The little boy sniffed. “I’m scared!”

Anne looked at her son, sharply. “Kings do not cry.”

Kings do not cry…

Louis closed his eyes, eased his breathing, and then opened his eyes again. The vision was gone, leaving only his silent subjects watching him. He looked away from them, out the window at the relentless torrents that seemed determined to drown the world.

The door opened and someone entered. Louis recognized the clearing of the throat. “Tell me, Philippe,” he said without turning, “what is going on?”

“Another plot uncovered,” said the King’s brother. “They found four men in the village. Sent to kill you. We must all leave for Paris at once. This lodge is not safe.”

“I decide where I go. I decide what to do.” Louis hitched his head in the direction of the guards and courtiers. “Make them go away.”

“Leave us,” Philippe told the guards. Silently the crowd withdrew from the bedchamber, leaving only the King, his valet, and his brother.

Louis strode from the window to the central table. He leaned on it with his knuckles and studied the wood grain.

“You’ve had the dream again?” asked Philippe.

Louis snarled. His brother knew him too well. “You held her hand,” he said at last.

“You could have done the same.”

“They would not permit me that honor! My own mother…” Louis began to pace from the table and back to the window.

“Who permits the King but the King?” prodded Philippe.

“You will never understand! There is something bigger than you.”

Philippe shook his head and made to leave, but Bontemps held up a hand. “The King has not given you leave.”

“My dear Bontemps,” Philippe scoffed. “I know that look well. And someone is about to get hurt. I rather it was not me.”

Louis pointed a finger at his brother. “They mean to kill me. Let them come. Let them try!”

“The power lies with you,” said Philippe. “Believe it.”

Louis returned to the window. His gaze wandered out through the rain, seeking something beyond the storm, seeking the faint outline of the royal woods in the distance. Slowly the distress of his soul began to fade as he imagined the trees, the rivers, the tangled and beautiful wilderness. “The deer in our woods follow the same tracks as their ancestors,” he said. “Going back hundreds of years. It’s instinct. They simply follow. Once in a while one will turn. But those that challenge never win. For one reason. If you blindfolded me in that wood, turned me around a hundred times, I would find my way back. There’s not a path I do not know, a tree I have not climbed. This is where I hunt.” Louis looked around at Philippe. “You can leave now,” he said brightly.

Philippe and Bontemps exchanged concerned glances as Louis looked back through the rain-drenched window glass.