𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 7 | 𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬 𝑨 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬

A quiet week? Think again. Monday, someone fires a shot at Alexandre in the street in front of his favorite café, leaving a bullet hole in the side of his carriage and spoiling both your appetites. You pick at your mussels and scoot your chair back and forth trying to block potential lines of sight from the café windows. It's not a restful evening.

Tuesday, you disarm a would-be robber, one whose blade is suspiciously expensive for a Paris footpad's weapon, and deliver him to your grandmother's custody. Alexandre adjusts his collar so that she won't see the nick on the side of his throat, no worse than he's gotten from shaving, he assures you.

"What a nuisance the crime rate is in Paris," he says once you're back in the carriage, though he looks troubled as he drops you off at the townhouse.

Wednesday night, you stay in. You play cards with Alexandre in your grandmother's kitchen and eat a casual supper, lingering over glasses of wine after your grandmother has retired.

"I suppose it's getting late," he says, but he seems comfortable in his chair.

"Don't go," you say. "We should...talk. Upstairs."

He reaches for your hand across the table and smiles like the sun coming out from behind clouds. "You know, I think we should."

He follows you upstairs, and you slip into your cool bed together. By the time you're through with your conversation, it's a warm nest, the sheets tangled around the two of you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to savor the sight of him there with you.

Alexandre sleeps, his face silver in the moonlight, the hollows of his cheeks shadowed. You close your eyes so that you won't think of funeral masks.

In the morning, you can't believe your morbid thoughts the night before. What vintage was that wine?

The Thursday morning post brings your invitation to the Emperor's grand ball at the Tuileries.

The paper also brings the unexpected news that the Duke of Reichstadt is arriving in Paris today, and has been extended an invitation to the ball. The society columns are semihysterical with speculation on possible romantic connections that might be made. They take salacious pleasure in mentioning that the Duke's "intimate friend" Fraulein Weiss will also be in attendance. The front page refrains from expressing a stronger opinion than that his presence is "interesting." You're certain that more political papers are ablaze with opinion, but your grandmother prefers a measured brand of news with her morning coffee.

"Are the Austrians really letting him attend?" you ask. "They've kept him under close guard."

"It's well known that the Emperor isn't in good health," your grandmother says. For a moment, you can see a flicker of pain in her eyes, and you're reminded that she's known Napoleon since before you were born. "If Franz has any hope of being named his father's successor, he will have to make his case in person. And, perhaps even more to the point, make his case to those he intends to rule."

Later that morning, you accompany Alexandre to claim his new hat from the haberdasher's shop. You're admiring a hat that you privately feel looks remarkably like last year's hat, when you see a carriage drawing up to the curb.

Alexandre turns, sweeping off his hat to greet whichever acquaintance has stopped to chat. You see the carriage-window curtains part. Drawn curtains, on such a warm day? The muzzle of a pistol protrudes from the window, and you throw yourself at Alexandre, bearing him to the ground.

There's a gunshot, and the carriage rattles away at full speed.

"I'm all right," Alexandre gasps, and you leap to your feet and pursue the carriage. To no avail-it's lost in a sea of steam carriages and horse-drawn cabs. You trot back to Alexandre's side to find him on his feet and scowling at his hat, which has a neat pistol-hole through its crown.