Page 44

The Chapel

I expect my father to take the crown from me gingerly, to treat it with the reverence he has always used when speaking of it.

Instead, he seizes it from me like I have handed him a firework with the fuse lit, as though he is running out of time, as though if he doesn’t take it fast enough, I might change my mind.

I hear Marie’s sharp intake of breath. “Odile,” she whispers, and in her voice is pure, devastated sadness.

I can’t look her in the eye. I’m sorry, I want to scream. I told you trusting me was a mistake.

Marie turns her attention from me, looks fiercely to the guards instead. “Stop him,” she orders. Her voice is steady despite the tight lines of her face.

One of the guards starts forward, but the Regent puts up a hand. “No.”

“No?” Marie echoes in disbelief.

The guard freezes, his lips twisted in conflict. He makes me think of Damien—torn between duty and his own inner morals.

“No.” The Regent juts his chin out. “Monsieur Regnault is working under my orders.”

At that, Regnault chuckles quietly. Marie’s eyes widen. I can see the exact moment she realizes the Regent has allied with my father. There is something terrifying about the utter calm that consumes her, the furious evenness of her voice as she says, “Traitor.”

“Believe me, mademoiselle, I am doing this for the good of the crown.” The Regent flicks his finger at the guards.

“Seize the would-be Dauphine, please, and take her to her chambers. She is clearly distressed from her betrothed’s betrayal.

Oh, and”—his mouth tilts up smugly—“ensure she remains there. The palace is too volatile right now for her delicate sensibilities.”

Both guards hesitate. They can clearly see the lie in the Regent’s words, but to disobey him would be treason.

They step forward. I wonder if Marie will fight, but as strong as she is, she cannot defeat two fully armed guards.

She pulls her arms away from the guardsmen and strides for the exit with her head held high, forcing the guards to follow after her.

It’s a small reclamation of power, but it leaves me breathless, my gut clenched painfully in regret.

“She’s impressive,” Regnault says quietly. His eyes glitter as he watches Marie be escorted away. “I can see why she turned your head. Now.” He holds up the Couronne, flutters his fingers along the rim with a resonant tap tap tap. “It is time, I believe.” He raises the crown toward his brow.

Immediately the Regent surges forward and snatches my father’s wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I get between them instantly, pointing Buttons at the Regent with a snarl. “Let him go.”

“It’s all right,” Regnault says, putting up a hand. He tilts his head innocently at the Regent. “Whatever do you mean?”

The Regent keeps his voice low, out of earshot of his guards. “I kept my side of the bargain. Now keep yours.”

My father gives the man a civil smile, but there’s a taunting edge to it. “I have kept my promise, have I not? I exposed Aimé’s true nature. I believe that accomplishes your goals.”

“You promised me the crown.”

“No, I promised you the throne. Which you now have. I can’t sit upon it myself, after all. I need a royal puppet whose strings I can pull.”

“You dare— ” The Regent purples. “I should have known better than to treat with peasant filth!” He releases Regnault’s wrist and backs away, pointing. “Guards! Seize this man! He intends to steal our prince’s crown!”

Three things happen then at once: The remaining three guards rush forward, pointing their muskets at Regnault. I move to defend my father, Buttons raised. And Regnault places the Couronne du Roi on his head.

For a moment it seems as though the world hitches—like a caught breath, a missing puzzle piece slotting into place. Regnault’s eyes turn black as ink, molten gold gathering at their corners like tears.

He stretches out his hand toward the approaching guards, spell-threads trailing loosely from his fingertips and bunching between his fingers like cobwebs.

Beside the altar, the twin tarasque statues begin to move. They leap forth from their pedestals, spitting out the braziers in their jaws, shattering the chains around their throats.

Then they charge.

The thuds of their metal feet echo throughout the chapel.

Within an instant, one of the serpentine monsters leaps in front of Regnault and me, while the other one stalks up to the guardsmen, its impossibly long fangs bared and dripping golden magic.

A horrid screeching growl rises from its throat, like metal dragged over stone.

“What is this?” The Regent stumbles back, wide-eyed, as the statue herds him up the altar. The other statue does the same with the guards. One of the musketeers fires at the beast, but the shot bounces off its gilt shell.

“Not the monsters!” the Regent screams at him. “The sorcier, shoot the sorcier!”

Before I can react, another guard turns and shoots at my father.

I scream, but the shot never lands—before it can strike home, it erupts into a shower of black feathers. Regnault bares his teeth. “You truly thought it would be that easy?”

The threads around his fingers flare with new light.

As if hearing an unspoken command, one of the tarasques lunges for the man with the gun, clamping its fangs around his arm.

The man screams. The tarasque shakes its head like a hound, crushing bone, before unlatching its jaws again. The guard crumples to the ground.

“That was a warning,” Regnault says pleasantly, approaching the Regent. He runs his fingers down the older man’s throat before moving it to his shoulder, where it rests with casual menace. “Have you any more concerns about our bargain?”

The Regent swallows audibly. “N-no.”

“Good. Now, let us put your men to better use. I want them to hunt down that beast of a Dauphin and bring him back. Alive. Subdue him by any means necessary, but I need him breathing. The guardsman named Damien is also to be seized and returned to the Chateau for questioning. Oh, and send away the guests—tell them the Dauphin’s condition is under control, but it has taken a heavy toll on him.

The wedding, therefore, will not be taking place. ”

“And what of Marie d’Odette?”

“Kill her.”

My heart slams into the pit of my stomach. “What?”

To my surprise, the Regent says the same. “No, we can’t,” he adds, side-eyeing the golden tarasques as if one might maul him for simply speaking. “We can’t afford to offend Auvigny—we need that province’s access to the sea. No… I have a better solution. Once I become king, I will marry her.”

I nearly gag at the mere thought. “Papa,” I interrupt, careful to keep my voice light, almost coy. I shutter away any emotion, any remorse, that I may feel at my next words. “Might I propose another alternative?”

He turns his eyes on me slowly. His cheeks are stained with golden tear trails. “What is it?”

“I want her.”

His eyes narrow. “ Want her?”

“As my pet. As a reward for all I accomplished.”

The Regent makes an indignant sound, but Regnault shushes him.

“I cannot have her running around the Chateau and sowing discord, little owl. I fear she will be more trouble than she’s worth. And a distraction to you.”

I shrug. “Lock her up in the Dauphine’s rooms. Keep guards on her. The Regent is right—we need the alliance of Auvigny. But I guarantee I can control Marie far better than he can.”

Regnault rubs his chin, considering. “Very well,” he says finally. “It will be so. Yes, monseigneur?” He levels the Regent with a stare, as though daring the man to argue, but the Regent remains stiffly silent, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Of course,” the Regent grits out. I give him a winning smile, all teeth.

Regnault folds his hands behind his back, nodding to the guards.

“You have your instructions, then.” With an easy gesture, he calls off the tarasque statues.

When the beasts amble away, the Regent heaves a relieved breath, while two of the guards rush to their mutilated companion, who has fallen unconscious.

They drag him away, throwing Regnault resentful glares.

The Regent gathers whatever scraps remain of his dignity and follows the guards, smoothing out his coat and carefully avoiding the pools of drying blood on the floor.

Once he is gone, Regnault turns to me.

To my utter shock, he pulls me into an embrace.

“Well done, Odile,” he croons, smoothing down my hair. “I am proud of you.”

His arms are not warm, like Marie’s, and his hold is stiff and too tight, more a cage than a cradle. Still, my heart swells, and I press my forehead into his chest, basking in the rare moment of pride.

Finally, when I feel like I might burst, I pull away. “How did you know about the Dauphin’s curse?”

“The yellow flower you showed me,” Regnault says.

“It’s a weed called Sorcier’s Bane—it suppresses magic.

Before Bartrand de Roux’s betrayal, it was fed to sorciers who had broken the law.

It turned them into red-bloods, prevented them from using sorcery.

” One of his tarasques approaches him, and he strokes its head idly.

“I thought the flower had stopped blooming after magic disappeared. It seems Anne de Malezieu managed to coax a few stunted ones into growing.”

“Does this mean Aimé is a sorcier?” I ask. “Why does he transform into a beast?”

“I do not think he is a sorcier—I do not sense any innate power in him at all. Rather, I think he is cursed. Possibly by Morgane herself.”

“Why would he be cursed?”

Regnault seems to measure his words carefully. “Perhaps he, or one of his ancestors, offended the Mothers.”

I sense there is something he isn’t telling me, but if that is so, then no prying will coax it out of him. Instead, I ask, “What do you intend to do with Aimé?”

Regnault taps his nails along the tarasque’s snout. “In order for the Regent to be accepted as the new king, Aimé’s legitimacy must be put into question. The courtiers and all the city must see the beast Aimé has become.”

“You intend to make a spectacle of him.”

“That is one of my intentions, yes.”

Despite everything, the image of Aimé in chains—put out for ridicule like a carnival attraction—makes me nauseous. I rein in my guilt, force myself to remain practical, ruthless like my father. I made this decision, and I cannot regret it.

“What of the Couronne?” I ask. “When will you summon Morgane?”

“Once I have established my foothold in the palace.”

I frown. I had always assumed it would be his first line of action after we succeeded in our plan. “Can you not do it now?”

He clicks his tongue. “You are always so impatient, Odile. To bring back magic now would be to throw Auréal into even further chaos. Let this affair with the Dauphin pass; let the Regent take his place. The crown grants me enough power to protect us both. I fear it might lose its powers once I perform the… summoning.”

I nod, trying to accept his words, though some part of me fidgets with dissatisfaction. My gaze is drawn to the Couronne upon his head, the memory of its power humming through me still fresh in my mind.

“What does it feel like?” I ask, unable to hold back the curiosity. “Using the Couronne’s magic?”

Regnault smiles at me, and there’s something manic about the expression, something not quite human.

“It feels like endless power.”