Page 84 of The Court of Venus

“Guillaume.” He spun me around, my back pressed against his chest. It was unpracticed, but I forgave the clumsiness. “Our court must seem strange to an outsider,” he whispered in my ear. “We are all unabashed. Night after night, we trade partners.”

I watched as Roland teased Diane’s mouth open with his tongue.

Suddenly, his eyes leapt open. Our gazes clashed: mine, as I lifted my neck to invite Guillaume’s lips, and his, as his finger’s tightened around Diane’s waist. With a glare toward me, he bent to kiss her again.

Guillaume’s hands fumbled over the folds of my gown. In someone’s mind, amid the overpowering lust and excitement of the room, were twists of frustration, envy. They spun from Roland’s direction, but he looked perfectly content. I could even see the gentle curl of his smile.

Marguerite suddenly coughed. Then a second time, louder, to break us all apart. Couples stepped away from each other, running the back of their hands across swollen mouths. Guillaume scratched behind his ear and offered me a timid grin. Diane murmured to Roland, and he leaned down to hear her better. Laughed at whatever she said.

I gathered my gown to leave. I would study the records again, I decided, dig deeper in the library for more magical texts. Perhaps someone had written about exaltation and Prospero just hadn’t found it.

No. I was not composed enough for that. I would become a cat and tuck myself away into some narrow space—because I was mortified, guilt-ridden, exposed, and nothing could come from this but my own pain.

Marguerite silenced the room with a single clap. “Some of you were not truthful,” she scolded, stalking forward and running her hand along courtiers’ arms. “I’d like to amend the game.” Her gaze swiveled around the room and landed on me. “There will be three ribbons now, for three couples. These three couples desire each other more than anyone else here. Shall we find out who they are? Come. Masks on again, and we’ll start.”

I knew what she was doing. She was determined to humiliate me. When I confronted her about King Philippe’s immortality, I wanted to remember this moment, when she’d seen the hidden shame in my heart and decided it would amuse her to step on it. She would hand a ribbon to Roland and his lady-in-waiting and leave me standing all alone.

Her hand rose. “And you, madrigal! Yes, there in the corner. Sing for us, please.”

The madrigal’s voice was high and sweet. Smoke glided sideways from the candles, directed by the wind from an open window. We stood in a circle, as before. Masks slid over faces. Again, Marguerite orbited us, her gown swishing as she walked, but other than that faint whisper I couldn’t tell where she was in the room.

Then I felt her soft hands in mine. She placed something on my upturned palm. I clutched it quickly before it fell to the floor.

It was pulled taut. Someone had the other end.

A ribbon.

Long ago, Prospero caught me reading a book on Saturn magic he had locked in a closet. He said I was too young to learn about the intricacies of death, but I’d shifted into a rat and managed to pry it out by dragging it beneath the doorframe.

When he found me reading it in a corner by the scullery, I was so ashamed and frightened to be caught, I changed my face, became our cook’s daughter. He knew it was me, of course. But he played along, smiling down at me as he said, “Mary, how on Earth did you get that book? I could have sworn I’d locked it away.”

When I was handed Marguerite’s ribbon, knowing where it would lead, I felt the same panic. Knowing I was trapped. Knowing there was nowhere, at last, to run.

So, I transformed. I could only face him as someone else. I followed the ribbon through the drowsy, billowing smoke, my arms outstretched.

My hands scraped up his chest and found his heart was pounding. It was him—so familiar to me. For a moment, we steadied ourselves, our hands meeting over the ribbon. I could feel his rings; shapes I knew with my eyes closed. The king’s signet. A garnet, studded with pearl and Prospero’s sapphire. The smooth, round lapis on his thumb.

He reached for my mask and tugged. Auburn hair spilled out of my hood. I’d lengthened my nose and thinned my lips, scattered freckles everywhere. His mouth quirked as I dipped into a curtsey. “How long are you visiting us, Your Grace?” I said to his boots.

Slowly, he tipped up my chin, so I’d meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled with the ruse, and he nearly laughed, then bit his lip. “Oh, only a day or two longer, depending on business. What’s your name?”

“Mary.”

An arched brow. “Mary? Hmm.” Courtiers paired off and returned to their corners in twos or threes, and Roland backed me against a wall, out of the line of Marguerite’s glare.

He placed his hand over my head, curled over me. “You’ve spoiled all of Marguerite’s fun, Mary. I don’t believe you’re the one I’m meant to be with.”

“Who are you meant to be with?”

A sigh. “Well, perhaps you can advise me, since she’s not here.”

“You’d trust me to advise you, Lord Chancellor? We’ve only just met.”

“Then there’s no one better, because I feel as though I’m not myself at all.”

“How so?”

He scratched his neck with his free hand and murmured, his lips brushing my ear, “It began when an old friend returned to court. Magicians are only meant to take one apprentice at a time, you see, but our master took two. She was the second after me. It was a shock. When I found out, I was so distraught I threw my master’s book at the wall and tore the spine, because I thought he was abandoning me. He said he’d train us together because she was too powerful to leave untouched. You see, I had thought myself special. Being trained by Prospero, being chosen by him. Then she was raised up beside me. For many years, we were rivals, but she was always better than me. It frustrated me to no end.”