Beatrice caught Sophie by the arm as the girl moved toward the carriage steps. “I want to remind you to take care,” she whispered to her daughter. “There are dangers everywhere. You understand?”

Sophie frowned. “But Mother, we’re heavily guarded and in complete security.”

“If something happens, be sure to place your own safety before that of your mistress.”

“I…”

“Enjoy your time in England.”

“England? But we’re going to Vichy…”

Beatrice stepped back and Sophie, watching over her shoulder, followed Henriette into the carriage.

They traveled away from the palace, past the outer gardens and into the forest along a twisting, turning path heading east. Henriette watched silently out the window, deep in thought, as Sophie struggled with her mother’s words. Then she could no longer hold her thoughts to herself.

“Your Highness, we are not going to Vichy, are we?”

Henriette looked at the girl. “How did you know?”

“I…I overheard one of the chambermaids.”

Henriette nodded vaguely. “His Majesty is sending me to England to meet my brother, King Charles.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking questions, Sophie. Your duty is to comport yourself with discretion and tact.”

Sophie nodded meekly. “Of course.”

Henriette looked back out the window. “We’re entering the world of men. That does not mean we have to behave like men.”

The carriage slowed at a sharp bend in the road, and Sophie looked out her own window to a flock of white doves perched on the low branches of a roadside tree.

What she could not see was the large, hulking man staring at the carriage from a knoll above that tree, his face locked in a defiant, blood-thirsty sneer, his crossbow trained on the driver of the carriage. Mike waved a fly from his eyes and hunched his body, preparing to pull the trigger, when the muzzle of a pistol was pressed against his temple. Mike turned to see six musketeers and the King’s valet, Bontemps, staring with a sneer as defiant as Mike had ever seen.

A portly wine merchant spread out his wares in a palace salon, decanters on the tables, barrels resting on stands. His eyes were wide and his hopeful smile even wider as Rohan, Cassel, and other nobles sampled the wine and discussed it with each other. The King stepped up for a glass and the merchant watched anxiously as Louis took a sip and rolled the wine around in his mouth.

Bontemps entered the salon and eased up beside the King. “The assassin has been apprehended, Sire,” he whispered. Louis nodded and swallowed the wine. Then he looked straight at the merchant.

“Monsieur Gruand! You are a magician!”