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“Monsieur Fremin,” the king remonstrates. “I did not give you leave to assault the women of the court.”
Fremin fumes like a pot on a raging boil, but clamps his mouth shut and tries to collect himself. I alter my stride, imbuing my movement with hesitation. When I am in front of the throne, I sink into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty. How may I serve you?”
When I rise, the king’s gaze rests upon me. It is far less friendly and approving than it was just two days before. “Monsieur Fremin’s attendants have gone missing. He thinks you know something about their disappearance.”
Unable to contain himself any longer, Fremin steps closer, attempting to tower over me. “What happened to them?” He is nearly rigid with rage.
And fear. I do not envy him having to report his failure back to Pierre. “What happened to whom?” I ask bemusedly.
He takes another step closer. “My men are missing, and you are behind it.”
“Me?” I fill my voice with incredulity, trying to draw the king into the absurdity of such an accusation, but the way he studies me sends a ripple of apprehension across my shoulders. “How could I have caused your men to go missing?” I glance again at the king. He can’t possibly believe Fremin. I have given him no cause to do so. “Mayhap they simply headed home early?” I suggest.
“They would never do that.”
“Then mayhap they went wining and dicing, and have not yet come back? They would not be the first men to do so.”
The king ignores my suggestion, and my unease grows. “When we had someone sent to your room to fetch you here, the woman told us your room was empty. Your sisters weren’t there, nor your attendants.”
My heart plummets like a stone. Before it has reached the bottom of my stomach, I know what I must do, and allow pure terror to show on my face. “Your Majesty, that cannot be true! They were happily playing with their nurse when I left this morning to attend upon the queen!”
“And yet we did not find you with the queen when we went looking for you,” the regent points out.
I do not so much as look at her. It is the king my performance must convince. “And now you say they aren’t there?” I color my voice with distress and clasp my hands together tightly—as if only just barely managing not to wring them. “Who was sent?”
The regent answers. “Martine.”
My gaze frantically searches out Martine’s short figure. I take a step in her direction. “Are you certain? Could they not be outside, taking in some air?”
Martine shakes her head primly.
“We sent men to check precisely that,” says the regent, “once Martine returned with her report.”
Casting all conventions aside, I whirl back to face the king and throw myself onto the floor at his feet. “Please, Your Majesty! This is most alarming news. May I have leave to go see for myself? Perhaps they are playing some game or hiding from each other?”
“But of course. Your concern is understandable.” At least he is not so convinced of Fremin’s claims that he dismisses my request outright.
“You can’t let her go alone,” Fremin protests. “She might try to run.”
The king casts an aggrieved look at the lawyer. “She will not run without her sisters, Monsieur Fremin. Nevertheless, she will have an escort.” He waves his hand, and the regent and Martine step forward. As they take up position on either side of me, I head for the door. When the king turns to speak with his bishops, I feel Genevieve fall into step behind me. I wish that our first meeting had gone better so I could know whether she is simply curious or intends to guard my back.
* * *
As soon as we have cleared the fourth flight of stairs, I lift my skirts and break into a run. I throw the door to my room open and race inside. It is, indeed, empty. My hand flies to my mouth, as if to prevent a cry of alarm from escaping. I hurry toward the bed, yanking aside the canopies, tossing the bolsters to the floor, and pulling the counterpane from the mattress. Widening my eyes as if panicked, I call out, “Charlotte! Louise! Come out now, this is not funny!”
As the others watch, I drop to my knees and look under the bed, then rise and hurry to the window. I pull back the drapes and press my face against the glass, as if checking to see if they have fallen. It is easy enough to convey a mounting sense of alarm. I do not even have to pretend. What could have so emboldened Fremin that he would take this matter to the king?
I check the fireplace next, even looking up the chimney. “They’re gone,” I finally say, my voice small and hollow. “Not just them, but everything. Their clothes, their sewing, their dolls. All gone.”
It is a testament to my acting abilities that both Martine and the regent look discomfited. In the awkward silence that fills the room, Genevieve steps forward to take my elbow and help me rise from the hearth. “My lady, calm yourself. You did not know your sisters were leaving?”
I cannot tell what role she is playing, but use it for my own purposes. “No. There were no plans for them to go anywhere. Both had been ill recently and were being kept to their rooms.”
“Well,” the regent says briskly. “You’ve seen for yourself that they’re gone. The king has indulged you in this. Let us not make him wait any longer.”
* * *
I head directly toward Fremin once we reach the audience chamber. “You!” The word is so forceful he rocks back on his heels. “You did this. Where have you taken my sisters?”
“What are you blathering about? It is my men who are missing.”
“As are my sisters.” I take another step toward him. “You were most displeased with the king’s ruling. You even asked to see Charlotte and Louise afterward.” Although I long to back him up against the wall, I force myself to maintain my decorum. “When you could not get what you wanted by legitimate means, you took matters into your own hands.”
His face drains of some of its florid color as I publicly name the very thing he had been planning. “D-don’t be absurd. You only say that to cover your own actions.”
“Enough.” The king’s voice is as effective as a bucket of cold water on snarling dogs.
I am immediately contrite. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. My distress has caused me to forget myself.”
“It is understandable, Lady Sybella. The news of your sisters complicates things a great deal.” He gazes at Fremin, annoyed that the lawyer did not share this piece of the puzzle.
“Your Majesty! How was I to know the girls were not there?”
“How indeed,” a male voice muses, but I dare not look to see who it is.
There are few choices available to me on how best to play this, so I plunge ahead, using the truth to bolster my lies. “Your Majesty, I saw Monsieur’s attendants sitting in the antechamber the day he arrived. They are not mere attendants, or men-at
-arms or even a simple escort. I know those men from the years I spent in my father’s household. They are the worst cutthroats among the men that serve my family. Men the d’Albrets have used to do their most unsavory deeds.
“At the time, I thought it unusual for a lawyer to have such an escort, but I assumed it was because the war was over and they had to find something for such men to do. But now, now their purpose is made clear. He would not need those sorts of men if he intended only to escort two young girls back to their family.”
The king whips his head around to spear Fremin with a look. “Who were these men who accompanied you?”
The lawyer swallows before speaking. “Their names do not matter, Your Majesty. What matters is that they are missing.”
“Oh, but their names do matter,” I continue, committing fully to this course of action. “I’ve no doubt some of your own men will have heard of Yann le Poisson.” There is an audible intake of breath. “Or of Maldon the Pious.” That name is followed by another susurration of whispers. “I know his exploits and strange taste for self-punishment have long been the source of rumor and gossip. And the Marquis? How many Frenchmen have been betrayed by him?”
From somewhere behind the king, a large man steps forward. “I have heard of these men.” His deep rumbling voice is so very familiar that I wrench my gaze from the king to look at him. “They are precisely as she claims.” He is uncommonly large—his nose, his jowls—everything but his eyes, which are small and narrow set. He has eschewed the more distinguished long robes of the king’s other advisors and instead wears a shorter military style, complete with vambraces. His deep blue mantle is held in place by two gold brooches.
By his sheer size and ugliness, he can only be Beast’s father, although his face has none of the charm or good humor that Beast’s possesses. I drop my eyes quickly lest he see the spark of recognition in them. Merde. Can the gods lob any more disasters at me this morning?
A new suspicion glints in the king’s eyes as he stares at Fremin. “What say you, lawyer? General Cassel has corroborated Lady Sybella’s claims.”
