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“That would be most appreciated.”
He puts his hands behind his back and saunters to the window. “It has been an interesting three days. Sir Crunard has made some very serious claims against both General Cassel and my sister. Much of what he says lines up nicely with what you have told me. But then, it would if you were lovers, would it not?”
I want to ask him about Maraud’s proof—if it was enough for him—but instead say, “I would not lie for a lover. Surely I have proved that to you at least.”
My response provokes a wry twist of his mouth. “Touché.” His mouth twists again, only this time not with humor, but with sadness. “What I would like to know is why you took him for a lover when you refused me.”
My heart drops. I knew it was inevitable that we should talk about this, but I do not relish the task. “Your Majesty, he and I were lovers before I ever came to your bed. Were lovers, and then parted, as lovers often do. I did not think I would see him again. When we came upon each other”—in Paris—“in Brittany, we realized we had unfinished business between us.”
He fingers the tapestry that covers the wall. “I thought we meant something to each other.”
“We do. We are friends.”
He grimaces. “Is that what we’ve become over the last months?”
“A friend is nothing to scoff at, Your Majesty. Indeed, our friendship is one of the truest things between us. You have had so very many lovers, and a veritable army of advisors and councilors and courtiers seeking something from you. Influence, favors, table scraps of your power. But I, ever since our first night together, have asked nothing of you, only listened and offered my insight where I thought it could help.”
He turns from the tapestry to stare back out the window.
“I like to think we understand each other better than most. We have seen each other at our most private, unguarded moments. Not of passion, but of temper and melancholy, uncertainty and remorse. And through all of that, we have maintained our connection, our mutual respect.” I pray that it is so, even as I utter the words. I still respect what I know him to be deep down, and will respect him even more when he finally embraces it. “Which is something no mere lover can provide. Surely you can see the truth in that?”
His face holds equal measures of contemplation and sadness. “That is one thing you have always done, Genevieve—tell me the truth. At least such truth as is convenient for you to tell.”
It is hard not to wince. “That is a personal failing, sire, and not something I reserve exclusively for you.”
“And so I will call on the friendship you offer and ask you to tell me the truth once more. Do you know if General Cassel did what Sir Crunard accuses him of?”
“I was not on the battlefield that day, so cannot give you an accounting of what transpired. What I can tell you is that when I first came across Sir Crunard, he was chained in an oubliette and left for dead. Even then, the one thing that shone brightest in his mind was the injustice visited upon his brother. It was his thirst for justice that kept him alive those long, dark months. It was one of the first things he spoke of to me, well before he knew who I was.”
“And how did you come to know him?”
I shrug. “I was bored. Lonely. Grieving for Margot.” I recognize now that I was grieving for her even before she was dead. Mourning the loss of our friendship, mourning that it was never what I thought it to be. “I came upon him—”
“In the oubliette?”
“Yes, and we began to talk.”
“Of what?”
“At first, he thought I was the ghost of his brother. Bringing him food cured him of that notion. The more we talked, the more I began to wonder if he had been unjustly imprisoned, as he asserted. When Count Angoulême was away, I went through his correspondence.”
The king scowls.
“It is what I was trained to do,” I remind him. “And in that correspondence was a note from the regent, ordering Angoulême to make him disappear.”
“You are certain it was the regent?”
“She was not so foolish as to sign it, but I have seen her writing many times and recognized it instantly.”
“But why?”
“Because she did not want you to know she had blackmailed the chancellor of Brittany into betraying the duchess. Because once she had, she did not want you to know that she reneged on her promise to return his only son. Whether that was to protect General Cassel from his crimes or for her own political gain, I do not know.”
The king’s mouth flattens into a hard line. “It is near impossible to recognize the truth among all the lies.”
“Who has lied to you the most in the past, Your Majesty?”
He jerks his head up at that. “You know from your own experience with him that Viscount Rohan’s loyalties are more fleeting than the wind. General Cassel has been accused of acting dishonorably on more than one occasion, by knights who are held in high regard. And your sister lies to you as easily as she breathes.”
He clenches his fist and returns to the window, his eyes staring unseeing at the courtyard below. “But my father trusted her. I cannot believe she would betray him.”
“I’m sure she believes she is serving him.”
He frowns in confusion.
“She is fashioned from the same cloth as he is.”
“And I am not.” The despondency in his voice cuts deeply at me.
“Your Majesty. Parents, good parents, don’t want us to be miniature versions of themselves, but hope for us to have a better life—”
“But I am a king!”
“A better life isn’t just measured in the titles we hold, but in how we feel while living it. Your father may have been a great king, but he did you a disservice by constantly railing against the things you value.”
His eyes shift to the wall, almost by instinct, and I am glad that rutting picture is hundreds of miles away. “Your ambitions, which were different than his, were still a way to keep the crown of France thriving,” I continue. “And while I’ve no love for the regent, for the last twelve years, she’s held the reins of power. If not for the misfortune of her sex, she would have been king.”
He shoots me a glance. “And this is supposed to cheer me?”
“She clearly has the sharp wits and bold cunning to be an efficient ruler, but would she have been a good one? Who is to say what horrors she might have wrought if not required by law and custom to twist and contort in order to hide the power she wielded. Or perhaps such open power would have allowed her to be less devious. But that was not the case.” My voice hardens with my own anger and bitterness. “She not only clung to power once it was rightfully yours, but has gone out of her way to undermine you and the rightful queen. She is like a pauper who, once starved, will never be full again. No matter how much she eats, that deep hunger will always haunt her.”
“Are you saying my sister deserves mercy?”
“No more than she has shown others.”
His eyes glimmer with appreciation. “A neatly issued sentence.”
I shrug. “She tried to use me as a weapon against you. Though I am not a sword, the cut would have been deep. I am not so generous a person as to be able to forgive that. Are you?”
Chapter 104
As instructed by the steward, I present myself outside the king’s audience chamber and await further instructio
ns. Moments later, the king approaches, deep in conversation with General Cassel.
No, not conversation but an argument. I keep my attention focused on the audience chamber even as I strain to listen. “But your father—”
“My father is no longer king. France is mine now to rule as I see fit.” It is all I can do not to cheer at the king’s words. Now if only he will rule as I hope he will. “The sooner both you and my sister come to accept that, the better.” When they reach the door where I wait, General Cassel gives the king a brusque bow and enters the chamber.
“You sent for me, Your Majesty?”
“Yes. The queen should be here to witness this, but since she is still in Amboise, I thought you should do so on her behalf.”
“Or mayhap Lady Sybella?” I suggest, frustrated by his continued disrespect for her.
But he is in no mood to hear suggestions. “Do you wish to bear witness for your queen or not?”
“Of course.” He nods once, then strides toward the front of the audience chamber. I hang back, close enough to hear but not so close as to draw unwelcome attention.
In addition to his Privy Council, I am surprised to see both the Duke of Orléans and Madame Regent’s husband, the Duke of Bourbon. A door opens off to the side, and the regent herself is escorted in by Captain Stuart. He leads her, not to where the other council members are gathered, but to stand in front of the king. As if she is on trial. My pulse quickens.
“Anne de Beaujeu,” the king intones.
The regent’s nostrils flare, and she tilts her chin in defiance.
“In the last two years, you have engaged in a number of activities without the approval of myself or the council at large. Many of these activities—in spite of your assurances otherwise—go directly against the wishes of the crown. In light of recent testimony, I believe that the queen was only involved in the rebellion in an effort to stop it. I will be releasing the prisoners, believing them innocent until I have demonstrable proof otherwise.” It is all I can do not to raise my arms in the air and cheer. “I have called Rohan back to court to question further.”
