“A child can point a pistol as well as any man,” I explained. “Letting them in Trianon would put all those whom we know to be loyal at risk, which would be a disservice to them.”

“I’m not turning them away.”

I sighed, and sipped at my drink only to find my cup was empty. “I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter.”

Expletives fountained from his mouth, and I catalogued a few away for future use.

“You can’t turn them away, Your Highness.” Sabine came into the room wearing a gown that was too elaborate and costly to be hers, and judging from the sheen of her hair, she’d heeded my earlier advice and bathed. “It is a strategically poor decision in the long run,” she continued. “The people of the Isle will see you as callous and cruel, and they will hate you for it and seek to betray you.”

“Don’t they understand–”

She held up a hand. “No. They don’t. You must think of another solution.”

I set my cup down and extracted a map of the city from a pile, spreading it out smooth. “Is there room at the Bastille?”

“Putting famers and their families in a prison lousy with vermin and disease is no better.”

Frowning, I traced a finger over the map. “The opera house, then. It is easily secured, and it’s likely more comfortable than any residence these farmers have ever known.”

Sabine closed her eyes and muttered something I couldn’t make out before saying, “It will do.”

“Provide what they need,” I said to Fred. “They’re your responsibility.”

He turned and left without acknowledging the order, and Sabine gave me a black look as she sat, crossing her ankles beneath her chair.

We’d been through this earlier, her explaining that my reactions were inappropriate, hurtful, and offensive. That Cécile’s magic had wiped away not only the emotions I felt from her, but also my own. I believed her; knew, logically, that my mind was altered from its normal state. But I felt no displeasure or discomfort with the change – quite the opposite, as my ability to focus on a singular problem for hours at a time could only be an advantage.

“Is Cécile alive?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What if she’s hurt? Would you know?”

I shrugged. “Likely.”

“What if she needs your help?”

It seemed to me that Sabine was missing the logic behind why Cécile had created the seeds in the first place. “If it is dire, she can always use my name.” I refrained from adding that if there were a way to eliminate that particular avenue, I’d do it. Cécile had all but offered to promise never to use my name, but I hadn’t taken her up on it. That had been a mistake.

“I’m going up into the tower,” she said. “Are you coming?”

I shook my head. With Fred gone and Sabine lingering outside, I’d have a rare moment alone to think, and I intended to use it. Ignoring her exasperated snort, I waited until I heard the click of the door latch shutting, and then sat on a chair and let myself slip into my thoughts.