Under a Starlit Sky

by EM Castellan

  We reached the end of the ballroom, and he let go of me so we could turn in time with the music. The short respite allowed me to relax my stance. I wouldn’t let him see how much his words rattled me. He grasped my fingers again.

  “Another thing I didn’t realize was how much Philippe loves you,” he added.

  Hearing my husband’s name on his lips was like a slap in the face, but I kept a placid expression. I would hear what he had to say and find out as much as I could from this flow of words.

  “He hides it very well,” he said. “And it was my fault for assuming he didn’t care about you. But you know what gave him away?”

  Again, the question didn’t require an answer, and I simply shook my head with polite inquisitiveness, despite my actual curiosity. Much like with his brother, Philippe had strived to protect me, it appeared. What had exposed his intentions?

  “His insistence at keeping us apart.” Lorraine released me for a twirl, then grabbed me once more. “Did you notice? I arrived at court some months ago, and it’s the first time you and I have the opportunity for a chat. It puzzled me, how out of reach you seemed.”

  The dance ended, but the orchestra launched into another number without pause, and Lorraine guided me through the ballroom again. I didn’t mind. I wanted to hear everything he had to say, now.

  “You were unwell,” he carried on. “You were busy. You were away. At first I didn’t mind. It meant I’d won, didn’t it? I was the king’s Source. I had Philippe. I forgot about you. But then, you stole my journal, and I understood I hadn’t won. Contrary to what the king said, you still have magic. And Philippe still adores you.” He sneered at the word as if it were an insult to his person. “That’s when it all became clear: Philippe kept us apart because he feared the reckoning that would come about if we ever met.”

  His expression darkened, and his hold on me stiffened. For the first time, I was glad we stood in a brightly lit ballroom with the entire French court around us. The dance sent me twirling away from Lorraine, then back to his arms that enclosed me in a rigid embrace. My heartbeat ricocheted against my ribs, and although he was taller than me, I channeled all my mother’s haughtiness to stare him down.

  “Are you threatening me, Chevalier?”

  His suave grin was back, but his eyes were cold. “Would I dare?”

  He spun me away from him again, and to any outside observer, our moves were as smooth as if we were having a lovely time dancing together, which rendered our conversation even more surreal.

  “Let me tell you a story instead,” he said as we glided along the ballroom. “Have you ever had the pleasure of meeting the Duc de Gramont? Charming man.”

  I knew Armand’s father only in passing, but nothing about the man could be described as charming. Lorraine’s words awoke an awful sense of foreboding in my chest.

  “The duke and I share similar views on many topics,” he went on. “And the last time we were chatting, the matter of his son came up. You see, the duke is in despair when it comes to his wayward offspring.”

  Despite myself, I felt all color drain from my face. What had he done to Armand? What had he done?

  “The problem, I told him,” Lorraine explained, “is that Armand is an idle man. He needs a purpose in life. So I wondered if the king could be persuaded to give the young man some military command in his army. There always is a war going on, after all. Next thing you know, the duke is speaking with the king, and it so happens that for some unfathomable reason, His Majesty has had it up to here with Armand as well! So it’s done: Armand will be off to the front by the end of the week, and isn’t this a happy ending for everyone?”

  A buzzing in my ear overtook the ballroom’s music and chatter. I halted my steps in the middle of the dance floor and ripped my hands out of Lorraine’s grasp. He’d gone after Armand.

  Triumph twinkled in his gaze, and it was all I could do to stop myself from scratching his eyes out right there and then. My breathing came out ragged and my hands shook with fury.

  “Philippe won’t allow it,” I said.

  Lorraine gave a theatrical helpless shrug. “I don’t believe Philippe cares anymore.”

  “You’ve made a mistake,” I growled.

  I didn’t sound like myself, but this man seemed to bring out the worst in me. A cough tore through me then, giving me an excuse to get away from him without causing a scene. I buried my mouth in my handkerchief and slid between the courtiers to slip through the gauzy drapes of the ballroom’s walls. I stopped by the pools, which reflected the starry night sky and the moon crescent in a peaceful manner that was at complete odds with my inner turmoil.

  I had been such a fool. Lorraine could not only threaten me but he could also act on his threats. Now Louis would never listen to me if I asked him to rescind the honor he had bestowed Armand. And Philippe was so angry with his former lover that he would be glad to know him gone for a while, never mind that Armand could die in the meantime.

  The thought sparked another fit of anxiety and my coughing redoubled. Lorraine had played his hand to perfection, and with an ease that would have awed me if it hadn’t been terrifying. From then on, I would be scared of what he might do to my other friends, and I had lost my main ally in my fight against him.

  The next royal entertainment was a month away, where he no doubt planned to establish even further his influence over the French court. He would be even harder to challenge after that, which meant I had only a few weeks to show his real face to the king and my husband.

  “Henriette!” Philippe jogged to my side, his feet crunching in the gravel. He extended his hands toward me, but my cough subsided and he pulled back, hesitant. “I saw you dancing with Lorraine. Did he upset you?”

  A dozen replies came to me, from reassuring to irritated. In the end, I settled for the truth.

  “Yes,” I said. “But it was for the last time.”

  And I marched back into the ballroom, ready to formulate a plan.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Light rain pattered against my windows, lending a melancholy gray light to my bedchamber that matched the state of my thoughts.

  Following the ball three days ago, I sat at my desk with my quill poised above paper and the intention to write a letter to my mother describing my return to Versailles. Instead, I stared at the raindrops trickling down the glass panes and pondered how to reveal Lorraine’s dark secrets to Louis and Philippe.

  If I now knew he likely had nothing to do with my ill health, it was still my duty to expose his plot to steal spells and sell them for profit. How to do this, however, without written proof, or getting Prince Aniaba involved? Ink dripped onto my blank page, and no epiphany came.

  A soft knock yanked me from my reflection. The maid at the door curtsied.

  “Your Highness, the Comtesse de Soissons is here to see you.”

  My heart lifted at the interruption. Olympe might momentarily be on bad terms with Louis, but she could be relied upon to come up with inventive ways to tackle problems. I moved to meet her in my salon, where she stood taking off her wet cloak with a manservant next to her. I paused on my way to greet her. The man in a valet’s uniform was Armand.

  My maid slipped out of the room with Olympe’s coat, and I let my mouth gape.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t blame me.” Olympe pointed at Armand. “He’s the one who convinced me to go along with this scheme. Now I’m going to wait in your antechamber until you two are done.”

  And before I could protest, she sashayed out of the salon and let the door click shut behind her. I turned to Armand, who gifted me his rakish grin.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I said, still debating between bewilderment at his eccentric apparition and worry that he would be recognized.

  His face fell at my greeting. “But I had to see you! And I thought you’d be pleased. You didn’t really expect me to leave the country without saying goodbye?” Taking my hands, he led me to the chairs before the fire a
nd sat down opposite me.

  His hopeful gaze melted the anxiety in my chest. “Of course I’m pleased to see you, but we made a promise to Philippe, and I don’t want rumors to start again.”

  “Hence my clever disguise!” Armand replied, his self-confidence returning. “And Olympe was happy to help, or rather, she didn’t have a choice given how much she owes me for the whole Spanish-letter fiasco.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, “you two couldn’t help yourselves, could you? Left to your own devices for two weeks and you had to go and do something ridiculous.”

  “I was bored.” Armand pressed his lips in a pout. “You don’t understand, darling, it’s been dreadful without you and Philippe.”

  There was a hint of sincere dejection in his expression that sparked compassion in my heart.

  “And look where it’s led you,” I said in a kind tone. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  Sparks of excitement shone again in his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry! I plan on being a war hero and coming back with a small wound that’ll increase my charisma. A scar on my face would do nicely, I think.”

  “Oh, stop it.” I bit the inside of my cheeks to prevent a smile.

  “I promise I’ll write often,” he went on. “And while I’m single-handedly saving the French kingdom from foreign enemies, you’ll have to carry on the fight against our foe here and keep me apprised of the situation. I’m leaving you in charge, Henriette. Don’t let me down.”

  I sighed. “I’m not certain how to do that. Whatever I try, he seems to be able to counteract.”

  “You’ll find an idea.” He patted my hand. “And Athénaïs will help if you need her. She’ll have plenty of time to do so, won’t she?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you hear? Her husband is coming with me.” He leaned in to stage-whisper. “Apparently he has a hoard of gambling debts and he needs money.” He resumed his seat and his normal voice. “Not that I’m one to judge, but the man seemed quite keen on a speedy solution to his problems, and the army offers just that, doesn’t it?”

  That was an unexpected development. What did Athénaïs think of it? I wondered.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked, more concerned with Armand’s fate than the Marquise de Montespan’s.

  “Poland,” he replied. “Apparently it takes ages to travel there. Who knows, the war might even be over before I arrive.”

  His offhand tone did nothing to assuage my fears. Behind all his bravado, he was going to war. There was a chance he might not come back. Tears filled my eyes despite my resolution to remain cheerful for his sake.

  “Oh, darling, don’t get upset.” He knelt in front of me and offered me his lace handkerchief. “You know how the army works. The people in charge don’t even see the frontline. I’ll be in my tent all day, studying maps and complaining about the weather. I’ll only be heroic if it’s safe.”

  His mischievous smile was back, reassuring in its familiarity.

  “I’ll miss you,” I confessed, my eyes dry again.

  He pocketed his handkerchief with a flourish. “Of course you will! But I was exiled from court once before, and you managed perfectly well without me.”

  “On the topic of managing well without you,” I replied, “did you remember to tell your future wife you’re leaving?”

  Armand grimaced. “Oh, I’m afraid the countess gave up on me a while ago. I heard she married a marquess and is quite happy. But no doubt my father will use my military exploits to convince some other poor soul I’m the perfect match. Too bad I—”

  The door slammed open.

  “Philippe is here!” Olympe hissed. “He’s coming up the stairs right now.”

  My heart took a dive in my chest, and I stood up.

  “But he’s supposed to be in Paris all day,” Armand said, as if refusing to face reality would change its course.

  Like panicked chickens aware of the fox’s arrival in the henhouse, the three of us shuffled our feet and glanced around, desperate for a solution. Panicked thoughts chased one after the other in my mind, with one thing for certain: finding Armand in my apartments would cause Philippe anger and pain, which I wanted to avoid at all cost.

  “We have to leave,” Olympe whispered, her tone urgent. “Can we get out through the service rooms?”

  Footsteps echoed in the antechamber. It was too late. They’d never slip out without being heard or seen. Blood pulsed against my temples, and I forced a breath down my throat. If I let myself get flustered we were lost.

  The door handle moved. I pointed a chair to Olympe.

  “Sit down.”

  I grabbed the nearest flower vase, and threw its water on the fire, which sizzled and smoked, half-extinguished.

  “Tend the fire,” I said to Armand.

  Bafflement all over his features, he dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace, and I resumed my seat. The door opened.

  “It’s a downpour out there,” Philippe said, taking off his hat. “I made it halfway to Paris before I told the driver to turn the carriage around.” He caught sight of Olympe and paused. “Oh, I thought Henriette was alone.”

  My heart slammed against my ribs, deafening to my ears. At my feet, Armand kept his head down and poked the dying embers. Olympe stood up with a tight smile, the large folds of her dress hiding him from Philippe’s view.

  “I was just leaving.”

  She gave a quick curtsy and bid us goodbye. As she walked out of the room, I maneuvered so I kept Armand out of sight. Whatever he was doing to the hearth, the fire had completely gone out, now. His uniform was a good disguise, but his clumsiness was going to bring an end to this charade if I didn’t divert Philippe’s attention.

  “I thought you didn’t like her,” my husband said, his mind still on Olympe.

  I gave an awkward shrug, and tried to sound relaxed. “I have to be polite to her. She’s head of your mother’s household.”

  Lying wasn’t my strong suit, and guilt at deceiving Philippe of all people didn’t help. But other preoccupations distracted him, for he gave me only a passing glance on his way to my bedroom.

  “It’s cold in here,” he said. “You should stay in your bedchamber in this weather. It’s warmer.”

  He disappeared next door, clearly expecting me to follow him. Armand sprang to his feet.

  Go, I mouthed.

  He blew me a kiss and tiptoed out. The door clicked shut behind him, and for an instant my heart split between relief at a crisis averted and grief at his departure.

  “I found your shawl,” Philippe called out from my bedroom.

  I joined him as he pulled out one of my stoles from a trunk at the foot of the canopy bed. With the fire crackling and lit sconces on the walls, warmth did chase away some of the gloom of the day in this part of my apartments. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and sank in an armchair in front of the fireplace, the strain of the last few minutes catching up with me.

  “I stopped by Mother’s chambers on my way up,” Philippe said.

  He took off his high-heeled shoes and coat before sitting in the chair opposite mine with his legs stretched out before the hearth.

  “How is she?” I asked.

  Renewed guilt shot through me. I had been back at Versailles long enough to pay a visit to the Queen Mother yet had failed to do so. I ought to remedy this as soon as possible. She and Louis were the first people who should be informed of my pregnancy.

  “Not well at all.” Philippe shrugged with a dismissive smile.

  I wanted to shake him for trying to hide his feelings from me and to embrace him for comfort at the same time. Taming my temper, I took hold of his hand and kissed his long fingers.

  “Did you two speak?”

  He snorted. “Yes. And guess what she wanted to talk about?”

  Disappointment gripped my heart on his behalf. “Your brother.”

  “They had an argument,” he said, his eyes on the fire and his
voice low. “She’s heard about Louise, and she wanted him to end the whole affair. He refused, of course. I think it was a proper row. He shouted at her, and she threatened to leave for a convent, but he forbade it. She was still upset.” He let out a sigh. “He’s really stopped listening to everyone, now.”

  He was right. The Queen Mother was the last person to still have some influence over Louis. If he refused to heed even her advice, there was no one else left to oppose him.

  “I told her about the baby.” He glanced at me. “I know it wasn’t right to do it in your absence, but I just wanted to distract her and—”

  I extended my hand toward him. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.” Anne d’Autriche knew about the pregnancy, which was what mattered.

  Yet Philippe met my reply with a grim face that made me pause.

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s happy for you,” he said, which left so many things unsaid that suspicion gripped me and I frowned.

  “She’s happy for me? Philippe, what did she say?”

  He stared at the fire. “She said she was disappointed I was once again trying to draw attention to myself when the focus should be on my brother’s situation. I suppose it was my fault for expecting a different reply from her.”

  The dejection in his tone tightened my throat. Never mind who she was—I wanted to shout at the Queen Mother’s that no matter how much she wanted to protect Louis, doing so by belittling Philippe was wrong and someone should have told her so long ago.

  I moved to sit in his lap, and he let me, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning his chin against my shoulder. It was the most intimate we’d been in weeks, and I wished it wasn’t because he was miserable.

  “Nothing about this is your fault,” I said. “You know that. You’ve given your mother every reason to be proud of you, and the fact that she isn’t is her loss.”

  But his expression remained disconsolate. “I’m going to be a terrible parent, aren’t I?”

  “You’re not.” My voice rose with my temper. His mother had let her fears overrule her heart, and I refused to let him do the same. “Our child will love you, just like I do.”