Page 76 of A Treachery of Swans

He turns his eyes on me slowly. His cheeks are stained with golden tear trails. “What is it?”

“I want her.”

His eyes narrow. “Wanther?”

“As my pet. As a reward for all I accomplished.”

The Regent makes an indignant sound, but Regnault shushes him.

“I cannot have her running around the Château and sowing discord, little owl. I fear she will be more trouble than she’s worth. And a distraction to you.”

I shrug. “Lock her up in the Dauphine’s rooms. Keep guards on her. The Regent is right—we need the alliance of Auvigny. But I guarantee I can control Marie far better thanhecan.”

Regnault rubs his chin, considering. “Very well,” he says finally. “It will be so. Yes, monseigneur?” He levels the Regent with a stare, as though daring the man to argue, but the Regent remains stiffly silent, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Of course,” the Regent grits out. I give him a winning smile, all teeth.

Regnault folds his hands behind his back, nodding to the guards. “You have your instructions, then.” With an easy gesture, he callsoff the tarasque statues. When the beasts amble away, the Regent heaves a relieved breath, while two of the guards rush to their mutilated companion, who has fallen unconscious. They drag him away, throwing Regnault resentful glares.

The Regent gathers whatever scraps remain of his dignity and follows the guards, smoothing out his coat and carefully avoiding the pools of drying blood on the floor.

Once he is gone, Regnault turns to me.

To my utter shock, he pulls me into an embrace.

“Well done, Odile,” he croons, smoothing down my hair. “I am proud of you.”

His arms are not warm, like Marie’s, and his hold is stiff and too tight, more a cage than a cradle. Still, my heart swells, and I press my forehead into his chest, basking in the rare moment of pride.

Finally, when I feel like I might burst, I pull away. “How did you know about the Dauphin’s curse?”

“The yellow flower you showed me,” Regnault says. “It’s a weed called Sorcier’s Bane—it suppresses magic. Before Bartrand de Roux’s betrayal, it was fed to sorciers who had broken the law. It turned them into red-bloods, prevented them from using sorcery.” One of his tarasques approaches him, and he strokes its head idly. “I thought the flower had stopped blooming after magic disappeared. It seems Anne de Malezieu managed to coax a few stunted ones into growing.”

“Does this mean Aimé is a sorcier?” I ask. “Why does he transform into a beast?”

“I do not think he is a sorcier—I do not sense any innate power in him at all. Rather, I think he is cursed. Possibly by Morgane herself.”

“Why would he be cursed?”

Regnault seems to measure his words carefully. “Perhaps he, or one of his ancestors, offended the Mothers.”

I sense there is something he isn’t telling me, but if that is so,then no prying will coax it out of him. Instead, I ask, “What do you intend to do with Aimé?”

Regnault taps his nails along the tarasque’s snout. “In order for the Regent to be accepted as the new king, Aimé’s legitimacy must be put into question. The courtiers and all the city must see the beast Aimé has become.”

“You intend to make a spectacle of him.”

“That is one of my intentions, yes.”

Despite everything, the image of Aimé in chains—put out for ridicule like a carnival attraction—makes me nauseous. I rein in my guilt, force myself to remain practical, ruthless like my father. I made this decision, and I cannot regret it.

“What of the Couronne?” I ask. “When will you summon Morgane?”

“Once I have established my foothold in the palace.”

I frown. I had always assumed it would be his first line of action after we succeeded in our plan. “Can you not do it now?”

He clicks his tongue. “You are always so impatient, Odile. To bring back magic now would be to throw Auréal into even further chaos. Let this affair with the Dauphin pass; let the Regent take his place. The crown grants me enough power to protect us both. I fear it might lose its powers once I perform the… summoning.”

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