Saint John lifted his face and stared directly at Louis, and his face was not that of the holy, wizened apostle but that of the young and fevered soldier who had spit on the King. “And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun,” the soldier said, raising his finger threateningly, “and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire. And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast, and his kingdom was full of darkness.”

Suddenly clouds began to roll and churn in the sky, bleeding together and blocking out the sun. Lightning flashed and thunder growled. Louis struggled, trying to get up, to run away, but was unable to move.

Saint John’s eyes blinked, changing from blue to fiery red. “The enemy is closer than you think!” he shouted. The eagle leapt into the air and flew at Louis, its beak snapping, its talons flashing like daggers. Louis screamed.

“Sire!”

Louis heard Bontemps’ muffled shout from outside his dream.

“The King’s doctor!” cried the valet. “At once!”

Philippe had brought Henriette back to Versailles from Saint-Cloud in mid-October, missing the extravagance and excitement of court. And missing Chevalier. Life had settled down much as it had been, Henriette in her apartment and Philippe in his.

Philippe and Chevalier, in their nightshirts, were enjoying a late night party in Philippe’s bed. They drank wine and listened as a palm reader told them their fortunes. The palm reader, a fine-featured young man, lay across Philippe’s lap, holding Chevalier’s hand and running his finger along his heart line. Chevalier was already bored.

“There is love in your future,” crooned the palm reader with a wink. “Twice as much as you might think.”

Chevalier wrinkled his nose dismissively and rolled off the bed. “I’m off to water the garden.”

“I think that’s a no,” Philippe called after him. He stroked the palm reader’s hair. “You know, when I was home in Saint-Cloud, Versailles seems like a stone’s throw away. But when I’m here, it feels like a distant land across the sea. Chevalier, are you listening?”

Chevalier grunted an affirmative and padded across the room to the door of the antechamber. He stepped inside, pulled the door closed, and stood over a chamber pot. Raising his nightshirt, he began to piss into the pot.

Suddenly there was a large hand over his mouth and a cold, sharp razor at his groin. The stream of urine stopped instantly, and Chevalier drew a terrified breath. The man behind him spoke softly, menacingly, into his ear.

“You did not respond to my last message.”

“In all honesty,” replied Chevalier, trying to keep calm, “it didn’t seem all that pressing.”

The edge of the razor pushed harder against the flesh of Chevalier’s penis, nicking the flesh. “And now?”

“You have my full attention.”