It seemed as if Versailles had been transformed into a fever dream. 

Vines of golden thread and silk leaves hung from the salon ceilings, bisecting frescoes of gods and cherubs lounging atop candy-colored clouds. The statues along the walls had been decorated with tropical flowers—crimson, violet, and cerulean blossoms stuck behind marble ears and draped around elegantly molded necks. As Jacqueline, Renée, and I walked through the gilded hallways, jewel-toned birds darted across the ceilings, chirping to each other. Incense hung so cloying and thick in the air, I could taste it. 

The courtiers themselves were dressed to match the decor. Some wore dresses and frock coats in bright silks, while others had elaborate flower patterns embroidered into their lapels and bodices. Some took it a step further and had olive-tinted leaves sewn onto their coat tails, with great clusters of blossoms perched atop their powdered wigs. 

“Splendid.” I glanced down at my own outfit and frowned. “Another party we weren’t invited to and know nothing about. I love being reminded that everyone hates us.” 

If I didn’t already stand out as a member of the d’Aumont family, I certainly would in my navy frock coat and breeches. Everyone around me looked as if they’d been dipped in sunset, and I looked like the midnight sky after a storm. 

Jacqueline shook off my complaint with a wave of her hand. “No one will even notice we’re here.” 

I eyed my sister’s gown—a massive concoction of golden and peach silk, with thick plumes of lace at the sleeves and countless pearl-tipped bows sewn into her billowing skirts. “Unlikely, considering Renée’s dress is made with enough fabric to clothe thirty whales.”

“Hush,” Renée whispered. “I’ve spotted Madeleine de Froix and Mathieu de Coligny,” 

I followed her line of sight to where Madeleine and Mathieu stood farther down the hall in front of a marble pilaster, surrounded by other young courtiers. 

“We should leave before they spot us,” I said. 

She fastened her hand around my arm. “No. The king told us he would send someone to meet us here. We can’t leave.” 

“Are you suggesting we continue to hide here alone like a trio of social lepers?” 

“No. I’m suggesting we go speak with Madeleine.” 

I raised my eyebrow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t give me that look. The king told us to remain discreet, and we’ll raise less suspicions if we’re seen speaking with people our age.” 

“Then why are we still standing here?” Jacqueline asked, turning on her heel. 

“Wait! But what if—” I stopped. This is for your brother. This is for your brother. This is for your brother. “All right.” 

We started down the long expanse of the Galerie de Glaces, our images reflecting back at us from the many glittering mirrors along the wall. Renée, confident and bright. Jacqueline, determined and strong. Me, breathless and scared. 

All I ever looked was goddamn scared.

“Good evening,” Jacqueline said as we approached the group. 

Everyone stopped mid-conversation and turned to her, wearing uniform looks of confusion. 

“This is when you curtsy,” I whispered into her ear.

“Oh. Right.” She grabbed fistfuls of her dress and leaned forward, looking more like a confused puppy lowering its head into a water dish than a lady curtsying. On her way up, her heel turned on its side, and she shot her hand out to grasp around my arm. I flashed the group the biggest smile I could manage. 

“May I introduce Jacqueline de Carlay?” I said. “She’s my mother’s second cousin’s brother’s wife’s niece visiting from Marseilles.”

Mathieu pursed his lips. “I’ve heard about the abundance of sun in Marseilles, but I wasn’t aware people from there were so. . . dark.” 

“Mathieu,” I said, hand curled into a fist, “refresh my memory—how many times has your father been denied a spot in parliament now? Three? Four?” 

“Olivier,” Renée whisper-scolded, but I ignored her. 

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about.” Mathieu frowned. “Besides, why are you here, Olivier d’Aumont? Is it not a bit strange to be attending a party when one’s own brother is to be hanged for murder in a week’s time?” He paused. “Sorry, he isn’t really your brother, is he? I suppose that means it won’t matter much to you when he dies.” 

“Monsieur de Coligny, please,” Madeleine said, resting her hand on Mathieu’s wrist, “not here.” 

“Would you like for me to rip off all your fingernails now,” I hissed, “or should I wait until after I’ve plucked out your eyes with a tuning fork?”

Mathieu’s mouth fell open. “How dare you. If we weren’t in the middle of Versailles right now, Olivier d’Aumont, I would take your nose and—”

“Monsieur d’Aumont, Mademoiselle d’Aumont,” said a voice from behind us, and I whirled around, my gaze landing on an elderly man, his stooped frame nearly swallowed whole by robes of red silk, “come with me.” 

“Ha!” Mathieu said. “How does it feel to be thrown out of the palace minutes after you arrive?” 

“I wouldn’t know seeing as we were invited here personally by the King of France.” I winked. 

Mathieu glowered at me.

I turned and followed after the man, heart heavy with resolve. This was my last chance to convince the king Étienne was innocent, and fear be damned, I refused to fail again.

***

The man didn’t say anything after that, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he led us through the palace hallways. At first, the corridors were bursting with courtiers, their curious gazes lingering in our wake. But the farther we went into the palace, the fewer people we came across, until the only human faces we passed were painted with delicate brushstrokes and hung from gilded frames on the wall. 

The entire trip through the labyrinth-like corridors of Versailles was a dizzying blur. Some halls had soaring ceilings, with candelabrum jutting out from bronze moldings of flowers and cherubs, the perfumed air shimmering with golden candlelight. Other hallways were dark, drafty, and so narrow, neither Jacqueline nor Renée’s dress would fit through them unless they turned sideways. Twice, we came across men emptying their bladders against the velvet-lined walls. 

What seemed like an eternity after we began our journey, the man stopped in front of a towering door of lacquered mahogany. He fished an intricate bronze key from the folds in his crimson robes, unlocked the door, and ushered us inside. 

The space was large and open, with multiple crystal chandeliers casting the room in soft yellow light. Gilding along the wainscotting and molded ceilings dusted the white walls like a fresh layer of golden snow. The white furniture was decorated with an embroidery of twisting vines done in mint and cerulean thread. Every inch of the space was warm, inviting, and smelled faintly of orange blossoms. 

“Wait here,” he said. 

I stepped forward. “But we have to discuss my brother—” 

Before I could get another word out, he turned and slammed the door in my face. A second later, I heard the metallic click of a key turning in the lock. The bastard had us trapped. 

“Shriveled old cod!” I yelled, kicking the door. “I hope people spit on your grave when you die!” I was given no answer and fell silent, frowning with arms crossed tight over my chest.

Renée sauntered to the cream chaise in the center of the room and sat down, propping her feet up on a cherry wood gueridon table. A porcelain figure of a well-endowed peasant girl sat in the path of her shoe, and she kicked it aside. It rolled off the table and fell onto the azure rug. 

Jacqueline continued to roam the antechamber, stopping at a gilded clock atop the marble hearth. She reached out a hand, expression curious, but froze at the last second, lowering her arm back to her side.

“Well, now we can’t do a thing until Fleury returns,” Renée said, stretching her arms and placing them behind her head. 

I blinked. “Who?” 

“Cardinal de Fleury. The king’s chief adviser.” When my only response was a blank stare, she added, “The man who brought us here.” 

“God, that sack of wrinkled flesh is the king’s chief adviser? What does he even advise the king on? Which foods are easiest to eat without teeth?” 

Jacqueline made a choked sound in the back of her throat but Renée shrugged and said, “From what I gather, everything.” 

“Everything?” 

“Everything. The king is young, and thus no one trusts him to run an entire country. So, Fleury does it in his stead. He makes all the decisions. The king is simply a figurehead.” 

“And you know this how?” 

“Fleury has been with the king since he was five. How do you not know this?” 

“Because it’s boring, and I don’t care.” 

A sudden voice, hard and suspicious, sounded from behind us. “You should care, boy. It concerns your country.” 

I spun around and met the watery blue eyes of Cardinal de Fleury as he re-entered the room. I searched his face for hints that he’d heard me ask about advising the king on how to eat without teeth, but his expression remained as unyielding as a slab of marble. 

“I have informed the king of your arrival, and he will join us shortly.” He turned to Renée. “Mademoiselle, I request you remove your feet from my table at once.” 

Renée complied, but was slow about it, sliding her feet to the edge of the table bit by bit before finally letting them fall to the floor. She did not pick the porcelain figure up off the rug. 

“These are your apartments?” I asked.

“Where else would I have taken you?” Fleury bristled, tugging at a ruby pendant the size of my fist that hung from his neck. “And it is customary to address me as Your Eminence.” 

I didn’t respond, and Fleury sighed, motioning for Jacqueline and me to join Renée around the table. I sat myself next to my sister and leaned back against the chaise, crossing my legs in front of me. Renée was in a similar position, her elbows bent and resting against the velvet pillows. Jacqueline was the only one of us who had the sense to act properly, sitting on a circular stool with her back upright and hands folded on her lap. 

“I heard you two were never taught decent manners, but I can see now that was a bold underestimation.” Fleury grimaced at Renée and me as he lowered himself into the gilded chair across from the chaise, but didn’t even spare a glance for Jacqueline. It was as if he hadn’t seen her at all. And considering she neither came from nobility nor had skin the color of unbaked bread, as far as Fleury was concerned, he probably hadn’t seen her. I wanted to kick his chair over just to see how long it would take him to hobble to his feet. 

“Our parents don’t care much for decorum,” Renée said. 

“I can see that, yes.” Fleury leaned forward, folding his hands under his chin. The sapphire ring on his thumb flashed a luminous blue. “But I’d say now is the perfect time to learn how to conduct yourselves in public. That is, if you wish to keep your family’s ward from the hangman’s noose.” 

Renée shot up, all traces of defiance forgotten. “What do you know about our brother?” 

“Brother.” Fleury’s lip curled, revealing a single yellowed tooth. “Is that what you call him?” 

“Yes,” I said, and would have leapt on the man if Renée didn’t have her hand clasped firmly around my forearm. 

“Then, if you’re both so close to your dear brother, you must know why he killed the Comte de Coligny’s coachman.” 

“Étienne is innocent!” I yelled. 

Fleury was unfazed. “I wouldn’t use that tone of voice when speaking to me, boy. You haven’t the slightest idea who you’re dealing with.” 

An oppressive weight of silence fell upon the room. I stared at the cardinal’s curled wig, his clouded blue eyes, the slight downturn of his thin lips. I wished to tell him I wasn’t one to care about which tone I used when speaking to haughty old farts, but there was something about Fleury that stilled my tongue—a sort of power that radiated off his wrinkled skin and crackled through the air like summer lightning. The man ran the whole goddamn country. And he knew it. 

What had once been an open and inviting space suddenly felt far too small. The scent of orange blossoms was cloying against my throat. The firelight from the crystal chandeliers burned where it touched my skin. If I sat in silence for one more horrendous second, I would burst. 

“Did you know the Great Bustard is the fattest bird in Europe?” I blurted. “Though they mostly live in Spain and not France because they prefer—”

“Where is the king?” Fleury interrupted. “I sent for him ages ago.”

Right. The king was coming. To speak with us about Étienne. Though a large part of me doubted asking him to help would do any good, I had no other choice but to sit in the deafening silence and wait. 

And wait and wait and wait. 

The minutes crawled by slower than snails through mud. Just as I was wracking my mind for another way to break the tension, the door opened and in walked the King of France. Though I’d been mentally preparing for his arrival, his presence took me by so much surprise, I was the last person to stand and bow. As well as the last one to mutter out “Your Majesty” in greeting. 

After we all sat, the king turned to us and said, “I apologize for the delay. There was another matter I had to attend to before I came.” 

“It’s no trouble at all, Your Majesty,” Renée said. 

The king directed his attention to me. “I’m pleased you could join us as well, Olivier d’Aumont.” 

“Yes, hello,” I said. “Your shoes are very pointy.”  

The king blinked. Renée dug her elbow into my side. 

“Right.” The king cleared his throat. “Cardinal de Fleury, I would speak with the d’Aumonts alone.” 

This was clearly the last thing Fleury expected the king to say. He sputtered, watery eyes growing wide. 

“Your Majesty, we agreed I would be present for the questioning, so I could aid you in your decision.” 

“Yes, well—” He cleared his throat again, avoiding Fleury's eye. “I have changed my mind.” 

“But, Your Majesty, without me you cannot—” 

“I said”—the king’s voice shook—“I would be alone.” 

With a disbelieving look, Fleury turned, slithered to the door, and exited the rooms. It took every ounce of my strength to keep myself from sticking out my tongue at his retreating form. 

The second Fleury and the servants disappeared, the king seemed to deflate, the tension escaping his body like wisps of smoldering chimney smoke. “Do you suppose he will be angry with me for this?” 

Renée blinked. “I’m not sure, Your Majesty. You are the king.”

“Ah. I am, aren’t I?” He sat up straighter, smoothing out the creases in his velvet frock coat. “Right. There is something terrible happening in the city, and I believe I have brought someone here who can give more insight to the situation.” He craned his head around the armchair backing and called out, “Bring him in!” 

There wasn’t a single thing I could have done to prepare myself for the moment the door to the apartments opened, and in stumbled Étienne.