Ettie inches forward and the queen peers intently at her. Her words are soft and kind, but there’s something hungry about the way her eyes bore into Ettie’s that makes me think of a spider considering a fly.

“You’re so lovely. Does she not make the room lovelier simply by being in it, Romain?”

Ettie blushes brilliantly.

“Undoubtedly, Maman,” the dauphin agrees.

“Perhaps we should keep her,” the queen says.

My heart beats faster at the thought of Ettie remaining in the palace. Wouldn’t that be an answer to our troubles? Surely even the Tiger would not be able to take Ettie from the protection of the queen of France. Yet there’s a strange tightness in my throat at seeing Ettie here with them. She looks like one of them. And somehow, it hurts.

“You would make a fine companion for the dauphin,” the queen continues. “He’s quite a lonely boy.”

The prince flushes. I’m not sure what he’s embarrassed about, or how it’s possible to be lonely when there are fifteen people with you at all times.

The queen settles on her perch and taps the seat beside her, inviting Ettie to join her. “Now, will you entertain us, my pet?”

Ettie looks panicked.

“Don’t be shy. Perhaps you know a song you could sing us?”

I catch my breath, hoping Ettie doesn’t sing any of the songs we know, since they are all quite vulgar.

Ettie thinks. “I can tell you a story.”

“How delightful,” the queen says.

Ettie has collected so many stories. I silently hope that she repeats none of the saltier ones she’s heard.

“This is the tale my Father told, as it’s told to all the children of the Dead,” she begins. “There was once a country so full to the brim with mice that they overflowed into every city and town.”

Rennart’s balls!

Not that story; not now, not here!

20

Ettie’s Tale

At first, Ettie sits ramrod straight, with her back to me so she can’t see my expression of warning, and she doesn’t turn as I cough loudly.

“Are you all right?” the prince asks, alarmed.

But Ettie doesn’t notice me at all. She is concentrating, trying to recount the tale exactly as Orso has told it to her.

I unfold my napkin and tuck the macaron inside, carefully wrapping it, and put it on my lap.

“If you don’t like the cakes, we can throw them away,” the prince whispers, looking at me curiously.

“I’m sure they’re delicious.” I’ve just lost my appetite. Ettie is casually telling the tale of the failed revolution that almost overthrew the royal family, and short of a dramatic intervention, there’s nothing I can do to stop her.

“You don’t have to keep that one. We can have fresh ones sent up for you whenever you like,” the prince insists.

“Leave me alone,” I say under my breath.

He stops eating and sits silently while my head spins with possible outcomes. Will we be arrested for repeating the tale? How will we get a message to the Court or Femi if they take us?