As Claudine removed the soiled sheets, Philippe entered the bedchamber. He stared at his wife. “Will she recover?”

Claudine lowered her voice. “Yes, Your Highness. I shall prepare an herbal infusion to fortify the blood.”

Philippe sat beside his wife and touched her face. Henriette stirred in sleep then went still again.

Louis joined Bontemps at the door. “I’m expecting our visitor from England today,” he said. “Bring him to me without announcement. In private.”

Bontemps nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

“And where is Fabien? I’ve not seen him since the party and dance last night.”

“I’ve been looking for him, but with no success.”

“I want him to interrogate Chevalier,” Louis said, trading cold glances with Philippe across the room. “He has a loose tongue and I’m certain he has much to tell us.”

He could barely swallow, and his eyes felt fat and hot. His muscles shook uncontrollably and there was a burning in his stomach. She said it was a potion. A love potion…

“There’s nothing to fear.” Beatrice’s voice pierced the fog of his mind. “Don’t fight it.”

Fabien struggled to open his eyes and caught a wavering glimpse of his lover standing by the bed. Her bed. They were in her private chamber, alone but for a fire dancing on the hearth.

“Rest, love,” she said. Her smile was so familiar, but now, even through the haze of his misery, he spied what looked to be a hardness lurking there.

He reached up for her wrist. “What…did you give me?”

Beatrice stroked his forehead. “Shh. It was a potion. I told you. The same as I had. Close your eyes now.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Of course. I believe it was something you ate. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you until you’re recovered. I’ll fetch some water.” She smiled again, more widely this time, and then got up and went into the anteroom where she kept the pitcher. In that moment Fabien forced himself off the bed and staggered from the room.

What have you done to me, Beatrice? What have you done?

Nauseous, barefoot, and in his nightshirt, Fabien found his way through a rear palace door, down through the gardens, and onto the road leading to the village of Versailles. He knew where he needed to go and hoped he could find it. Rocks bit into the soles of his feet, bruising and cutting them, but he moved on. There were few travelers and those who passed him turned up their noses, seeing him as a beggar.

In the glare of late afternoon he reached the village center and pounded weakly on a familiar door. When it was opened he fell inside and passed out on the kitchen floor.

“Wake up!”