n the end, when I reach Plessis-lès-Tours, I decide to stick as closely to the truth as possible. Dressed in finery I bought when we passed through Poitiers, I ride Gallopine up to the outer courtyard’s entrance. Whether because the guards recognize me or because I present no threat, they allow me to pass. I proceed to the second gate that protects the inner bailey. Old King Louis was so fearful of his person that he built as many layers of defense into the castle as possible.
The guards at the second gate stop me and ask my business. I recognize neither of them. “I am Lady Genevieve, in service to the Countess of Angoulême.” They straighten and grow more circumspect. “I would speak with the seneschal, if I may.”
This request gains me entrance, and I ride to the main courtyard in front of the palace doors. A groom steps forward to help me dismount as a page appears at my side to escort me up the stairs. When I step inside the main door, the seneschal is already hurrying to greet me. “Demoiselle Genevieve! I must confess I am surprised to see you. We had not received word of your visit.”
I ignore the faint reproach in his voice. “I am sorry to hear my messenger did not reach you, but I am not surprised. The road was beset with many hazards. It was too much to hope that he would not fall prey to them.”
The seneschal’s voice grows heavy with concern. “Hazards, my lady?” The man peers around me. “And what of your escort?”
I blink rapidly and make my voice slightly husky, as if holding back tears. “I fear I am alone. As I said, much ill has befallen my party.” He is fair twitching to ask what happened, but is constrained by the formality of his position. “However, I have news that must be delivered to Madame Regent, and turning back offered no safer course than continuing onward.”
“My lady, I am sorry to hear of all your misfortune. Alas, Madame Regent has ridden out for the morning. Would you like to rest until she returns?”
I shake my head sadly. “My news and my misfortunes on the road have made me restless. Would it be possible to ease my heart in the gardens? Once I have done that, perhaps I will be able to rest.”
Every day that I was at court, after the king’s midday meal, he walked in his garden before turning to the social pleasures of the afternoon. I must only position myself and wait.
“But of course. Let me send for one of Madame’s attendants to escort you.”
I rest my hand on his arm in a fleeting gesture. “Please, monsieur. I am poor company right now, and the attendants would want to know why I am here. It is for Madame to hear first. Truly, I wish only some time alone in the garden to compose myself.”
The seneschal’s affection for protocol gives way before the weight of my distress. He leads me through the palace to where the doors open out onto the gardens. “Once you have found your peace, send for me and I will have you settled in a room until Madame returns.”
I place my hand on my throat in a gesture of profound gratitude. “Thank you, monsieur.”
And with that, I am alone in the king’s garden.
* * *
Nearly an hour later, I hear the sound of voices and footsteps crunching on the gravel. As they draw closer, I am able to pick out a deep rumbling voice I do not recognize. “Send them all back to their brother. They are his to command, no matter what your queen prefers. You do not wish to be seen as weak.”
“Surely honoring my lady wife’s vows is honorable, not weak,” the familiar voice of the king answers. I shift my position in the hedge ever so slightly, trying to get a glimpse of them.
The king is dressed in fine satins and velvet that do not hide the slightness of his figure or the shortness of his height. And no finery in the world can hide the plainness of his face. Nevertheless, it is a face that is nearly always kind, and that is more than most of the people I have known at court.
There are half a dozen men with him, but only one walks beside him, deep in conversation. He is exceptionally tall and towers over the king. He is broad of shoulder and thick with muscle. His features are unrelentingly plain, bordering on ugly. In spite of his looks, he emanates an almost animal virility as deeply compelling as it is unsettling. There is a sense of barely contained civility to him.
Their steps bring them closer toward me and I realize I must interrupt them or have the king pass by altogether and lose my chance to let him know that I am back.
I soften my shoulders, widen my eyes, and step out from the shadows of the hedge. “Sire?”
At the sound of my voice, the king’s head snaps up. His companion’s hand flies to his sword hilt, but seeing me, he does not draw it.
“Genevieve?”
I take a hesitant step forward, my hands gently twisting together with doubt.
“Genevieve? Is that you?” The king waves his retainers away. The large man hesitates until the king flashes him an annoyed glance.
Alone, the king strides forward to greet me, hands outstretched. He has not forgotten, and he is most definitely happy to see me. The two things I don’t control have fallen my way.
“Yes, sire. It is I.” I sink into a deep curtsy. Immediately his gloved hand is on my elbow, helping me to my feet.
“Genevieve.” His voice is low and warm while his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my gown, my shoes, my hair. “I am surprised to see you.”
“I am sorry to appear unannounced, but I had news that was best given to Madame Regent in person.”
To my immense relief, he does not press me for the news. Either he does not care or has assumed that it is some matter best left to the women of his household. Either explanation suits me, for bringing up the subject of death while attempting to revive an old tendre will not help my cause.
He takes my hands. “That is most thoughtful of you, but you were always that.” He smiles warmly, and I realize this fruit still hangs low in the tree. I have merely to pluck it.
I turn my gaze shyly from him to his prized gardens. “And of course, once I was here I had to indulge myself to admire your gardens.” I sigh, so soft it could easily be missed—if he weren’t hanging on my every word. “I do miss them so.”
“As would I if I was not able to visit them whenever I chose.” He gives me his arm. “Let us enjoy them together.”
There is a loud cough behind us, and the king grimaces. “General Cassel has ridden all the way from Flanders to speak with me. I should not keep him waiting.”
At the name, everything inside me stills. It is the general Maraud has been seeking—the man responsible for the murder of his brother. I dare not turn around to look at him. Not with that knowledge in my eyes.
“You will be staying for a while before you return to Cognac.” The king does not frame it as a question.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” He gives my hand a squeeze, then, thinking better of it, lifts it to his lips. “Soon.” His eyes are warm upon mine. “I will see you soon. You have my promise.”
I curtsy deeply. “You do me great honor, Your Majesty.” When I rise, General Cassel is watching me with amused speculation. There is a calculation in his manner that has me believing every word Maraud has said about him. Something in his gaze makes me feel stripped bare, so I lift my skirts and hurry away, careful to keep my head high and my shoulders straight.
?Chapter 85