When Destan invites me to meet him at the Petit Trianon, I expect to find a grand château tucked away deep in the verdant gardens. The Petit Trianon is anything but grand, but it is still elegant in its simplicity: a square, cream stone building, with four Corinthian columns, and a flat roof. Compared to the unrestrained extravagance of the main palace, it looks almost quaint. Even the English style gardens feel more loose and relaxed.

Destan meets me just inside the main entrance in a plain, sinuous hallway. "Relax," he says at the sight of me. "She's going to love you."

I let out a slow breath push out the rest of my nerves with it. Destan escorts me through an unremarkable room where the queen's guards let us pass with a nod to Destan. From the guard room, we enter a bright hall and ascend a curving staircase to the upper floors. Everything about the Petit Trianon feels different from Versailles. The interior matches the restrained elegance of the exterior, but it is still decorated with refined and well-edited taste.

We stop outside a door and I spy one of Marie Antoinette's most famous portraits, a portrait by Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun. Le Brun is a master when it comes to capturing the sitter's personality, and the queen's portrait drips with wit and beauty. It does nothing to settle my nerves.

Servants usher us through a dining room and into a grand salon. Like the rest of the rooms we've seen, there are no heavily patterned wallpapers, just walls painted a muted green. The carvings on the paneling are distinctly white and absent of gold gilding. The room feels light and airy. A set of furniture placed throughout the room is all done in a cream fabric with blue flowers to match the window drapings.

Musical instruments are displayed at every turn. A large, golden harp catches my eye and I almost miss the beautiful, older woman sitting in the chair closest to the window. She sits still as a statue and doesn't turn at the sound of our arrival. Her head of short gray curls is turned to watch over the gardens and she wears a white muslin gown tied with a pink sash.

"Wait here," Destan whispers, and his breath ruffles the hair around my ear.

He crosses to Marie Antoinette and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. She doesn't startle but lifts her head to look at him.

Her lips part into a beaming grin. "Destan." Her voice is smooth and warm. "I didn't know you were coming to visit me today. I thought you had the day off?"

Destan smiles, but there's hesitation in his voice. "I am not on duty until tonight, but I said I was bringing someone for you to meet, remember?"

Marie gasps and places a hand on Destan's arm. "Oh! That's right. Now I remember. The painter?" Her delicate blue eyes fall on me. "Come here, ma chère."

Destan nods in approval and I approach the aging queen. "Your majesty," I drop into a low curtsey.

Marie Antoinette gestures for me to take the chair across from her. "Destan tells me you are in need of a patron."

"I am." I sink onto the edge of my seat and Destan takes the one beside me.

"And you would like me to sponsor your work." Marie smiles as her gaze flits over me. "You don't want someone more relevant to be your patron?"

I glance nervously at Destan before I turn back to Marie. "I'm not necessarily looking for prestige...I am looking to create a space for myself, for my art." Out of the corner of my eye, a smile turns up the corner of Destan's lips.

"I'm afraid you're not as irrelevant as you would like, Your Majesty," Destan adds.

"I wasn't fishing for compliments, but thank you, Destan," she turns to me. "He dotes on me. Now, why do you feel you need to create your own space for your art."

My nerves climb as Marie watches me with her piercing, intelligent eyes. "Well... I have mostly painted in the style of my late mentor—"

"Who is that?" she asks.

"Edmund Morel. He was well-received at Versailles and at the Academy's Salons, but I find I'm not quite inspired by his style anymore. I'd like to find my way into my own style, but I can't do that while supporting myself through individual commissions and portraits." I leave out the part about smuggling secret messages out of Versailles.

"I see," Marie says. "Then let us go take a look at your work." She holds out a hand for Destan and he helps her from her chair.

She acts the part of a frail woman, but there is something about the way she speaks, the way she looks meaningfully and unflinchingly into your eyes that makes her seem anything but.

On Destan's arm, she leads us into a smaller, more intimate salon. To my surprise, my painting of Lavernia and my portrait of Destan are propped up in the room. Both are ready to be sent to the Paris Salon's next exhibition, but I didn't know they would be here today. Judging by his secretive grin, I suspect Destan arranged it.

Marie examines the paintings in silence and I start to understand where Destan learned to appreciate art. I forget to breathe as she takes an agonizingly long time to study my work. When she is finally finished, she turns to me with a smile. "How wonderfully strange," she says. "It's not every day that you get to experience something that feels so...new."

I drop into a curtsey, my heart thundering proud in my chest. "Thank you, Your Majesty." It is a compliment I never expected to receive. It feels a bit dangerous, but it is everything I didn't know I wanted to hear.

"I will be your patron, of course," she says conspiratorially. "I'll arrange everything with the Director of Finance, but I suspect you won't need my patronage for long. I fully expect your next showing at the Salon to be a rousing success."

Her grin makes my pulse race. "Truly, Your Majesty, I can't thank you enough."

"It is my honor. I look forward to seeing your future works."

I glance at Destan and the look on his face makes my heart stumble. I would call it pride, but there is something else in the look he gives me.

"I suppose you may now paint whatever you wish," Marie says. "But if The Order of Athena needs another coded painting I will fund it."

My head snaps in her direction.

I must appear surprised because she laughs at me. "I may not look like one to participate in a little espionage, but I have a small role to play in the events to come."

"Indeed," I say with a pleased smile. If The Order wants to convince the king to call together the National Assembly, it will do a lot of good to have his mother on their side. "Perhaps you can convince Destan to let me play a larger part."

Marie chuckles and pats Destan on the arm. "I can't convince Destan to do much when his mind has been made up, but I'm hosting a meeting for The Order here tomorrow night. You are welcome to attend as my guest. If anyone asks it's a private card party — the Petit Trianon is the only safe place for us to meet."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I say, my voice peaked with excitement. A glance at Destan makes my stomach turn; he doesn't look pleased.

"We should leave," he says. "I must report for duty soon."

A pang of guilt twists in my gut. Destan helped me secure a patron and then I went around him to insert myself into The Order at the first opportunity. We say our goodbyes and then he escorts me from the little palace in silence. When we reach the English-inspired garden outside, a cool breeze of the coming autumn cuts through the heavy silks of my dress.

I turn to Destan to apologize, but he speaks before I do. "I was going to extend an invitation to you," he says, his back towards me as he strides in the direction of the palace.

This takes me by surprise, but I have to hurry to keep up with him. "Oh. I'm sorry," I reply. "I regretted what I said as soon as I said it. After everything you've done for me—"

"You don't owe me anything." He doesn't turn around and his voice is almost lost in a gust of wind.

"Then why are you upset with me?" I cry.

"I'm not upset," he throws back, but I can see his shoulders tense towards his ears.

"Clearly," I shout after him. "Will you slow down so I can apologize? It's obvious I've upset you. I know I shouldn't have said something to Marie. You deserve better—"

He stops and whirls on me. I almost run into him, but I stop myself just inches away. The angry line between his brow softens. "I didn't do this so you would owe me, so I could pressure you into abiding by my will. I helped you get a patron because you deserve one."

I glare up at him, even though I know I'm in the wrong. "So why are you storming off then?"

Destan sighs through his nose. "You asked me to trust you. I am doing just that, but you didn't trust me enough to give me the chance."

If I felt guilty before, I now feel utterly ashamed. "Destan—" I reach for his hand but he steps away.

"I will see you tomorrow, Florette." He heads towards the palace, but my feet don't move to follow him.

I stand rooted in an allee of trees, a bitter wind sending shivers over my skin. I wallow in my shame and let the guilt sour my gut until I feel utterly sick with myself. When Destan is out of sight, I finally stumble forward and begin the lonely walk to my apartments. At first, I think of ways to make a sincere apology to him — to make him forgive me, but by the time I reach my door I realize that more apologies would be meaningless.

He knows I'm sorry.

But he doesn't know I trust him. And I do or at the very least I want to. After the stunt I pulled today, I can't just tell him I trust him.

I need to show him.