by EM Castellan
My heart sank into my stomach. He only ever used this tone with Armand, or me. For a brief moment I closed my eyes, frozen in the corridor, just out of sight and out of reach. It all made sense, of course. Philippe’s absences. Lorraine’s smug expression when Louis had introduced us. Not only was the man the court’s new darling and the king’s new Source, but he was also my husband’s new lover.
As if to confirm my suspicions, he grabbed Philippe’s arm, whispered into his ear something that made him chuckle, and silenced him with a kiss. Then they left the palace in a rush of clacking heels and rustling fabric.
Everyone is already under his spell, Athénaïs had said. I should have known better than to expect Philippe wouldn’t be one of them.
CHAPTER V
“I heard the reason we’re all invited for seven days is because the party itself will last seven days. Think of the extravagance!”
I nodded and sipped my hot chocolate, impressed by Louis’s ambition despite myself. Following my discovery of the true extent of Lorraine’s interference in my life the other night, I had spent a few exhausting hours replaying the last days in my mind and casting a bitter eye on every moment. Then, sometime around dawn, sleep had claimed me, and when I had woken up that afternoon, I had made at last the decision everyone pleaded me to make: I resolved to put myself and my health first. By this point, it was obvious my body demanded my attention far more than my personal woes. I had to get better before I could investigate spells’ disappearances or Lorraine’s suspicious aura.
So for the past few days, I had remained at home, looked after by everyone in my household except my husband, and as soon as my fever had abated, I had hatched a plan. In a court obsessed with Louis’s approval and enthralled by Lorraine’s charisma, my isolation was my worst enemy. I would never find out who made magic spells vanish or how to retrieve my lost position alone. I needed allies, and if I couldn’t go to them, I would invite them to come to me.
And thus I lounged in my salon on a sunny afternoon, dressed in a gown of pastel satin and sipping hot chocolate with Mimi asleep in my lap, while Olympe de Soissons soliloquized about the court’s latest gossip.
“I’m not certain I even want to spend seven days at Versailles with half the court,” she added. “People are saying there aren’t rooms for everyone and accommodation will be provided elsewhere. Can you imagine?”
I made an approving noise, which again was enough to prompt another tirade. As the Comte de Saint-Aignan had hinted at the previous week, Louis had announced his most impressive court entertainment to date would be held at Versailles in a fortnight. Invitations had been sent out the previous day, and all the courtiers were in a fever—the ones invited getting ready for the event while those left off the list tried to bribe their way onto it.
“And it’s all for her.” Olympe sneered at the word. “Everyone knows it. Dedicating the party to the queens—his mother and his wife, you see—is fooling absolutely no one.”
Last year, Olympe had been Fouquet’s ally in his attempt at overthrowing Louis and seizing power for himself. After the Crown Magicien’s fall, however, she had used her old friendship with Louis to obtain a pardon and remain at court as if nothing had happened. Her visit had surprised me at first—after all, she had threatened and scared me during her alliance with Fouquet. But if Louis could find it in himself to forgive her, so could I, and I wasn’t in a position now to refuse her extended hand of friendship.
Although it was becoming clear her presence in my home was far from a selfless deed but rather the calculated move of a countess in need of allies herself.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied tactfully to her veiled diatribe against Louise.
It was rumored Louis had once loved Olympe enough to consider marrying her, before his political alliance with Spain had made him wed Marie-Thérèse. But it was obvious Olympe still harbored feelings for him and a definite grudge against his new mistress, whose identity wasn’t the secret he hoped.
“Oh, don’t play coy,” she snapped. “This whole entertainment is in her honor, you can’t deny it.”
I suspected it was also a chance for Louis to show off his magicien skills for the first time in public and to establish his magical partnership with Lorraine. Which meant it was imperative I was well enough to attend the event in two weeks and to use it as an opportunity to keep an eye on Lorraine and to find out what was really happening with magic at court. In short, I had two weeks to get better and to surround myself with people I could trust.
“Molière is writing a play, of course,” Olympe carried on. “And there’s a rumor about a menagerie.”
“The Comte de Saint-Aignan mentioned fireworks,” I said to contribute to the conversation. “He visited the other day.”
“That’s nice of him.” Olympe set her teacup down on a pedestal table by her chair and held my gaze in that unnerving way of hers. “The poor man is getting old. But he still knows how to cast a good artistic spell, I’ll give him that.”
A magicienne herself, Olympe rarely used her gift in a court where women weren’t encouraged to practice magic. She’d sided with Fouquet in a bid for more power despite the fact that, as the superintendent of Anne d’Autriche’s household, she was already one of the highest-ranking ladies at court.
“How is the Queen Mother?” I asked to distract her from her vindictive train of thought.
Sadness slackened her features. She wasn’t all hard edges after all. “Still unwell. The doctors are doing what they can, but she’s very ill, and at her age—” She shrugged, her sudden silence squeezing my heart with its implications.
I knew Anne d’Autriche had been thirty-seven when Louis was born, which meant she now was a venerable lady, even when her formidable strength of character made everyone forget it. And I knew all too well no one was immortal, especially not royals.
“Please pass on my good wishes to her,” I said, for lack of a more comforting reply. “I do miss her wisdom.”
Olympe flashed me one of her rare genuine smiles. “I will.”
Conversation unraveled after that, and soon Olympe was up, saying her goodbyes.
“I almost forgot,” she said as a maid helped her into her light silk cloak and Mimi jumped off my lap to circle her with interest. “Athénaïs sends her best regards. She’s been awfully busy, but she promises to come and see you soon.”
All of a sudden Olympe’s surprise call made more sense: she and Athénaïs were close friends, and it occurred to me this whole reunion might have been engineered by my former lady to make up for her lack of visits.
“Busy?” I asked, fearing she was involved in some nefarious activity. Athénaïs was nothing if not bold in her endeavors.
Olympe let out an exasperated sigh. “As I predicted, that husband of hers is useless. Riddled with debts, for one, and far too boring for her.”
Her comment caught me off guard. Athénaïs had complained about her husband when I had seen her, but she hadn’t mentioned any money problems, and her red gown had been the height of fashion and elegance. Likely Olympe was exaggerating that piece of gossip, as usual.
“But,” she added while she tugged on her gloves, “she’s quite the social butterfly, as always. Attending every salon in Paris and discussing poetry and philosophy with sophisticated people. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it next time she visits.”
A faint pang of envy shot through me at the thought of all these courtiers gathering across Paris to hold entertaining discussions in my absence. These days, I counted myself lucky if I managed to rise before noon and to stay up until dinnertime without being brought down by a fit. I dismissed my sullenness with a shake of my head and stood up to walk Olympe to the door, when an idea struck me.
“May I ask for a favor?” I said, sparking interest in Olympe’s golden gaze. “Will you pass on my regards to Prince Aniaba as well when you see him? I’d love for him to visit.”
The prince was a Source and definitely som
eone I trusted at court. He would be the perfect person to speak to of my theory about vanishing spells. I could send him a letter, but Olympe’s intercession might be more effective—and more discreet.
“I will if I see him,” Olympe replied, curiosity already gone from her eyes. “But I must warn you, the man is always at Versailles these days, working with Le Vau, Le Brun, and Le Nôtre when the king isn’t there himself.”
My shoulders sagged. It sounded like I would have to find someone else to help with my investigation. Much like the Comte de Saint-Aignan, Louis’s favorite architect, painter, and gardener must have realized how talented the prince was, and I couldn’t blame him for spending his time working with them.
Olympe left, and I was ready to retire to my bedroom when another carriage rattled into the courtyard below my windows. A maid came rushing into my apartments, a hint of panic in her eyes as she announced:
“Madame, it’s the queen!”
For a heartbeat I thought she meant the Queen Mother, since Olympe and I had just been discussing her moments ago. Then realization dawned on me.
For the first time in her life, Marie-Thérèse was calling on me. Swathed in rich embroidered fabric and as pale as usual, her short frame seemed to drown in her dress despite her plump figure. Her presence in the palace sent my household into a frenzy, and soon we both sat in my salon surrounded by piles of cakes, swarms of servants and ladies-in-waiting, and a pack of Bolognese dogs. The smells of sweet food and sweaty bodies filled the air and rendered me nauseous, and I made a discreet gesture for a window to be open while Marie-Thérèse ate several pâtisseries and her dogs yapped after Mimi across the thick carpet.
I made polite conversation, which she mostly ignored. Breathing in the saturated air was becoming difficult when she snapped an order and the room emptied, leaving only her four dogs behind. She called them to heel as well, and in the sudden quiet she focused her attention on me at last. Her expression was anything but pleasant.
“I’m here because I know,” she said, her Spanish accent lending a lovely lilt to her words that belied the sternness of her tone.
“I’m sorry?” I replied, my puzzlement genuine.
“I know you’re Louis’s mistress,” she went on, spatting the last word. “I’m not stupid.”
My first instinct was to gape. My second was to laugh. Somehow I stopped myself before doing either and kept my composure in the face of Marie-Thérèse’s obvious upset.
“My queen,” I said, making a point of being formal to avoid angering her further. “It’s not my place to assume anything about the king. I must, however, strongly deny your allegations. I assure you I am not, nor have I ever been, his lover.”
Tears welled in Marie-Thérèse’s blue eyes, and she replied in a strained voice, “They say you don’t lie. Then why are you lying to me? I know he has a mistress, and I know he has always doted on you! You pretend to be ill so he can visit you here at his convenience, while your husband is off with that man everyone likes.”
It was my turn to feel tears brimming in my eyes. To hear her say such horrid things was like a slap in my face. As if I could be that deceitful, that wicked? Heat spread to my cheeks, and all thoughts of whom I was addressing fled my mind.
“I do not pretend to be ill. I do not have an affair with the king. I am not lying. I am, however, a princess of the blood, and I will not be insulted, even by you!”
This time Marie-Thérèse burst into tears. Her dogs gathered around her, whining and wagging their tails in anxiety. Heaving sobs shook her corseted chest, and she fished a large lacy handkerchief out of her pocket to blow her nose, in the most unroyal display of emotions I had ever witnessed. My own mother would have been appalled. I bit my lip, my temper forgotten, replaced by guilt at having prompted such a torrent.
“Your Majesty,” I said in a more controlled tone, “please forgive me. I’ve been very unwell, and I’m still very tired. It’s no excuse, but it does make me irrationally irritable.”
“And I’m pregnant!” Marie-Thérèse replied.
My eyes widened at the sudden announcement, but I recovered quickly. “That’s wonderful news. Congratulations!”
She wiped her round cheeks with her handkerchief and sniffed. “Only my ladies and Louis know. Not that it makes a difference to him! I never see him.” Bitterness laced every word, and she grabbed my hand, her face intent all of a sudden. “Do you know who it is? The woman he’s in love with?”
My shoulders slumped. Louis and Louise’s secret wasn’t mine to share, yet I didn’t want to lie to my sister-in-law. She led her life surrounded by her own crowd of devoted courtiers, most of whom were from Spain. Who knew what news reached her and what was kept from her by her well-meaning entourage.
“I think maybe you already know?” I said, my voice gentle.
She sniffed again and rubbed her reddened nose in her handkerchief. Her discomfited expression was a reminder of how young she still was. “Do I? I really thought it was you. You’re the prettiest. If it’s not you, then I don’t know.”
She released a heavy defeated sigh, which prompted my reply.
“Maybe it’s better if you don’t know. The reason you don’t is that the king has tried to be discreet to spare your feelings.”
“Well, he hasn’t done a very good job of that, has he?”
I pressed my lips together, running out of ideas to comfort her. It was true Louis’s behavior was a terrible insult to her, and I really wished he would deal with his own problems rather than leaving me to sort out his messes.
“Why don’t you talk to him, then?” I said.
Marie-Thérèse’s eyes widened. “Confront him? Oh, I could never! Too unseemly.”
“Not confront him, but talk to him. About your feelings, about how you miss him and wish to spend more time with him.”
I knew for a fact Louis thought his wife boring, but maybe there was a way to bring them closer regardless. The irony of me attempting to fix Louis’s marriage when my own was collapsing wasn’t lost on me, but the thought of helping my family when I felt so helpless otherwise warmed my chest a little. Marie-Thérèse’s weeping had ceased, which was already a victory.
“You do have a few things in common with Louis,” I said, emboldened by her hopeful gaze. “Why don’t you think of a few conversation topics for when you’re next together?”
She waved my suggestion away with her handkerchief. “It’s easy for you. You always know what to tell people, how to make them laugh and love you. People look at me and—” She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” I insisted before I could think about her praise and squirm. “You fulfill every duty required of you. Louis sees that, and I’m certain it wouldn’t take a lot of effort to remind him of everything you bring to him.”
Marie-Thérèse nodded and put away her handkerchief, some serene confidence returning to her features. I had found the right words, and the result was pleasing. I just couldn’t dwell on the fact that, unlike Marie-Thérèse, it was my inability to fulfill my duties—whether magical or marital—that could be blamed for Louis’s and Philippe’s absences from my life.
But as the light dimmed outside my windows, Marie-Thérèse kept chatting in a relaxed manner, distracting me from my gloomy thoughts. At some point she resumed her eating and introduced me to her beloved dogs.
It was the longest time I had spent alone with her and—I’m ashamed to admit it—the first time I had deigned to see past her pouting and her lack of conversational skills to try to get to know her. As sisters-in-law, we had far more in common with each other than with any other women at court, and I wished it hadn’t taken the rest of my life to unravel for me to see it. Allies could come from unexpected places, and I supposed the royal palace was a good place for me to start.
* * *
A few days later, the tailor came to the Tuileries, and he didn’t call empty-handed.
He brought heaps of fa
bric rolls, countless chests of accessories, and Armand, the Comte de Guiche.
“Surely you didn’t think I was going to let you choose a dozen outfits alone?” he said as the tailor—a magicien renowned at the French court for his fantastical skills—displayed shimmering fabrics around my salon and pulled magically enhanced shoes, fans, and gloves out of silk-covered boxes.
“A dozen outfits?” I asked, slight alarm pitching my voice higher.
It was another clear afternoon, and sunshine filtered through the closed indoor shutters, layering the room with slanted shafts of light. The weather had warmed up significantly as April ended, awakening gardens and ushering us into what promised to be a lovely spring. Fragrant flower arrangements decorated the room, their wonderful smell permeating the air.
“Of course!” Armand replied. He slouched in an armchair, a glass of wine in his hand and a critical eye on the tailor’s exhibit. “This is a seven-day affair, remember? You need at least one outfit per day and one per evening.”
My chest caved a little. Following Olympe’s and Marie-Thérèse’s visits, the last few days had been quieter, which had allowed me to recover some of my former vitality. The king’s entertainment was now ten days away, and I felt more confident I would be able to attend. Yet the thought of having to manage a whole week of parties and courtiers’ scrutiny felt a bit too ambitious after my bout of illness. Still, the court entertainment would be an opportunity for me to seek answers to the questions left in suspense by my forced inactivity.
“I say pastels for the day, bright colors for the night,” Armand went on. “Lots of lace and ribbons, definitely magically enhanced jewels, and accessories, accessories, accessories.”
He stood up, gestured at various brocades and velvets, and asked the tailor pointed questions. The magicien rushed around the room to show him more damasks while his assistant fluttered about, riffling through tissue papers in boxes in an effort to help.
My feet up on the sofa and Mimi in my lap, I relaxed in my seat, watching them move about the room like actors stepping around costumes backstage.