Even though Destan has given me a story to divert Lord Gardet's suspicions, debilitating headaches keep me in my room with the curtains drawn. It takes days for the fog to lift, but even then, I'm hesitant to leave my rooms. I'm out of my depth when it comes to deception and Destan's warning not to let my thoughts show on my face doesn't help either. I even practice what I'd say to Lord Gardet about the attack in front of the mirror, but it's no help. Instead, I turn down Lavernia's nightly offer to accompany her to some function. Neither a fancy court gown nor powder and rouge is going to make me feel comfortable in my skin when I haven't yet learned how to hide my feelings.

As I get ready to tuck into the dinner that was delivered to my chamber, I hear a quiet scratching at my door. I open it to find Lavernia armed with a white chemise and a pair of servants.

"Good evening," Lavernia says as she enters my studio. "I see you're up and about. I hope I am not disturbing your plans." She eyes my singular tray of food archly.

"No," I say with a laugh. "I do not have any plans to be disturbed."

"As I suspected!" Lavernia pushes me in the direction of my bedchamber. "Then I shall take you to the opera."

"The opera?" My stomach lurches at the thought of leaving my chambers.
"Yes. People are beginning to talk. It's time you left your studio and I am not letting you sit here in your room when they are performing Mozart." She unbuttons my Caraco jacket and pulls it off my shoulders before she lets her maids get to work.

"Lavernia... I can't wear that," I say when I see what style of dress she wants me to put on. It's a Robe a la Reine — a scandalous white dress of layered muslin that looks far too close to a chemise. "Not in public!"

"Nonsense! Everyone dresses boldly for the opera." She waves away my protestations with a flick of her hand. "You've seen me wear one before. With your complexion, no one will be able to complain let alone take their eyes off you."

I would have chosen something more conspicuous, but my mind is changed once the dress is slipped over my head. The muslin is thin and supple and dangerously soft as it brushes against my skin. I run my fingers over the flounces of fabric that line the wide neckline. "I fear I will never want to wear anything else," I confess.

"Now you see why the women of court prefer the style." Lavernia takes a wide, blue satin ribbon and knots it tightly around my waist, making the stitches on my side ache. "Such a lovely figure," she remarks. "A bit skinny, but you will fill out in due time." She pinches the tender flesh behind my arm.

"Ouch!" I swat her hand away and she laughs heartily.

Lavernia sends the girls away and does my makeup herself. It's more than I've ever worn, but she has done marvelous things to my features. A glance in the mirror confirms her skill with rouge — I look nothing like the girl who arrived at the palace. I'm not certain I want to leave that girl behind, but perhaps I will feel more capable of moving among the courtiers with this mask on.

"Am I ready?" I ask.

Lavernia sprays my décolletage with a sweet, floral perfume before she nods. "You are ready."

The halls that lead to the Royal Opera on the north side of the palace swarm with bodies. A roar of chatter fills the air and echoes back off the marble floors, but the crush of the crowd isn't what makes my head feel light. Wherever Lavernia leads me, eyes follow.

"Do not pay them any heed," she says as she leads me up the stairs to her Opera box.

"Why are they staring?" I hope it's not my dress.

"The story of the attack was last week's gossip, but the Maîtresse-en-titre and her companions are always worth staring at." She pulls aside a thick blue curtain to the box.

"You are—"

"Newly appointed official mistress to the king, yes."

"Lavernia, my apologies. I had no idea. You must think I am a simpleton or completely ignorant—"

She stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. "I will tell you what I think. I think I was once in your shoes not long ago. Now come."

With a nudge, I enter the box ahead of her. A breath catches in my throat at the sight of the theatre. The Royal Opera is the largest room I think I've ever set foot in. A massive oval with the stage ahead of us, three tiers of boxes filled with courtiers rise above the floor and two levels of balconies. Large Corinthian columns flank the stage and a grand mural, featuring a shining Apollo surrounded by Muses and Graces, hangs high above our heads. Large chandeliers fill the room with a heady glow that makes the gilded bas-relief carvings around the room shimmer.

"Beautiful," I remark as Lavernia and I take our two seats at the front of the box.

"Grand," Lavernia replies, but she doesn't seem as enthused as I am.

I try to hide my obvious astonishment at the scope of the room and content myself to watching the people that mill about the crowd. Every face is unfamiliar but I study their mannerisms, how they walk, how they move. Their gestures are graceful and practiced.

I quickly spot several glamoured Fae in their midst — it's as if a veil has been removed from my eyes and I'm not sure how I didn't see them so clearly before. Their ethereal masks stick out like true diamonds set beside cut glass and my fist clench my skirts in anger. There are far more of them than I thought, and judging by the opulence of their attire they are not hurting for money and influence. Queen Henriette's neck alone sparkles with enough gems to feed a family for a year, maybe more.

The orchestra starts up the overture and people begin to settle in their seats. I spot Destan in a box with Lord Gardet across from ours. I don't know how my eyes find him so easily. In a pale blue jacket and a champagne silk waistcoat that I'm sure is doing wonders for his eyes, he blends in with every other courtier. A shiver feathers down my spine when his gaze meets mine.

My face heats and I drop my eyes to stare at my hands.

"Oh dear," Lavernia says. "General Bordelon must be quite taken with you."

My stomach gives a great lurch. "What?" I turn to look at Lavernia and decidedly not towards Destan. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, he is staring in our direction and he certainly is not looking at me."

This makes me wonder about their meeting in the hall outside my door. Perhaps they weren't lovers after all. I hazard a glance at Destan. "I am a stranger to him," I say. "I only painted his portrait."

"Nonsense," Lavernia says, unconvinced. "He tried to keep it quiet, but everyone heard about his daring rescue."

I glance at Destan, but he is mid-bow to greet a pair of young women who have come to his box. The light of his smile warms me from across the room. "I can't believe they're related."

"Destan and Lord Gardet?" Lavernia asks.

She sounds surprised and I want to ask why, but we are interrupted by a new arrival. A tall figure sweeps aside the curtain and breezes into the box like he belongs here.

Lavernia's smile brightens at the sight of him. "Hadrian!" she cries. "So good of you to join us."

The man drops his slender frame into the chair beside mine. "I wouldn't miss it," he says and pulls a hand through his black hair. "They're performing Mozart."

Lavernia leans around me. "Hadrian, I have a dear friend I have been desperate for you to meet. She's new to court — a painter. Morel's former apprentice."

Hadrian's dark eyes run over me in a less-than-subtle examination. "A pleasure to meet you..."

"Florette."

"Mademoiselle Florette." I extend my hand to him and he places a kiss on my knuckles. "Hadrian de Gadhavi, head gardener of Versailles." He wears a cream ensemble decorated with gold braiding, ribbon, and embroidery that deepens the warm browns of his skin under the candlelight.

He's quite handsome, but not in an unsettling way — and he's certainly not Fae. I imagine how I'd capture him on a canvas and I'm convinced the sharp angles of his face would make for a beautiful portrait.

"I have much admired your work," I say. "The gardens are something marvelous."

A grin parts his lips. "Thank you. And what do you paint?" Hadrian leans onto the arm of his chair and brings his face closer to mine.

"The usual things. Portraits mostly, but I have a soft spot for landscapes." The overture ends and candles around the room are snuffed.

Hadrian's attention doesn't turn to the stage; he remains focused on me. "Have you been to see the Petit Trianon? There are some lovely bosquets over that way."

"I have not."

"Then would you like me to give you a proper tour? I believe I am the ideal person to show you the best tableaus to paint."

"I'm certain you are. Name the day and time and I will gladly let you be my guide."

"And what about patronage?" he asks. "Have you found a patron to support your work here at Versailles?"

My stomach twists. "No. Not yet." Having just recovered from a harrowing injury, I was not expecting to be reminded of my tenuous position at court tonight. I can take individual commissions while I have Morel's inheritance to live off of, but that won't last long — especially not at Versailles. "Do you know of anyone?"

"I can't be certain anything would come of it, but I could put a word in with Queen Henriette."

My blood runs cold when I think of sitting to paint the queen's haunting beauty for hours on end, but a royal patron would give me unparalleled security at court. My eyes snag on Lord Gardet who is now alone in his box across the theatre and I wonder if a patron like the queen would relieve me of his scrutiny.

"The queen has already seen and observed my work," I say. "She has my portrait of General Bordelon in her salon. Do you truly think she would agree to be my patron?"

"Possibly," Hadrian says with an encouraging smile. "Queen Henriette has always trusted my taste and a word from me could go a long way if you wished to ingratiate yourself with her."

"Truly?" My voice is laced with an eagerness that I hope doesn't sound too much like desperation. "I don't know what to say."

Hadrian leans closer as the music from the orchestra swells to fill even the darkest corners of the theatre. "Say yes."

Before I can agree to the scheme, the curtain of our box draws aside and Destan storms into the box. His expression is darkened and his sudden appearance makes an unexpected fear course through my veins like ice. What have I done? I can't have given up the secret already. Hadrian and Lavernia turn to see who has arrived. They both stiffen at the sight of Destan.

"A word, Hadrian," Destan barks and the hair on the nape of my neck rises. "Now," he adds when Hadrian doesn't move.

Destan holds the curtain aside so Hadrian can pass by and his eyes cut to Lavernia. "You too."

Lavernia rises from her seat and follows Hadrian from the box. Destan stalks after them without even a glance in my direction.

I remain frozen in my chair. The pounding of my pulse in my ears drowns out the opening strains of a soprano. My shock turns to confusion and my confusion to anger as I'm left very much alone. I stand, determined to follow them out into the hall, but something makes me stop at the curtain.

A hint of a whisper. Lavernia. "You should give her more credit—" Are they talking about me?

"Enough," Destan's unmistakably rich growl cuts her off. "You will not make decisions like this without me."

I know I shouldn't be listening in on private conversations. I don't need another secret to keep, but my skin prickles with curiosity. The orchestra grows louder and I lose their hushed exchange.

As I consider returning to my seat, Destan pulls the curtain aside and nearly runs into me.

He catches me by the elbow. "My apologies."

"Was that about me?" I glance over his shoulder. "Did I do something wrong?" I whisper.

"Of course not. Hadrian was called away."

Irritation flames hot in my belly. "And Lavernia?"

"She ran into some friends—"

Against all my attempts at restraint, my blood roils. "You know we were having a very nice time—" I snap.

"Please." He turns me by the elbow, gentle and even-tempered as if I haven't just yelled at him, and returns me to my chair. "Enjoy the opera." To my surprise, he takes the seat next to mine.

I don't pay much attention to the first act of the Opera. My entire body seems acutely aware of the man sitting beside me. Every shift of his posture, each little movement catches my gaze. There's something he isn't telling me.

During the intermission, I clutch my head to feign a headache. "Please excuse me. I think I will retire to my chambers."

"Are you feeling ill?" Destan asks. His brows push together with genuine worry.

"A headache is all." My reply is clipped and final.

"Would you like me to accompany you to your door?"

Etiquette says I should accept his offer, but I decline. "I will be fine. I can find my way back."

Destan frowns, but I need to be away from him before I say something rash. I head into the hall and to my surprise, he follows. He looks angry and I'm not sure why. "I'm escorting you to your door," he says as he catches up to me with long strides.

"I said I would be fine on my own—"

"And you probably would be. Please, Florette... for my sake." He stops to face me. "Allow me this."

The pleading look in his eyes thaws something in me, but it's not enough. I draw up to my full height. Perhaps he is more like his father than I thought, but I am through with being intimidated. "No. I don't need your protection. Not if it means you chasing off my friends."

I brush past him with a glare and this time he doesn't follow.

***

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