Fabien started down the stairs again and Beatrice kept up. “You used the wrong sort of paper,” he said. “The paper you used was of Swiss origin. Such paper was not available in France at the time you claimed to have been born.”

Beatrice chuckled lightly. “I underestimated you.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

Beatrice grabbed Fabien’s arm and gazed at him intently, pouting her lips in an attempt to seduce. “Because I care for you. I first came to court to find a match for Sophie. Then I discovered another reason to stay.”

“Have you found a husband for your daughter?”

“No. May I ask what you intend for us? Will you have us banished?”

Fabien put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure the matter will be resolved favorably.” He felt her tremble but couldn’t tell if it was from relief or fear. It didn’t matter. Then he left her on the steps and continued to his office.

When mid-day arrived, Fabien went out in search of the King’s favorite gardener. Builders were at work, moving wooden beams and stones, busy on the palace’s roof and expansions as well as new foundations, pools, and statuary. He found Jacques on a bench eating a piece of chicken.

“Do you know who I am?” Fabien asked.

Jacques rubbed grease from his mouth with his sleeve. “I know who you are and what you do.”

“I’ve noticed you in discussion with His Majesty.”

“Spying on him?”

“I keep close watch on those whom he takes into his confidence.”

“I served his father.”

“And now you must serve the son.”

“I already do.”

“This is not a case of digging flowerbeds.”

Jacques looked away, then back. “What is it you would have me do?”

“What is the news from court?” Henriette asked Sophie as the girl smoothed her lady’s gowns out on the bed.

“Everyone’s talking about the masked ball tomorrow.”

A short, round-faced chambermaid entered the room with a tray on which sat a bowl of soup and plate of bread. She put the tray on the table and turned quickly away.

“What is your name, again, miss?” Henriette asked.

The maid glanced back. “Marie, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Marie,” said Henriette, and Marie skittered out.

Morning sunlight and shadows flickered across the floor of the King’s bedchamber. Louis stirred, turned, and stretched his arms out from beneath the blankets. Then he opened his eyes to find Philippe standing over him. Bontemps stood behind, his expression hard to decipher.

Louis pushed himself up and blinked. “Good morning, brother. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to watch a piece of theater.”

“In my bedroom?”

“Yes. It’s called the Grand Levee. A comedy of manners with tragic undertones.”