The King's Eye

Chapter 22

Elodie slept on a makeshift bed in a room smaller than the linen closet, her snores a subtle purr in the quiet of night. Through the crack in the door, I could make out the drool forming at the corner of her mouth. Her strawberry blonde hair was loose and wrapped around the top of her head like a halo, making me hesitate to wake her. For the first time in days, a moment felt peaceful enough that I did not need to cry or hold back a scream.

It had felt like that since the Bastille. The world around me moved in slow motion, an unknown force keeping my screams internal.

As a child I had seen the crushing of a woman in a square, her silence met with the placement of heavier and heavier stones upon her chest. I could not remember what the man yelled at her atop the execution stage or her crime, but I could see her mouth opening in great inaudible gasps as she writhed under the weight. The silent screams she tried to heave from her unwavering chest are what I imagined my emotion did to me now. Pressing me into the floorboards until I was crushed beneath the weight, it consumed me wholly.

Elodie stirred, making the entire bed shift under her. Even in unpleasant conditions she slept soundly, making me turn to the door on the other side of the hall.

Opening it slowly, I watched the small room unfold to reveal an open window. Curtains blew in the summer breeze, barely missing Jacques's limp body as they waved like surrendering flags.

"Jacques," I called for him quietly, when he did not wake I tiptoed across the floor boards.

In the moonlight his jaw line was softened beneath the peach fuzz that had replaced his smooth skin. The lines against his scarred eyes deepened with sleep. It was not until I was closer that I noticed his shirtless torso and exposed chest, his muscles like sculpted marble in the shadows. Light scarring marked across his body like brush strokes in a sort of chaotic painting, but this was real. I watched him shift slightly, his hand moved to behind his head as he let out a deep sigh from his stomach.

For a moment I looked at him in awe, but the thought of my finger skimming along his midline quickly made me shut my eyes to focus. "Jacques," I said through a long breath. "Jacques?" My hand grazed the small patch of hair set center on his chest as it went to touch his shoulder. He let out a humming groan, his body shifting away for me as I continued to reach. Leaning over him, my fingers poked into his arm. "Jacques, please wake up."

A shadow darted across my periphery as he shot up from the dead of sleep, his fingers digging into the side of my throat. Twisting inward and upward, his thumb made my racing heartbeat more obvious than it already felt. But as quickly as he awoke, his eyes softened as the daze of slumber crept away from him. "Sophie," he gasped, his hand wrenched away from my throat and onto the bed to support him. "Put-" both of his hands cupped my face as he searched me over, "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." My hands mirrored his. Cupping his face in my own, I felt the stubble scratch against my skin. His eyes continued to search me. "I'm fine." I repeated myself, but my words felt like a lie.

Sliding his hands down to my shoulders, Jacques did not look convinced. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered as he took in the room.

"Isn't this what you want?" I poked at him playfully

For a moment he looked at me in phased, but than his eyes lit up hungrily.

Grabbing me, he pulled me down towards his body. His lips smashed into mine, as he flipped me onto the mattress, one hand digging into my hip as the other made its way to the back of my neck. I arched into him, our movements following in a dance. Jacques's hand slid down from my neck and dug into the pillow beneath me, his hips sliding between my upper thighs.

My hands ran through his hair, as he suddenly pulled away. "Not here and not like this," Jacques purred into my ear before rolling over to grab his shirt off the bed post.

In a daze, I sat up and took him in like a gulp of port wine. "I thought—" The heat burning in my cheeks made me happy it was dark in the room. "You don't want..."

His eyes glanced over at me as he pulled on his sleeves. "I'm injured, Sophie." He hooked his finger under my chin to lift it. "And Elodie is right across the hall. She'll ruin all my fun."

My body turned molten at his words, making my breath catch. "How would she ruin your fun?" My question was pleading.

Propping himself onto his elbow, he leaned against me. "The Duke hasn't pleased you clearly," he said through a smirk. Kissing my forehead, he restrained himself, barely brushing his lips against my skin as he looked back into my eyes. "Now, what do you need help with?"

"I—" My eyes lingered on his lips. "I..."

Jacques laughed deep from his belly, catching me off guard. I had never heard such a genuine laugh from him. "I've never seen you stumped like this. Have I flustered you duchess?" He looked content with himself.

I scowled at him. "I need your help with interroga—"

"Interrogating?" His eyes narrowed, shadowing across the tops of his cheeks. "You want to interrogate someone?"

"Francis said something," I said, biting at my lip. "He said his majesty had tried to stop him before. That he tried and failed?"

He showed a hint of a smile, as if he was trying to hold it back. "You're getting better at this," he admitted. "But who are we interrogating?"

"Simone." Jacques looked dumbfounded. "I don't trust her, and she has been working in this household for several years."

He nodded, sucking at his teeth. "But why don't you trust her?"

"She knows Francis is unkind, and yet she chose to say I was watching his movements in front of him." And she stopped herself in the garden from saying too much, I thought to myself. "She knew how he would react and yet–"

"She put you in danger," he said as he buried his face into my loose hair. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his arm around me, fitting me to his side. "Is your husband away?"

"He left for Versailles earlier."

"Then sleep." His voice trailed off. "We can worry about Simone tomorrow."

My head rested beneath his chin. "What if Elodie finds us?"

"Leave her to me."

"Jacques?"

"Yes, duchess?"

I rolled onto my back, looking at the plain ceiling. "Who is Camille Desmoulins?" My mind thinking of the names on the pamphlet, wandered. I had felt lost since I took on this role and yet had made no progress in understanding who I was fighting against. Or why.

He let out a sigh. "Tomorrow, Sophie. Tomorrow."