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And it had all gone terribly wrong.
“I need to know.” Hovering her hand over the rings, she readied herself to scoop them up. “I’m sorry, Gideon. I need to know.”
She picked them up.
And the world disappeared in a blink.
* * *
January 1559
Palace of Fontainebleau, France
Marguerite gatheredup the front of her skirt as she climbed the stairs to the ballroom. She hated attending these trite and irritating affairs, but as party to the royal family, it was required. She wished she could once more feign illness to avoid having to stand in the great hall and fake interest in all the goings-on. But that excuse only worked so many times before a physician was to be called, and she had no interest in dealing with all the poking and prodding.
Therefore, she had no choice but to go.
The only shining light on the evening was that her soon-to-be husband was to be in attendance. She smiled at the thought of him, at his dashing visage and kind eyes. She would dance with him tonight, she decided. That would bring her joy and would set up nicely the conversation she would have with her father about wedding the handsome young man who had been her friend since childhood.
As the illegitimate “natural” daughter of the king, suffered only by the queen due to Marguerite’s peaceful and obedient nature when it came to the machinations of Catherine de Medici, she did not warrant much notice as she entered the hall. She was not even introduced. That was fine by her.
She was hardly the only bastard offspring of her father, just the only one who was still kept so closely underfoot in case she was deemed to be useful. Most of her fellow bastards had already been wed off or traded for positions of power and influence.
She understood her place in the world. It was better than most, her life being one of comfort. She did not want for much, save that which she could never have—freedom. A say in which path her future took. But it was all right. Compared to the other options, she fared just fine. Moreover, she learned to respect and fear the schemes of Catherine de Medici.
But such were the glum thoughts for another time, for she saw her handsome pseudo-paramour standing by the wall, chatting with another young fellow. Marguerite and her companion had nearly grown up together in the castle, always playing and chasing each other around. Her maids had always accused her of being too boyish in her mannerisms, wishing to pick up wooden swords and fence with her favorite friend.
He had grown up to be a knight of the king in the Scots Guard like his father, despite own his illegitimate background. Tall, broad, handsome, noble, kind, and filled with a casual, effortless charm. He was all a woman could want in a husband.
She walked up to him and curtsied. “Good afternoon, Leopold.”
He smiled back and bowed. “No playful insults or feigned punches? Are we feeling well, Lady Marguerite?”
“Bah.” She glanced over at the crowd of courtiers. “They think me mannish enough without making such a public display of it. No, I am to be on my best behavior tonight.”
“For shame.” Leopold let out a small huff. “You are improving with your attacks. We simply need to work on your defense. But perhaps you are right, this is hardly the time or place.”
“Marguerite—” someone called from across the room. It was the stern voice of a woman she recognized quickly. It was hard not to. She was the queen, after all.
Quickly and without hesitation, she moved to stand before Catherine de Medici and curtsied low. “My queen.”
“I wish to introduce you to an associate of mine.” She gestured at a man beside her, garbed in long black robes. “You may have seen him around the palace, I believe, as of late.”
Yes, she had seen the man before. And every time he had given her a strange chill. Often, she had seen him lurking in the shadows of the great hall or watching her from the darkness. She had heard whispers that the queen had business with an alchemist, but she didn’t dare listen to them. Listening to gossip about the queen was a good way to lose her limited favor.
Nor had she ever dared to get this close to the stranger. Now she found herself regarding him in full—and he, her. It was as though she had been pinned to the spot.
He was tall and broad-shouldered. He was young, perhaps in his early thirties, and handsome with sharp, striking features. But that was not what caught her by surprise. It was the nature of those features that left her speechless for a moment. His hair was long and pure white, like freshly fallen snow. His skin was toned like those perhaps from southern Spain or Portugal. And his eyes…they were metallic silver. They watched her with matched fascination.
“This is Dr. Johann Faust, arrived from service to the lordships in Germany.” The queen’s expression became coy and amused. “I believe he would like to dance with you this evening.”
Her face went warm at the suggestion, and she found herself staring at the man who looked very distinctly unlike any German she had ever met before. Stammering shyly for a moment, she finally managed to curtsy to the strange man. “It would be my deepest pleasure, my lord.”
He chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to find its way inside her and twist about like snakes. She could not tell if it was a pleasurable sensation or a deeply unsettling one. Perhaps it was both. “I am no lord, my Lady Marguerite. Merely an itinerant servant, providing my knowledge where I can.” He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him after a moment’s hesitation. He bowed, kissing her knuckles, and the warmth of her cheeks increased. His silver eyes never left hers, and they flickered with something strange and frightening.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower, like the rumble of thunder. “And the pleasure is all mine.”
