Fabien began, “The King is hunting this afternoon, I doubt very much we would leave –”

“I postponed the hunt,” interrupted Louvois. “We can reconvene at Fontainebleau.”

“Surely Monsieur Bontemps must –”

“I do not believe the King or his valet appreciate the full picture of this threat. In any case it’s not up to him. The ministers, the council, we all must guide the ship. You think the country is governed by one man?”

With that, Louvois ushered the guards and coffers out to the street as Bontemps made his way in. His face was twisted with concern.

“Bontemps,” said Colbert, “is the King informed of this? What does he say?”

“I…do not know.”

Fabien angled his head. “Then where is he?”

Bontemps shook his head. “He told me he would be here.”

Fabien clenched his fists and took a loud breath of air. “Then we must find him.”

As Bontemps spun toward the door, Fabien grabbed his arm. “But,” he warned, “calmly.”

The pounding of the mare’s hooves were like a heartbeat, rapid, powerful, driving down into the earth and up through Louis’ body so that he felt he was one with the animal, one with the misty morning air, one with freedom. He leaned forward in the saddle, clutching the reins as they galloped along a woodland path of the royal hunting grounds. Yes, Philippe would be looking for him. Yes, Bontemps would be anxious. A search party would have already formed. But they were far behind him, and in this moment he felt the same joy and abandon as he had when a boy.

“Ah!” he shouted to the sky.

Around a bend in the path they went, Louis’ cape lifting and falling like a great wing. Warblers pecking the ground flew up in a mad spray to get out of the way.

Up ahead the trunks of ancient oaks bowed toward each other, their branches linking overhead, creating a dense, green canopy. Louis dug his heels into the mare’s sides, spurring the animal onward into the lush tunnel. He glanced up at the spots of blue beyond the green then back down again in time to avoid being knocked from his saddle by a low branch. He ducked and laughed at the near calamity.

Onward they raced.

At last the path reached a narrow river and small grove. Louis urged his horse through the underbrush into the clearing and dismounted. He stood in silent awe, breathing in the simple beauty of pink wildflowers, waving grasses, and rippling water. He walked to the riverbank and knelt on the damp ground. For a moment he considered his reflection then cupped up some of the cold water and splashed it on his face.

Freedom. Clarity.

Suddenly his horse snorted, started, and galloped off.

Louis leapt to his feet and spun around.