Papa glanced beyond me, to look at Imonie, but by the time I spun around, their silent conversation had ended.

“Forgive me, Clem,” my father said gently. “You’re taking a risk by coming here in broad daylight. I didn’t expect it.”

“I haven’t forgotten my stealth charms.”

“Come, sit with me in the drawing room.”

I moved to follow him until I smelled something odd. It was faint at first, and I told myself it must be coming from the kitchen. But when I stepped into the drawing room and could still taste the bergamot and parchment in the air, I halted, watching my father sit in a leather chair.

“You’ve been with the duke,” I stated.

Papa gazed up at me, his face frozen. His lips hardly moved as he asked, “What makes you think that?”

“You smell like his cologne.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clem.”

“Don’t lie to me!” I cried. The emotion welled, sudden and fierce. It took me off guard, and I drew in a deep breath to calm myself. “What does he want with you?”

My father continued to stare at me; his face was like a stranger’s, cold and suspicious. I couldn’t read him, and fear sparked within me.

“Sit down, Clementine.”

“Was he the one who ordered you to protect Mazarine?” I asked. “Does he hold something over you, Papa?”

“Yes, and that’s all I can say to you of the matter.” I hadn’t expected my father to reply. So when he did, it nearly made me keel over. He rose and approached me, cradling my face in his palms. I could smell the bergamot on his skin, as if he had shaken the duke’s hand.

“Did you make a bargain with him, Papa?” I asked in a hoarse voice. Please, I thought. Please tell me no. . . .

My father only studied me, as if he was desperate to find a semblance of his daughter in my disguise. “You’ve met the duke, Clem?”

He was turning the conversation on me. I tried to step away but he held me steady. “When?” he asked, and I heard a thread of worry within his voice. “What did you meet with him about?”

“Papa . . .”

“Answer me.”

“To record a dream of his. Weeks ago.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” But I had hesitated, and Papa had heard it. He knew I was lying.

“Clem,” he whispered. “What else happened?”

I had always trusted my father. And I saw how naive that was of me. To never question him, to always tell him everything.

“That was all,” I said, and I felt the stone of my heart settle. As if it would never crack and relinquish me. “But perhaps you should tell me why you met with the duke.”