The door opened and Fabien entered with the several guards.

“Sire,” said Bontemps.

“Do not speak it,” said Louis.

“Sire,” Bontemps repeated carefully, “protocol demands. If the air is impure you are at risk. You must leave immediately.”

“Close the doors,” Fabien ordered the guards.

“Move Her Highness to my bed!” ordered Louis as Henriette threw back her head and screamed in pain. Bontemps and Philippe obeyed, moving her slowly, carefully.

Then Fabien turned to the guards, “Take His Highness out to safety! Now!”

Guards moved in around the King, grasping his arms and forcing him toward the door. Louis struggled against them, enraged, recalling a time years past when guards had forced him from his room at the threat of assassination. He’d been so vulnerable then, so at the mercy of others. But no more. No! Never again!

“Take your hands off me!” he ordered. The guards reached the door.

NO!

Fueled by anger and the utter conviction of his power, Louis bellowed, “I command you!” He wrested himself out of the guards’ grasp and barked military orders. “Full halt! Column right twice left! Column left twice right!”

The guards were instantly, mindlessly obedient, falling into compliance, moving aside into two straight lines. Louis stared at them, his men, his subjects, who would never defy him again. Then he went back to the bed where Henriette lay, her pained eyes staring at him, her hair wild and damp. It seemed as if she were silently pleading with him to stay with her. But in spite of his desire to, he knew he could not.

Louis turned to Bontemps. “Let me know when the doctor arrives.” Then he walked out the door alone, passing through the line of guards. “Please God,” he said to himself, “let it be soon.”

The pink light of dawn poured silently through the windows, touching the walls and tingeing the floor. Candles on the tables had burned low and the fire in the hearth glowed red in need of more fuel. Claudine, dressed as Pascal, stood by the King’s bed and listened as Bontemps, Philippe, and Marie-Therese explained the events of the past few hours. Henriette lay abed, breathing heavily and groaning. Several servants stood, wringing their hands as Fabien waited by the door with two guards.

“She collapsed,” said Bontemps.

“She whispered to me something about a poison,” said Marie-Therese.

Claudine looked from the Queen to Henriette, her brows furrowed. “Poison? How could she know?”

“She bled from the mouth then doubled over with pain in her side,” said Bontemps.

“Which side?”

Bontemps said it was the right and Marie-Therese said it was the left.

“Both then?” asked Claudine.

“It was the right,” said Philippe. “She has always complained of it.”

Claudine called to a servant. “If it’s poison she must purge. If sickness, the remedy may make her worse. I will need emetics and charcoal, iced water and cloth. Go.” The servant hurried off.