Louis grinned. It was the dressers’ turn to do their job. They removed the King’s nightshirt and attired him in a new shirt, trousers, vest, scarf, and jacket. Nobles continued to walk past quietly, bowing and watching the royal show. When his outfit was completed, Louis reached up to straighten his collar, but Philippe shook his head. He waved a noble forward.

“Not him,” the King said. He nodded at Montcourt. “I want all here to know that Versailles rewards those who show loyalty and humility.” Montcourt approached the King, tugged gently on the collar to smooth it out, then stepped back and bowed.

Bontemps announced the Queen and she entered, escorting a young boy dressed in velvet and silk. Then Bontemps ushered the remaining nobles from the room but put his hand on Rohan’s arm. “His Majesty wishes you to stay.”

Louis approached his son, the young Dauphin. The child was much like his father in face, with dark eyes and hair and a piercing, confident stare. Louis led the Dauphin around the room, showing him the swords, the shields, and the portraits of the royals of France’s past. “The time has come to teach you how to rule,” Louis said. “To be King is to have power beyond imagining. All you ask for will be given. You will have power but with power comes duty. Duty to your subjects and friends, to justice, to truth.”

The Dauphin nodded.

“But with power comes danger. When I was young like you, there were those who sought to destroy us.” Louis took the child to the window. As they looked out his voice grew tight. “People we thought were friends. They came hammering on our doors with blood on their hands and murder in their hearts. I will never allow this to happen to you. Do you understand?”

Again, the boy nodded.

Louis turned to Rohan. “My son will be spending a few days with us. I will teach him how to rule a country, you will teach him how to hunt a wild boar.”

Rohan smiled and bowed as the boy eyed him shyly. “It would be an honor.”

Clutching the note that had been slipped under her door, Beatrice hurried out to the west gardens. Fabien had agreed to meet her. He was her chance. If need be she would strip naked and make love to him there in the frigid waters of the Neptune pool. He would forgive her ruse and she and Sophie would be safe at court, as she’d always planned.

She reached the appointed spot on the path and waited. The wind whipped up leaves that danced around her ankles. Still she waited.

Then she saw the crusty old gardener approaching.

“Madame de Clermont?”

Beatrice frowned. “Yes?”

“Monsieur Marchal is waiting for you. Follow me.”

“Where is he?”