by EM Castellan
This time my temper got the better of me. “And you’re impossible. I try very hard to please you, and you don’t seem to care at all!”
A joyless chuckle escaped him. “There you have it, then. The man who doesn’t seem to care. That’s me.” He pushed the covers away and got up, his empty side of the bed like a physical rift between us. A part of me ached at the sudden absence, and I knelt on the bed.
“What are you trying to say? Philippe, I don’t understand.”
He opened his arms wide. “What is there to understand? What you see is what you get, isn’t it? The narcissistic, cynical brother to the king, who likes wine, cruel jokes, and pretty outfits.”
The bitterness in his tone left me speechless. But under his bravado, something honest and pure hid, just below the surface. He was trying to tell me something. I folded my hands in my lap.
“You’re saying this isn’t who you are? Why hide the truth, then?”
“To survive!” He shook his head at me as if he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out. “If I’m not shallow, then I’m dangerous, and dangerous people get put down. If I’m not cynical, then I show my weaknesses, and they’ll be used against me. If I’m not selfish, I let people in, I let myself care for them, and then they’re snatched away.”
Emotions strangled me, as the realization of my own blindness struck me. It had been a lie. Everything he’d shown me of him since we’d met had been a carefully constructed persona. He’d been wearing a mask, and as he removed it now, I caught a glimpse of who Philippe D’Orléans really was.
“You think that if you care for me, I’ll be taken away?” My voice was strained, and my heart beat fast.
“Of course you will,” he replied, his tone rising in anguish. “Don’t you realize how it works? My brother gets everything. I get nothing.” He gestured at the door and the castle beyond it. “I choose nothing in my life. I have control over nothing. The money I have, I can only spend on clothes and futile things. And anything I get that’s not supposed to be mine, or that my brother decides he wants, gets taken away from me.”
I listened, too shocked to reply. Memories flashed through my mind at high speed, each one more damning than the last.
One thing you have to know about Philippe is that his jealousy for me knows no bounds. He’s forever under the illusion that I’m plotting to make him miserable.
We’ve ensured Philippe is under control, but that requires giving into his whims from time to time. He’s very jealous of his brother …
Louis and Anne d’Autriche had spent five months poisoning my mind against him. And, naive as I was, I had believed everything they said.
“But,” I said, struggling to organize my jumbled thoughts, “I’m your wife. I’m yours; it’s done.”
He let out a heartless laugh. “That’s the point. They gave me a wife so I could stop being such an embarrassment to the family. They found me a meek, sickly, little English princess to shame me into behaving myself. Except the plan failed, don’t you see? You’re nothing like what they thought.” He closed the distance between us and cupped my face. “You’re beautiful, and you’re witty, and you’re full of magic. I’m not supposed to have something so precious.”
His words elated me and broke my heart at the same time. He cared for me. The clues had been here all along. The gifts he’d given me. His hold on me while we slept. His anger the night of the attack. His tantrum when he’d found out his brother was tricking me into trusting him. His nickname for me. My love.
“When…” My throat dry and my mind still piecing parts of the puzzle together, I paused and started again. “Armand said you two hadn’t shared a bed in four months. Why did you pretend you hadn’t broken up with him?”
He gestured in my direction. “To avoid this! I already care way too much about you. I reckoned if you hated me, you would keep a safe distance and we wouldn’t get hurt. That was the plan, anyway.”
He dropped his hands in defeat and I gaped. He cared for me, but he was also convinced he couldn’t have me. That I wasn’t his to keep.
This time it was my turn to reach for his face.
“Listen. I’m not a toy that your brother and mother can take away from you. I’m a royal princess. And I have magic. There would be consequences, political and diplomatic. They need me. So even if somehow you can’t fight them, I won’t let it drive us apart if you don’t want it.”
It was as if a veil had lifted, and everything appeared to me in absolute clarity. I was a pawn at French court, except to Philippe’s eyes. Unlike Louis or Anne d’Autriche or my ladies, he treasured me, not what I could offer him. That was worth fighting for. That was worth defending. Helping Louis with my magic would safeguard my position at court, but it would also protect Philippe’s. I would help a king build his dream palace, and in return, I would always have leverage to protect the one person who cared about me.
I eased my hands away from his face and caught his in mine. “I know it’s near impossible to trust anyone in this place. But I’m asking you to give me a chance. To give us a chance. On our own, we’re fragile, but together, we can be strong. We can be a force to be reckoned with. We can be a real family.”
His mouth tightened into a thin line, and uncertainty battled hope on his features. “You mean … with children?”
It wasn’t exactly what I’d meant by “family,” but I clamped down my hesitation. If he was considering children, I wouldn’t be the one to stop him.
“Yes, and more. You saw how your brother reacted when we attended the masked ball together. He doesn’t like us getting along, because he feels weakened by it. But we don’t have to hold a united front in public. We can carry on as we have, and let him think he has the upper hand. But in private—in this room—we can make sure we count on and protect each other.”
A smile tugged at Philippe’s lips at last, and he slid his hands down my waist. “You know, I think it’s true what they say.” His fingers, warm and gentle, went down the sides of my thighs, and all of a sudden I had trouble recalling what we’d been talking about. His voice turned huskier. “My brother might be king, but I married the queen.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my cheeks blushing and my pulse fluttering, and let him pull me to him. His touch featherlike, he traced the contours of my body, fiery lines on my skin under my silk shift. My breath hitched and I pressed my forehead to his. He smelled of perfume and summer heat and promises.
“Shall I kiss you?” he whispered, a teasing smile in his voice.
Our lips were a breath apart, all my limbs tingling at his nearness and wanting more. His mouth brushed mine, soft and inviting. Then he paused, hovering above me, and I couldn’t wait anymore. I gripped his neck and drew him to me. When our lips collided, he didn’t hesitate. My pulse exploded, blood pounding with a roar in my ears, and the world dissolved around us. We kissed, fiercely and for a long time, until one of his hands landed on my hip and the other pushed my legs apart.
“Shall I…?” He panted. “Shall we…?”
I ran my hands down his chest, my breathless voice foreign to my ears. “Yes. Yes.”
He pulled off his shirt faster than I thought possible, his skin glowing in the candlelight, and guided me down against the pillows. I brought his face to mine again, the need to kiss him, to never let him go, overwhelming. I crushed his lips, and when his hands found their way under my shift, I pushed my body against his. I barely recognized myself in that moment, but I knew I wanted this—him—with perfect certainty.
He moved to be on top of me, and kissed my temple, then my jaw and my neck, his long hair brushing against my flushed skin. Closing my eyes, I placed my hands on his hips, and his breath stuttered.
“Henriette, I’m going to—”
I interrupted him with another kiss, and he shifted his hands to my lower back to draw me closer.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes.”
CHAPTER XV
Paper lanterns in the shape of water lilies f
loated along the canal, lit from within by magical light. Colorful dots on the slow current, they matched the stars in the night sky above.
“I know a game,” Athénaïs said.
The summer heat refusing to abate, most of the court had fled the château for the evening and sought to cool down outside. A picnic had sprawled along the riverbanks, women in pale dresses and men in shirtsleeves banqueting from silver dishes in the grass. Chandeliers hung from the tree branches, music wafted from the string orchestra by the water, and laughter rose from the chattering crowd.
“What sort of game?” Philippe asked.
Lounging on a thin blanket, he was eating strawberries out of a large bowl, his shoes abandoned nearby. My own bare feet dangling in the water, I turned around as Athénaïs pulled a small vial and a die out of her dress pocket.
“It’s a game of dice. We each choose a number between one and six. Then we each throw the die in turn. If it lands on your number, whoever has thrown the die gets to pick a truth or a dare for you.”
“What’s the vial for?” Prince Aniaba asked. He sat next to her, and no one in our little party could ignore how often they touched or the way they looked at each other.
A mischievous grin spread on Athénaïs’s lips. “Just to spice up the game a little. If your number comes up, you take a sip.”
Philippe barked a laugh. “I like this game already.” He nudged me with his foot. “Come on, let’s play.”
Next to him, Marguerite’s younger sisters waited for my approval with wide, excited eyes. I hesitated. Elisabeth was fifteen, but Françoise was only thirteen. Wherever Louis had disappeared off with Louise, I doubted he’d be very happy to find out his little cousins had taken part in such a game. But this was the French court, and I wasn’t their minder after all.
“Fine.” I drew my feet out of the water while the girls giggled and Philippe raised his glass of wine. I pointed at the vial in Athénaïs’s hand. “But I’m not drinking that.”
Athénaïs shook her head at me, but her gaze remained amused. “All right, everyone, pick a number.”
I sat between my husband and the canal, and ended up with the number no one wanted: two.
“I can’t believe how superstitious you all are.” I shook my head at Athénaïs. “You, of all people. You’re always so pragmatic.”
Her smile turned enigmatic. “Not in every situation.”
“But two can be a good number, Your Highness,” Prince Aniaba said. “It can symbolize union, harmony. From two comes life of course.”
I carefully avoided looking at Philippe and buried thoughts of how two people could create life. It had barely been twenty-four hours since our night together, and part of me still couldn’t quite believe it had happened.
Instead, I replied to the prince: “And magic.”
He nodded, and Athénaïs threw the die. Elisabeth clapped.
“It’s me, it’s me!”
Athénaïs bit her lip and tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at the girl. “Let me think.” She paused for dramatic effect, just as a fire-eater released an impressive flame on the other side of the canal. A round of applause greeted the performance, and Athénaïs turned back to Marguerite’s sister. “I dare you … to go and steal a feather from Madame de Châtillon’s wig!”
Françoise shrieked with laughter, while her sister took a quick sip of the vial and ran off to where Athénaïs’s poor victim sat by the water. Before long she was back, breathless and triumphant.
“She didn’t even notice!” She deposited the large peacock feather at Athénaïs’s feet with a mock curtsy. “My lady.”
We all clapped.
“Very impressive,” Prince Aniaba said.
Elisabeth threw the die, and this time it was his turn to accept a challenge. She asked him for his birth name, which was much longer and pleasing to the ear than his Christian name. After that the game continued, with Elisabeth’s number coming up a second time, then her sister’s. Before long Athénaïs had been challenged to kiss the most handsome man at the party—she chose the prince, which Philippe still complained about ten minutes later; Françoise was tasked to ask the Comte de Saint-Aignan for his real age—“Leave the poor man alone!” Prince Aniaba pleaded between fits of laughter; Philippe had to sing a Christmas carol, for which he invented most of the words; and the prince had to craft a makeshift boat to send an orange across the water—fruit and embarkation sank immediately, their disappearance greeted by hoots of laughter.
“It’s unfair.” Elisabeth pouted afterward. “How come Madame hasn’t had to do anything?”
She slurred her words a bit, her cheeks flushed in the candlelight, no doubt thanks to Athénaïs’s mysterious potion.
“It’s a game.” I showed her my palms in feigned innocence. “My number didn’t come up. I didn’t make the rule.”
“Well, let’s change the rule,” Athénaïs replied with a playful smile. “Who says we give Madame a challenge?”
Everybody cheered and I crossed my arms in mock disapproval. The truth was, I was curious to see what they would come up with.
“A dare?” Françoise asked Athénaïs.
“But a really hard one,” her sister said.
“Fine,” I replied.
I had dreaded a question requiring a truthful answer: Who knew what they might have asked. But a dare I could handle. I doubted there was anything they could demand that would prove a real challenge.
Prince Aniaba’s gaze wandered to the canal, still mournful after his failure. “Something with the water?”
Athénaïs’s eyes turned shrewd. “Something in the water?”
I raised a challenging eyebrow at her.
“I know, I know.” Elisabeth bounded with excitement. “She could swim in the lake!”
Philippe sat up. “Wait—”
But I sprang to my feet before he could object. “Done.”
I ran off, the rest of them scrambling after me with shrieks and calls. The Étang aux Carpes had been dug in the Middle Ages, back when the first château had been built, and Louis’s ancestor Henri IV had added the carps that gave it its name. My bare feet light in the night air, I rushed through Le Nôtre’s quiet work site and charged along the line of trees surrounding the lake. The rest of the group stampeded after me, likely scaring off any nighttime creature in the underbrush.
By the time I arrived at the lake, I was out of breath, but thankfully not coughing. I peeled off my layers and unlaced my corset, dropping ribbons and petticoats in the tall grass, just as the rest of the party emerged from the trees.
“Do it!” Athénaïs shouted.
“She’s doing it!” Elisabeth screamed over her.
They ran toward me, but before they could reach me, I threw myself into the lake, half falling, half diving into its murky waters. Screeches accompanied my splash, along with Philippe’s call.
“Henriette! You’ll catch your death!”
I resurfaced a distance away from the shore, a chill seeping into my limbs. Even in the summer’s heat, the lake was much colder than the canal. My husband may have had a point, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
“It’s all right!” I said. “And the carps are very friendly!”
The poor fish were rather in a panic, sliding away from me as soon they came in contact with my body. The fresh flowers I had woven into my hair earlier fell apart and floated away, little patches of color on the glossy surface of the water. Eager to keep warm, I kicked my legs and swam away from the shore. More shrieks echoed behind me: Marguerite’s sisters knelt by the water and splashed each other, while Prince Aniaba stood by Athénaïs with his arm around her waist. She leaned against his chest and waved at me.
“You won!”
A couple of steps away, Philippe was taking off his clothes.
“What are you doing?” I shouted from the distance.
“Coming to your rescue, you reckless girl!” He pulled at his stocking while standing, and lost his footing. For a
second he disappeared from view in the tall grass. I craned my neck and called Athénaïs.
“What is he doing?”
She turned to survey the scene and burst into laughter. But Philippe was back on his feet, clad only in his knee-length breeches.
“I’m coming!”
Athénaïs’s laugh was contagious, and I found myself giggling as Philippe entered the water.
“Bloody hell, it’s freezing!”
I swam toward him. “Then don’t get in.”
But, stubborn as ever, he headed for me at a slow breaststroke and met me halfway from the shore. His skin glowed ivory in the moonlight, and his dark hair pooled around his shoulders.
“How can you stand it?” His expression both impressed and disbelieving, he reached for me.
Using only my legs to keep afloat, I grabbed his arms. Despite the cold water and the shivers running through him, his body was warm to my touch, and I placed my mouth on his before he moved again. His lips as soft as ever, he returned my kiss with a gentle sigh.
“What are you doing?” Elisabeth shouted. “You’re supposed to bring her back, not drown with her!”
He chuckled and pulled back too soon. “Come on.”
At that moment, popping sounds resonated above the canal in the distance, and fireworks rose above the treetops. A magicien was at work, for the display reached high into the starry sky, releasing magical shapes in bright colors: fire-breathing dragons, sparkling unicorns, and various chimeras galloped across the firmament and chased each other into oblivion above the forest of Fontainebleau.
A gasp of delight escaped me, and I forgot about swimming back ashore, mesmerized by the spectacle. On the bankside, even the girls had gone quiet. For a moment, there was only beautiful magic before us, and all the rest vanished.
A flock of multicolored birds followed the mythical creatures, their tails trailing sparks toward the château. They passed above the lake, and as I turned to watch them go, I caught sight of Philippe’s face, illuminated by the fireworks before they dissolved into darkness. He was looking at me, wonder on his features.