“What we do here resonates throughout the world,” said the King. “Do you imagine William of Orange in the north, if he knew what happened, would pause for a second at our borders? Would he see us, the King, and his country as anything other than a weak, debased, laughing stock? This was not the act of a wife or Queen. This was an act of sedition by a traitor.”

“You…you are my King!”

“I know what your actions have cost me. But I do not yet know their value.”

The Queen clasped trembling hands and began to pray. “Dios me ayuda. Dios me perdona!”

“French when it pleases you,” sneered the King. “Spanish when you wish to hide. You long for uninvited visitors, perhaps. To remind you of home?”

“I am happy here.”

“If you do not speak the language, no wonder you have no friends.”

“If the court think me an idiot, at least they think me worthy of something, even if it is only pity!”

“You’ll have no pity from me. Bontemps.”

The valet bowed.

“Her Majesty looks unwell. Masson will tend her and she shall remain confined until she is fit to rejoin us.” Louis drove the letter opener down, hard, into the wood of the desk and left, Bontemps following.

With the King gone, Nabo crawled onto the Queen’s bed when the King was gone, and tried to snuggle with her. But she slapped him away. Nabo whimpered and returned to his bed by the fire.

The afternoon air was sweet and warm, laced with scents of colorful, blooming flowers of countless varieties. A new grove of orange trees was visible now, down from the higher gardens, planted by the clever soldier-turned-gardener, Jacques. Their leaves flipped and shimmered in a breeze.

Louis, his mind weighted down with many matters, took a sun-streaked pathway with Louvois and Colbert on either side, followed by Bontemps, Fabien, and Swiss guards.

“Sire,” Colbert said, “we may have war or we may have splendor but I do not believe we can have both.”

“Then,” interjected Louvois, “it must be war.”

Colbert countered, “Then the Dutch will secure the trade routes into West Africa and we shall have no part of it.”

Louvois shook his head. “You cannot put a price on glory.”

“The Dutch are mistaken,” the King said. “And France has my wife to thank for that.” Picking up his pace, the King left Colbert and Louvois behind. Bontemps tried to keep up but Louis waved him off.

The ministers and valet stood, frustrated, looking at each other without a word, until Fabien ordered the guards to follow the King and stay with him, keeping a reasonable distance.

Philippe, Chevalier, and several noble friends appeared from an intersecting, rose-lined pathway, laughing in the sun.

“Bontemps,” Philippe asked, raising one finger in the air. “Are the rumors true?”

Bontemps replied, “Rumors?”

“Come now. My brother sent for the archives. Are we to stay here another week?”