Versailles – The Underwings
By the dim light of a single oil lamp, Marie crouched beside a forgotten ledger in the pantry stores. Her fingers traced the names of servants, duty shifts, delivery orders—anything that might show who had access to the Comtesse's salon that morning. Her eyes scanned quickly, hungrily.
The letter had been planted.
She knew it. But to prove it, she needed more than gut and rage.
She needed evidence.
She focused on the handwriting in the duty logs. Three signatures repeated across the delivery routes—hers, a footman named Roland, and a kitchen maid named Brigitte.
Brigitte.
Marie narrowed her eyes. She remembered Brigitte. Always near the Comtesse. And always watching her. Smiling too sweetly. Speaking too softly.
Marie sat back, heartbeat steady now. A plan was beginning to form. Brigitte might not be the mastermind—but she was part of it.
And Marie intended to use her.
---
Versailles – Montmorency Wing
"You should've told me sooner," Montmorency said coldly, his voice slicing the air like steel. His steward winced beneath the Duke's glare.
"I didn't think they would go so far," the man said, his hands clasped behind his back. "They planted a royal letter. Called her a thief. She fled."
Montmorency's jaw tightened. "Where is she now?"
"Gone. No one's seen her since yesterday morning. The guards believe she escaped the palace entirely."
"She didn't," the Duke said, his voice low. "She's smarter than that."
His eyes moved toward the window. Rain had begun to fall across the marble courtyard, streaking the statues like tears.
"Start asking questions," he ordered. "Quietly. I want to know who forged the Queen's seal. Who set the trap. Who stood to gain."
"And when I find them?" the steward asked.
Montmorency turned slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Then," he said, "we unmake them."
---
Below the Palace
Marie moved like a phantom now. She kept to the underlevels and listened. Bits of gossip, careless laughter, whispered threats. And there—finally—she heard Brigitte.
Bragging.
A slip of the tongue in a burst of wine-induced confidence.
"—said the Duchess was pleased," Brigitte giggled to another maid. "Didn't even have to touch the letter myself. All I did was unlock the door."
Marie pressed herself against the wall, rage curling in her chest.
Got you.
---
Above
Montmorency stood in the Grand Corridor that evening, eyes scanning the crowd. Nobles gossiped beneath crystal chandeliers. The Duchess d'Artois laughed too loudly.
But his eyes weren't on them.
They were on the shadowed corner just beyond the mirrored column.
Where a pair of brown eyes watched him. Hidden.
Alive.
His chest tightened.
Marie.
He didn't move toward her. He didn't dare.
But he knew now.
She hadn't run.
She was fighting.
And he would too.
---