“Sophie, my dear,” said Chevalier. “Some help if you please. A moral quandary. If someone I adore fucks someone without my consent, is it not right for parity to be restored that I fuck someone else of my own choosing?

“Enough teasing,” said Beatrice. “We should count our lucky stars. So many families are being thrown out of court.”

Chevalier shrugged. “None had papers in place.”

“I suppose none had anyone to vouch for them.”

“These are the laws we must now comply with.”

Beatrice took Chevalier’s arm. “At least we have you.”

Chevalier gave Beatrice a cautiously curious look. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“My folly,” she smiled. “I know in my heart you will use us up and cast us out like all the others.”

“Naturally. But I will watch out for you in this madness, have no fear of that. Especially you, my pretty.” He pursed his lips at Sophie. “Even though you walk like a milkmaid.”

They continued on in silence for a bit. The maze brought them closer to the palace where men on wooden scaffolding worked at precarious heights laying brick and fashioning new sections of sloped roofing.

Sophie glanced up to see one muscular man with light hair gazing down at her. She stopped. Smiled.

“Sophie!” Beatrice called from up ahead. Reluctantly, her daughter followed.

From his vantage point on the scaffolding, Benoit watched the beautiful young girl walk away then scooted along the plank to Jacques who was dining on cheese and bread. “I heard her name!” he said. “It is Sophie!”

“That’s a death wish,” said Jacques.

“Better to die for something you believe in, right?”

Jacques took a bite of bread. “What’s your name again?”

“Benoit, sir.”

Jacques handed some bread to the stone layer. “I’m Jacques.”

“What is a gardener doing up here?”

“The view helps me measure the lines of the garden.”

Benoit grinned. “And the girls who walk in it.”

“Be careful with that business. You think about your future.”

“I am,” Benoit said dreamily. “And I see Sophie in it.”

Philippe knelt upon a pillow in the War Cabinet room as the priest stood beside him and uttered an incantation for the protection of a warrior. Philippe’s clothing bore no fancy ribbons or bows. They were tossed away, leaving only the clothing of a soldier of serious and focused intent.

Louis entered and watched him without speaking, yet his brother immediately sensed he was there.

“I thought if I began my departure,” Philippe said, his head bowed, “you might sanction it.”

“I do not understand,” said Louis.

The priest finished the blessing and left the room. Philippe rose and faced the King. “I await your word, brother. And when I can wait no more, I ask deliverance from my God.”

The brothers stared at each other, tension between them hanging like dust in the air, and then they turned to gaze at the models on the center table. There was more detail to it now; the projected positions for battle had been expanded with additional soldiers, horses, and written plans. Louis nodded at the display. “Which one are you?”