The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 3

I flee the Grand Service without a thought as to where I'm going, or who my body crashes into. Someone calls my name from behind me, but my feet don't stop. My breath comes in loud, shallow gasps as I rush through the royal chambers and into the long hallways with too many mirrors. In my panic, my brain seems to forget which way to return to my apartments, but I dare not turn back for fear of seeing whether Destan or Lord Gardet has followed me.

I whip around a corner, my shoes slipping on the polished marble, and crash bodily into a woman. She emits a laugh of surprise, as she grabs my arm to steady me. Her other hand keeps a claret of wine aloft, but some of the crimson liquid sloshes over the rim and down the front of her pink gown.

The splash of wine over her silken skirts is enough to break me from my panic. She is an elegant, full-figured woman with curls of bright orange hair piled atop her head. Her dimpled smile is decidedly crooked beneath her long, slender nose, and her green eyes are too far apart. She is remarkably pretty, but there's no comparing her to the queen's unnatural beauty.

"Are you all right, dearie?" she asks. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I catch my breath with a hand on the wall to steady me. "I don't know what came over me," I say.

"Here," she thrusts the glass of wine into my hand. "Drink up. It will calm the nerves."

My hand shakes involuntarily as I bring the glass to my lips and drain the contents. I should know better than to take drinks from strangers, but it's too late now. I hope I won't regret my rash actions.

"You must be new to court," the woman says.

"I was hoping it did not show," I say. The wine settles some of my nerves, but I still feel on edge.

"We all start somewhere, do we not?" She wraps a comforting arm around my waist. "I am Lavernia."

"Florette," I reply.

"Where were you headed in such a hurry?"

"My apartments, I think."

"You think?"

"I was lost. You don't happen to know where the painter's studio is?"

She nods and her lips curve up on one side of her face. "I know the way to the studio well." She speaks like she shares a tawdry secret with me and it makes my heart race all over again. Jealousy surges hot and sickening through my chest to think this stranger knew Morel in a way I did not. I knew he had many lovers, but I'd never met one face to face.

"I apologize," she says when she senses my displeasure. "Were you intimate with Monsieur Morel as well?"

I silently curse my face for betraying my thoughts to her as I remember Destan's warning. "Never," I say. It's the truth, but I try to pass off my jealousy as indignation. "I am his apprentice – his replacement," I correct.

"Really? Did you study at the Royal Academy?" she asks with sincere curiosity.

This softens me towards her more than I want it to. Perhaps she is interested in art as much as she was interested in a romance with Morel. "I was trained there thanks to Morel's sponsorship," I say, as I must blindly follow where Lavernia leads me through the palace. "I currently hold only one of the four positions reserved for women and even now they're considering closing the academy to them."

She laughs, throaty and full. "I, fortunately, never ran into that problem in my profession."

"And what was that?

"The world's oldest profession."

"Ah," I say. I smile beside myself as the tension releases from between my shoulders and I know I can relax around Lavernia. Women like us share unspoken bond; we are working women in a society that increasingly believes a woman's only role is maternal.