Scene X The Château #2
“The Regent has at least half the garrison in his pocket,” Damien says. “The nobles have more loyalty to the one who wears the crown and controls the coffers. It doesn’t help that the Regent told them all that you’ve been using the garrison budget to buy exotic wines.”
The Dauphin’s eyes widen. “But I never—”
“I know this,” Damien says, his voice feverish and unusually cruel. “The more reasonable of the men do, too. But rumor is powerful, and you must admit you have never fought this reputation the courtiers put on you.”
“You know I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t you?” Damien growls hoarsely. I realize I’m witnessing the continuation of some long-standing argument.
The Dauphin sways delicately. In the torchlight, his eyes shine with tears. “Let me help you,” he whispers, stepping up to the bars, reaching for my brother even as the other recoils. “Please. Damien. Tell me what happened last night.”
“I will not let you get involved with this,” Damien says firmly. “I am a lost cause. Forget me, Aimé. Focus on keeping yourself—and the crown—safe.”
“The crown?” the Dauphin stammers. “Surely you don’t think my uncle is somehow responsible for this?”
“I don’t know what to think!” Damien snaps. His gaze flashes to me like a sword strike, pinning me even as I back away into the shadows. “I don’t know what to think,” he repeats, the words aimed in my direction this time.
There is a beat of silence, broken by a distant crash of thunder.
I try not to look too closely at the bloodstains on my brother’s shirt.
Try to ignore the way my chest twists in pain, seeing him like this.
Try to tell myself there’s nothing more I can do for him right now without arousing suspicion.
I know I have to try and free him. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to tell him that.
Perhaps it’s because a cruel part of me wants to watch him squirm, in revenge for abandoning me five years ago.
Or perhaps it’s because even now, I refuse to let Damien win—to give him proof that I’m not as heartless as I want to be. As I should be.
Show your pain, and it will be exploited.
In the end, in my frustration, all I can manage is a cold sneer.
Damien looks away, his jaw clenching in fury. To the Dauphin he says, with pointed force, “Aimé, listen. Whatever was done to King Honoré… it was monstrous. Something no ordinary human would be capable of.”
“But they said he… he was stabbed,” the Dauphin stammers. “That you stabbed him.”
“Stabbed him?” A grating laugh shakes Damien’s frame, a sound immediately followed by a groan.
He doubles over, clutching his ribs, and shakes his head ruefully.
“I didn’t see what happened. I didn’t even know it was the King I was following—just mysterious shadows on the grounds.
By the time I found him and his company…
everyone was dead. Why they were out there, so late at night, I do not know.
Yes, there was a knife thrown on the ground nearby, and I picked it up, foolishly.
That was the weapon they found me with. But it was not the weapon of the killing.
All you’d have to do is look at the body to know that—”
He breaks off as a clamor reaches us from the stairs. A moment later, a sapphire-clad figure descends into the prison like a storm cloud, trailed by Aimé’s guards.
“What are you doing down here?” Anne de Malezieu screeches.
The Step-Queen’s face is white with fury, one hand clenched, the other lifting her silk skirts high off the ground in a show of disgust. With surprising force she snatches the Dauphin’s wrists and drags him away from the cell, stepping between him and Damien.
“Why are you speaking to this—this monster ? Was this her idea?” She jerks her head in my direction. Before Aimé can open his mouth to respond, she begins to usher him toward the stairs. “Out,” she demands. “Out!”
I look over my shoulder, trying to catch a final glimpse of my brother, but he has retreated into the depths of his cell. Sighing, I gather up my skirts and follow the Dauphin into the rainy daylight.
The Step-Queen escorts the Dauphin all the way back to the palace.
It has begun to rain in earnest, a slate gray torrent that soaks us all in an instant, turning the ground slick and treacherous.
We trail it into the Chateau hall, dripping rainwater onto the marble floor.
Only then does the Step-Queen release Aimé’s wrist, wringing water from her soggy raven ringlets.
“What were you thinking?” she demands. “Going down to see a murderer? It is fortunate one of the garrison guards had the thought to alert me. Your guards I will have to see about demoting, Aimé. They should have stopped you.”
The Dauphin opens his mouth to protest but cannot seem to make a sound.
“And you!” The Step-Queen turns on me, pointing. “Those doe eyes might be fooling the rest of the palace, but they will not fool me. I warned the King you were nothing but trouble! He always said I was exaggerating, but here you are, and dragging my son into this, no less.”
“Stepmother, please!” The Dauphin takes her hand. “I wanted to do this. I dragged Marie into this.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re not capable of such scheming.”
“Maman,” Aimé says again, pleading.
She looks at him at last, and some of the tension leaves her body. “Oh, my foolish son,” she says quietly, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. “I only want to protect you. Especially now that your father is gone.”
“I know,” he says, his throat bobbing.
“Then do no more of this.”
“But…” The Dauphin stares at his feet like a chastened child. “No one is telling me anything.”
The Step-Queen sighs softly. “I will tell you what you need to know. I promise. But you must stay within my sight, understood? Only I can keep you safe. No one else. Not your uncle, not the guards, and certainly not this girl .”
At her last words, the Dauphin looks up sharply, a defensive stubbornness to his jaw. “Marie and I are betrothed now. Please, I beg you, let this grudge go.”
The Step-Queen’s only response to the Dauphin’s plea is a rueful laugh.
“For you, Aimé, for now, I will,” the Step-Queen says.
“But in time, I know you will come to admit I was right.” She pulls the prince into her arms, stroking his hair, but she is looking at me, red-painted lips curling into something cunningly cruel.
A chill creeps down my spine. I look away, reaching for Buttons, seeking reassurance in the enchanted weapon’s weight against my palm.
I can feel that strange web of intrigue tightening around me, as though I am a fly caught in some great spider’s creation.
Regent, Step-Queen, Dauphin, Damien, a dead king and his crown—too many threads, too many variables, every one a danger to my mission.
Speaking to my brother has only left me feeling hopelessly tangled, questions and questions and questions wrapping mercilessly around me.
And there is only one person I can think of who would be able to answer them.
But to speak to her, I must defy my father.