by EM Castellan
This was going against my very nature and denying how much I loved him and wanted to protect and cherish him. It dug a hole into my heart to deny him the reassurances he craved with such obvious fear. But in this moment, I needed a friend. I needed a partner. I needed strength and love and support. There had to be a balance in our relationship, or it would crumble for good.
While he stared at me, panting and upset, and waiting for my reply, I tugged a handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped my face. Fire singed my lungs every time I inhaled, but my cough had ceased. Then I folded my hands around my handkerchief and met Philippe’s distressed gaze.
“I’ve told you before,” I said in a calm tone that belied my inner turmoil. “I’m not going to die, and I love you. I’m not going anywhere. Whether you choose to believe it, and how you decide to act in response to these facts, is up to you. I don’t expect our marriage to be perfect. You have your flaws and fears, and I certainly have mine. But I expect us to try. Can you?”
He let out a derisive snort, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and sat down on my bed with his arms wrapped around his stomach.
“I just can’t bear to lose you,” he said, miserable. “But I can’t see any way to prevent it. I can’t…” His voice trailed off, and the tears welling in his eyes overflowed and ran down his cheeks. He wiped them in a quick, proud gesture, but he had bared all his insecurities in that moment.
I let out a sigh, unable to leave him in this state without trying to comfort him. I closed the distance between us to sit by his side and grab his hand. He let me touch him in silence, and we stayed motionless for a little while, as the noises of servants moving boxes and dragging trunks out of the room next door reached us through the thin wall. His clothes retained the smells of perfume, sunshine, and something that was just him, familiar and reassuring. The lace on his collar was askew, and I straightened it in an absentminded gesture. Silence stretched on.
It wasn’t peace, but neither was it war.
* * *
“Henriette, wake up.”
My mind still foggy with sleep, I blinked at my surroundings. Intermittent light illuminated the dark confined space of the carriage, and cold seeped into my limbs despite the heavy blanket in my lap.
“We’re almost there,” Philippe said.
My head rested against his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around my waist. I straightened on the velvet-covered seat and he let go of me, the sudden gap between us sparking a pang of regret in my chest. Touching him used to feel so natural, and now every contact held a tinge of awkwardness, like two butterflies bumping into each other and pulling back in fluttery embarrassment.
“Sorry I had to wake you,” he added. “You were so peaceful in your sleep. But we’re arriving at Versailles.”
Outside the carriage window, the black shapes of trees stood against the dark backdrop of the starlit sky. The rumble of multiple carriages mixed with the clatter of numerous horses’ hooves on the road as our convoy progressed through the forest by the guards’ torchlight. But our pace was slow, and the sound of voices we shouldn’t have been able to hear carried through the quiet night.
“What’s happening?”
I opened the window to peek out, Philippe following suit by leaning against my back and poking his head out above mine. On the road ahead, a large traffic jam blocked the passage of oncoming vehicles. A confusion of elegant carriages, horsemen, and people on foot filled the space between the trees, their lanterns and torches bobbing like fireflies in the tumult. Within minutes our carriage stopped, unable to go farther.
“What’s going on?” Philippe called out to the nearest guard.
The young musketeer urged his horse onward and disappeared in the crowd, his blue-and-red uniform swallowed out of view in an instant. I gave Philippe a gentle shove back and resumed my seat.
“Maybe the gates are closed?”
He remained at the window and shook his head. “The invitation said to arrive after nightfall. We should be expected. I don’t know who these people are.”
“They look like courtiers to me.”
A rapid beating of hooves on the road signaled the return of our guard. He reared his horse back in front of Philippe.
“There appears to be a traffic jam ahead, Your Highness,” he said. “Many courtiers hope to gain entry to the party.”
Philippe huffed an irritated sigh. “What do you mean, ‘hope to gain entry’? Either they’re invited or they’re not.”
“That’s what I meant, Your Highness,” the young man replied. “People who haven’t an invitation still came in the hope of a late admittance.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Philippe said. “What do you suggest we do?”
“I’m not sure, Your Highness. It seems many gentlemen and ladies have decided to finish the journey on foot. The king’s estate is just ahead.”
“Finish on foot?” Philippe repeated, scandalized. He sat back down at my side. “Can you believe this? Not only do I have to attend a weeklong celebration of my brother’s greatness in the middle of nowhere, but now I also have to walk there? I’ve got half a mind to give my invitation to one of those courtiers and go home.”
“I’m not surprised this happened,” I said to distract him from his irritation. “There are three thousand courtiers, and I heard only six hundred were invited. And Louis has made sure to turn this party into the event of the year.”
“So you’re saying he won’t notice if we’re not there?”
I searched for a hint of playfulness in his features, but found none: as if he were seriously considering giving up on the whole endeavor and returning to Paris. I contemplated the idea for a moment. For weeks, the prospect of attending this entertainment at Versailles had loomed over me like a great dark cloud of daunting responsibility. I resented its imposition and dreaded its experience. Yet now that its beginning was mere hours away, an unexpected thrill of anticipation ran through me.
Yes, attending the festivities meant that I would have to face the French court after weeks of retirement, with very few allies at my side and when my health was still fragile. But it was also the opportunity that I had been craving to continue my investigation. I wanted answers about the vanishing spells and about Lorraine, and what better time to do so but when every preeminent magicien and courtier in the kingdom were gathered in the same space? I could question guests, watch out for Lorraine, and reclaim my place at court all at once.
So I met Philippe’s gaze and replied, “I’m saying I want to go. Are you coming with me or not?”
It was a hint, and not a very subtle one. But if Philippe wanted to mend things between us, he had to start somewhere, and taking my wishes into account was as good a place as any.
He paused, holding my gaze for a heartbeat, and it sliced at my heart again that his answer wasn’t immediate and definite. “Yes,” he said at last. “I’m coming.”
I gave him a smile to acknowledge his effort, but it didn’t hold its usual warmth. This had been a long day, and there were only so many olive branches for me to extend his way.
We both slipped on our gloves and fastened our cloaks, and he opened the carriage door to announce our intentions to the guards. Then he alighted and placed his hands on my waist to help me out after him. Yet as soon as my boots landed in the mud, he withdrew, hesitant again.
Our young guard nudged his mount forward, which diverted my attention to his anxious expression. “Your Highness, it’s very crowded ahead. Are you sure—”
“I wager my wife is a better rider than you,” Philippe interrupted him. “Now I’d rather not have her stand in the cold all night, so if you don’t mind…?” He shot him an expectant look, and the man gave a reluctant nod to his two nearest colleagues, who dismounted and handed the reins to us.
Contradicting my afternoon predictions, the weather had turned after nightfall, with the temperature dropping and mist rising between the tree trunks nearby. A shiver ran down my spine, and my breath cam
e out in cloudy shapes in the cold air. The musketeer who lent me his horse helped me onto the saddle of a beautiful chestnut mare that let me take her reins placidly.
Soon we were on the move at a trot, our guards surrounding us with torchlights. Either on foot or on horseback, they advanced with warning calls to cut us a path through the pandemonium of vehicles, horse riders, and pedestrians ahead. Everywhere courtiers in shimmering clothes and servants in uniforms competed for space on the road, either in the process of alighting from carriages, or while attempting to cover the rest of the ground leading to the royal estate. Torches, lanterns, and even a few magical lamps dotted the darkness, their bobbing lights like a hundred beacons on a river at night. The conversations of the walkers, the shouts of the guards, the clomping of the horses’ hooves and the creaking of the carriage wheels all mixed amid the forest trees in a cacophony more reminiscent of a Parisian street than a country road.
We made good progress at first, but soon the crowd grew so thick, clearing a way through the throng became near impossible. With Philippe close behind me, I focused on guiding my horse forward, but the lack of space forced our guards to ride very near to us and it rendered my mount nervous.
When our pace reduced to near standstill, it hit me that no one in the multitude around us paid us any mind, and a strange hush had replaced the noise of the road at our back. Used to being in the public eye, either for better or for worse, being ignored was what caught my attention. Raising my gaze to see what captivated everyone, I gaped at what lay ahead.
The royal estate sat surrounded by gilded railings. Behind its open gates, Louis’s father’s old hunting lodge was gone. Last November, I had helped Louis create the first version of the château he wished to fashion out of magic. Now two symmetrical buildings encased the first castle, making it several times bigger than its original size. A vast paved courtyard preceded the royal courtyard, what had once been the lodge gate separating them.
And the entire place shone in the dark.
It gleamed in the night like a burning fire, countless windows sparkling in its bright facade and its two wings like arms held open to welcome the king’s guests. I blinked and shielded my eyes against the glare.
“It’s like looking at the bloody sun.” Philippe groaned behind me.
“Let’s just get inside,” I said.
I urged my horse forward, and our guards resumed their efforts at clearing a path among the crowd. And even though the press of people was denser this close to the château, pedestrians and horse riders alike endeavored to let us through as soon as they recognized us.
“It’s Monsieur and Madame!” several voices repeated. “It’s the royal family,” others said. “Let them through. It’s Monsieur and his wife.”
The words spread like a gentle wave inching its way toward the shore, and more people greeted us as we passed. I gave polite smiles to anyone who bowed or curtsied, and thanked the stars I had chosen to wear an elegant velvet gown for the journey. If news of this small incident ever reached my mother’s ears at her convent, she would be pleased to hear I had followed her advice to dress the part of the princess in all circumstances.
We reached the open gateway, where a few musketeers ensured order by the château’s entrance. Yet as one of our guards announced our arrival, an odd shimmering between the gates caught my gaze. I halted my horse.
“Wait!”
Philippe let out an annoyed sigh. “What is it now?”
He maneuvered his horse to my side and I pointed at the opening. “A magic shield, here. The estate is protected against intruders.”
Last spring, I had seen Fouquet put up such near-invisible wards around Fontainebleau, and I recognized now the same spell at work.
Philippe squinted in the distance. “If you say so. I can’t see anything with this glaring monstrosity in the background.”
“Her Highness is correct,” said a guard by the gates. With graying hair and an impressive mustache, he strode forward with the air of a man in charge. He removed his hat with a flourish and sank into a deep bow.
“So we can’t go in?” Philippe scowled.
The man straightened. “It is His Majesty’s wish that anyone with an invitation may enter the palace grounds.”
Philippe’s jaw tightened and he cast the man an aggravated glare. I shot him a warning look. A crowd of onlookers stood at our backs, and if he lost patience, anyone within earshot would hear him. He acknowledged my stare with a nod and made an effort to relax his features into a sort of polite smile. He couldn’t quite mask the sarcasm in his tone, though.
“Please be so kind as to stop speaking in riddles and tell us whether we may go in or not.”
The older musketeer opened his mouth to reply, when an idea struck me.
“The invitation is the key,” I said. “The shield spell lets through anyone with an invitation.”
The older guard bowed again. “Her Highness is as insightful as ever and correct again. His Highness may use the king’s invitation to pass through the gates and attend His Majesty’s entertainment.”
Philippe let out a muffled curse and patted his pockets. Trepidation ran through me. Louis’s obvious effort at combining the protection of his château with the exclusiveness of an exceptional party sparked excitement in my chest. Like him, I liked games and riddles and magic, all things Philippe found at best tedious and, at worst, annoying.
“Aha!” Philippe brandished a cream-papered envelope.
“Make way for Their Highnesses!” the older musketeer shouted. The warning was unnecessary, since no one stood between us and the entrance.
Philippe handed me the envelope. “You’re the one who knows about these things.”
And for the first time that day, there was warmth in his voice, and something almost like pride. He may not understand magic or enjoy his brother’s games, but it seemed he still loved the fact that I did. I gave him a conniving smile and nudged my horse forward to take the lead.
As I approached the ward spell, it glistened in the château’s dazzling light. Following my instinct, I took off my glove and laid the spelled envelope in the palm of my hand. I presented it to the shield, as if I were producing a treat in front of a difficult horse’s nose. The envelope warmed at the proximity and shivered against my skin. As a precaution, I held out my free hand to Philippe. He grabbed it without hesitation, as if he now feared I would enter the grounds alone and leave him behind. I had no hand left to guide my horse, but she seemed happy to carry on walking without my prompting.
One more step and the envelope hummed in my hand. The shield parted before us like curtains over a stage, and we walked through. A glance back allowed me to see the shield sealing behind us. Although only a few steps away, the faces in the crowd now appeared faraway and ghostly in the unnatural light of the château.
The clacking heels of an approaching footman turned my focus back to the building ahead.
“Welcome to Versailles!”
Philippe dropped my hand, and his face darkened, his sour mood returning. “Yes, we’ve been here before.”
“Please follow me,” the footman continued, undeterred. “I will guide you to your apartments in the palace.”
“Oh, it’s a palace, now, is it?” Philippe muttered to no one in particular.
I raised my head to embrace the entirety of the dazzling building with my gaze, and failed. Its main structure and symmetrical wings encircled us, and the shielded gates at our back prevented us from retracing our steps. The only way was forward, into the sunbright palais.
My excitement evaporated, an odd feeling of dread rising in its stead. Versailles had welcomed us, and would only let us go at the king’s pleasure. As if a trap had been set, and it had now sprung.
CHAPTER VIII
A day later, the palace still shone in soft golden tones in the sunset, a striking background to the opening of the king’s much anticipated festivities. The crowd of handpicked revelers gathered in the manicured gardens in
their finest attires like a colorful flock of chattering birds.
“Welcome to ‘the Pleasures of the Enchanted Island.’” Athénaïs read aloud a leaflet that servants in elaborate masks and glittering costumes distributed.
In preparation for tonight’s entertainment, box trees had been magically grown at the end of the Royal Way where we stood, surrounding Apollo’s Fountain with tall regular hedges that formed an outdoor theater. Courtiers gathered around it, as well as along the great lawn that led to the palace. A pang of sadness shot through me as I beheld the beautiful fountain. Creating it had been one of the first spells Louis and I had attempted together, and it had failed. Now he had found someone else to perform the enchantment, and the glorious result stood there for all to admire.
“What does that mean?” Olympe asked, yanking me back to the current discussion.
“It’s the party’s theme,” Athénaïs explained. “We’re on an enchanted island. It’s all based on Orlando furioso.”
Louise leaned toward us with a perplexed frown. “Sorry, based on what?”
Athénaïs let out an impatient sigh. “Orlando furioso. It’s a book. It’s all the rage in the Paris salons. Everyone has read it.”
“Obviously not everyone,” Olympe muttered under her breath.
Louise shot me a helpless look, and I stepped in to rescue her. “It’s an epic poem about brave knights and their ladies, and all the adventures they have. There’s magic and love and battles against fantastical creatures and evil characters. I’ll loan you my copy if you wish.”
“Can she read?” Olympe stage-whispered to Athénaïs, who hid her smile behind a jeweled fan.
I shot her a warning look, but Louise replied, oblivious, “Oh, you don’t have to. I’ll never read it.”
This time, Olympe snorted. I hurried to redirect the discussion before Louise could notice their rude behavior.
“So, what’s tonight about?”
We all stood facing the sunset-lit palace in the distance, with Marie-Thérèse and the Queen Mother a couple of steps away. As this party was officially thrown for their benefit, they were the only two people seated in the crowd, on two gilded chairs decked with white feathers and white roses.
