The King's Eye

Chapter 32

  The Les Oreilles members kept quiet, a tremor of fear threatening to crumble their placidly rehearsed expressions. Moments ago spit had flown from his majesty's mouth as thick as venom while he yelled, his fists slamming into the table over and over cursing our failures. Cursing the Bastille. Cursing the lives lost. How dare you let them assemble against the crown, he practically screamed in tantrum, How dare you let them question my divine right to rule over this land!

A priest who had not met with us in the previous meeting stood, sweat dripping from his bald head in nervousness. "With the introduction of religious opinion and free speech, your majesty," his words trembled as much as he did. "I believe they may begin to question further."

"In these meetings you will not speak unless spoken to," the king growled. "And I will remind you Father, your predecessor did not survive to see this meeting. It'd be wise to hold your tongue." The priest dabbed at his face and neck with a handkerchief as he sat back down.

Jacques shifted in his seat next to me, his hand finding its way back to the table from my leg. He poked at what little food he had put on his plate silently. With tensions in the room so high, it was probably best our feasting was minimal.

Only a few months ago Elodie had brought me into this room, the table piled high with fruits and cured meats. Whispers and laughs had flooded it, but now it was insufferably close-mouthed. The tension lingering in the air so thick it felt as heavy as the stale loaf of bread that sat before me. Even the queen seemed restless, her natural hair pulled back and her cheeks bare to reveal the dark circles under her eyes.

"The Duchess of Guyenne..." His majesty said my formal title unexpectedly, making me flinch. "Has been successful with finding a printing press helping the sans-culottes, but their network is larger than we expected. We still have no way of getting them under control."

Jacques's voice made me ease back down into my seat. "I think pamphlets are the least of our worries, your majesty. The assembly is drafting a declaration similar to the English colonies as we speak. They could announce it any moment."

The King's eyes narrowed. "Jacques I do not care about a document that has not been voted on."

"Your majesty," his voice came out stern, making my breath catch as I looked at his stone cold face. "They want you to react this way. They will use it against you. Say you are continuously against reform–"

"Sit down, Jacques." His majesty began to pace the length of the table. "I have bigger worries than the rebels declaring rights they are already beginning to make law. Lafayette and his friends have been thorns in my side for years, I can handle them."

"Can you?" Jacques's nose flared. "Because the Bastille was only the beginning of the violence they will wage. How long will it be before they parade your head on a pike, too?" Gasps filled the silence, but he wasn't backing down. "You have been to Paris, you have seen the side effects of the country's spending and lack of food."

"And you are very close to losing your own head, boy." The King was now in his face.

Elodie and I exchanged glances, as the man I loved stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"I think we need to take a moment to breathe fresh air," the queen stood up, as she spoke lifelessly. "Let us meet again in the morning after a night of sleep."

⚹⚹⚹⚹

Jacques drunkenly walked along the ledge of the fountain, humming a tune I didn't recognize. The sun had set fully, leaving the waxing moon and lantern to cast shadows across the ground, his own magically skimming along my periphery.