Queen Henriette's cadre of simpering Fae courtiers takes some time to warm up to me, but by the end of the meal, they seem less annoyed at my presence in their midst. Few deign to make polite conversation with me, but a small handful solicits my opinion on the artists of the day and their latest works. I even secure three portrait commissions.

The party proceeds from dinner to a private concert in the Apollo's Bath Grove where Henriette keeps me alarmingly close to her. The towering rock sculpture dotted with caves, waterfalls, and marble statues serves as the impressive backdrop to a stage filled with a troupe of musicians. A full moon and gilded candelabra light the grotto.

There are a few stools placed in front of the stage, but not nearly enough for everyone in attendance to have one. My pulse races as queen Henriette pulls me towards the coveted seats. She places me in a seat beside a remarkably beautiful Fae with a round, innocent face and piercing blue eyes.

The woman's face brightens at the sight of me and she flashes me a dazzling smile. She wears a pale blue gown that matches her eyes.

"Mademoiselle Florette," Queen Henriette says. "I would like to formally introduce you to my sister Madamoiselle Charlotte la Duchesse D'Amboise."

My chest tightens when I realize who I have been introduced to. This is Destan's mark. The woman whose favor he is trying to gain. My instincts tell me to run — that I've wandered too far into Destan's charade. I ignore my instincts and recall my training.

"The painter! Monsieur Morel's apprentice?" Charlotte exclaims with a brilliant smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes as if his name brings her pain.

"I'm afraid I'm his apprentice no more," I reply. My lips press into a sympathetic smile though I'm not sure why. Morel never mentioned her, never passed a single sketch of her to me for painting.

Charlotte shakes her head and her powdered blonde ringlets tremble violently. "Such a terrible loss," she says. "He was such a lively addition to our parties, but we cannot live in the past can we?" She downs the remaining champagne from her glass. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Mademoiselle Florette."

Satisfied with our introduction, Queen Henriette grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. One for me and one for herself, and she takes a seat on a stool positioned at center-stage.

"Mademoiselle Florette..." Charlotte muses. "You have no family name? No title?"

"No. I –" I hesitate to give her a full account of my personal history, but I trust Lafayette's belief that it will do more harm to pretend I'm someone I'm not. "I was living in an orphanage when Monsieur Morel discovered me," I say with the hope that my modesty will likely be rewarded with pity and not contempt.

Charlotte clutches her empty glass to her chest. "He was the kindest man, wasn't he?"

"I suppose you could say that." I wouldn't name kindness as one of Morel's virtues, but memory is often tainted with idealism. "I certainly owe him a lifetime of gratitude."

"Certainly. I can only imagine what an honor it was to be his protege. And the painting of General Bordelon — your second portrait of him, I believe. Absolutely stunning."

"Stunning?" A woman sits down on my other side. Clearly she had been eavesdropping on our conversation. "Stunning doesn't do it justice," she says. The moonlight makes the veil of her glamour glow like pearl on her pale skin. Faerie. And not just any faerie, the raven-haired woman who mocked me for staring at the ceilings. I doubt she remembers me, but her cruelty is fresh in my mind and it sets me on edge.

Her fairer haired companion isn't far behind. She peels away from the crowd and moves to stand at her friend's shoulder. "It was absolutely sinful — I loved it," she remarks, her eyes hungry.

Charlotte doesn't seem thrilled that this pair has joined our conversation. I share her sentiment, but there is nothing to be done now.

"I'm glad you enjoyed the painting," I say.

"This is Madame Jeanne la Marquise de Buchard," Charlotte adds reluctantly of the woman sitting beside me. "And Mademoiselle Louise de Cloutier."

Charlotte shifts uncomfortably on her stool.

Louise secures the attention of a waiter and procures more champagne for the lot of us. "General Bordelon, or is it captain now? Anyhow, Monsieur Bordelon is quite taken with you, Charlotte, is he not?"

Charlotte's cheeks flush a bright pink that is distinguishable even in the low light. "He is a kind man. I believe his intentions do not extend beyond friendship."

"His father says otherwise," Jeanne says with a cackle.

"Of course he does. Gardet is a sniveling social climber," Louise remarks. "Of course he wants his bastard son married off to his own advantage."

Jeanne rolls her eyes. "Don't be cruel because he's never given you a second glance, Louise."

Louise pushes out her bottom lip and turns her attention to the stage in protest.

"You know him best," Jeanne says to me. "Is Monsieur Bordelon a gentleman worthy of a duchess?" She gestures to Charlotte who stares determinedly at her lap.

"Is a man ever worthy of a woman?" I remark with an air of humor.

Charlotte smiles up at me with a dimpled grin, but Jeanne isn't swayed.

"Speak plainly," she says. "You must know that rumors have circulated about the two of you. It would be very heartless of Monsieur Bordelon to take an unmarried woman as his lover. Now we must determine if he is a gentleman or a scoundrel."

My stomach lurches. "His lover? No. No-no-no." I would laugh if my pulse wasn't racing. "We were never lovers." Mortified, I glance at Charlotte and find her equally uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.

Jeanne's eyes bore into mine. "I don't believe you. Tell the truth."

My pulse slows and my muscles relax. Jeanne's words settle over me like a heavy, down comforter. They sink into my skin and warm my insides. "We were never lovers," my tongue repeats lazily.

Something is wrong.

"Strange," Jeanne remarks. "Did you want to be his lover?"

This time I laugh. "It never crossed my mind."

Unfortunately, this catches Louise's attention. "Never? Not even the thought of a kiss?"

A tightness fills my gut and I can feel my face fall.

Jeanne pounces. "You have to tell us."

The words are more than a command. They are irresistible. "Of course! He has very nice lips," I blurt out before I can clamp my teeth shut. I cover my mouth with my hand before I say anything else I don't want to. It's true that I thought briefly about kissing Destan, but they don't need to know how wonderfully elegant I find the lines of his mouth. How my pulse fluttered when I painted them in his portrait. How many times my eyes paused on the pale, nearly indistinguishable scar on his bottom lip.

Louise and Jeanne fall into fits of laughter, but Charlotte's face is full worry. "Don't be cruel, Jeanne."

Jeanne takes my hand and tips my champagne flute to my lips. "Drink up," she purrs and my body obeys. "We are going to have some fun tonight."

I drain the entire glass into my sickening stomach as panic races through my veins. I search the grotto for Destan in the hopes that he has overheard the conversation, but my ally is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he has made himself scarce so as not to get in my way, but I need to warn him. I need to tell him about the strange power of influence Jeanne possesses — warn him what secrets I might spill if I'm left to serve as their entertainment for the night.

"I should go." I touch a hand to my head, ready to feign a headache.

Louise's face forms the appearance of disappointment. "Oh, please don't go. We didn't mean to upset you. We only want to make sure Monsieur Bordelon is fit to even be considered by the sister of our dear queen."

When I glance at Charlotte, she gives me an apologetic grin. "I would like you to stay."

It's hard to say no to Charlotte's wide, pleading eyes. A sliver of worry creeps into my mind that I could hurt the Order's cause by abandoning the party now, and a part of me hopes that I can resist Jeanne's commands if I keep my wits about me. "D'accord. I will stay."

I hope I won't regret my decision. To my relief, my companions return their attention to the concert. After a while, Louise leaves us to strike up a hushed conversation with Queen Henriette and she doesn't return.

After the concert comes to an end, the party processes down the Great Lawn to the sprawling Grand Canal where a fleet of boats wait for us. I spy Destan among the parade of courtiers, but he is far ahead of us, and Jeanne and Charlotte don't seem to have any intention of leaving my side. Destan gets into a smaller rowboat with several women and they set off before we even reach the canal. Laughter floats through the air. Their boat's lantern get smaller as Destan pulls the oars and their boat flies away from the shore.

Charlotte pulls me in the direction of the largest boat: a vessel with great billowing sails and a flat deck hung with lanterns and swags of lush fabric. Queen Henriette boards first and her select guests are allowed to follow after her. The deck is crowded and I'm thankful for another crowd to disappear in. As we set sail, waiters ply the Queen's honored guests with more food and drink. A small group of musicians at the stern of the ship begin to play and pairs form for dancing. A pair of faerie men, brothers if not twins, with flawless glamours quickly solicit Charlotte and Jeanne for their partners. The four hurry off to find their place among the set.

A fireworks display begins over the canal and I am relieved to have been left alone. I assume a vacant spot along the railing to watch the twinkling rain of stars and the bobbing lights of the smaller boats on the water. The music, the jovial chatter of the crowd and the sound of waves lapping at the sides of our pleasure vessel lull me into a sense of calm. The clear night and it's undulating reflection on the canal sketches a dark and pleasing tableau, but I'm not certain I could capture its feeling on a canvas.

The whispers of silk skirts announce the arrival of a woman at my side. Queen Henriette joins me at the railing and her eyes scan the sky. "Impressed?" she asks as a firework leaves a glittering trail across the horizon.

"Indeed. The word has been given a new definition to me tonight."

The queen smiles at my compliment, but she seems unmoved by the luxury around her. "An easy task to be sure."

I bristle at the insult, but I ignore it.

"But I confess, I invited you here tonight for more than one reason," she continues. "General Bordelon is a handsome man — your muse so it seems."

I chuckle. "He is not a muse, merely a willing model with the physical discipline to sit still for long periods of time."

"So you say." Queen Henriette turns to examine me with a penetrating gaze. "But I'm not concerned with your feelings for him whatever they may be. I'm concerned with his feelings towards you."

"I am sure General Bordelon has very little feelings towards me—"

"I don't doubt your surety, but you must allow me to have mine. He has taken aim at my dearest sister and her tender heart is swayed by the smallest of attentions. I will not submit her to heartbreak again so soon after Morel's death. You must speak only truth now," she says, and the words have the same commanding tug as Jeanne's.

A chill travels over my skin like I've been drenched in ice-cold water. I clamp my lips shut. She has commanded me to speak the truth, but she has not commanded me what to say. I barely have time to react to the news about her connection to Morel.

"Tell me: are you aware of any sort of attachment General Bordelon may have towards you?"

My mind moves quicker than my traitorous tongue. I could tell her that he is bound to protect me thanks to his Fae instincts, but I don't think that's what she wants to know. "I have never suspected or believed there to be a romantic attachment between us. On either his side or mine."

"I see. Mademoiselle Louise believes General Bordelon wouldn't be so foolish as to bond himself to someone so far below his reach, but the heart wants what the heart wants. I am relieved to learn from Louise that you have never kissed, but I am still cautious knowing the service he rendered you in saving your life."

I hope she doesn't have Destan's sense of hearing or my pulse would have betrayed me. "Indeed, but that was a coincidence. He was in the right place at the right time."

Queen Henriette's smile turns sharply fox-like. "And that right place happened to be your apartments."

I put up my hands in defense. "I assure you. His reasons for being there were anything but romantic."

"I'm afraid there is more at play than just romance. Once begun, there are certain things that can't be undone and since your kind are hopelessly imperceptive, I must ascertain things the hard way."

What can't be undone? What is the hard way? She doesn't seem to think I am aware of her powers of influence, but I don't know exactly what more she wants to find out.

Before I can ask, she takes my chin between her thumb and forefinger and forces me to look her straight in the eye. "There's nothing you want more right now than to take a swim and nothing will stop you."

Like a marionette, on strings, my body and mind follow Queen Henriette's order. Never mind the voice of caution that reminds me that I don't know how to swim, I can only think of one thing. In my billowing gown, I climb clumsily over the railing and without hesitation, I jump.