Inside his bedchamber, Louis gripped the back of a chair, his heart pounding with rage, his breath hot and rapid. The room around him began to shimmer, undulate, and fade into the past….

The King’s royal bedchamber was gone. He now stood in the room where he’d slept as a youth. His mother entered the room and he watched himself turn from the window and the raging fires outside. At thirteen he was tall for his age but his face still bore the round innocence of boyhood.

Seeing his mother unnerved him. He loved her, but could not understand her.

“There is someone I want you to meet,” she said.

A second woman entered the room, a lady nearly his mother’s age, with eyes as piercing as those of an eagle and a beautiful, full body. She smiled confidently.

“This is Madame de Beauvais,” said Anne. “She is here to tutor you.”

“But Maman,” Louis began, glancing toward the window. “The men outside –”

His mother raised a finger. “Don’t let them distract you. Pay attention to your studies.”

His mother left the room. Madame de Beauvais began to unbutton her blouse.

“What are you to teach me, Madame?” Louis asked.

The lady opened her blouse, pulled her chemise down, revealing her breasts. “Call me Catherine,” she said.

“Sire? Do you agree?” Bontemps’ voice came from somewhere else, from beyond. “Sire?”

The memory vanished. The King’s room was back. Louis turned to Bontemps who had asked some sort of question.

“I do not know,” Louis said. “Yes. Or no.”

Bontemps looked confused. “Sire?”

Louis straightened his shoulders. “Where is my brother?”

Beatrice and Sophie wandered the lower gardens following a gentle rain, talking jewelry and fabrics, when Fabien rounded a hedge and nearly collided with them. Beatrice locked eyes with Fabien, took a sharp, silent breath, and smiled coyly.

“Madame…de Clermont?” Fabien said. “Did I get that right? We have seen each other but have never spoken.”

“Indeed. Monsieur Marchal.”

“Fabien.”

“Beatrice.”

“And,” said Fabien nodding at Sophie. “Your sister?”

“Daughter. I’m Sophie.”

Fabien’s eyes widened. “Daughter? Is that so.”

Beatrice shot Sophie a withering glance and then spied Chevalier on a distant path. She needed to talk to him. Yet she wanted to spend time with Fabien. Curse the fates!

“A fine day for a walk –” Fabien began.

“Yes,” said Beatrice, glancing at Chevalier then back at Fabien, trying not to let her nervousness show. “And it was nice to have met you.”

Fabien appeared disappointed at the abrupt dismissal. “Yes, ah, well, good day,” he fumbled. He bowed and walked off. Beatrice grabbed Sophie’s arm and hurried her toward Chevalier.

“Mother,” said Sophie as she stumbled along. “I think Fabien likes you.”

“Be quiet now, sister.”

“You’re angry with me.”

Beatrice shook Sophie’s arm. “And one day you’ll know how much!”

They intercepted Chevalier at a marble fountain. He swept his arm dramatically. “Greetings, cousin!”

The trio strolled into a maze-like path bordered by lowtrimmed boxwoods. Birds, startled from the hedges, flew out and away.