Page 77 of A Treachery of Swans

I nod, trying to accept his words, though some part of me fidgets with dissatisfaction. My gaze is drawn to the Couronne upon his head, the memory of its power humming through me still fresh in my mind.

“What does it feel like?” I ask, unable to hold back the curiosity. “Using the Couronne’s magic?”

Regnault smiles at me, and there’s something manic about the expression, something not quite human.

“It feels like endless power.”

SCENE XXIXThe Château

The Queen’s Tower

My father comes to me that night, a bottle of wine in hand.

The Château has hollowed out, its guests fleeing after the horrors of the almost-wedding, leaving the palace feeling like a belly with its organs scooped out, a rib cage with no heart to protect.

Regnault joins me in the Queen’s tower, the place I have decided to make my new lair. I have cleared away the tarps, revealing the glossy ebony furniture. I have called in maids to chase away the dust. I have opened the windows to let wind howl through the room. As long as I don’t breathe in too deep or look too hard, I can forget this is the place Aimé’s mother died.

Besides, something about the view is comforting—the rooms are in the Château’s tallest tower, and I can peer down at the palace grounds and feel felonious, irreverent: a thief crowing over their newly robbed jewel. I can feel like this was all worth it.

My father and I drink to our victory. I still have no taste in wines,but I guess this one is expensive since it comes from Aimé’s private collection. I try not to think of Marie alone in her rooms, once again locked in a cage, her future uncertain. I try not to think of Aimé and his strange curse: Aimé, who has yet to be captured—who was last seen fleeing into the forest by the guards trying to chase him down. I try not to think of my brother, who has not been seen since the prince’s escape. Part of me hopes he’s clever enough to stay away from the Château for good.

I don’t think about them. I drink, and the more I drink, the more I revel in my success. This is what I wanted, what I have worked for all my life. I infiltrated the palace; I stole the Couronne; I avenged the sorciers who came before me. And that is what Regnault reminds me of as he pours himself another glass of wine.

“This palace is ours now,” he says. “If we bide our time, if we play this game until the end, I will eventually sit on the throne, as Bartrand de Roux should have done.”

“And what of me?” I ask, my voice slurring and head spinning. When had I drunk so much?

“You”—Regnault moves on from his glass to mine—“my dear, sweet pet, will be by my side as you have always been. Nothing will change—I will always need you here, my knife in the dark, my shadow. I am certain I will soon find another mission for you.”

I frown. Somehow that sounds wrong. I had thought that stealing the Couronne would put an end to my missions. Have I not proved myself enough already?

But when I try to articulate that, I can’t seem to find the words. My mind feels loose and billowy, a cloud blown away in a breeze. I curl up wearily at Regnault’s side.

“Rest,” Regnault says, standing and picking up the wine bottle. He sways a little himself, his eyes drunken-bright. I notice distantly that he is still wearing the Couronne.

“Tomorrow our reign truly begins.”

He leaves me staring through the window at the scattered stars in the sky, trying in vain to find the shape of a swan’s wings within them.

The last thing I feel before falling asleep is a pang of heartbreak.

Over the next few days Regnault buries his talons in the Château, curls them deep into its foundations, and constricts the castle’s very soul. Through the Regent, he sends away any straggling guests, along with Pierre, the Step-Queen’s young son. He takes control of the search for Aimé and ensures the right rumors about the wedding’s events are spread: that the poor Dauphin turned out to be cursed by his own stepmother. He will be sent away to the seaside for recovery from his episode, and the Regent, being next in line, will take his place on the throne.

I spend the next few days attempting to embrace my newfound status: eating from porcelain plates, standing at Regnault’s side protectively, and trying not to think of Marie d’Odette—the latter of which I fail at spectacularly. The moment my focus wavers she is there, the warmth of her hands and the fullness of her lips like a blemish that refuses to vanish.Yes, that’s what Marie is,I resolve.A blemish.

And yet I still think about visiting her. Sometimes I imagine strolling into her chambers and gloating. Other times I think of kneeling at her feet and begging for forgiveness. In others still I offer her a place at my side, to be my ally and friend again.

But when a guard approaches me and tells me that Marie has asked for an audience, I turn him away. Because no matter how I might imagine it, I can’t bear the idea of looking Marie in the eye and facing her devastation, her disappointment.

By the next day, half the palace’s guards have deserted.

I am with Regnault and the Regent when the news is broken. The two are having a meeting—I am standing in the corner, trying not to shuffle restlessly. I’d spoken up once, to lobby for keeping on all the palace staff, and had received a lukewarm, disinterested nod. I’ve spent the last half hour simmering at a lovely medium-temperature fury, so when the young guard-in-training comes to tell us of the guards, I almost hope my father will ask me to stab him, if only so I can unload my frustrationsomewhere.

“What do you mean, ‘deserted’?” the Regent says in a low tone.

“I—I mean that they r-ran away in the night. To the city, I think. At least h-half the garrison is gone. I overheard them yesterday evening. They don’t trust you, monseigneur, because of your alliance with the sorcier. They’ve lost their faith in the crown.”

The Regent opens his mouth to speak, but Regnault cuts in.

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