Two hours later, the King was in his Council meeting and I was strolling down the east hall of the royal castle.

The rooms had been allotted to the French guests - the Duc de Montpensier and his family, as well as over a dozen of his friends, servants, and courtesans to optimize his stay in London.

Tucked into my vest was a small piece of parchment, on which Philip had expressed his excitement to see Lady Montpensier.

It seemed quite simple in concept, but nothing the royals did was simple.

At the sound of light, feminine laughter I stopped to peer inside an open door. Two maids squeezed through the doorway, one entering and one leaving, murmuring an apology as they bumped together. The girl on her way out paused when she saw me and dipped into a curtsey.

I was taken aback. Then I remembered I was freshly washed and dressed in the Lord Chamberlain's clothes.

All that was missing was a wig on my head.

Inside the room, the Duke's daughter sat at her vanity. The sides of the mirror were angled towards her so she could see every inch of her face as the maids powdered and rouged it.

Beside her, the Marquis de Montpensier rifled through a pile of corsets on the sofa and crinkled his brow in disapproval. "Ugly... ugly... hideous..."

My eyes swept back to Henriette.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long golden ringlets and full lashes that framed her bright eyes. She had an effortless grace about her, a soft, warm beauty like the goddess Aphrodite.

The Marquis pranced over to the door. The powder and fake moles on his face did little to hide his bruised and swollen lip. I stiffened as an image of him lying limp in the hay flashed through my mind.

"Ladies only," he said snarkily, gripping the door to swing it closed. He stopped suddenly as our eyes met. "Mon Dieu. It's you."

The girl turned her head, causing her pearl earrings to sway gently. "Who is at the door, brother?"

His lips curved into a sneer. "It's the fucking horse boy."

Henriette clutched the back of her chair. "The stable master?"

"No, the-" The Marquis waved a hand in my direction. "Him."

"Oh." Her face fell.

"Sorry to disappoint, m'Lady." I took a cautious step into the room. "Might I offer you something to lift your mood?" With an inviting smile, I pulled the parchment from my vest. "A letter from His Majesty himself."

"A letter?" Her brows knitted together. "Francisca, go and fetch it, please."

One of the maids left the vanity and walked across the room to me. She had almond skin that shone with some kind of oily product and eyes like a doe. She let out a giggle as I handed over the parchment.

I smiled crookedly in return, unsure if she liked me or was mocking me for something.

The Marquis' blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why would a stable boy be delivering letters?" he murmured. "Is that not the job of a page?"

Even with his bruised face, I couldn't deny how gorgeous the boy was. He wasn't big and strong like Geoff or soft and angelic like Philip. He had sharp cheekbones, small lips in a perpetual pout, and an aquiline nose. But something about him - those eyes perhaps - drew me in.

I thought about what Philip had told me. He is a deviant, they say.

"I'm very versatile," I said casually. "Sometimes I'm a page, sometimes I'm a stable hand, sometimes I go to luncheons and try to spill wine on annoying Frenchmen." I licked my lips. "I could even, you know, be a valet if someone wanted."

His eyes darkened. "What did you say?"

"Oh, brother, leave him be." Henriette took the parchment from Viola's hand and unfolded it. The maids gathered round her eagerly. "That beastly stallion might have trampled you if not for him."

"Perhaps if he wasn't incompetent in the first place-"

"Shh," she hissed. "I'm trying to read."

"And then!" Leo shrilled. "Then he had the audacity to stuff that- that rag into my mouth-"

"To stop the bleeding," I said.

"Leopold, please," his sister snapped. "Take this mindless talk someplace else." She drew the parchment close to her face and squinted at the words. "Dearest Lady Montpensier..." The maids squealed.

I smiled at them before backing out of the room.

Leo ducked after me.

"So, servant boy." His bitter voice carried down the hall. "Do you care to explain how you are a page and a stable groom and a valet all at once?"

I turned slowly to face him. He took on a wide stance, lifting his chin brazenly. I wondered if this was an effort to make himself appear taller. "Connections," I said simply.

"Oh, really?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "What connections would those be, exactly?"

I considered my options. If I said the King, chances were he wouldn't believe me, and either way it might reflect badly on Philip. If I said nothing and walked away, he might be inclined to report me to the nearest guard.

I chose the third option, which was by far my favorite.

I gripped him by his frilly jabot and slammed his body against the wall. He let out a yelp that was music to my ears. "Listen to me," I growled. "If I were you I'd keep my bloody mouth shut, unless you want to be found behind the slaughterhouse with your throat slit."

He kept perfectly still for a moment, blue eyes wide.

Then he burst out laughing.

I faltered. My hand slipped from his throat.

Cackling, he bent forward and grasped his knee. The swollen gap in his gums showed where his front tooth had been knocked out. "You- you are going to kill me?" he wheezed.

"I've killed two men already," I snapped. "You don't want to be the third."

"Only two?" He gave a sulky frown and slipped closer to me, his svelte form moving fluidly like a wavering light. "Kill me, then. In front of all these people." His voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "Or would you prefer to go somewhere more private?"

I looked up and down the hall. Two noblemen strolled at a leisurely pace while a maid bustled by, her arms straining beneath an overflowing basket of linen.

"Perhaps I'll take you out to the stables," I suggested cooly. "We could pay Hero a visit. Say, I wonder if he remembers you." I swept a thumb over his bruised lower lip and smiled as he winced. "You up for a ride?"

He shook me off. "Why aren't you killing me, servant boy?" he whispered.

"Why aren't you screaming for help?"

He raised himself up again, but with his short stature, he was only eye level with my smile. "I'm not afraid of you."

I tilted my head to look him in the eye, keeping him trapped against the wall, my face just a breath from his. Half of me wanted to find that spot where his tooth had gotten knocked out and press down on it until he really was screaming. The other half wanted to grab his face and kiss him.

"Perhaps you should be," I murmured. "Who knows where I'll show up next."

"The ball?" he guessed with a coy smirk.

I hadn't considered that. My only experience with dancing was at The Ghastly Wife, a tavern in London. The girls there could dance a nasty jig.

"If you're going to stalk someone," he said, "you need to go to the same places that they do."

Scowling, I straightened up. "Thanks for the advice."

The Marquis ran a hand over his jabot. His eyes glittered as he narrowed them. "I just think I deserve proper stalking before you kill me, no? It would be quite insulting for you to simply slit my throat and throw me in a gutter like some lowborn."

"I suppose you think I could just walk in."

He smiled before backing away down the hall. "Is that not what you normally do?"

I stared after him, my boots pinned to the polished floor. The seafoam green walls felt a little closer, as if the hallway was slowly shrinking, trapping me inside.

If my mouth had not been too thick and hot inside to speak, I might have said, Do you want me to go?

"I might be there," I said, trying to force a little confidence into my tone. "I might not. Chasing you isn't exactly my highest priority."

"Good." He caught hold of the door frame and pressed his cheek playfully to the wood. "Because I'm not running."

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

The walls of the ballroom were white.

Everything was so light, so lively. Pastel yellow pillars bordered the room and dazzling gold chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling. Backless settees, designed to force proper posture, were positioned away from the dance floor by tables of refreshment.

The servants arrived an hour before the first guests, got dressed in matching suits and shoes, and slipped on white gloves to hide our dirty fingernails and cracked knuckles.

I certainly wasn't qualified to work at such an event, but when I fell into line with other servants, Charles gave the steward a nod and I was ushered in without a word.

I decided I liked Charles.

At precisely nine o'clock, the footman opened the heavy ballroom doors and the musicians launched into the first song of the night. Each guest had their name and title announced as they entered the room. I spotted the Duc de Montpensier with Henriette on his arm. She beamed, her cobalt blue gown turning heads.

A cluster of older women approached me. The servants had been instructed to stand with one arm folded behind their back, fingers tucked in, while the other hand lay flat beneath their tray of drinks.

I gripped my tray with both hands.

"I must say," one clucked as she selected a tall glass of sparkling wine. "I do find these balls to be such terrible wastes of time. Everyone knows who the King has eyes for." She glared across the room at Henriette.

"The other girls must be allowed a chance, Margaret," said another.

"My daughter was married after just one ball," a third woman boasted with a flutter of her fan. "She put the rest to shame."

"Your daughter had to marry, Abigail," Margaret cut in. "The baby was three months away."

Abigail let out an offended squawk and fanned herself fiercely.

I carried my tray over to a pair of gentlemen and stood awkwardly, unsure if I should offer them a glass or just wait for them to take one. The music had reached its peak but no one was dancing. The men surveyed the ladies, silently making their selections and working up the courage to approach them.

The King looked nearly unrecognizable. He was all dolled up in several layers of powder, a tall white peruke atop his head. Surrounding him were highly esteemed men of the Court, smiling and complimenting his gold-trimmed teal coat. He wore white shoes with red bows and red heels, and blood-red stockings.

Bold, I thought with a smile.

The music ended and a beat of silence swept over the crowd. Then a second dance began. The minuet.

The men swarming the King slowly dispersed to match with the onlooking ladies. A deep look of dread crossed Philip's face as one by one, they left his side.

Part of me wanted to give him some sign of encouragement - and another part longed to slip away with him and tear off every piece of clothing except those red stockings - but I forced myself to stay put.

He didn't even know I was there, and I had no idea if he would approve. Besides, I didn't want to distract him from his objective: securing Henriette's hand, both on the dance floor and in marriage.

I watched from afar as he approached her, slowly, hesitantly, that awful look of terror still locked in his eyes. He murmured a few words and sank into a deep bow. The girl fluttered her fan and nodded excitedly, blonde ringlets bouncing. She picked up her skirts with one hand and fit the other into the crook of his elbow.

"You have eyes for my sister?"

I jumped a little at the voice. The Marquis de Montpensier stood to my right in a muted fern tailcoat and black shoes. His bruised lip caught my eye and I held back a smirk. "God. You gave me a fright."

He drew a glass from my tray. "I should pummel you for staring at her."

"Go ahead. I'd love to see your dainty little hands throw a solid punch." I lifted the last remaining glass and tossed my head back to down the liquid. "And I'm not staring at her. I'm staring at the man attached to her."

"My hands are not- oh." He suddenly realized my words. "You like him? Carrot top?"

I set my empty glass down on the refreshment table. "That's the King you're talking about."

"Not my King." His nose wrinkled. "My father says your King is an imbecile. That if he were to rule France we would have this country occupied in a week."

"Well, if your father wants the throne he better get to killing his four brothers," I said. I made a mental note to tell Philip the next time I saw him: don't trust the Duc de Montpensier.

The Marquis narrowed his eyes at me. "How do you know my father has four brothers?"

"I know a lot of things."

He set his glass down beside mine and circled me, suspicious. His blue eyes flicked to another server in the same suit as me, holding his tray properly and bowing before a noblewoman. "You don't act like a servant," he observed. "You don't stand like a servant. You don't talk like a servant. Who are you? Some kind of spy?"

"Perhaps," I said mischievously, because it was more fun to be thought of as a spy than a nobody.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I felt a bead of sweat form along my hairline. Should I make something up? "Murray," I answered after a heartbeat.

"Murray what?"

"Auden Murray," I said.

He stood back, his hardened gaze never releasing me. "I'll be looking into you, Auden Murray."

The song came to a close. The dancers stepped back into the crowd to collect themselves before new music began. The King broke away from Henriette and took a glass off a server's tray. I watched him, noticing every detail. His round eyes. The twitch in his brow each time someone new approached him. The anxious tremble in his hands that he tried to hide by stuffing them beneath his coat.

I stared directly at him, unable to look away, as his eyes surveyed the room.

And landed on mine.

"Shit, shit." I twisted my entire body away. Had he recognized me? What would he think if he knew I was here? That I was obsessive? Insane? Both true.

The Marquis squinted over my shoulder, tilting his head at the crowd. "What?" he said. "What happened?"

"I should go," I muttered.

His lips curved into a confused frown. "What are you planning? Something to do with my family? With France?"

Slowly, I turned around and searched the crowd for the King. He had been swept away by a circle of guests. His eyes were on them, smiling and nodding along. I let out a breath of relief.

"Frankly, Leo-" I straightened my posture and began collecting the glasses, just in case anyone else happened to notice us. He bristled at the nickname. "I couldn't care less about France. I only came here because I thought you wanted me to, but now I see that was a mistake. You're not worth getting arrested over, and you're certainly not worth getting tossed into a cell and fed alive to the rats."

"Stop." He gripped my arm as I moved to carry my tray away. "Why do you think I came to talk to you?"

I paused. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "Why did you talk to me?"

His expression remained neutral for a moment, and then the tiniest smile formed on his lips. "Come," he said. "Leave that."

I abandoned the tray and followed him. We wove through the crowd like two snakes slithering along the forest ground. I bumped an elderly woman holding a glass between two shaky hands. She let out a huff of irritation as the liquid swayed and nearly spilled down her salmon pink gown.

At the door, the footman bowed to Leo. "Enjoy your night, sir."

The Marquis slipped his hand through my arm in the empty hall. "He was handsome," he murmured. "Shall we take him with us?"

"The footman?" I snorted and looked back. He giggled. "Where are we going?"

He let go of me and walked backward with a playful grin, the heels of his shoes clicking on the floor. I trailed after him, feeling like a cat chasing a mouse. A much faster, much smarter mouse.

When we rounded the corner the Marquis reached into his pocket and pulled out a square metal tin. "A friend of mine is hosting a small party in the salons." He opened the tin to reveal a mass of strange powder. "It is very... how shall I say... very dirty. Far too risqué for you stuffy Englishmen. Only a select few will be invited."

I watched, bewildered, as he dipped a finger into the powder, then held it up to his nose and blocked one nostril before inhaling sharply.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He looked up. "Here," he grinned, passing the tin to me. "Try."

First, I looked up and down the hall. There was no one around. No one to see the boy in the country's finest silks crouched beside the boy dressed as a waiter. I rolled my pinky in the powder and pressed a finger over my nostril to snort it off.

My nose burned. I pinched it sharply. "Oh, God."

Leo was laughing, and then in a minute I was laughing too. Heart beating faster, breath coming in a rush. It was exhilarating. We could only take a little at a time, and so we stayed there, inhaling more and more of it, until I could feel my heartbeat in my ears and on my tongue.

He held my hands and clumsily, we lifted each other to our feet. The hallway was wide and inviting, and down it we raced, bumping into the walls and shrieking with giddy laughter.

"May I have this dance?" I asked and sank into a bow, mimicking the gentlemen at the ball.

He laughed, his blonde locks bobbing over his brow, as I spun him around in my arms. Then he spun me around and I just kept spinning, spinning, spinning, until he gripped my biceps and kissed me on the lips.

That stopped me. Sobered me up for a split second.

He stared at me with uncertainty, and perhaps a little fear. I wanted to tell him I was the same as him but I didn't know how. I waited a moment, searching his blue gaze, then took his face in my hands and kissed him back.

We wasted no time getting acquainted with each other's lips, exploring the different ways we could kiss or places we could put our hands. I drank him in, squeezing and groping every inch of him, his hungry lips crashing into mine. We locked into hot, breathy kisses, the kind that made my skin prick with goosebumps as his fingertips crept over it.

"You think anyone will see us?" I asked, panting.

He turned to look down the hall. I wrapped my arms around him, so that his back was pressed to my chest, and kissed the side of his neck.

"They might," he decided. "Come to the salons." His eyes flashed up to mine. "I want to know what sort of man you are."

"The poor sort," I said.

"That doesn't matter." There was an almost frightening twinkle in his eye. "You'll see."

I squinted at him, confused, and raised my chin with the tip of his finger.

"Sin is the great equalizer, mon chéri."