He put down his knife and addressed Fabien, who stood near the table. “Find accommodations for the new arrivals on the ground floor of the east wing. The rooms and view contingent on wealth and title.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Fabien. He hesitated then continued. “But, Sire, our spies report unrest in the village of Aubenas –”

“I know Aubenas. They grow some of the finest olives in France.”

“One of your tax collectors there was stoned to death, in protest at the increase in taxes proposed by Your Majesty.”

Louis pushed away from the table. “Why is this of concern to me?”

“Such sentiments seem to have a habit of spreading. This is not the first village to voice such protest.”

“Then have the men rounded up.”

“But they are women, Sire.”

“Where are the men?”

“Working for you, Sire. Here.”

Louis drew back, shocked.

“Hello.”

The soft voice brought Benoit out of his gloomy reverie among the other striking builders on the scaffolding. He looked down to find Sophie smiling up at him.

“I’ve sent you a dozen notes,” he called. “Did you not receive them?”

Sophie glanced about to make sure no one had seen her stop. Her mother was with several other ladies out by one of the garden’s fountains and her own friends were in the palace, trying on new dresses. Benoit swung down a rope to join her.

“You’re not working,” she said as he landed.

“I want to but how can I? The builders must be paid.”

Sophie’s lovely face was clouded. She tapped a pebble with her toe. “Who cares about the palace? What’s the point?”

“You cannot mean that. What is the point of a mountain? Or a perfect morning? They all make the world more beautiful.”

Sophie’s lip quivered.

“What’s wrong?” asked Benoit.

“I must renounce our love. There are things about my past I’ve hidden from you.”

Benoit’s heart kicked painfully. “What can that matter? The past is gone. We are here. Now. Building the future.”

“We build nothing. Not here.”

“Of course we build.”

Sophie looked at Benoit, her face pinched in grief. “Why try? One day the rain will come and wash everything away.”

“The point is not that it lasts forever,” said Benoit. “Only that it is. Because then, it always was.”

“You must forget you ever saw me.” Sophie turned to leave but Benoit grabbed her arm.

“Please,” he said. “We’ve two paths. This, the one you’ve decided on. Or another. More treacherous, more difficult, more impossible.”

“And where does that path lead?”

Benoit bent and kissed her tenderly. “I don’t know. But at least we will walk it together.”

Henriette rolled over on the bed to face her husband, who stood in the center of her room, staring at her accusingly. She knew his thoughts. “I cannot say if the child is yours,” she said.

“Cannot,” asked Philippe, “or will not?”

“Abandon me, if you wish. Confine me to a cloister.”