“Do they not have a lot of food where you live?” The prince interrupts my plans. The pity lacing his voice is as subtle as a club, causing all my hackles to rise. We are in a time of famine, after all, and someone has failed to tell the dauphin.

“Have you looked outside the gates of the palace recently?” I hiss quietly. “Did you not see anything during your ride through the city today?” I look him straight in the eye. “The bodies are lying in piles on some street corners. People are starving to death. When we do have food, we don’t throw it away, or have fresh food sent up.”

He stares at me, dumbfounded.

I don’t care. I don’t have time to care, or to sit here eating frilly confections while Ettie is repeating seditious tales and I’m meant to be figuring out where the palace grains are stored and how exactly I’m going to get them out of the Tuileries undetected.

As Ettie continues her tale, the atmosphere in the room becomes charged. There’s something worrying about the expression on the queen’s face, though she continues to smile.

Beside me the prince is sipping his tea, pensive, quiet, annoying.

“The story. What’s it about?” he mutters at me.

I’m so amazed he doesn’t realize that I momentarily forget how annoying he is.

“It’s about the failed revolution. The cats are the nobility, and the mice are the revolutionaries.”

At that, the prince’s eyes dart from Ettie to his mother, and then to the man in the corner, who has turned around now. He’s pale and soft-looking, with a monstrosity of a powdered wig and clothing of delicate baby blue.

I try to get up, but the prince grabs my sleeve and yanks me down.

“Don’t. You can’t do anything, not now,” he says, holding on to my arm tightly. “If Maman demands your head, then I’ll beg for your life. Don’t worry.”

Well, that makes me feel so much better.

Ettie’s voice grows more dramatic as she describes how the cats managed to summon their brethren, who rescued them from hanging and instead imprisoned the mice.

The room seems unbearably warm and close. I shrug away offers of more tea from the servants. I can’t eat or drink; I can barely breathe. I can do nothing but listen as Ettie seals our fate.

The queen grips Ettie’s hand as she finishes the tale. I fight the panic building in me.

“Thank you, my dear one,” the queen says, planting a kiss on Ettie’s forehead. “Where did you hear that fascinating tale?”

“It—it is known,” Ettie answers, thankfully not mentioning Orso or the Guilds.

“Out!” says the man at the desk, his voice sharp and high. “Everyone out.”

The queen turns to look at him. She releases Ettie, who slips off the sofa and stumbles toward me, at last feeling the tension in the air around her.

Monsieur Sagouin and the servants move to the door.