Louis walked briskly along the wide stone walkway beside the palace of Versailles with the Montespan, Bontemps, and guards beside him and Philippe and the newly arrived guests smiling and doing their best to keep up. He strode as the Sun King he was, powerful, passionate, and confident, basking in the glory of all that had been accomplished in the past many months and the opportunity to show it off.

One of the guests, the dashing Pascal de Saint Martin, gazed in awe at the splendor of the sun-kissed palace, a structure so majestic no one could take in the entirety of its grandeur at once. Only birds of the air would have the proper perspective, and even they could not comprehend the majesty of it all.

“Later,” Louis called back, “we shall tour the gardens. But first, the east wing, extended beyond the original lodge built by my father. It is here that you and your families will be accommodated. It is my wish that you see Versailles not as the royal palace but as your home. A place of leisure and conversation, of light and joy!”

They rounded a corner to find a large crowd of builders seated on the ground and on the scaffolding, their arms crossed, tools down.

Louis slowed his step and his smile faded. “The workers are idle,” he said to Bontemps.

At the top of the scaffolding stood a dark-haired, one-eyed builder, a former soldier. He shook his fist and glared down at the nobles. The nobles looked at him then at the King, confused.

“Our shared glory!” the veteran shouted. “Look, Sire!” He wavered at the scaffolding’s edge, his arms out as if he wanted to fly. Bontemps motioned urgently to the guards to get the man down.

“What victories I’ve seen! I fought for you at Douai, Sire! I lost an eye for you at Besançon.”

“For which you shall be compensated,” called Louis.

“And how much for my brother, Sire? Crushed by a stone as he built your walls? Or my nephew, half dead of gangrene?”

The guards grabbed for the scaffolding but a young builder scrambled up ahead of them.

“What do you want?” shouted the King.

“You promised France would honor its heroes.” The veteran teetered precariously.

“I did.”

“Lies! We live and die like slaves! You say you are France, but if you truly were you would know our suffering! You would take the pain away.”

The builder reached the top of the scaffolding and crept toward the veteran. “Don’t be a fool,” he said.

The veteran laughed hopelessly. “The King makes fools of us all.”

Bontemps shouted, “Come down at once!”

The veteran held up a rope noose and slipped it around his neck. “You wish me to descend? Very well.” He directed his gaze at Philippe. “As your brother commands.”