Moments after she shifted her body and gently laid his head on a slip of fabric, voices in the hallway reached her ears. Éléonore’s shrill tones were, for once, a welcome sound.

“No harm is to come to her. We mustn’t upset relations with England. She will live for now, but I have my own plans.” Her laugh, loud and menacing, was just outside their door.

A wave of dizziness overpowered Scarlet’s vision as she stood. In the moment the guards opened the door, she nearly collapsed to the ground but steadied herself against the wall, slowing her breathing. Her head pounded, and her hands felt clammy.

“Overwhelmed by my very presence, are you?” Laughing again, she pointed to Scarlet. “See, she can barely stand. Take this sorry excuse for a woman and follow me. We have an appointment with La Guillotine.”

The guards reached for her to roughly drag her along, but when her knees wobbled and she almost collapsed, each stood at her sides and half-walked, half-carried her, following Éléonore back down the hallway. She clucked her tongue. “You think you are so clever playing at disguise. But I have found you out.”

Scarlet hardly noticed their surroundings; her mind was wrapped in a confused, circling nightmare. After what felt like a breath or two, she stood blinking in the sunlight on a platform in front of La Guillotine. The sun cleared her fog, and she recognized her place of honor as the stage for visiting dignitaries and Robespierre himself to watch the beheadings. The rhythmic drumming of the crowd and the wailing of the prisoners in carts brought bile to her throat. She leaned to the side, retching only air, and used her now dirty and soiled handkerchief to wipe a bit of saliva from her mouth.

“Hold her up. She must watch this,” Éléonore called from behind.

Fingers of alarm began to spread through her core. She searched the prisoners for Matteo’s dark hair. Her anxiety heightened the longer she looked. Then a great cheer rose up in the crowd, and Robespierre himself walked out onto the platform.

He held his arms out toward the people, and they quieted. “We have long fought the system of government here in France.”

The crowd responded with a shout of death.

“We tired of the elaborate clothing of the aristos when our children had none. Tired of the carriages and equipages tearing through our streets, running us down, while we walked without shoes. And why was the food scarce from our tables?”

The crowd stood in a frenzied, crying mass.

“Because the wealthy ate it all and then taxed us for their privilege.”

The crowd, becoming angry, shook their fists and snarled, shoving each other and seeking for a wealthy person to blame.

Scarlet stepped back away from the edge of her platform.