“Dear Rohan!” said Louis. “You’ve returned!” Seeing his childhood friend brought a surge of joy, an almost tangible remembrance of earlier, easier days.

“You see?” said Rohan cheerfully. “I always do what you say!” He reached out to embrace the King but then remembered himself and pulled his arms back. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” said Louis, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“There are more pretty women here than I recall.”

“Your memory is failing you,” laughed Louis. “You’re getting old.”

“But,” Rohan bowed dramatically, “I’ve learned my lesson, and return to you atoned, anew, and at your service, Sire. I hope I am worthy to be part of court with all this time passed? I so enjoyed my former position as master of the hunt.”

Louis smiled, feeling buoyant and carefree with his companion. He and Rohan fell in together and strolled down to the orange grove. Butterflies drifted on spears of sunlight. Dragonflies buzzed in for a closer look.

“I saw plans for the stable,” said Rohan.

“Your thoughts?”

“Either we are doing a very large amount of hunting, or you are building something quite different here.”

“A palace,” said the King.

“A city!” laughed Rohan. “A most glorious city, Sire!”

I am a warrior. I have always been a warrior at heart, thought Philippe. He turned back and forth before the mirror, admiring his trim jacket, new trousers, stockings, and black polished boots.

“How do I look?”

Chevalier crossed his arms. “I dressed you myself, how do you think I think you look?”

Philippe grinned.

“Speaking of which,” Chevalier continued, “who puts a dwarf in a drainpipe? If the little man was sad he might have done it himself. Or perhaps the Queen tired of him. Perhaps he was trying to mend the King’s fountains and restore himself to favor but accidentally shoved himself in there like a cork?”

Philippe rolled his eyes. “You’ve too much time on your hands. Come with me to the front.”

“You’re inviting me to a war? Are you mad?”

“Not any war.”

“Your brother says one thing and does another. Do not hold your breath. But if you do make it I will remain here, naturally, ensuring your place at court remains assured.”

“Is that so?” asked Philippe with a rueful chuckle. “‘My place.’”

Chevalier followed Philippe into the anteroom where Henriette waited, elegant in a laced-trimmed gown.

“You look handsome,” she said to her husband.

“I already told him,” said Chevalier.

Philippe blew air through his lips. “You did not, in fact.”

“Husband,” said Henriette. “Is there news?”

Philippe stalked from the room, calling over his shoulder, “Not yet,” leaving Chevalier and Henriette to stare at one another.

Then Henriette broke the silence. “Perhaps he will send you instead.”

Chevalier shrugged. “I would be honored to serve, of course.”

“Do you really think he does not see you exactly as you are?”