Versailles – The East Wing Library
Marie sat in the sun-drenched library, eyes skimming the lines of a book she hadn't truly read for half an hour. Her thoughts weren't on the page. They were on the unsigned letter, now ash in the fireplace behind her. She had told no one—not even Léonie.
Something about the handwriting felt wrong. Measured. Masculine. Unfamiliar.
But the intent—that was all too clear.
She didn't hear the approach of soft boots on carpet until a voice broke the silence.
"You haven't smiled since yesterday morning," Montmorency said, standing just behind her chair.
Marie looked up quickly, attempting composure. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
He moved to sit across from her, studying her. His shirt was unfastened at the collar, curls a little disheveled from riding. Even like this—especially like this—he unsettled her.
She set the book down. "Do you ever worry that it's not over?"
"I worry constantly," he said. "But I stopped pretending I could protect you by silence."
He paused. "What happened?"
Marie hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "A note. Left under my door. No name. Only poison."
She didn't repeat the words.
Montmorency's hands clenched. "You should have come to me."
"I didn't want to look afraid," she said. "I've only just begun to be seen."
He leaned forward. "You don't have to prove your strength by walking alone."
Their eyes held for a moment longer than was polite. Then Marie stood abruptly, turning toward the window.
"There's more," she said quietly. "I heard one of the Queen's chaplains speaking with a page this morning. They're asking questions about me. About what I believe."
Montmorency stilled. "The Church?"
She nodded. "Someone planted a story. They're saying I... desecrated a reliquary during my time in the sacristy."
"That's a death sentence," Montmorency said, voice low and sharp.
Marie swallowed hard. "I know."
---
Later – The Council Hall Corridors
Montmorency strode down the corridor, cloak billowing, boots echoing off marble. He bypassed the guards at the chapel annex, moving directly toward the Queen's private confessor—Father Lucien.
The old man was robed in deep crimson, hunched but sharp-eyed.
"Your Grace," he said with cautious respect. "What brings you to the House of God in such haste?"
Montmorency didn't waste time. "I know what's being whispered about the girl under my protection. I want to know where the inquiry came from."
Father Lucien raised a brow. "The Bishop of Amiens sent a sealed missive. Said there was cause to believe a girl by the name of Marie Delacour committed blasphemy in his parish before she entered Versailles."
"She has never been to Amiens."
"I suspected as much," Lucien said. "But the Bishop claims to have a witness. A woman from court. Unnamed, of course."
Montmorency's expression darkened. "The Duchess d'Artois."
Lucien did not confirm. "What is it you want of me?"
"I want the Church to drop its inquiry. Publicly."
Lucien tilted his head. "That will not be simple. If we appear too eager to exonerate her, it will stir further suspicion. Nobles are not burned, Your Grace. But servants…"
Montmorency's voice went quiet. "She is not just a servant."
Lucien observed him carefully, a flicker of understanding passing through his gaze.
"Then perhaps it is time we treat her as something more."
---
Versailles – The Garden Terrace, Twilight
Marie sat alone beneath the bronze statue of Persephone, watching the sky bloom in lavender and gold. The stillness was too loud. She had grown used to a kind of quiet danger, but this felt different. Like Versailles had started holding its breath.
She didn't hear Montmorency approach until he sat beside her.
He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I spoke with the Queen's confessor."
Marie's stomach twisted. "And?"
"It's worse than we feared. The Bishop is sending a formal petition for inquiry. It would begin with private questioning. End with public ruin."
Marie looked down at her hands. "She's going to win after all."
"No," he said, his voice low but firm. "She won't."
Marie turned toward him. "What are you going to do?"
Montmorency looked straight at her. "I'm going to name you my ward."
She froze. "Your ward?"
"It grants you noble protection. No court or bishop can summon you without first summoning me. And no accusation can be tried without proper evidence."
Marie's breath hitched. "They'll think—"
"They already think it," he said softly. "Let them."
Marie searched his face. "You'd risk everything for this?"
"I already have," he said.
Then, more gently, "I love you, Marie."
She looked at him, stunned.
He stepped closer, slowly. "Not the way the court loves its games, or the way men love power. I love the way you speak your mind when no one's listening. I love the way you hold your chin when you're terrified. I love that you made me want more than shadows."
Her throat closed. "If you name me your ward... they'll say you've taken me to your bed."
"Then let them," he said again. "Let them scream, let them burn. I don't care."
And when she kissed him, it wasn't out of defiance or fear—but relief.
---
Meanwhile – The Duchess's Chambers, After Midnight
Geneviève poured dark wine into a crystal glass, watching the ripples with distant satisfaction.
"They'll come for her," she said to Madeleine. "You'll see. Once the Church questions her, the Queen will have to withdraw her favor."
Madeleine stood by the door, arms crossed tightly.
"You look too pleased," she said.
Geneviève's smile soured. "She played a hand above her station. Now it's time she remembers she was born to serve."
"She's not the one who looks desperate."
Geneviève whirled on her, glass sloshing. "I was humiliated before every tongue in court. I will not let that girl rise from the ashes of my ruin."
Madeleine didn't flinch. "And if the Duke makes her untouchable?"
Geneviève stilled.
It was a question that hadn't occurred to her—not fully.
She set her glass down, slower now. "Then we take him down with her."
She crossed to her writing desk and opened a drawer lined with letters—many unopened. Many dangerous.
At the bottom was one penned by the Comte de Vigne, long ago spurned in favor of Montmorency's favor at court. A man with ambition. A man with reason to hate.
"Let us see," she murmured, "how deep his love runs once war is whispered in his ear."
---
Versailles – The Montmorency Wing, Before Dawn
Marie couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, the canopy above her billowing with a ghost of wind, heart still echoing with his words: I love you.
And worse, louder: They already think it. Let them.
She rolled onto her side, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of morning.
There was movement beneath the door. A shadow.
Then, softly, the sound of a letter sliding into her room.
She rose quickly, crossing the floor on bare feet.
No seal. Again.
But this one didn't threaten.
It read:
> The Bishop arrives in two days. Tell no one. They plan to question you before Mass. Alone.
Marie's hands trembled. She didn't know if it was warning or manipulation.
But one thing was certain—
The fire had never gone out.
It had only been waiting to spread.
---