“On whose orders did you try to kill Her Majesty?” demanded Bontemps.

“You won’t believe it,” snorted Mike, “but I can’t remember.”

Bontemps grabbed Mike by the throat. “Who?”

Mike laughed aloud. “You’re too old for this, and far too much a gentleman.”

Bontemps drew back in rage and frustration. There were torture tools all around him, yet he’d never once been required to hurt another man to gain information.

The door opened and Fabien strolled in. He stared at Mike and Mike stared back.

“What is a member of my police force doing here?”

Bontemps wiped his brow. “He tried to kill Her Highness, the Duchess of Orléans.”

Fabien nodded. “I see. Tell me, where is the King?”

Bontemps and Fabien left the torture room for the King’s apartment. The guards admitted them, and Bontemps found Louis asleep in a chair in his bedchamber. His face was at peace, as if reliving loving, peaceful times.

“Sire?”

Louis’ eyes snapped open.

“It’s Bontemps. Monsieur Marchal is with me, Sire.”

Louis sat straight and turned to Fabien. The peace of his face bled away and anger took its place. “I am the King of France. We have recently uncovered a plot to destroy me and everything I have built. My brother’s wife was almost assassinated by a member of your police force. William of Orange is seeking ways to destroy me. And you…!” Louis took a breath and roared, “You! My head of security! You were in Paris!”

Fabien lifted his chin. “I was not in Paris, Sire.”

Louis looked hard at Bontemps. “That is what I was told.”

“Sire, the fault is mine,” said Fabien. “An attempt was made on my life. I did not wish the person responsible to know my whereabouts or condition.”

“An attempt by whom?”

“A woman.”

“Madame de Clermont.”

“Yes. May I ask how you knew?”

“The whole court knows. You thought you could keep your relationship secret? I’ve given orders for her to be ejected from court. I believe she has a daughter, who will also be –”

“The daughter is lady-in-waiting to Her Highness,” interrupted Fabien. “Where is she now?”

“She will be almost arrived in Calais, Sire,” said Bontemps.

Louis face darkened. “I pray the daughter has no part in the mother’s plotting.”

“Sire,” said Fabien, “it’s imperative that Madame de Clermont remains at court and ignorant of the case against her. I have reason to believe she has committed forgery and was behind the disappearance of my assistant. That she attempted to poison Your Majesty, killed your doctor, and made the attempt on my life. I have no concrete proof, but please allow me to find it.”

Louis nodded. Then he angled his head. “What happened to your eye?”

“It wandered, Sire.”

Seated at her mirror, removing her make-up, Beatrice flinched at the knock on her chamber door. “Yes?” she called.