The queen's birthday arrives at Versailles with pageantry and spectacle. During the week leading up to the big day, I learn what a true celebration at Versailles looks like. There are feasts and performances and dances nightly, but they are nothing compared to the queen's ball — or so I'm told.

Lavernia, the expert of all things courtly dress, helps me order my gown and it arrives the morning of the ball in a pale pink box wrapped with a blue silk ribbon.

The deep maroon Robe à la Française is something far finer than I expected. I lift it from the tissue and find a new ruffled silk chemise beneath. The dress doesn't lace in the front, so my maids have to pin me into the wretchedly tight thing — a process that takes them upwards of an hour to get just right.

When Lavernia arrives at my apartments to accompany me to the ball, she looks pleased with her selection.

"Perfect," she says. "I think perhaps I should have saved this design for myself."

Her gown is a soft pink with a scooping neckline. It resembles mine in form, but hers is trimmed with gold ribbon and it sparkles with glass beads under the candlelight. It is a perfect court dress that displays her wealth at every angle. Mine is solid red silk with matching ribbons and a squared neckline the reveals the faintest ruffle of the white silk from my chemise.

"Come," Lavernia says after her final inspection. "I have a friend attending tonight that I would like you to meet."

Instead of heading to one of the grand salons, we head towards the Hall of Mirrors We join throngs of courtiers as they stream into the long hallway and I suddenly feel underdressed. I don't want to look out of place — to draw too much attention.

Lavernia tucks my hand into the crook of her elbow. "Don't worry, dearest. They're looking at me."

"Oh," I reply and loose a sigh of relief.

"Try to relax. The night is ours to enjoy."

More people fill the room than I have yet to see gathered at Versailles all at once, but I quickly realize the mirrors that line the hall make it fill twice as full. The air is thick with perfume and the cloying aroma of fresh roses. I don't know where to look first, but my eyes land on the queen who holds court at the center of the chaos. She wears a gown of cream-colored satin bedecked with gold ribbons and elegant floral embroidery that shimmers as she moves. The skirts of her gown are almost as wide as I am tall and her neck sparkles with an excessive quantity of diamonds.

Lavernia seems to think better of crossing the queen at her own ball and steers us towards a banquet table crowded with a group of men in military dress uniforms. I expect to find Destan in their midst, but he is nowhere to be seen.

Lavernia directs my attention to the man at their center. He is of middling years but is handsome in every sense of the word. Bright-eyed, pale, and rosy-cheeked, he wears a white wig. His blue and red military uniform bears the same medals as Destan's that mark him a general. He stands upon our arrival.

"Madame la Comtesse d'Amiens," He bows with practiced elegance and graces Lavernia's hand with a kiss. "So lovely of you to favor us with your presence tonight"

Lavernia laughs. "You flatter me, Monsieur le Marquis de la Fayette."

Is this really the hero of two worlds? The legendary hero of the American War of Independence? And could he really be the friend Lavernia wants to introduce me to?

"I would like you to meet my new friend, Florette," Lavernia says with a nod to me. "She was Monsieur Morel's apprentice."

I curtsey and the gentleman takes my hand.

"Gilbert du Motier le Marquis de la Fayette." He places a kiss on my hand. "My friends call me Lafayette." I think he means the Americans. The French are all too impressed by titles.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," I say. He regards me with a curiosity that makes a heat rise to my cheeks.

"Will you join us for dinner? Edmond Morel was a dear friend."

The mention of Morel's name makes my pulse sputter. "I would enjoy that."

Lavernia excuses herself to greet another acquaintance and we sit down to eat. The feasting begins when the servants place a bowl of beef consomme in front of each guest.

"You were a friend of Morel?" I didn't know much about Morel's life outside of his studio, but I hope he will tell me more.

"Yes," Lafayette says and his lips pull into a smile. "A fascinating man. It's a shame I could never divert his interest from painting to politics — or anything for that matter."

This brings a smile to my lips. "Then you knew him well."

Lafayette laughs and it's a bright sparkling thing. It takes me a brief moment to reconcile the congenial man across the table with the man of legend. As his laugh fades his face turns somber. "I'm truly sorry to lose him like we did, but he was not well these past months."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut even though Lord Gardet hinted as much. I'm almost too scared to ask for more. "What do you mean?"

Lafayette looks at me, confused. "I'm talking about his erratic behavior." I must look lost because a deep worry line forms between his brows. "He couldn't finish any of his paintings and the guards found him wandering the grounds at all hours of the night. Has no one told you?"

"They told me about his break with sanity..." A lump thickens in my throat. "And that he drowned."

"That's what the guards believe."

My heart throbs violently inside my chest. "What do you believe?"

"I'll know what to think when his body turns up."

"What?"

There was no body found?

There was no body found. Against my better judgment, hope flickers to life at this realization. Could Morel be alive? The hope turns to panic. Or is there something about the manner of his death that someone wants to keep hidden? My soup remains untouched and I can't even think of eating now.

Lafayette watches me nervously. "You really don't know? Where were you when all this was happening."

"I was in Paris. He never brought me to Versailles while he was alive."

Surprise flickers across Lafayette's face. "Really? That must be the reason we've never met—" His eyes shift to observe something that happens behind me. The entire assembly seems to quiet, so I turn to discover what would cause such a stir.

My eyes find the object of everyone's interest almost immediately. Destan enters the Hall of Mirrors, but I doubt the room quiets just for him. There is an older woman on his arm, a woman almost as beautiful as the queen herself. She wears a white muslin gown that is far too simple for the occasion, but she doesn't seem to care. She holds tight onto Destan as he guides her to the table where the king is seated.

As soon as Destan releases her, his eyes find me. His face is unreadable but his gaze quickly shifts away.

The woman bends at the waist and places a kiss on the king's brow.

"Who is that?" I ask.

A knowing grin spreads across Lafayette's lips. "Ah," he chuckles. "I don't know why I considered myself capable of keeping a beautiful young woman's attention at French court. That is Monsieur Destan de Bordelon. He's a dear friend if you would like me to make an introduction—"

"No. Who is the woman with him?"

Lafayette laughs. "Please. You don't need to lie to protect my pride." His laughter stops when he realizes that I'm serious. "Oh. Yes. That is Her Majesty, Marie Antoinette."
My face falls as I finally recognize her. I must seem an ignorant fool. She hasn't been painted since the revolution of 1789, so I've never seen a current portrait of her. Then it dawns on me that Lafayette personally rescued her and her children from the guillotine.

"She's your friend too?" I ask.

Lafayette nods.

I can see the resemblance between her and the king now. Mother and son, their pale round faces share a similar feminine quality, but Her Majesty has a stunning beauty to her that defies the horrors she has suffered.

Destan escorts Marie Antoinette out of the hall and the volume of conversation returns to a dull roar.

"His mother was one of her servants. Marie took charge of his care when his mother died," Lafayette says. "She doesn't leave the Petit Trianon much these days."

"Is General Bordelon one of her garde du corps?"

"Not usually, but she treats him like one of her own children."

"Does that cause offense?"

"It might have before the Revolution, but Marie has no interest in politics and influence anymore." Lafayette's eyes fall on Queen Henriette. "The court has moved on to younger and more powerful queens."

I want to ask more, but Lafayette's knowing grin deters me.

After the banquet finishes, the court moves from the Hall of Mirrors to the gardens. Lafayette takes my arm to escort me into the bosquet de la Salle de Bal. I stiffen when I see Destan waiting in the grotto and Lafayette doesn't steer our course away from him. Destan shuffles nervously when he notices our approach. I search the crowd for Lavernia — anyone who could divert our course — but she is nowhere to be found.

"Monsieur Bordelon," Lafayette calls out before Destan can dart away and get lost in the crowd. "I thought I might not see any more of you tonight. You are not guarding the queen mother, I take it?"

"No," Destan says with a polite smile. "She wanted to see her son and the decor for the ball is all. I have just returned from the Petit Trianon. She is well guarded there." He wears a sage green frac coat with pale blue facings. His dark hair has grown long enough that he can tie it at the nape of his neck with a matching blue ribbon.

"To be sure," Lafayette replies. "I believe you are acquainted with my lovely companion for the evening?"

"I am," Destan says with a bow in my direction.

An orchestra starts up a quick allemande and sets of dancers begin to form. Lafayette winks at me and I'm not certain whatever for. "I'm afraid dancing is a young man's game," he says. "Monsieur Bordelon, would you be a gentleman and ask our mutual friend to dance? I have monopolized her attention long enough to sate my vanity for a year."

"That won't be necessary—" I say.

"Would you like to dance?" Destan interrupts.

My face flushes with heat. "My apologies," I mumble. "Of course I will dance with you."

I take Destan's outstretched hand and he leads me to join the nearest set of partners. His fingers keep a light hold on mine as the dance begins. The music is quick. An allemande involves plenty of hand contact and Destan's hands help pull me through each turn. Even with Destan to guide me, I soon make the first mistake. He spins under our arms, but when he reaches behind my back for my free hand, I have to fumble around to find it

My heart thuds so loud in my ears I can barely hear the music. "Sorry. I'm not an accomplished dancer," I say. "Morel never bothered to teach me these things."

"There's no need to apologize. I'm not an accomplished dancer either." A smile widens on his lips. "We shall stumble through together."

His smile catches me off guard and chases away my dread. If I'm making a fool of myself, I'm not alone. I start to relax, but my stomach knots again when he moves a hand to my waist and the choreography of the steps brings us closer together.

Destan turns me so his arm is wrapped around my waist. I try to follow his hands, but my feet get tangled up in themselves and I move the wrong way. My back crashes into his chest and for a brief moment his arms tighten around me. I break out of position and whirl around to apologize again, but Destan freezes. We are stopped in the middle of a set of dancers and he just stares down at me, his face frozen and unreadable.

My pulse thunders in my ears as people start to notice us. "Destan?"

His head snaps to look in the direction of the palace and his hands find a tight grip on my waist.

"Destan?" I ask again.

He doesn't look at me. "Something is wrong."

***

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