Lou frowned. “Just kissing? That’s no fun at all. Hardly something to be embarrassed about.”
But it had been something to be embarrassed about. The look on the Archbishop’s face—I forced the memory away quickly. “What’s yours, then? Did you strip naked and dance the bourrée?”
She snorted. “You wish. No—I sang at a festival when I was a child. Missed every note. Everyone laughed. I’m a shit singer.”
Our neighbors tsked in disapproval. I grimaced. “Yes, I know.”
“Right. Biggest pet peeve?”
“Swearing.”
“Killjoys.” She grinned. “Favorite food?”
“Venison.”
She pointed to her empty plate. “Sticky buns. Best friend?”
“Jean Luc. You?”
“Really?” Her grin faded, and she stared at me with what looked like—like pity. But that couldn’t be right. “That’s . . . unfortunate. Mine is Brie.”
Ignoring the jab—the look—I interrupted before she could ask another question. “Fatal flaw?”
She hesitated, dropping her gaze to the tabletop. Tracing a knot in the wood with her finger. “Selfishness.”
“Wrath. Greatest fear?”
This time she didn’t hesitate. “Death.”
I frowned and reached across the table to grasp her hand. “There’s nothing to fear in death, Lou.”
She looked up at me, blue-green eyes inscrutable. “There isn’t?”
“No. Not if you know where you’re going.”
She gave a grim laugh and dropped my hand. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Lou—”
She stood and thrust a finger against my mouth to silence me. I blinked rapidly, trying not to fixate on the sweetness of her skin.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” She dropped her finger. “Let’s go see the Yule tree. I saw them putting it up earlier.”
“The Christmas tree,” I corrected automatically.
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “We really ought to get you a coat first, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to steal one? It would be easy. I’ll even let you pick the color.”
“I’m not going to let you steal anything. I’ll buy a coat.” I accepted the bit of cloak she offered me, pulling it around us once more. “And I can buy you a new cloak as well.”
“Bas bought this for me!”
“Exactly.” I steered her down the street toward the clothier’s shop. “All the more reason to throw it in the trash where it belongs.”
An hour later, we emerged from the shop in our new garments. A navy wool coat with silver fastenings for me. A white cloak of crushed velvet for Lou. She’d protested when she saw the price, but I’d insisted. The white looked striking against her golden skin, and she’d left her hood down for once. Her dark hair blew loose in the breeze. Beautiful.
I hadn’t mentioned that last bit, though.
A dove cooed above us as we made our way to the village center, and snowflakes fell thick and fast. They caught in Lou’s hair, in her eyelashes. She winked at me, catching one on her tongue. Then another. And another. Soon she twirled in a circle trying to catch them all at once. People stared, but she didn’t care. I watched her with reluctant amusement.
“C’mon, Chass! Taste them! They’re divine!”
I shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips. The more people who muttered around us, the louder her voice became. The wilder her movements. The broader her smile. She reveled in their disapproval.
I shook my head, grin fading. “I can’t.”
She spun toward me and grabbed my hands. Her fingers were freezing—like ten tiny icicles. “It won’t kill you to live a little, you know.”
“I’m a Chasseur, Lou.” I spun her away from me once more with a pang of regret. “We don’t . . . frolic.”
Even if we wanted to.
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Of course not.”
“Maybe you should.”
“It’s getting late. Do you want to see the Christmas tree or not?”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun, Chass. A frolic in the snow might be just what you and the rest of those Chasseurs need. It’s a good way to get the stick out of your ass, I’m told.”
I glanced around nervously. Two passing shoppers skewered me with disapproving glares. I caught Lou’s hand as she spun back toward me. “Please behave.”
“Fine.” She reached up to brush the snowflakes from my hair, smoothing the furrow between my brows as she went. “I will refrain from using the word ass. Happy?”
“Lou!”
She cackled and grinned up at me. “You, sir, are too easy. Let’s go see this Yule tree.”
“Christmas tree.”
“Nuance. Shall we?” Though we no longer shared a cloak, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Pulling her closer with an exasperated shake of my head, I couldn’t stop the small smile that touched my lips.
Mademoiselle Perrot greeted us in the church foyer that evening, her face pinched. Troubled. She ignored me—as per usual—and walked straight to Lou.
“What is it?” Lou frowned and took her gloved hands. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Bernie,” Mademoiselle Perrot said quietly. Lou’s brows dipped as she scanned Mademoiselle Perrot’s face.
I clasped Lou’s shoulder. “Who’s Bernie?”
Mademoiselle Perrot didn’t even glance at me. But Lou did. “Monsieur Bernard.” Ah. The suicidal patient. She turned her attention back to Mademoiselle Perrot. “Is he—is he dead?”
Mademoiselle Perrot’s eyes gleamed too bright in the candlelight of the foyer. Too wet. Lined with unshed tears. I braced myself for the inevitable. “We don’t know. He’s gone.”
This caught my attention. I stepped forward. “What do you mean gone?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, finally deigning to look at me. “Gone as in gone, Captain Diggory. Bed empty. Chains torn free. No sign of a body.”
“No sign of a body?” Lou’s eyes widened. “So—so that means he didn’t die by suicide!”
Mademoiselle Perrot shook her head. Grim. “It doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve dragged himself off somewhere and done it. Until we find the body, we don’t know.”
I had to agree with her. “Have my brethren been alerted?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes. They’re searching the church and Tower now. A unit has been deployed to scour the city as well.”
Good. The last thing we needed was someone stumbling upon a corpse riddled with magic. The people would panic. I nodded and squeezed Lou’s shoulder. “They’ll find him, Lou. One way or the other. You needn’t worry.”
Her face remained rigid. “But what if he’s dead?”
I spun her around to face me—much to Mademoiselle Perrot’s irritation. “Then he’s no longer in pain.” I leaned down to her ear, away from Mademoiselle Perrot’s keen eyes. Her hair tickled my lips. “He knew where he was going, Lou. He had nothing to fear.”
She leaned back to look at me. “I thought suicide was a mortal sin.”
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Only God can judge us. Only God can read the depths of our soul. And I think he understands the power of circumstance—of fear.” I dropped my hand and cleared my throat. Forced the words out before I could change my mind. “I think there are few absolutes in this world. Just because the Church believes Monsieur Bernard will suffer eternally for his mental illness . . . doesn’t mean he will.”
Something swelled in Lou’s eyes at my words. I didn’t recognize it at first. Didn’t recognize it until several hours later, as I drifted to sleep on my bedroom floor.
Hope. It had been hope.
The Guest of Honor
Lou
King Auguste scheduled a ball on the eve of Saint Nicolas Day to commence a weekend of celebration. And to honor Reid. Apparently, the king felt indebted to Reid for saving his family’s
skin when the witches had attacked. Though I hadn’t stuck around to watch the chaos unfold, I had no doubt my husband had acted . . . heroic.
Still, it felt odd celebrating Reid’s victory when his failure would’ve solved my predicament. If the king and his children were already dead, there would be no reason for me to die too. Indeed, my throat would’ve very much appreciated his failure.
Reid shook his head in exasperation as Coco burst into the room without knocking, a filmy white gown draped across her arm. Slinging his best Chasseur coat over his shoulder and sighing, he bent to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear in farewell.
“I need to meet the Archbishop.” He paused at the door, the corner of his mouth quirking in a lopsided smile. Excitement danced in his sea-blue eyes. Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help myself; I smiled back. “I’ll return shortly.”
Coco lifted the gown for my appraisal after he left. “You’re going to look divine in this.”
“I look divine in everything.”
She grinned and winked at me. “That’s the spirit.” Tossing the gown on the bed, she forced me into the desk chair, raking her fingers through my hair. I shivered at the memory of Reid’s fingers. “The priests agreed to let me attend the ball since I’m such a close personal friend of you and your husband.” She pulled a brush from her robes with a determined glint in her eyes. “Now, it’s time to brush your hair.”
I scowled at her and leaned away. “I don’t think so.”
I never brushed my hair. It was one of the few rules I lived by, and I certainly didn’t see a need to start breaking it now. Besides, Reid liked my hair. Since I’d asked him to braid it, he seemed to think he could continue touching it at every opportunity.
I didn’t correct him because . . . well, I just didn’t.
“Oh, but I do.” She pushed me back down in my seat, attacking my hair as if it’d personally offended her. When I tried to wriggle away, she whacked me on top of the head with her brush. “Be still! These rats have to come out!”
Nearly two hours later, I stared at myself in the mirror. The front of the gown—crafted of thin white silk—skimmed my torso before billowing artfully at the knees, soft and simple. Delicate petals and silver crystals dusted the sheer fabric of the back, and Coco had pinned my hair at my nape to showcase the elaborate appliqué. She’d also insisted I heal the remainder of my bruises. Another velvet ribbon covered my scar.
Overall, I looked . . . good.
She stood behind me now, preening at her own reflection over my shoulder. A fitted black gown accentuated her every curve—the high neckline and tight sleeves adding to her allure—and she’d pinned her wayward curls into an elegant chignon at her crown. I eyed her with a familiar pang of jealousy. I didn’t fill out my own dress quite so well.
She smoothed the rouge on her lips with a finger and smacked her lips. “We look straight out of the Bellerose. Babette would be proud.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?” I reached into my gown to lift each breast, squeezing my shoulders together and frowning at the results. “Those courtesans are so beautiful people pay to be with them.”
Ansel entered the bedroom a moment later. He’d trimmed his mop of curls and smoothed them away from his face, emphasizing his high cheekbones and flawless skin. The new style made him look . . . older. I eyed the long lines of his body—the sharp cut of his jaw, the full curve of his mouth—with newfound appreciation.
His eyes boggled at the sight of Coco. I didn’t blame him. Her gown was a far cry from the oversized healing robes she normally wore. “Mademoiselle Perrot! You look—er, you look very—very good.” Her brows rose in wry amusement. “I mean—er—” He shook his head quickly and tried again. “Reid—er, Captain Diggory—he wanted me to tell you—I mean, not you, but Lou—that, ah—”
“Good lord, Ansel.” I grinned as he tore his gaze from her. He blinked rapidly, dazed, as if someone had clubbed him in the head. “I feel a little insulted.”
But he clearly wasn’t listening. His eyes had already gravitated back to Coco, who stalked toward him with a catlike grin. She tilted her head as if surveying a particularly juicy mouse. He swallowed hard.
“You look very good as well.” She circled him appreciatively, trailing a finger across his chest. He went rigid. “I had no idea you were so handsome under all that hair.”
“Was there something you needed, Ansel?” I gestured to the room at large, sweeping an arm past Coco’s impressive bosom. “Or are you just here to admire the general decor?”
He cleared his throat, eyes gleaming determinedly as he opened his mouth once more. “Captain Diggory requested I escort you to the castle. The Archbishop insisted he go on with him. I can also escort you, Mademoiselle Perrot.”
“I think I’d like that.” Coco slid an arm around his, and I burst out laughing at the alarmed look on his face. Every single muscle in his body tensed—even his eyelids. It was extraordinary. “And please—call me Brie.”
He took great care to touch as little of Coco as possible as we walked down the stairwell, but Coco went out of her way to make the endeavor difficult. The Chasseurs who had been forced to stay behind stared unabashedly as we passed. Coco winked at them.
“Might as well give them a show,” I whispered.
Coco grinned wickedly and pinched Ansel’s backside in response. He yelped and leapt forward, whirling mutinously as the guards snickered behind us. “That wasn’t funny.”
I disagreed.
Ancient and unadorned, the castle of Cesarine was a fortress befitting its city. It boasted no intricate buttresses or spires, no windows or arches. It loomed over us as we joined the throng of carriages already in the receiving line, the setting sun tinging the stone with bloody red light. The evergreens in the courtyard—tall and narrow, like two spears piercing the sky—only added to the grim picture.
We waited for what seemed like hours before a footman in Lyon livery approached our carriage. Ansel stepped out to greet him, whispering something in his ear, and the man’s eyes widened. He hastily took my hand. “Madame Diggory! Captain Diggory has been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”
“As he should be.” Coco didn’t wait for the footman to help her down. Ansel scrambled to catch her elbow, but she brushed him off too. “I’m anxious to see if this Chasseur of yours is as doting in public as he is in private.”
The footman looked startled but said nothing. Ansel groaned under his breath.
“Please, mesdames, make your way to the antechamber,” the footman said. “The herald will ensure you are properly announced.”
I lurched to a halt. “Properly announced? But I have no title.”
“Yes, madame, but your husband is the guest of honor. The king insists on treating him as royalty tonight.”
“Potentially problematic,” Coco murmured as Ansel tugged the two of us forward.
Definitely problematic. And not the fun kind.
I had no intention of being announced to a room full of strangers. There was no telling who could be in there watching. I’d learned my lesson with Estelle. There was no need for a repeat performance.
I took in my surroundings, seeking a discreet entrance. At a ball held in my husband’s honor, however, I had no idea how I might remain discreet—especially in such a ridiculously sheer dress. I cursed inwardly as every eye turned toward us as we passed. Coco’s sinful figure didn’t help matters.
Richly dressed aristocrats milled about the antechamber, which was as dark and dismal as the exterior. Like a prison. A prison with candles flickering in gold candelabras and wreaths of evergreen and holly draped across the doorways. I think I even spotted mistletoe.
Ansel craned his neck to find the herald. “There he is.” He pointed to a short, squat man with a wig and scroll who stood beside a large archway. Music and laughter poured from the room beyond. Another servant appeared to take our cloaks. Though I held on to mine for a second too long, the servant succeeded in tugging it from m
y hands. Feeling naked, I watched it disappear with a sense of helplessness.
When Ansel pulled me toward the herald, however, I dug in my heels. “I’m not being announced.”
“But the footman said—”
I jerked out of his grasp. “I don’t care what the footman said!”
“Lou, the king insisted—”
“Darlings.” Coco smiled wide, looping her arms through ours. “Let’s not make a scene, hmm?”
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to smile and nod at the eavesdropping aristocrats. “I’ll be entering from over there,” I informed Ansel through clenched teeth, gesturing across the antechamber to where servants were coming and going from a smaller, secondary set of doors.
“Lou,” he began, but I was already halfway to the doors. Coco hurried to follow, leaving Ansel behind.
The ballroom was much larger and grander than the antechamber. Iron chandeliers hung from the beamed ceiling, and the wooden floor gleamed in the candlelight. Musicians played a festive tune in the corner next to an enormous evergreen. Some guests already danced, though most preferred to stroll around the perimeter of the room, drinking champagne and wheedling the royal family. Judging from the loud, slurred voices of the aristocrats nearest me, they’d been hitting the bubbly for hours.
“Yes, Ye Olde Sisters, that’s what I heard—”
“They’ve traveled all the way from Amandine to perform! My cousin says they’re quite brilliant.”
“Sunday, you said?”
“After Mass. Such a fitting way to end the weekend. The Archbishop deserves the honor—”
Scoffing, I marched past them into the room. Any person who chose to string together the words the Archbishop deserves the honor wasn’t worth my attention. I scanned the sea of blue coats and sparkling gowns for Reid, spotting his coppery hair at the far end of the ballroom. A group of admirers surrounded him, though the young woman clinging to his arm drew my particular attention. My heart plummeted.
Anxiously awaiting, my ass.
Even from a distance, I could tell the woman was beautiful: delicate and feminine; her porcelain skin and raven hair shone in the candlelight. She shook with genuine laughter at something Reid had just said. Uneasiness flitted through me.
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