Julian bowed and I dropped into a smooth curtsey as the most powerful woman in Trianon approached us. She went to him first, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “You must be Julian.”

He nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“You have a great many admirers here,” Lady Marie said, a warm smile crossing her face. “Try not to break too many hearts.”

Julian ducked his head. “I think it is my heart that will be at risk, my lady.” The words were too smooth, making them sound disingenuous. Rehearsed.

“How charming,” Lady Marie said, but there was the faintest hint of sarcasm in her voice. Then she turned to me.

My knees ached from holding a curtsey, but I did not rise until I felt her fingers catch the bottom of my chin. “Cécile de Troyes,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful. “I’ve seen you perform before, and I confess, you seem much taller onstage.” Her smile was gone. “But you’re only a little doll, aren’t you?”

She wasn’t the first to say so, but it was still difficult to keep my dislike of the comparison off my face. Dolls had no minds – they were pretty things to be played with, and I’d had quite enough of that in my life. “Appearances can be deceiving, my lady,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “The heels I wear onstage are quite high.”

One of her eyebrows rose, and for a moment, I feared I had overstepped. But then she chuckled. “Indeed they can be.”

Our conversation ended with the arrival of the masque composer, Monsieur Johnson, who amused the ladies with his foreign accent and dress as he herded them down the hall. Julian and I were left to trail after everyone as we went to where the stage was under construction. Other hangers-on swelled their ranks, and my eyes flicked over their faces, searching, searching for that sly gaze.

And found nothing. Finding her here on display had been a foolish hope.

Leaning against a wall, I watched the ladies swarm around, their questions – about the costumes, music, and dance steps – filling the air. Even though the set was only in the beginning stages, I could tell it would be magnificent. Both of them, for Monsieur Johnson was explaining that there would be a change during the break between acts. The darkness of Vice – my mother’s role – was what they were constructing now, and I watched her move amongst the giggling ladies as she explained their parts. Julian walked with her, his face more relaxed as he adopted the persona of the devil meant to tempt them.

“You watch them as I do.”

I jumped, Lady Marie’s sudden appearance at my elbow startling me out of my thoughts. “Pardon?”

She chuckled, and to my astonishment, leaned her own shoulders against the papered walls. “You’re watching the girls like you’re looking for something within them, but you’re uncertain what. I often find myself doing the same.”

It was her I was watching now. Was I so obvious, or did she know more about me than she was letting on? “I’m curious to see how they will perform,” I said, watching her face for any sort of reaction. “I hope my scrutiny has not upset any of them – it is merely habit.”