The Garden – Just After Midnight
The rain had stopped, but the air still held its scent—wet roses, distant lilacs, and the chilled hush of secrets.
Marie stood with her back to the maze, arms crossed to fight the breeze. The Duke faced her, ungloved, his expression more raw than she had ever seen it.
"You shouldn't have come," she said.
"And let them think they'd won?" he replied. "I was never very good at losing."
Her lips twitched, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
"They nearly ruined me," she said quietly. "A letter. A lie. A locked door."
He nodded. "And they expected you to crumble."
"I almost did."
Montmorency stepped closer. "But you didn't. You turned the trap against them."
"I have a name," she said. "Brigitte. One of the kitchen girls. She gave them access to the Comtesse's salon."
"And who ordered it?"
Marie hesitated. "The Duchess d'Artois. Through her lady-in-waiting, Madeleine."
Montmorency's jaw tightened. "She's wanted to embarrass me for months. She tried to have you dismissed after the Queen's dinner."
"So she chose to destroy me instead."
"She underestimated you," he said.
Marie looked down. "She still might win. I'm only a servant."
"No," he said firmly. "You're you. That's why she's afraid."
A silence fell between them.
Then Montmorency spoke again, slower this time. "I have friends. Allies. People at court who owe me favors."
"I don't want you to risk your name for mine."
"Too late."
She looked up. "What are you suggesting?"
He offered his arm—not as a noble to a servant, but as an equal.
"A game," he said. "One we play together."
---
Elsewhere – The Apartments of the Duchess d'Artois
Duchess Geneviève d'Artois stared at the single sheet of parchment by candlelight. Her hands were perfectly still, but her mind was racing.
I know what you did.
Four words. No signature. No proof.
And yet—her heart stuttered.
She reached for her wine, then stopped. Could it be poisoned? A foolish thought. She shook it off.
Madeleine entered moments later, lips pursed. "You're pale," she said, too casually.
"Someone sent me a note," the Duchess replied, handing it to her.
The lady-in-waiting read it once, then again. "A bluff. Meant to rattle you."
"It's working," the Duchess muttered.
Madeleine leaned closer. "Perhaps it's time to end this. Marie fled. No one will believe her now."
The Duchess turned, eyes sharp. "You let her escape. That's your failure, not mine."
"She has no power."
"Then why am I afraid?" the Duchess snapped.
She crossed to the window and looked out at the garden, where darkness still clung to the hedges like mourning lace.
"If Montmorency is behind this…"
"Then you'll make a fool of him before he can strike," Madeleine said. "As you always do."
The Duchess's expression softened, but only a little.
"I won't be unseated by a chambermaid," she whispered.
But doubt had already crept in like cold air under the door.
---
The Library – Later That Night
Books towered around them like quiet sentinels.
Marie ran her fingers along the spines absently, the velvet hush of the room comforting. "You have all of Versailles at your feet," she said. "Why fight for me?"
Montmorency didn't look away. "Because when I'm with you, I'm not the Duke. I'm just me. And that's a rarer thing than power."
She swallowed, moved.
"I want to expose them," she said. "Not with another lie. I want truth."
He nodded. "Then we set a trap."
She blinked. "You mean to—"
"Invite the Duchess to step into her own noose," he said.
"How?"
"Let her believe she's already won. Let her gloat."
Marie's lips curved. "And then?"
"Then we remind Versailles that even queens bow to truth."
---
The Duchess's Salon – Days Later
Geneviève sipped from her teacup with a controlled hand. Across from her, a courtier whispered something scandalous. She laughed—softly, perfectly timed.
But beneath her powder, sweat bloomed at her collar.
The Duke had not retaliated publicly. That made her nervous.
Her lady-in-waiting had seen Marie—alive—just yesterday, speaking with a steward near the Queen's quarters.
The Duchess set her cup down too quickly. It clinked against the saucer, drawing eyes.
"Is something wrong, Your Grace?" the Comtesse de La Fayette asked with a smile too knowing.
"No," the Duchess said sharply.
But yes. Something was wrong.
She was losing control.
---
The Passage Near the Throne Room
Marie moved with a new kind of purpose now. She no longer crept—she walked.
Still cautious. Still clever.
But no longer afraid.
"Tomorrow," she said to Montmorency as they met briefly behind the chapel, "you'll bring her to the Queen."
"She'll think it's a trap."
"It is," Marie replied. "But not the kind she's expecting."
He smiled. "Are you ready?"
She nodded.
"For every servant they silenced. For every girl like me."
---