Page 41

The Dungeons

“Your mission,” Regnault begins, setting the lantern on the ground between us, “will be to disguise yourself as a maid and bring something into the Dauphin’s rooms.”

I nod, crouching before the lantern and warming my hands.

Regnault remains standing over me, his features lit from below as he awaits my response.

This is familiar—him giving me a mission, me executing it.

I have done this since I was a girl. After days of suffering the consequences of my own poor decisions, putting my faith in my father’s plan is a welcome reprieve.

“What is it?” I ask.

“In a moment.” He takes a bundle from his cloak and passes it to me through the bars. It is light, mainly fabric. Clothing of some sort.

“Servant’s uniform,” Regnault explains. “For the wedding tomorrow. You will be attending to the royal lovebirds.”

I clutch the bundle to my chest in surprise. “How did you get this?”

“Connections,” he says, inspecting his nails. “The Regent is a terribly simple man to manipulate. His greed rules him. And greed—”

“Is the easiest vice to exploit,” I finish. It’s one of his favorite phrases.

He ruffles my hair, a rare proud gleam in his eyes.

“Precisely. I have his ear and his favor. He called away the prison’s guards so I could give you these.

You will, however, have to leave and come back on your own.

I can’t risk you being seen walking out of the prison.

But it appears that a window has conveniently been left open near the guardroom.

And there are no guards on duty.” He winks at me.

I nod, grinning back, reassured to know I have a way out. “But what about Damien?” I ask, remembering my earlier worry. “Has he not told Aimé about your relation to me?”

“I am certain he has tried,” Regnault says.

He bends to pick up the lantern again, clearly signaling that our time together is running out.

“But the Regent holds far more power than the prince, and as long as our interests align, I am safe.” He raises the lantern higher, gesturing to my bundle of clothes.

“You will find a packet of dried herbs in there,” he says.

“Take the Dauphin’s morning tea to him and sprinkle them into his cup. Make sure he drinks it.”

“What will it do?” I ask, frowning.

“It…” Regnault runs his tongue over his teeth, wording his answer carefully.

“It won’t harm him, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I would gain nothing in killing him before the marriage.

” He turns to leave, and then gives me a conspiratorial look over his shoulder.

“Don’t fret, my owl. When the time comes, we will get rid of anyone who has ever stood in our way. Starting with that useless prince.”

Once my father is gone, I quickly change into the clothing I have been given—a male servant’s clothes and a golden mask. My discarded clothing I stuff with straw and arrange in a fetal position. Hopefully, to a bored guard inspecting the cells, it will look like I am still here, asleep.

Inside the pocket of the breeches, my father has left me a folded handkerchief containing a sprinkling of blue-hued petals, along with a candle, lockpicks, and, to my absolute delight, Buttons.

I make quick work of the cell lock—it is of old make, and rusty to boot—and sneak out the window of the garrison.

By the time I reach the Chateau, I am breathing hard—more from fear of being caught than exertion.

My timing couldn’t be better; the servant’s wing is already bustling with activity.

Smoke rises from the chimneys, the scent of baking bread and cooking meats drifting along the grounds.

The palace must be in an uproar preparing for what I’m sure is to be an extravagant wedding feast.

Chaos is a weapon to those who know how to wield it.

It is the perfect disguise, the ideal coconspirator.

Beneath its wing, I slip into the palace, making my way to the roaring, smoke-filled kitchens.

I make myself useful, joining a nervous little boy in peeling what appears to be two centuries’ worth of potatoes, biding my time until the bell is rung for the Dauphin’s morning tea.

I watch another maid prepare it, then I snatch the tray and scurry off before anyone can stop me.

The servant’s wing is a plain hallway, as narrow as a snake’s belly, and it spits me out into the glittering entrance hall.

I keep my eyes low and my head bent, carefully avoiding the eyes of anyone I pass, be they servant or noblesse.

When I am finally alone, I set the tray down and quickly pull the strange petals from their square of cloth, sprinkling them into the tea.

By the time I make it to Aimé’s apartments, sweat is dripping down my ribs. I tug at my collar and knock.

“What is it?”

I deepen my voice. “Your tea, monseigneur.”

“Bring it in!” The Dauphin’s voice holds its usual chipper, boyish quality. It makes my blood simmer—he sounds utterly unaffected by recent events. I wonder if he feels any remorse at all for locking me away without even speaking to me.

I step inside and freeze.

Aimé is not alone—Marie is sitting across from him, perfectly poised, her hands curled delicately in her lap. My heart begins to pound. I look around for a place to leave the tea and realize from their positions that they’re expecting me to place it on the table between them.

I thank the Spider King for his mad idea of having all the servants wear masks.

I pause at the doorway, considering my options.

I settle on simply acting like a serving boy in a hurry to get back down to my next task.

Then I falter. It occurs to me that I am alone in a room with two people I might have almost, almost considered friends—or perhaps it was something more with Marie, but I don’t have time to consider that right now—and all it would take is for me to unmask myself and reveal my identity. I could explain myself.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this wedding?” Aimé is saying carefully. “We haven’t seen each other in five years. At least… not truly.”

Marie nods, her eyes mirroring the awkward hesitancy I can see in the prince’s expression. They lean away from each other, as if to make space for all the lies I piled between them. “As long as our bargain still stands,” she says.

“It does.” Aimé offers her a shy smile. “If neither of us can have true love, we can have friendship instead.”

“If I must marry, I am glad it is you,” Marie agrees. Am I wrong, or do I hear a note of regret in her voice?

I drift forward hesitantly with my tray. All I need to do is say their names. All I need to do is say I’m sorry, say I’m not the person my brother thinks I am. I’m no longer the girl who stole the diamond necklace.

But then Aimé sighs, dragging one of the tasseled pillows onto his lap.

“I really thought I could trust her, Marie,” he says, fidgeting with the pillow’s tassels.

“I was so desperate for companionship, for someone to tell me I wasn’t the worthless idiot the whole court believed me to be.

If I’d known what she was… I would never have trusted a word out of her mouth. ”

Marie smooths her palms over her knees, the satin rustling. Her voice is soft. “She did hold affection for you, Aimé.”

Aimé scoffs, snatching both teapot and cup off the tray before I even manage to set it down.

“Thank you,” he says, hardly sparing me a glance before pouring himself a cup, setting down the teapot, and turning back to Marie.

“A snake holds some affection for its prey, I believe, as it sinks its fangs in slowly and waits for the venom to spread.” He stares down at the steaming cup. “That doesn’t make it any less vile.”

The words are a well-aimed arrow, piercing through bone and muscle to strike at my very core. My grip tightens around the platter as I back away, and I can’t help but glance desperately at Marie.

Say something, I beg in my thoughts. Tell him he’s wrong, tell him it’s not true. Give me a reason, any reason, to stay.

But Marie d’Odette d’Auvigny says nothing, and I do not stop walking.

I keep my eyes on the floor as I rush down the Chateau’s hallways, tapestries and paintings flashing by. Aimé’s words turn over mercilessly in my thoughts, seeming louder and more cruel the more I dwell on them. That doesn’t make it any less vile.

Something cracks inside me. A small fissure, but growing, expanding with every step I take. Damien betrayed me to the Regent. Aimé condemned me as soon as he discovered my true identity. And Marie…

Well… I did that myself. I cannot blame her for realizing my true nature, not when that is exactly what I intended.

But if what my father says is true, if she truly has been telling the noblesse I corrupted her…

I cannot stop the knowledge from aching.

Especially after witnessing the cold look in her eyes when Aimé called me a snake.

I’ve seen that look before—she wore it five years ago when she took the diamonds from my neck.

Very well, then, I think. So be it. I am back where I started—alone, with a single mission: Steal the Couronne du Roi for my father.

I pause mid-step, struck by a sudden idea. Marie is currently with Aimé. Which means her chambers are empty. And unless someone has performed intense renovations in the last two days, Bartrand de Roux’s journal should still be where I hid it. I change course and head to the Dauphine’s apartments.

As expected, the rooms are entirely empty.

When I walk inside, the window is cracked open, heaving gasps of chilly air.

The curtains and bed canopy sway in the breeze.

I search beneath the mattress and come away victorious, the precious journal and the flower clutched in my hands.

I shove them in my pocket and sneak out once again into the hall.