I taste her words, knowing deep in my bones that she is speaking about Valjean—le Maire. She has to be.

I look at her with my blankest expression.

“You think it strange that I say this when the dauphin clearly seems to care,” she continues.

I think the dauphin is an emotional, lonely boy who would care for a hat if it showed him the least bit of attention, but I’m not about to tell her that.

“But men of his kind do not care for girls like you. You must push him away, protect yourself, or he will take everything from you and leave you with nothing.”

Her mouth is a trembling line; her hands are closed into fists, her eyes drowning in pain.

Le Maire broke her heart. And so she hunts him.

“Did someone hurt you?” I ask, my voice gentle and curious.

Her eyes grow flat and cold at my question and she pulls on her gloves. “If they had, then they would come to regret it.” She gives me a mirthless smile. “For unlike other women, once ruined, I am not the sort to fade away. I will pursue my enemy to the very ends of the earth.”

She pauses, and I decide that her obsession with Valjean is going to serve me well; it is the worm with which I will bait the hook.

“Take her,” she orders the gendarmes, who each grab me by an arm and pin me tight.

She orders them to throw me in a cell.

“And keep a watch on her.” She eyes me askance. “I shall be most displeased if she escapes.”

We’ve barely left the palace gates and my head is spinning.

I look out the carriage window and try to recognize the street we’re on. But to my horror, all I see is row upon row of soldiers standing at attention in perfect formation. Waiting.

I must warn St. Juste and the boys. Orso will surely not come to the students’ aid, and now that I’ve seen the prince’s plans, I know they’ll be marching to certain death. The thought twists itself inside me like a knife.

I must get to them. I must.

Tears spring to my eyes as we roll past the soldiers and into the city proper. I feel as if it is all slipping out of my control. All my plans. All my friends.

If they’re all dead, they can’t help me take down the Tiger.

The gendarmes are eyeing me. One is leering at my chest. Another is watching me warily, probably wondering what exactly I’ve done.

I make eye contact with the one who’s leering and flutter my eyelashes.

“You couldn’t open the window the smallest bit, kind sir?” I ask in my most sugary voice.

He grins at me revoltingly, and leaning over, he opens the window to the carriage.

I take only a second to purse my lips and give a short, sharp whistle, followed by a low one.