Scarlet sat back on her carriage bench, again willing the crowds to disperse so she could all the sooner be admitted to see Marie Antoinette. She knew the Seamstress would be tasked with stitching the lovely queen’s name into the folds of lace. She had seen the paperwork; while Robespierre studied her intricate stitching, she had scanned the list. She knew she could not neglect to stitch it. Robespierre would likely wish to see her handiwork himself. Marie’s escape must be planned immediately. It was for this reason Scarlet had returned to France as soon as she did—home for barely a moment to gather important pieces of her costume, paperwork, and other items for the league. And to see Matteo, she reminded herself.

Her heart paused in painful recollection of Matteo’s expression, pleading with her for a moment of her time, to explain. She would have relented, would have listened to him that night had her own need to return to France not been so urgent. Time had lessoned the sting of his disloyalty, and she felt ready to listen, doubting her own rash decisions.

Except here she sat in France, yet again. She ran a finger along the wood-framed window of her carriage. She would have time enough in the future to mend things—or to discover just how much of a traitor and liar Matteo had become—after the royal family, including the dauphin, was safe.

She had tried to think of any excuse for Matteo’s name to be on the denouncement papers, and she was willing to give him some leeway, to hear him explain, knowing he could have been framed. But secret trysts with Éléonore she could not excuse. She had heard Éléonore with her own ears. Great sadness escaped with her sigh. Thoughts for another day. She focused again on the challenges ahead.

With King Louis XVI already beheaded, it was only a matter of time before the others followed. Only the dauphin had a small measure of protection. The Austrians and her own Prince George expressed significant interest in his well-being and protection. The new French National Convention carefully assured these neighboring foreign powers of his life and health.

But time did not befriend Scarlet these days in France. Loyalties switched as quickly as the tide. She remained uncertain they could get the queen and her children out of France before it was too late. They had to try.

As her conveyance at last pulled away from the crowds of La Place de Grève, she thought about the last time she had seen beautiful Marie. Her violet dress had fallen in waves from her petite frame to the floor. Layers of lace fell from her décolleté, and her waist had been cinched so tight Scarlet wondered if she could eat.