Glass Slipper

by Abigail Barnette

  She considered his answer while he moved the sponge between her thighs. The cool water soothed her burning flesh, and she sighed.

  “Before you ask, no, I do not bring women to my bed here.” He paused and looked up at her. “You’re the first.”

  Her heart clenched in her chest. “You’ve never had another women in your bed here?”

  “This is my home. It’s a sanctuary from my life at court. I wouldn’t share it with someone who means nothing to me.” He did not look her in the eye.

  So, she meant something to him. That pleased her, and saddened her at the same time. She sat up. “Where did my nightgown go?”

  “You took it off over there,” he said, dropping the sponge in the basin and pulling back the bedclothes. “You don’t need it.”

  She cocked her head, wondering if he meant what she inferred from his statement.

  “I would like you to sleep here, with me.” He sounded almost embarrassed. “Our last night together. It would be a very pleasant memory for me, when you’re queen.”

  Smiling, she kicked the covers down and climbed beneath them, shivering with anticipation as she waited for him to settle beside her. The smooth warmth of his skin against hers was a delicious thrill despite the wearing satiation that gripped her limbs. “Could we pretend that morning never arrives, and just stay here forever?”

  He chuckled. “If you would like to, we may do that. Until morning.”

  She forced herself to laugh, and gave him a playful slap, but she had meant every word.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The journey to court had taken two days and one miserable stop in a roadside inn that Julien had been sure harbored bedbugs, but when they drew into view of the palace, Joséphine felt the trip had been entirely worth it.

  The palace, a long rectangle of sand-colored stone that glowed rosy in the setting sun, was larger than anything she had ever seen before. A wide limestone avenue with elaborately pruned trees and magnificent sculptures spread before the palace like a chapel aisle awaiting a bride, and the last flare of daylight caught each of the hundreds of windows, setting fire in each pane of glass.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, and in the back of her mind a voice whispered, this could all be yours.

  The thought did not bring her as much joy as she thought it should have. Certainly, to live here, to make such a magnificent estate her home, would be worth the sting of lost love? And Julien did not love her. If he did, he would not be delivering her to another man.

  “Do you think you will enjoy being queen of such a place?” He took her hand and kissed, almost sadly. As if he were saying goodbye.

  “I am not queen, yet,” she said, pulling her hand back. “In fact, my prey is not even king yet. Isn’t it treasonous of you to suggest he might one day be?”

  Julien laughed. “I see you listened well to Madame Brujon.”

  “I listened very closely to matters that could cost me my head.” She suppressed a shiver at the thought. Court had been a dangerous place in the past. She did not wish to end as some had.

  The coach rumbled down the avenue, giving her ample opportunity to view the gentlemen in their finery and the ladies in elaborate evening dress strolling along, enjoying the sunset. Though she hated herself for it, Joséphine could not help but wonder at the sight of every woman who looked up on the carriage with quickening breath or twinkling eyes, Is she one of the ones? Will she be, after I am married to the prince?

  Julien acknowledged a few waves from people who knew him, but he did not ask the driver to stop, letting him take them all the way to the courtyard of the palace. Blush stone decorated the ornate facade of the building, and a wide staircase led them to a marble tiled veranda and finally, into the palace.

  “I must inquire with the prince’s secretary, to find out if the prince is in residence tonight,” Julien said in a low voice as they passed through the doors and into the palace foyer. He guided her past clusters of suddenly curious onlookers. With a shock, Joséphine realized that they were curious about her.

  “If the prince is not in residence?” she asked quietly, angling her head towards him but never taking her eyes from the courtiers who stared shamelessly at them as they passed.

  “If he is not, we will not see him tonight.” He lead her through a series of rooms, each more elaborately decorated than the last with scenes of ancient gods and marble busts of long-dead royalty. Everything, from the chairs to the tables to the chandeliers over their heads glittered with gold and dripped with crystals. The courtiers were just as impressive, and in her satin gown, with very little jewelry and her hair unfashionably low compared to the towering styles both the men and the women wore, Joséphine felt utterly useless.

  Julien continued, oblivious to her discomfort, “Nevertheless, we must see his royal highness’s secretary so that he can secure you adequate accommodations.”

  “Anything where I am not likely to get lice would be lovely,” she giggled. “That inn was abhorrent.”

  “Oh, you won’t be staying in an inn.” Julien nodded to a woman in a scarlet dress who batted her eyes as he passed. “I have my own quarters here at the palace, and Prince Philipe will extend the honor to any friend I bring to court.”

  She wouldn’t be staying with Julien? “I’ll be all alone? At court?”

  “No, not all alone. Heavens no.” A man with a towering cap of white hair, upon which rested an enormous stuffed bird with long purple feathers, glared at Julien as he passed. “You’ll have all these lovely bastards to keep you company.”

  The prince’s secretary was finally located after what seemed to have been miles of walking, in a long hall that appeared to have no other purpose but for nobles to congregate and sneer at each other.

  “Julien!” The man came forward and bowed, a grin on his face. “His highness received your letter. He has talked of nothing since it arrived yesterday.”

  Joséphine curtsied as Brujon had taught her, the effortless execution honed through fear of having ones knuckles rapped.

  “Sebastien, this is Joséphine Thévenet. Her father, Henrí Thévenet, is one of my oldest and dearest friends.” Julien cleared his throat. “Her stepmother is a frequent visitor to court.”

  “Oh, yes, her,” the Prince’s secretary, Sebastien, rolled his eyes. “I can’t keep her away from Prince Philipe. She is determined to marry one of her daughters off to him. She won’t take no for an answer.”

  “That sounds like her,” Joséphine said, before she could stop herself. She flushed red with embarrassment, but both Julien and Sebastien laughed heartily.

  “His highness will like you, Joséphine,” Sebastien laughed, before turning his attention back to Julien. “You’ll find him in the red salon, gambling.”

  “And that sounds like him. Sebastien,” Julien said with a bow, then turned Joséphine in the direction they had come. After another confusing set of turns, they arrived at the large, gilded doors of the red salon.

  “How does anyone remember how to find their way around here?” Joséphine marveled. Some of the doors they had gone through had been disguised like the wall surrounding them. Every room seemed to house a sea of people, and they all walked freely through bedchambers, dressing rooms, parlors and galleries. “And is there no privacy here?”

  “None,” Julien said, then, nodding to the servant at the door, “tell his highness that a far better man than he has come to receive tribute.”

  Joséphine gasped at Julien’s disrespectful words, but the servant didn’t blink an eye. He said, “Very well, sir,” and slipped through the door, which he opened no wider than his body.

  “The prince’s parties are as private as you’ll find in this palace. That is why it is best to ally yourself with him,” Julien explained, but he was cut off by a booming voice from the other side of the door.

  “Tell the bastard I’ll have him boiled in oil,” the voice shouted, and the doors flew wide open to reveal a man with a wide grin and at least a
day’s worth of whisker growth.

  Julien bowed immediately, squeezing Joséphine’s arm to remind her to curtsey. If he had not, Joséphine would have stayed where she was, staring at the prince, not believing that he was royalty at all. He looked positively unkempt, in a wrinkled shirt and no coat.

  “No, no, dear beauty, no need to stand on formalities.” He reached for her hand, and Julien released her. The prince smiled as he lifted her hand for a kiss, and in spite of her first impression, Joséphine’s heart fluttered.

  Julien cleared his throat. “Your highness, Joséphine Thévenet.”

  “Thévenet?” he asked, but he was not speaking to Julien. He winked at Joséphine and said, “I didn’t know the old cow could produce such a jewel. If she’d have brought you to court, I would have married her for the honor.”

  Joséphine blushed. “I believe you have met my stepmother, your highness.”

  “Don’t remind me. Please, you and Julien must come and join us. We’ve been gambling all night, and I haven’t had a single ounce of luck.” Prince Philipe took Joséphine’s arm and led her into the salon, not looking to see if Julien followed. “But I feel that perhaps my luck has suddenly changed.”

  Joséphine smiled and followed him to the gaming table, where dice were set out among many colored pieces. Never having gambled before, Joséphine had no idea what they were doing, but she pretended to be interested as she surveyed the board.

  The prince took his chair and patted his knee. A few of the courtiers gathered around the table made lascivious “ooh”s of delight as Joséphine made show of arranging her skirts before sitting on the prince’s lap.

  “Who’s this beauty?” a man asked with a laugh.

  “Gentlemen, this is lady luck. She will be presiding over my dice for the rest of the evening.” The prince unfolded Joséphine’s hand and placed the dice in her palm.

  Uncertain of what to do, but knowing it was too late to pretend shyness, she opened her palm and dropped a kiss on one of the dice. “For luck,” she explained, then tossed them into the open space on the table.

  The men around the table laughed, and the prince groaned. “Have even you forsaken me?”

  Joséphine fought against the blush that crept into her cheeks. “I most humbly apologize, your highness. Perhaps there is a way I can…pay you back for what you’ve lost?”

  As she spoke the last, she drew her fingers in a line down the front of the prince’s shirt, toward his breeches. Even through her voluminous skirts, she felt that he was hard beneath her thigh.

  He gazed up at her with crystal blue eyes shaded by storm clouds of desire. He ran a hand through his tussled black hair and said, darkly, “Gentlemen, I fear I need to cut our evening short.”

  He wants to do it right here, right now! Her heart pounded in her chest. Was this good, or horrible? Had she destroyed her chances by not leading him on longer? She looked to Julien, who covered up his dark expression and nodded encouragingly. Still, she had seen the disappointment there. She had done something wrong.

  When the last of them had filed from the room, the prince grinned at her and said, “Now, my lady, how will you prove to me that I am not entirely unlucky?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julien waited outside the red salon for a half hour, then decided that he would rather poison himself slowly with alcohol than listen for every grunt and moan he could imagine on the other side of the door. He left swiftly and went to make sure Sebastien had provided adequate accommodations for Joséphine, in rooms that could not be accessed in the night by randy courtiers. Then, he shut himself away in his own chambers until dinner was served.

  He sat at the table with Philipe, of course, and watched as Joséphine fed the bastard cherries and slices of succulent orange. On occasion she would take a bite from a slice, herself, letting the juice dribble onto the tops of her breasts, displayed with alarming lack of restraint by one of the gowns that Marie had made for her. It was not unfashionable at court to wear a daring neckline, and the hint of a pink nipple showed above the lace at Joséphine’s bosom. The prince’s mouth strayed there and tarried far too long as he laved his tongue over the juice.

  Life at court was not truly life, but a dance. One that Joséphine seemed to have learned uncommonly well. And why shouldn’t she have? She had been taught by a master. Philipe was as besotted with her as every man at the dinner table, Julien included. He knew he was not the only man throbbing in agony as he watched Joséphine’s head fall back, baring her white throat to the prince’s kisses. But unlike the rest of the men, Julien wouldn’t find a woman to ease his desire tonight. Only one woman could do that, and already she belonged to someone else.

  The next day, he accepted an invitation from the Comte de Vincenes to play cards. The Comte was a sour little man with a wretched case of gout, but his company was preferable to watching Philipe paw Joséphine. Or watching Joséphine enjoy that pawing. Still, he could not escape his jealousy completely. All the Comte’s guests talked of was the mysterious new woman at court, who had snared the Prince’s attention completely.

  “He takes her to his bed every night,” the Comte said, his beady eyes glittering black in his pudgy face. “If we were only young men again, eh, Julien?”

  It would have been better, perhaps, to have left court all together.

  The morning of the Prince’s birthday arrived, and Julien dreaded the party that evening. Normally, Philipe’s private party was the highlight of Julien’s year. A masked orgy, always held in the prince’s smaller house on the edge of the palace grounds, the birthday celebration was a night long indulgence in all the pleasures anyone could desire.

  All he desired was Joséphine.

  He considered the ensemble he had commissioned from Marie. The package had arrived via courier that morning, and Julien had left it unopened on his bed for hours before deciding what would be done with it.

  If I am to see this through, I must see it through all the way. Though it pained him to write every word, he sent Joséphine an invitation to tea. A part of him expected her to decline his invitation, but at the appointed time she appeared, looking like a strange imitation of herself in her court dress. Her shimmering scarlet gown made her creamy skin appear paler, and her hair had been carefully dressed in court fashion to tower above her head.

  “You look…ridiculous,” Julien laughed when she came through the door.

  For a moment he thought she would be offended, but then she laughed with him and reached up to touch her hair. “Perhaps when I have enough footing here at court, I can change the style a bit.”

  “I’d say you already have good footing. You’re all anyone can talk about.” All I can think about. Come home with me. He cleared his throat. “And the prince is quite taken with you.”

  She flushed to match her dress. “Philipe is…very charming.”

  “He must have charmed you a great deal, if you’re calling him Philipe and not trembling in fear of him.” Gods, how he wanted to take her into his arms and fuck her until she forgot she’d ever been with another man. “And how goes your seduction?”

  She looked down. “Very well.”

  He did not want to know, and yet, he could not stop himself from asking. “He must have taken you to his bed by now.”

  “He has tried.” Was that sadness in her voice? “I have refused him.”

  “Why would you refuse him? This is what you came here for.” What strange power had possessed Julien that he would argue with the woman he loved to convince her to fuck another man?

  “Julien, you taught me, above all else, that pleasure is greater when it is delayed.” She laughed. “Some are suggesting that the prince will announce our engagement tonight.”

  If the floor had crumbled beneath him, Julien would have been on surer ground. “Already?”

  She nodded, lifting her chin proudly. “Yes. He has discussed it with me. His father has put enormous pressure on Philipe to marry, and since I have, in his words, the most talent
ed tongue he has ever met in and out of bed, he feels I am a perfect choice. You taught me well.”

  Julien turned away. “Well, I have fulfilled my promise to your father, then.”

  “You promised my father that you would return me married. You never promised that it would be to the prince.”

  His stomach clenched. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He picked up the package from the bed and slowly began to unwind the twine. “I have something for you.”

  Joséphine came to stand beside him, close enough that their arms almost brushed. Still, a safe, cool distance. He unwrapped the paper, and gold cloth spilled across the bed.

  “What is it?” she asked, almost nervously.

  “I had Marie make this for you. I thought it would help you win over the prince, but I see now that you don’t need any help there.” He lifted the costume, careful not to disturb the peacock feathers that had been carefully protected by Marie’s meticulous folding.

  Joséphine touched the cloth reverently. “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’ll look beautiful in it.” He touched her cheek, unable to help himself. He needed to feel her, to memorize every touch so that he could cherish it long after she was married to Philipe.

  A tear fell from her eye as she looked up at him. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Julien.”

  He turned away, back to the package, where Marie had included a length of gold chain and a bundle of silk. “There is more.”

  If he pretended she had not spoken, he could ignore what she’d said. He unwound the silk carefully, hearing the soft ping of whatever delicate objects were hidden inside. A pair of shoes, made from sparkling glass and etched with gold leaf designs of peacock feathers from the pointed toe to the soft rise of heel. “Fit for a princess, I think.”

  Joséphine began to cry in earnest then, and Julien carefully set the slippers aside. He gripped her arms, forced her to look up at him with a stern shake. “Stop this. This is what we’ve worked for. All those weeks. Are you really going to throw all of that away?”