Page 51 of A Treachery of Swans

“I must introduce myself, then,” my father says, giving the Regent another, shorter bow. “Excuse me while I speak to the Dauphine about her wishes for the upcoming wedding. Monseigneur, do send for me if you have any further questions.” He rubs his hands together, striding toward me.

I realize with a start that I have reached the bottom of the stairs. I did not even notice I was moving—it is as though a force has pulled me, against my will, toward Regnault. My father takes my hand and kisses the back of it, the image of a gentleman, but when he looks up, his eyes flicker with wicked intensity, landing on the owl-face pendant.

“P-pleasure to meet you,” I stammer, barely remembering to play along. My father beams gallantly and lays a hand on the small of my back.

“Why don’t you show me around the palace?” he says. “I mustbecome familiar with the space if I am to organize this grand event.”

I know there is no refusing. I let Regnault escort me from the room, trying with all my strength to hold my composure.

Regnault’s smile drops as soon as we are out of sight. His hand retracts from my back, and he scowls down at me. “I did not think we would see each other again so soon. Andwithout the Couronne.” The last words are razor-sharp, and I feel them like the skim of a knife against my skin.

I look at my feet, hidden beneath heavy bronze skirts. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I—” But how to explain this? That instead of finding out where the Couronne lies, I have been busy attempting to solve a murder and prove my brother’s innocence? “The King’s death complicated things,” I say at last, forcing myself to look my father in the face. “But I managed to convince the Dauphin to move the wedding up.”

My father crosses his arms. “So this was your doing?”

“I told him it would take the people’s minds off the recent tragedy,” I say, allowing a tentative grin. “And of course, I planted the seed for the Dauphin to hire you. He thinks it was all his idea.”

Regnault’s lips quirk up briefly, but his gaze doesn’t change: cold and scrutinizing and finely honed. I fidget, increasingly nervous.

“D-did I do well?” I realize, too late, how pathetic that sounds. How desperate.

Regnault considers my question. “Is that all you have managed to accomplish since I sent you here?”

“I—” My pulse quickens again. My hand drifts to my pocket, to the flower and journal. “There’s, um, there’s this.” I slip out the yellow-petaled flower and present it to him. “I found the Step-Queen gathering them. In the garden. I think they… they might be important somehow.” I don’t show him the journal—I don’t want to risk him taking it away.

Regnault’s face betrays no emotion. He doesn’t take the flower from me. “Is this all?”

I make the biggest mistake possible—I hesitate. Regnault’s eyes narrow immediately, a predator spotting its prey. “Odile?” he says, both question and warning. “Is there anything else you want to show me?”

“I am working on something. I will tell you… later.”

“Odile, what is it?” he demands. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing! I swear it!” I try to step away, unable to bear his looming presence any longer. “I must go, I need to—”

Before I can move any further, Regnault reaches out and snatches my arm—my injured arm—his fingers digging in.

The bolt of pain is so sudden I cry out, tearing my arm away.

Regnault’s eyes widen in realization. “Are youinjured?”

“N-no,” I stammer. “No, I was just surprised—”

“Marie!” A familiar chipper voice reaches us, cutting off whatever my father was going to say. It takes all my willpower not to collapse in relief as Aimé appears at the end of the hallway, petticoat breeches rustling as he approaches. I hurry away from Regnault to loop my arm through Aimé’s, plastering a pleasant, demure smile on my face.

“Ah,mon amour,” I greet the Dauphin sweetly, my heart still rattling. “I was just talking with Monsieur Regnault about the upcoming wedding. He has some trulyexcellentideas for dessert.”

Regnault’s eyes flicker as he quickly reins in his fury at me, concealing it from the Dauphin. Part of me can’t help but gloat at having weaseled my way out of answering his questions. I press closer to Aimé’s side, and he gives me a surprised look. I realize there’s a concerned shine to his eyes—he must have heard my shout when Regnault grabbed me.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

I nod with as much conviction as possible. “Just tripped on mydress. Monsieur Regnault is such a gentleman—he helped me back to my feet. Why don’t I leave you two to speak?” I gesture between the two of them, eager to make my escape. “I’m meant to meet some of the court ladies for tea.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Aimé says tactfully. “And Marie?”

I pause mid-step. “Hmm?”

“Meet me in the Queen’s tower at three. There’s something I want to show you.”

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