Alone in her apartment, Louise de la Vallière removed her chemise and stood naked before a gold crucifix on the wall. On her back were rough, brutal scars from earlier self-flagellations. She picked up the leather whip from her dresser, whispered a prayer to God for the life of the Queen and for her own forgiveness, and then proceeded to slap the whip across her shoulders into the flesh of her back. Blood cut zigzagging rivulets to the floor.

“As best he could, the proprietor of the Epernon whorehouse has written down every noble purchasing services there for the past twelve months,” said Fabien. “I have good authority his records are accurate.”

“Let us hope so,” said the King, leaning on his desk, candlelight dancing on his face as rain drummed the windows.

Fabien handed a leather journal to Bontemps, who then passed it over to the King. Louis opened it and read several entries, his face remaining stoic.

Fabien addressed Bontemps, “If I may continue, Monsieur?” Bontemps was surprised that Fabien would ask permission of him rather than the King, but such behavior was right and proper. Bontemps nodded.

Fabien unrolled a parchment onto the King’s desk. There was a large “L” for Louis written in the center. Fabien began to draw concentric circles around the L. “You, Sire, are the sun. Around you circulates not only our celestial court but those who would harm you. You have ministers who openly defy you. Nobles who pay no taxes and believe France is theirs, not yours. Beyond our borders are Spain, the Dutch, English, and the Holy Roman Empire. They will smile and deal but would all see you destroyed. A strong France scares them.”

Bontemps frowned. “You would wish a weak France?”

“I wish for the power to protect His Majesty.”

“You have sufficient resources, Fabien.”

But the King said, “Bontemps, get him what he needs. At your discretion, of course.”

Bontemps felt Fabien’s power-grab. Yet he would obey the King. He would always obey his King.

Had God Himself planned an expanse of gardens, His handiwork would have been no more glorious than the new royal gardens of Versailles. The King ordered a banquet and party in the garden while the nobles who had attended the fabric carousel were still at court. As the sun lowered itself below the distant woods, countless candles were lit upon tables and posts, giving the appearance that the sun was going nowhere at all. Servants scurried in and out, bearing great platters of foods. Nobles wore pieces inspired by those at the fashion parade, and they strutted about, showing them off.

Montcourt walked with Louvois along a path toward the banquet, speaking softly. “Opinion is ours,” he said. “We have the room.”

Louvois looked to make sure no one was near enough to hear. “We shall have to have more than a room if we are to persuade him.”