Page 76 of Rivals

“He’s anxious to see you,” the nurse explained as she opened the door to a sitting room. Beatrice lingered, not wanting to intrude, but then Louise turned to her with a raw, pleading expression.

“Come with me, Béatrice?”

Beatrice’s first thought was that this room didn’t belongin the soaring grandeur of Versailles. The furniture was simple, all plain white wood and colored cushions, with framed seascapes on the walls.

And there was King Louis XXIII, sitting in an armchair, a newspaper unfolded before him.

He looked older and thinner than Beatrice remembered, but after all, the most recent photos she’d seen of him were nearly five years old. He still had his famous curling mustache, though it was entirely gray now.

“Father,” Louise whispered, bobbing into a curtsy.

“Good. You’re here.” The king gave the newspaper a shake; the crinkle of its pages sounded frighteningly loud in the silence. “Apparently you let the country go to complete shit in my absence.”

Louise glanced back over her shoulder at the nurse. “Who gave him a newspaper?”

The nurse threw up her hands. “He ordered me to bring him one. How was I supposed to refuse? He’s the king!”

Beatrice’s stomach twisted. She watched, mentally translating their speech, as Louise turned back to her father. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. We’ve all been praying for your recovery.”

King Louis ignored her and jabbed at the newspaper. “What were you thinking, allowing this sort of infrastructure bill to pass? France doesn’t need more bridges or highways! You’re going to tax our citizens to death!”

Louise sighed, apparently giving up on her efforts to avoid discussing current events. “Actually, we funded the bill through taxes on corporations. Wedecreasedthe tax level in the lower income brackets.”

The king scoffed. “A ridiculous notion. The next thing I know, you’re going to suggest thatwestart paying taxes.”

There was a silence, and then he looked up, his jaw tight with anger. “No. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Father, it’s only fair! How can we ask something of our people that we don’t do ourselves?”

“Because we areBourbons! Our lives are already dedicated to their service! Do we need to pay half our fortune back to them as well?”

“Most other monarchs have been paying taxes for years,” Louise reminded him. Kings had traditionally been exempt from their nations’ tax laws, but many royal families, including the Washingtons, had revoked that right in the last century.

“Most other monarchs are weak. As are you,” King Louis said stiffly. “Stop pandering to public opinion and stand up for yourself for once.”

Beatrice felt like she’d stumbled into a twisted alternate reality. Was this really how the king was going to greet his daughter, now that he’d returned to health?

She couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, the Princess Louise has done a fantastic job managing the country during your illness. France owes her a debt of gratitude.”

King Louis looked up as if noticing Beatrice for the first time. “Who areyou?”

“I’m Beatrice, Your Majesty. The Queen of America.”

The king stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Queen of America! That’s a good one.” He was still chuckling as he glanced back at Louise. “I like this friend of yours, Marie-Anne. She may not be much to look at, but she’s funny enough.”

At his last words, all the air seemed to drain from the room. Beatrice didn’t even have the emotional strength to be offended by how laughable he’d found the notion of an American queen. She was staring at Louise, whose face had gone pale.

The king had just called Louise by her mother’s name.

“Father, it’s me, Louise. Your daughter,” she said quietly.

Beatrice bit her lip in pained understanding. They were losing him. The king’s brief moment of lucidity—and cruelty, she thought—was slipping away. He glanced down at the newspaper, frowned at it as if puzzled by the shape of the letters, then set it aside and looked back at Louise.

“You’re not dressed for riding.”

“Riding?” she asked weakly.

“Yes, we promised Antoine that we’d go out, didn’t we? You know how he is when we keep him waiting.” The king glanced out the window at the sun-drenched afternoon. “Oh no, it looks like it might rain.”