Beatrice excused herself and hurried on to her apartment, where she removed a box from a drawer and took from it a piece of charcoal and a small bottle of tincture. She swallowed the charcoal and forced it down with a glass of wine. It scraped painfully all the way to her stomach, but the discomfort was a small price for the protection it offered. When it was time, the charcoal would prevent the solution from taking effect. She slipped the bottle into her bodice and headed for Fabien’s office.

He was not there. Slipping out of her clothes, Beatrice lit two candles and stretched out on Fabien’s bed. It was not long before the door rattled and he entered. He looked around in the dim light as if seeking Laurene, and then his gaze fell on Beatrice.

“I’ve something to aid us,” she said, licking her lips and running her hand seductively along her breasts.

Fabien came close. “Aid us with what?”

“Endurance.” She opened the bottle, took out the dropper, and squeezed a drip into her mouth. “A love potion.”

“When I look at you,” said Fabien, “I need nothing else.”

“I’m the same,” said Beatrice, licking her lips. “But I think this might be fun.”

Fabien’s expression was a mixture of lust and doubt, and lust won out. He knelt by the bed, opened his mouth, and Beatrice put several drops on his tongue. Then he climbed into the bed, onto Beatrice, and he was on fire.

Philippe looked up from his evening prayers to see all other nobles had left the chapel. Standing in the doorway was Louis and several guards. He leapt to his feet and raced down the aisle, his arms open to embrace his brother.

“My God!”

Louis stepped back and away from the embrace.

“I…I was told you were dying,” said Philippe.

“I was,” said Louis. “Then I recovered.”

“And did not think to tell me?”

“I told no one.”

“Why?”

“So I could see who it is upon whom I can truly depend.”

“You did not trust your own brother?”

“I do not trust the company he keeps. You’re blind to Chevalier’s failings and dumb to his faults.”

“Do not say such things!”

“A conspiracy in Paris was uncovered. The nobles plotting against me even as I lay in my fever bed. I arrested them all. Chevalier was a ringleader.”

“Impossible!”

“He is a traitor. He is now in jail awaiting execution.”

Philippe’s knees went weak. Blood ran cold in his arms. “Brother, please!”

“He shall be hanged, drawn, and quartered in the morning.”

“NO!” Philippe dropped to his knees, his hands tearing at his hair.

“And your presence is expected at the dance this evening. I hope you’ve learned the steps.”