The King's Eye

Chapter 49

     Elodie hunched over the table pinning my wig in place for the ball, her hands twirling hair around into curls that resembled roses. The pins shimmered under the lamp light, the pearls at the end of them starlike.

"Being a duchess is so much better than being the daughter of a merchant," Anne sighed. Laid across the bed on her stomach, she propped her head up on her hand, swirling a glass of wine in the other. "I know your husband was awful, but the wigs alone," she sipped at the wine, puckering her lips in disgust.

"I think your sister has had enough to drink." Elodie glared over her shoulder. "She is speaking too freely."

Taking a sip from my own glass, I smiled. "Anne has always broken rules...despite being good at following them."

A pillow hit me, a playful laughter following as Anne stood up on the bed, her feet unsteady. "Elodie, I find that even after all these months every time we encounter one another in this room you are absolutely miserable."

Elodie scowled, her eyes looking to me for reprieve as she cursed under her breath. This moment felt a lot like my wedding day. The same stress painted across Elodie's brow, as her tongue stuck out in concentration. Her need to ensure perfection, blurring the mission we faced.

"Please just sit with us," I patted to the open spot next to me on my bed. "We can worry about my wig in the morning." Taking another sip of my wine, I set it on the stand. "Anne, you may also want to sit."

Both of them exchanged looks of confusion, but listened.

"I was never a duchess, Anne. Not truly. My marriage was illegitimate and I suffered at the hands of a man who knew that." I wanted to grab for my glass, but knew the thoughts must be sober to control my emotions. "Francis wed me under the eyes of the crown, making it all seem real."

Elodie squeezed my hand, stilling the shaking. I hated how much power he still had over me. How my blood boiled.

"I killed him," I whispered. My fingers brushed over the bruises I knew still lingered.

Anne's head tilted to the side. "What?"

Clearing her throat, Elodie sat upright. "She did not deal the final blow, but she pulled the blade from his throat." She handed me the glass of wine without hesitation, and despite my best judgment I swallowed all of it down.

Anne said nothing, sitting frozen to the bed. Her sapphire eyes made circles around the floor as she processed our words. Months. I had not spoken to my sister in two months. Not a single letter, and within hours of us being reunited I told her I murdered my husband.

"When you said he had left you...I thought you meant abandoned, not that his soul had departed." She stood up, sloshing alcohol across her robes. "Is that why you are not properly mourning? Where are your black gowns?" She began for the door, but it was already opening to reveal Jacques.

His face was darkened from stubble that graced his jaw, walnut curls wildly thrown about. "We have a surprise guest." He looked past my sister to me, nervousness flecking across his face in the form of raised brows. "They request an audience with you."

"Now?" I suddenly felt the alcohol sitting in my stomach. "Jacques it is after midnight."

"He has no concern with what hour it is."

⚹⚹⚹⚹

Marquis de Lafayette was many things, but for many of us who grew up hearing his name he was no more than myth or legend.

Standing in the window of the small study, I gaped at him as if he were a ghost. Although he was a genuinely handsome man, his eyes, like Jacques's, were aged with the trauma of bloodshed. Weary, his brows seemed to rest in a forever state of internal dread. The nauseating feeling I felt rise into my throat made me think, I too, could relate. If it were not for the blood I could not wash away from my hands, it would be the constant fear of the gallows becoming my end.

I was in over my head.

I hoped something would sway in the direction I intended. I prayed to whoever was listening that I was doing what was right, despite everything in me saying to runaway. Again.

Nudging me into the room fully, Jacques closed the door behind him before crossing the room and shaking hands with the man who was somehow very real. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," he said, slightly bowing his head in respect.

"It is not often I am limited to one side, so you could say it is intrigue that brought me here." Leaning against the window sill, the moonlight lit up his military uniform. "Although, I am a bit confused why your wife wanted my audience and my own friend did not."

"His wife is the one who wants to ensure the safety of the king and queen." I stepped forward. "It is your duty to protect them, no?"

"It is. But it is also my duty to ensure the safety of the people." He sucked at his teeth. "What is it exactly that I am protecting them from?"

"Tomorrow night there will be a ball," Jacques placed his hand on my back as he said it. Grounding me. "A number of revolutionaries will be present in the hopes that the setting will help spill secrets and not blood. But also, we hope to infiltrate their ranks with false information to see who publishes it."

"You are going to feed them gossip?" Lafayette laughed in disbelief. "That's not a plan at all. It is what they already do."

"We are going to see just how delusional Marat is. See if he publishes the information."

"Again. That is not a plan." Lafayette's face became serious at the mention of the writer's name. "You clearly haven't seen his latest publication."

"We know he has called for an uprising," I said quietly. My nerves making it hard to speak. "I stole a copy of the paper before burning the press down. We also have the man who directly reports to him on our side."

His shock was only visible for seconds as he contemplated what I said. "You burned the presses down." He was not questioning just in disbelief. Nodding, he looked back out the window heavy in thought. The look of a man going through battle in his mind. "I will do my part, but this plan needs to be more fool proof. You are relying too heavily on hope and not enough on facts."

"That is all we have." Stepping forward, I fought the shake of my knees beneath me.

He held his hand out. "Try to find more than that, and we'll have an agreement."

As I shook his hand I knew he could feel the clamminess of my palms, my doubt obvious against his firm grip. "Then we have an agreement."

⚹⚹⚹⚹

Jacques held loose strands of my hair back as I threw up over the railing of the balcony, the calmness of the gardens suddenly filled with my retching. I had nothing to solidify the agreement I had just made. There was only one possible outcome. I had bet everything on one single moment.

My husband's fingers moved in small circles in between my shoulder blades as I gasped in the cool air. Swallowing down the vomit that lingered in my throat, I looked to the fountains and let the running water still my mind. The sound of splashing water drew me away from the calming motion on my back and down the stairs.

Without hesitation I slipped my shoes off and waded into the glacial liquid as I reached the fountain's edge, quickly slipping into its comforting grasp. Letting it bind itself to my limbs, I sunk into its embrace as if returning home. Beads of air floated through it as I tethered myself to the tiles of the bottom, a mere foot of water separating me from the air. It was not healthy to crave the burning of deprived lungs. The waning control of myself as the body I inhabited began to fight back.

Somehow I longed to stay in that state.

My mind began to seize against me as I was lifted up by my armpits and into the arms of Jacques. Kneeling in the water, he lifted my head up enough to grant my lungs the air they fought me for.

We both knew without having to say anything that I had nothing to fulfill the agreement I just made, so we sat in silence while the tears and droplets of water intertwined down my face and into the fountain. Holding me against him, Jacques let me cry the overwhelming feeling of failure away. His jaw was clenched to fight off teeth chattering cold and yet we stayed submerged together. Our embrace only broken by the rising sun and reminder that the day had yet to reveal its fate.