hall, a flurry of sudden activity greeted us: servants running down the grand staircase and erupting out of hidden passageways, all converging to the main door and babbling excitedly.
I stopped the first maid that ran past me. “What’s happening?”
“Your Highness.” She curtsied, breathless and flushed. “Has no one told you? The king is here.”
Indeed the double doors now stood open onto the paved courtyard, where a gilded carriage surrounded by musketeers in blue-and-red uniforms was pulling up. A gust of wind blew through the vestibule, and the first raindrops hit the ground just as Louis made his entrance into my home.
A hush fell over the stuccoed hall at once, my whole household bending into deep bows and curtsies.
“Henriette, my dear, such a pleasure to see you well again.”
Louis’s hand rested on my forearm, and he landed a light perfunctory kiss on my cheek, which allowed me to rise from my own curtsy.
“Your Majesty.” My mind spun with questions about the purpose of this unannounced visit, but I plastered the most gracious smile on my face to hide my surprise. “Welcome. Please, do come into the salon and leave behind this dreadful weather.”
Footmen had already closed the main door to keep out the gr
owing storm, though the wind rattled against the windows. I gestured toward the receiving rooms on the ground floor, confident the kitchens were already preparing an appropriate collation that would soon materialize before the French sovereign. But instead of following my lead, Louis’s attention strayed to Athénaïs, still frozen in her curtsy. Now that he’d acknowledged her presence, I had to make the proper introductions.
“Your Majesty, I’m certain you remember the Marquise de Montespan, who’s recently returned to court.”
His intense gaze fixed on Athénaïs, Louis bowed. “And the French court is a brighter place for it.”
The silence of the gathered servants in the hall was so thick that the rustling of Athénaïs’s ruby-red skirts appeared to echo under the painted ceiling when she deepened her curtsy. A collective breath was held, as everyone waited for her to reply to the king’s compliment. Other ladies might have blushed, stuttered, or played coy, but Athénaïs raised her bold dark eyes to meet Louis’s stare.
“Brightening up a room is always my intention when I enter it, Your Majesty.”
The hint of a smile played on Louis’s lips, lightening his usually inscrutable expression. “Then I look forward to our next encounter.”
Such talk would have elicited gasps at court, but here in my home, only the servants’ stunned silence greeted the flirtatious exchange, as I stood to the side like an awkward supporting actor in a play without a script.
Before Louise, and despite his marriage to Marie-Thérèse, Louis had been a well-known womanizer. Handsome and powerful, his charms were often irresistible to beautiful women. Even I had briefly mistaken his interest in me for something more meaningful, and although the sting of that error had long faded, it made me aware of how easily my friends could fall prey to it too. Louise was still besotted with the king, and I refused to see her heartbroken. Athénaïs herself was still recovering from her breakup with Prince Aniaba, and I didn’t wish to see her hurt any further. As previously proven, the French court could be such a nest of intriguing vipers that I would do my utmost to protect my friends from their bites.
