Scene XIII The Dauphine’s Apartments
Dawn Breaks
Climbing back up to a window is certainly less simple than jumping out of it, and by the time I crawl back to my chambers I’m breathless, my fingertips scraped where I clung to the rough stone of the Chateau walls.
Dawn spills in after me in a wash of crimson light, turning my chambers the red of a ruby’s bowels.
Exhausted, I put the owl-face pendant back on and ring for breakfast, collapsing face down on the bed.
Golden blood. The King was killed by a monster, and it had golden blood.
Which means that there must be a sorcier involved in all this.
Either they conjured the beast, or they are the beast—I don’t know enough about magic to tell, and not for the first time, I find myself frustrated by my father’s secrecy, his adamant refusal to teach me anything about my powers.
Still, the fact remains: If there is a sorcier involved, then they could still be in the Chateau. And if Damien could see through my disguise, then a sorcier will be able to do so easily.
My mission could be in danger.
I want to sleep, but there’s no time for rest. I need to know more, to move faster. What I have done isn’t enough. It won’t be enough until I know the truth.
Which is why my next act, after scarfing down my breakfast, is marching all the way to the Dauphin’s apartments and barging in unceremoniously.
“Aimé, we need to ta—Oh.”
I freeze, startled by the sight before me.
The Dauphin’s chambers, much like the prince himself, seem to be rebelling against the somber gravitas of the rest of the Chateau.
Here, bright tapestries cover dark walls, and gilt chairs upholstered in pastel blue silks stand amid plush floral carpets.
A painting of two turtledoves hangs over the mantelpiece, the dainty birds ruffling their feathers against a cerulean sky.
In the middle of the room stands the Dauphin, wearing a black-and-gold jacket, teacup in hand.
And he is not alone.
The Step-Queen looks up, her lips parting in a surprised, viciously red O. She doesn’t move from where she stands, midway through pouring a thin stream of sickly-looking yellow liquid into the Dauphin’s teacup. “My, it seems someone has forgotten all their manners,” she drawls.
“Apologies,” I say sweetly. “I was so consumed by lust for my betrothed that I forgot to knock.”
The Step-Queen scowls and rights the vial, corking it and tucking it into the mourning-black folds of her gown. She watches me as she does so, as if daring me to say anything, to challenge her, but I only glower back. A smoldering quiet spreads between us.
The Dauphin groans. “Enough of this,” he says. “There is truly no reason for such animosity.” He downs the tea in one gulp, grimaces, and then sets the empty cup aside. “What is it, Marie?”
“Might we speak alone?” I meet his eyes meaningfully.
To my relief, he nods and then looks to the Step-Queen. “Stepmother, if you don’t mind.”
The Step-Queen shakes her head. “Aimé, I do not think that is wise in your current condition. Especially not after yesterday’s… escapade.” She crosses her thin arms, inclining her head at me. “Speak, girl. What you say to the Dauphin, you should be able to say to me as well.”
The Dauphin opens his mouth, closes it again.
A flash of frustration passes over his face.
“Stepmother, please,” he says. “Were you not just saying you needed to attend to Pierre?” I recognize the name of the Step-Queen’s young son.
“Besides, Marie and I need to discuss the wedding, and the duties she will soon have as queen.” He takes her hand, widening his eyes until they are almost comically pleading.
“Please. Uncle is bad enough, treating me like I need to be confined to my room lest I do something foolish. I beg you, at least, to trust me.”
To my shock, his piteous, puppyish expression seems to have its desired effect. The Step-Queen’s face softens—a feat I thought impossible—and she steps away. “You are too trusting, my son,” she says heavily. “Be cautious of her words. And come see me when you are done.”
With that, she strides from the room.
As soon as she is gone, the Dauphin sheds his pleading expression and groans. “My apologies. She can be overbearing sometimes.” He eyes the empty teacup with distaste. “Mothers, but she makes me feel like a half-witted child.”
“You seem to play the role quite well,” I say before I can stop myself.
The Dauphin makes a strangled noise. “Marie!”
I throw up my hands. “I meant it as a compliment! You were very convincing.”
He pounds his chest, laughing. “You really have changed.”
“I was rather dull, wasn’t I?” I can imagine the real Marie’s unimpressed stare in my mind’s eye. “But you’ve changed too. You’ve become so…” I reach for a polite word.
“Useless? Pathetic?” He smiles wryly. “It’s what everyone thinks.”
I don’t admit those are the precise words I was thinking of. “Well…”
“Trust me, I know. That little act of mine unfortunately works only on my stepmother. Everyone else thinks I’m too sentimental, too emotional, to do what must be done.
My father made no secret of how disappointed he was in me.
My uncle apparently thinks I’m unfit for the throne.
” He sets the teacup aside and sprawls out on the bed, putting his arm over his eyes.
“And now my best friend, my only friend, is in prison, while I can do nothing but wither away .”
For the first time since entering the room, I notice the empty wine bottle on his nightstand, the crossbow he was gifted the eve of the ball shoved into one corner. There’s a crack running its length, as though it was thrown in anger.
I almost feel a stab of pity, almost, until Regnault’s voice rasps through my mind. He is your enemy. His grandfather is the reason there are hardly any sorciers left. Do not lose sight of why you are here.
He’s right, of course—I force my thoughts back to the task at hand. “Speaking of Damien,” I say. “I keep thinking about what he told us yesterday.”
As soon as I utter my brother’s name, Aimé sits up again. “I do too. None of it makes sense.”
“It doesn’t,” I agree. “How could one man kill not only the King, but the two guards traveling with him?”
“Precisely!” the Dauphin exclaims. “I tried to say that, but no one is listening to me!”
“Have you thought about why that may be?”
“Of course,” he says sullenly. “They’re hiding something from me.”
“I think so too.” I tap my fingers on the table, carefully formulating my next words. “And I have a suspicion it has to do with the cause of death. The real cause of death, not the stabbing Damien was blamed for.”
“But my uncle was present when the royal surgeon inspected my father’s body,” the Dauphin insists. “He insists the wounds were clearly from a knife.”
Suspicion prickles at me. First Damien’s warning about the Regent’s corrupt guards, and now this? “I’m assuming you have not seen the body yourself?”
“No,” the Dauphin admits tightly. “It is well guarded, and frankly I… I have not dared.”
Well, that will not do. If what Marie told me is true, the King’s body is likely to be covered in scratches from the monster.
But I can’t simply reveal that to the Dauphin without raising suspicion.
He needs to see it himself—only then will he have proof that Damien is innocent, proof he can confront the Regent with.
In the meantime, I can search the body for any clues as to the beast’s sorcerous origins.
“Where is the body being kept?” I ask.
“In the chapel. No one is allowed in but the priestesses—they are preparing it for the funeral.”
I move for the door. “Then we must go see it now.”
“No, we can’t!” He grabs my wrist, eyes imploring. “You saw how my stepmother reacted yesterday. I cannot go against her again. And Mothers forbid that my uncle find out—he might simply have me locked up for good. No, it is not worth it.”
“So you would rather sit in your rooms and let yourself be lied to?” I burst, unable to hold myself back any longer. “Your father is dead and your favorite guard is imprisoned. Your uncle is leeching power from you. And you’re really going to content yourself with this—this withering?”
The Dauphin laughs hollowly. “The universe seldom leaves me a choice,” he says, uncorking the near-empty bottle of wine and pouring the remaining few drops onto his tongue.
He lowers it and gives me a dispassionate look.
“You do not understand, Marie. Every time I have ever tried to take a matter into my own hands, it has been torn from them ruthlessly.”
“Then perhaps you weren’t holding on tight enough,” I say.
He smiles wanly. “You sound like Damien.”
Now that is an insult I will not tolerate. “Would Damien tell you to break into a chapel to look at a corpse? I think not. Now stop moping and get up.”
Unfortunately, it does not take long for the Dauphin’s suspicions to be confirmed, as we are stopped at the chapel doors by two guards.
“No one is permitted to enter at this time,” says the guard on the left, a man built like a mountain.
The Dauphin’s shoulders slump in immediate resignation. “I told you this would happen.”
“This is nonsense,” I declare, whirling on the guards. “On whose orders?”
“The Regent’s. He believes the prince is too fragile to see the King’s body. He fears it may turn the Dauphin hysteric.”
“I am not hysteric,” the Dauphin mumbles.
I huff and pull him aside. “You need to command them. They can’t refuse a direct order.”
“What’s the point?” he says, shuffling a foot uncomfortably. “My uncle is probably right about me.”
I cross my arms. “Power is claimed, not given, Aimé. You did not take it, so your uncle did. Now you must wrest it back.”
“But how…” Aimé’s brows draw together. “How do I get anyone to listen to me?”
I shrug. “Well, when diplomacy doesn’t work, you can’t go wrong with some good old-fashioned threatening.”
“Threatening?”
“Try it. Thank me later.”