They moved into a better-lit area and walked through a maze of corridors, eventually entering one with windows that allowed a view of the courtyard. As he suspected, the tall towers and walls of the Bastille rose around him. At least they locked him in a place familiar to him. He pushed the memories of the Bastille storming aside.

Shouts echoed in the courtyard. Guards led a group of around fifteen struggling women across the open space toward the stone walls that encased his hallway. Their noise rose as they drew nearer. A small group of them fought each step, dragging feet and flailing hands. The guards’ faces strained, and they grunted, pinning the arms of the women to their sides. Women prisoners, all of them—scratching, furious women.

One shouted, screeching in fury, “Let us go! How dare you throw us into prison! You would be nothing without us.” Her black, sunken eyes were pits of darkness. Matteo shuddered at the look of her, midnight hair flinging about as she clawed and shouted, kicking and resisting across the stone ground.

A pretty, golden redhead followed behind, more docile, though a look of supreme confusion flitted across her face. And next to her walked a neat, proper-looking, clean woman with white-blonde hair. Something about her downturned face seemed familiar. He nearly stumbled when his foot caught an uneven dip in the floor. As he passed each window, his neck strained to get a better view. How did he know this woman? Fate smiled on him when they all converged on the same set of doors, the loud, raucous women entering while his guards were attempting to exit out into the courtyard.

“Make way, I tell you. The lot of you. Out of the way.” Matteo’s guard shouted at them, using his arm to shove the nearest ladies aside.

The women and their guards paid him no heed, intent on their own struggle.

Matteo’s eyes searched the crowd, not seeing the white hair anywhere. Disappointed, he was yanked through the door, and he stumbled out into the open courtyard.

“Glad I am to be out of that mess. Witches, they are.” The guard wiped his brow.

Movement from the shadows caught his attention, a sleight of hand just large enough for his eye to take notice and follow. His arms stiffened in shock. A stunning pair of green eyes stared out at him from their darkened corner. Scarlet. Her features, her eyes, under a mass of white-blonde hair, dressed in a French costume. His arms jerked in the opposite direction when the guard began to move. But his eyes drank her in as long as he dared.