The second note arrives on the morning of Queen Henriette's private dinner party. This time I find it propped up on my easel with care. My stomach lurches at the thought of someone slipping into my chambers while I was readying in the next room unaware.

What are you waiting for? Come find me in the deep.

The note leaves me more befuddled than the first. Perhaps this letter wasn't intended for me since I have no idea what the sender means. My pulse stumbles when I remember this apartment's previous inhabitant. Morel. Could this letter have been intended for him? It is possible whoever sent the note doesn't know he's dead, but everyone at Versailles knows of Morel's tragic end. There's little chance the letter came from someone outside the palace — it was hand-delivered to my room.

Come find me in the deep.

The entire note seems to be a riddle wrapped in a mystery.

I want to show the note to the Order, even though Destan didn't find any clues on the first one. I don't know what evidence about the mysterious sender could be discovered with this note, but I remind myself to think like a spy. My instincts tell me to burn it, so I commit the words to memory and throw the sheet of parchment on the glowing coals in the grate. The paper catches quickly then curls and blackens before it turns to ash. I make sure there isn't even a scrap left to be found by a curious chambermaid before I put the matter out of mind.

I need to be focused on tonight. Vigilant. My attendance at Queen Henriette's party is not official business for the Order, but it's not something we expected. In fact, I would prefer to stay as far from the faerie Queen as possible.

Lavernia and her team of dressers arrive to help me prepare for the party much earlier than I expect them. "Do you really need four hours to prepare me for this party? And won't one dress be enough?" is ask as a fifth dress is carried through the door to my apartment. The gold brocade gown is draped over the settee beside a lovely gown of deep blue, patterned with large pink roses.

"Destan is right," Lavernia says. "You indeed question everything."

I color at the realization that Destan probably complains about me behind my back. "Can I wear this one?" I ask of the blue robe à la française with the roses.

Lavernia's lips press into a smile as if she's marked my attempt to change the subject. "Perhaps. If it can be made to fit, and you don't mind being full of pins tonight."

"I don't mind." There is a garish yellow dress thrown over an armchair that I am keen to avoid with my coloring.

"The reason we're here early is because you will be expected to be in the full habit du cour tonight. I'm not worried so much about the dress, but something will have to be done about your hair."

"My hair?"

A footman enters the room carrying a voluminous wing of white curls pinned with swaying ostrich plumes.

I gasp. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Lavernia says with a devious grin.

The confection of false hair wobbles precariously on the bodyless mannequin head.

It weighs less than it looks, but it is insufferably scratchy where the hairline sits against my forehead. "Please, Lavernia," I beg. "Anything but this."

Lavernia slides a pin into the wig none too gently. "Save your histrionics for someone who hasn't been made to wear these since she entered womanhood."

After that, I hold my tongue until their hour of labor is finished and Lavernia brings me to stand in front of a full-length mirror.

Wrapped in the mirror's gilt frame, I resemble the perfect sketch of a Versailles courtier. Panniers widen my hips to a dramatic effect. With the towering ceilings of the room, the mountain of white curls and ostrich feathers seems somehow dwarfed. My makeup is painted with a heavier hand than usual, but it is set off nicely against the deep blue and warm pinks of the gown.

"I feel I don't know myself anymore," I reply as I turn to admire the movement of the long train on the dress. I expect the wig to sway with my movement, but a legion of pins hold it firmly in place.

Lavernia dabs a thin brush into a pot of black creme and dots a mouche at the corner of my eye. "And with that, the last of your war paint, you are ready for battle."

I clutch my stomach as I realize what comes next: I set off to the dinner party utterly alone.

"No need to be nervous," Lavernia says, sensing my thoughts. "You are wearing the best armor I can provide. The only reason to be nervous is a lack of preparation. After what we have put you through this past week, I know that is certainly not the case."

I let out a slow breath and my stays loosen around my middle. With a quick shake of my hands, I chase away the last of my nerves. "I'm ready." The words are full of a confidence and surety I wouldn't have thought myself capable of at the start of the week.

Lavernia nods. "You're ready," she says with a wink.

~

A page rushes ahead of me into the Queen's chambers and announces me when I arrive.

"Mademoiselle Florette de Paris." His voice fills the lavish room with such volume that there can be little doubt as to who has arrived.

Destan and Lafayette debated long about what name I should go by at court. Destan thought the affectation of "de Paris" was irrelevant since everyone would know it was fabricated to make me seem more important than I am. Lafayette believed the attempt would be transparent, but it would put people at ease to know I wasn't a threat to their status. Lafayette won.

Heads crane to look at me as I glide into the room. Most faces quickly turn back to their conversations when they realize I am no one of considerable consequence. The expressions of the courtiers who still watch me split a range between curiosity and contempt. Based on the indication of dress alone, the more scornful of the assembly appear closest to my station.

I don't begrudge them their cold welcome. If I were in their shoes, I would resent newcomers too.

I scan the crowd and spy a few familiar faces. Then I see Destan. He watches me over the shoulder of a female courtier who talks to him. He should look away, ignore my entrance, but to my surprise, he doesn't. I hadn't expected him to be here, so I look away and pay no heed to his lingering gaze or the warmth that stirs low in my stomach.

When I realize there is no one to come to my rescue as I stand painfully alone in the center of the room, I regret not bringing someone along with me to make introductions. I can't speak first to anyone above my station, but it's hard to tell where everyone stands on appearances alone. Before I can move to hide along the walls of the room, the page announces Queen Henriette.

The queen glides into the chamber. Late to her own party, but certainly not underdressed, she wears a pearly white gown embroidered with cream ribbons and shimmering glass beads. The ample display of pale skin at her décolletage shimmers and even I cannot tell if it is makeup or glamour. The effect of the ensemble is breathtaking, and several people applaud her entrance. I stick to a low curtsy.

Her eyes find me almost immediately, and her face lights up with a brilliant smile. "Mademoiselle Florette, I am so pleased you accepted my invitation." She takes my hand to lift me from my curtsy.

"Of course, Your Majesty," I reply with an obsequious bow of my head. While I didn't capture the attention of the full room before, with my hand tucked into the queen's, I have their regard now. "I am honored to enjoy the pleasure of your company tonight."

"The honor is mine. Morel was a dear friend, so it is only fitting that we should be friends as well."

"Your kindness is indeed far greater than I deserve. I am but a humble artist," I say.

"Your talent speaks for itself, but I confess I brought you here tonight because you have gravely wounded me, Mademoiselle Florette."

My insides knot themselves as my pulse soars. To my dismay, every conversation in the room ceases so the queen's entire retinue can pay witness to my public humiliation. "Je suis désolé. If I have caused offense, tell me the charge and I will do everything in my power to rectify my error."

Something mischievous sparkles in her dark eyes. "I saw your magnificent paintings in the Academy Salon and I was rendered quite envious. You have been at Versailles for months and yet I have not received a request from you to sit for a portrait. Is there something lacking about my appearance that would hinder your desire to capture it on canvas?"

"Certainly not, Your Majesty. I have longed to paint a face such as yours since I picked up a brush, but I did not want to seem presumptuous." A lie, but I turn my gaze demurely towards my feet in an attempt to make myself a pitiable creature. "Your beauty lacks nothing. I cannot claim to be worthy of capturing it, but if Your Majesty wishes me to try, I would be honored beyond words."

The queen's lips part into a pleased smirk. She touches a hand to her heart, mollified by my groveling. "Just like Morel, you make me chase after you. But now all is forgiven. Come." She tucks a hand into the crook of my arm. "You will sit beside me at dinner."

She leads me through the room as conversations start to resume. My gaze is drawn to Destan again as if my eyes have a mind of their own. How am I doing? I plead silently, but his face is marked with an emotion I cannot read. What is he doing? Is he trying to warn me of something?

He doesn't look away and his companion becomes exasperated by his lack of undivided attention. She turns to see what holds his regard and her eyes meet mine. She throws me a lethal glare that chills even my blood. I quickly avert my gaze and let the queen draw me away from them.

A clash of smells hits me as we enter a crowded dining room. Perfumed courtiers hover around the table, waiting to claim the best seats — and they aren't above throwing elbows, according to Hadrian. Massive vases of flowers sit on tables against the walls and fill the room with the cloying scent of roses. There isn't a plate of food in sight, but the promise of it lingers in the air.

Before she takes her seat at the head of the table, Queen Henriette first deposits me into the seat beside her.

Once she is seated, the prowling courtiers strike. It's an intricate dance to watch as the courtiers with notably superior titles vie for spots closest to the queen. The precedence of titles is murky at Versailles, so the battle for seats is much less courteous further down the table. A commotion arises when one woman pushes a fellow peer from her seat in order to claim it.

I watch the Queen for her reaction. She pretends not to notice the disturbance, but her elegant lips tug up at one corner in stifled amusement. My stomach turns unpleasantly as I realize the faerie beside me finds pleasure in the petty squabbles of the courtiers beneath her. I'm not surprised, but the night has only just begun, and I'm not sure I'll make it through without becoming the source of some cruel entertainment myself.

I look down the table to see if I can spot Destan, my only ally, but he is already in animated conversation with a group of fae courtiers at the far end of the table.

"Are you regretting your choice of seat?" Queen Henriette asks, drawing my attention back to our end. A glint in her eye worries me.

Does she always look like she knows your deepest secret?

"No," I reply with an obsequious grin. "Not at all. I was simply admiring the tableau our grand assembly makes. I anticipate they will make lively company for a dinner party."

Queen Henriette straightens, and her smile widens. "We shall see, but I am not one to suffer a dull dinner party."

"Is anyone?"

Queen Henriette laughs heartily. "I suppose not, which is why I have many more diversions planned for us."

A flutter returns to my unsteady stomach. "What sort of diversions?"

The spark mischief flashes in Henriette's eye. "You'll have to wait and see."

I don't want to wait and see. I want to run out of the dining room and return not just to my apartments, but to the garret on Rue du Faubourg Saint Antoine. Yet, I had wanted this. I wanted a place in court. I wanted my chance at glory as a master painter, but now I am subject to the whims of a queen with no concern for my mortal life.

The whole night is ahead of us, and the only way out is through.