Now that he is King, his smile seems to take on a new serenity. “That is because you are selfless. You think only of what more you can do to please me, but it is for your own good. I should not”—he searches for the right word—“use you so, as if you were a beast of burden, taking on more than you can carry because you wish to serve me well. You have served me well. And your plans, they are very fine plans, fine ideas, but, you know, one does not simply clap one’s hands and make these things happen.”

“Why not?” is her reply.

They stop walking. “All your ideas—improving our artillery, the two brothers you have found…What were their names again?”

“The Bureaus.”

“One day they may yet prove useful to us, these brothers. But for now, we will spend some time here. This triumph should be celebrated, and then we will journey together back to Chinon in great splendor. You at my side. You will always remain at my side, Joan.” He beams at her.

“What of Paris?”

His hands move to stroke his cloak. Ring. Ring. “Ah, Paris,” he says, as if it were an afterthought. “There has been a development in that regard. My cousin Burgundy has promised to give up the city in fifteen days. Fifteen days, and the capital will be restored to us. Without any bloodshed. It is the best of outcomes, Joan. Better than any of us could have hoped.”

For the space of a breath, she feels this must be some bad dream. She half-expects to see a winged horse descend or an imp dance on the King’s shoulder. “And you believe him?” She can’t help the edge in her voice, the incredulity as if His Majesty has just purchased at a fair a potion promising to make him beautiful. “You believe Burgundy will make good on his promise? I have heard the reports from le Maçon. Bedford is also in Paris, and he has more than two thousand archers and nearly three hundred men-at-arms. Does this sound to you like he will give up the city?”

There is a long silence. “Did Your Majesty not know?” she finally asks.

“For reasons that are beyond your understanding, I would like to make peace with my cousin Burgundy.”

“The whole world knows your reasons. It is because of…” She hesitates. How does one say, diplomatically, Because you killed the Duke’s father, who was your own father’s cousin? And to this day, it remains a point of contention, whether or not you dealt the fatal blow as he lay bleeding and half-conscious at your feet. “But there are no favors granted in war. You cannot give way.”

He stares at her. “Sometimes I think you forget your place.”