Annaba watched after them, then got up to join his brother by the wall. The game-playing resumed yet again.

“Brother,” said Kobina, his voice low, “when you came to the French last year, you told me you had an audience with the Queen.”

“What of it?”

“What did you talk about?”

Annaba looked at the door through which the King and Queen had gone. He smiled with a fond memory. “Everything,” he said.

“What are you doing?” Marie-Therese asked as Louis escorted her from the game room and into the hallway, followed by guards.

“I’m winning,” he replied, the expression on his face one of pure satisfaction. The Queen’s heart leapt with hope.

“There is a spring in your step,” she said as they turned into another corridor.

“And a mud-spattered man in my path,” said the King.

Before them stood Fabien, Bontemps, and the messenger who had been sent to visit Cassel in the north. The messenger was disheveled and covered in filth.

“Your Majesty,” said Bontemps. “Urgent business that requires your immediate attention.”

The King looked at Marie-Therese, who inclined her head and was escorted away by guards.

“Now what is it?” asked Louis.

“Cassel replied to your message, Sire,” said Bontemps. He handed Louis a small note to which a single gold coin was affixed by wax.

“’Here is your proof,’” Louis read slowly. “’A contribution to your noble project.’”

“Such insolence!” said Fabien. “May I reply to him in person?”

Bontemps shook his head. “If I may, Sire? To arrest him will end your plan as quickly as it starts. If you put Cassel in prison you might as well put all the nobles in jail, because that would be the end point of it all.”

“At least let me bruise his face, Sire?” said Fabien, his face twisted in anger.

But Louis held up his hand. “Cut off one head and another will take its place. To strike him down is to beg for civil war. And we saw how well that went for the English.”

Before Fabien could plead his case further, Louis turned and followed in the direction his Queen had gone.

In her bedchamber, Marie-Therese’s ladies helped her from her gown, placing it carefully in the tall armoire and then guiding the Queen to the table where she sat before the mirror as her favorite lady unpinned and brushed her hair. A strange evening, Marie-Therese thought, but so much improved. Louis seemed pleased with me, thank our Heavenly Father. Now if only he would…

And then she heard him. He was there, behind her, his eyes watching her face in the looking glass.

“Husband,” she said, turning, her hair falling in long, dark curls. “I am not ready yet.”

“I’m not here in duty,” said the King. He sent the ladies away with a flick of his hand then led his wife to her bed. He eased her back upon her pillows and traced his fingers along the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She felt passion, long since repressed, rise in her heart, her body.