“Le Notre believes it will be filled with water by summer, Sire.”

“Then we shall need some vessels.”

“Vessels?”

“Yes. Rowing boats. Miniature ships. Gondolas. Water is not merely there to be looked at.”

The voyage across the English Channel had been surprisingly calm, with a cold wind countered by a kind sun. Henriette hoped the pleasant trip predicted a likewise successful task ahead, though as she entered Dover Castle’s courtyard with Sophie and her servants, the grave importance of her assignment caught her heart and it took effort to retain her smile and appearance of confidence.

Dover Castle sat upon the cliffs overlooking the channel, a large, somber fortress of gray stone covered with vines and brine. Sir William and his guards met the party in the courtyard, and he bowed respectfully. “Welcome home, Your Highness! How was your journey?”

Henriette nodded daintily. “Pleasant enough, thank you.”

“I apologize in advance,” Throckmorton said as he led the entourage through the courtyard toward a door at the far side. “The castle is a little chilly this time of year.”

“Is it just His Majesty I shall be seeing?”

“No. The Count of Arlington and Lord Arundell will also be in attendance.”

“Would it be possible for me to see His Majesty before the official discussions begin? In private?”

“I fear not, Your Highness. That would be most irregular.”

Henriette stopped and turned to Sophie. “A handkerchief, please. I’ve something in my eye.” Sophie removed a handkerchief from a pocket in her cloak and held it up to Henriette’s eye. As she leaned close, Henriette whispered, “I was not made for this. I do not have the courage.”

Sophie pretended to wipe the eye. “You will find the courage in the doing of it, Your Highness.”

Throckmorton, ahead several paces, looked back. “Is something amiss?”

Henriette pushed the handkerchief away, squared her shoulders, and lifted her head. “Not at all,” she replied.

When they reached the door, armed guards allowed Throckmorton and Henriette to enter and the others were told to remain outside.

The corridors of the castle were much darker than those of Versailles, yet Henriette remembered them well. The stairs and gray walls, the echoes that traveled the unadorned stone floors. Throckmorton escorted her into a large room furnished only with a single, regal chair and a table on which an inkwell and bowl of quills had been placed.

“His Majesty is in conference and will be with you shortly,” said Throckmorton.

Henriette shivered and hoped Throckmorton had not noticed. “Thank you,” she said.

The back of his head slammed against the pillar behind him, sending stars across his field of vision and causing him to bite his cheek, but he made himself smile at Fabien, who had delivered the blow.

“Now then,” said Fabien, as he checked the ropes that held Mike in place against the pillar. He held up a leather strap. Two guards stood back, watching. “Who gave you orders to kill her?”