When she has left, I turn to Elsibet. “Has there been any news among the regent’s attendants of a new lady joining their ranks?”
“Why, yes, Lady Sybella! That is all they have talked about since yesterday. Apparently her name is Genevieve, and she used to be one of the regent’s pupils.” She leans in close and lowers her voice. “The king developed a tendre for her, and she was sent away to Cognac.”
I blink at her in surprise. “They told you all that?”
“Oh no, my lady. But I am small and easily overlooked.”
“Only by fools,” I mutter.
?Chapter 91
he next morning, I am ordered to return to the king’s chambers to hear his decision. It has come more quickly than I expected.
My plans to seek out Genevieve hastily put aside, I dress carefully, in my most somber and responsible-looking gown. Holding my head high, I look neither to the right nor the left as I follow my escort to the king’s chambers. My stomach feels as if it holds a nest of newly hatched serpents, all writhing and struggling to get out.
As my feet carry me closer to the king’s decision, I am fiercely glad the girls are far away from here. With them out of harm’s way, no matter what else happens in the meeting, I will have won.
A guard opens one of the large double doors, then steps aside for me to enter. The king sits in a large chair at his desk, the regent standing behind his right shoulder. She does not look at me, and I don’t know if that is a good sign or a bad one.
Monsieur de Fremin is already there, barely making an effort to contain his impatience. While it is irksome that he arrived before me, his open impatience will not sit well with the king. I cannot decide if he is a stupid man or merely an overconfident one.
The king sets aside the document he is reading to give us his full attention. “I have given this matter much thought and many hours of prayer,” he says without preamble. “The law is clearly on the side of Lord d’Albret having custody of his sisters so that he may provide them with good marriages.” Fremin visibly puffs up at this encouraging announcement. I keep my face as still as stone.
“However,” the king continues, “matters of honor and oaths are involved. My own lady queen has sworn to oversee the d’Albret girls’ safety and well-being, and I do not wish to force her to forsake her word. There is no honor in that for anyone.”
A tiny leaf of hope unfurls in my breast.
“I have decided that for now, the girls will remain in the queen’s care. Surely Lord d’Albret will agree that there is no better custodian for his sisters than the queen of France?”
The lawyer wants—desperately—to argue with this. “But, Your Majesty, the girls must be married—”
The king holds up a hand, stopping his words. “Of course they must. But as his liege, their marriages have to be approved by the crown, do they not?”
While this is true, it is often a mere formality. The lawyer cannot risk pointing this out. “Of course, Your Majesty, which he would duly obtain, but—”
“So for now, the sisters d’Albret will be privileged to serve the queen until such time as marriages can be arranged for them. We ourselves will give these unions some thought, and of course, if Lord d’Albret has marriages in mind, we will be happy to consider those unions as well.”
I do not dare to let myself react. I did not expect for him to grant me outright custody—there is no legal precedent for that. This is the very best I could have hoped for.
The lawyer opens his mouth to argue again, then stops it when he sees the king scowl with displeasure. I briefly wonder if Fremin has been threatened with some dire punishment, should he fail in this task. Before he can do anything to sour the king’s mood, I curtsy deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I can think of no greater honor for you to bestow upon the house d’Albret than to allow me to serve your queen and grant us your protection and guidance in these matters.”
That pleases him, and he settles back in his chair. “You are welcome, Lady Sybella. And you, Lord Fremin. You may take this decision back to your liege.”
“If I may, sire . . .”
Astounded that he is questioning his dismissal, we all turn to stare at him.
“Would it be possible for me to see the girls before I take my leave, so that I may assure my lord as to their good health and well-being?”
His words confirm my biggest fear. He is looking for an opportunity to snatch them from me. I turn and give him a horrified blink. “Are you suggesting the queen has in some way threatened their well-being?”
“No! Of course not. But . . . my lord has messages of affection he would have me pass along, lest they forget how much he cares for them.”
I nearly laugh out loud at that. “Ah, you may tell them to me, and I will share them with my sisters. I am afraid both have taken a fever with the recent winter storm, and it is best that they not have visitors right now.”
The look the lawyer shoots me tells me that in his mind, this is far from over. And he is right. I just don’t think it will end the way he expects it to.
?Chapter 92
Genevieve
s I am dressing for supper, the king’s summons arrives, delivered by the chamberlain himself.
He waits outside while I finish my preparations. I don’t have much to choose from, but even so, I take care with my appearance. Not in an attempt to appear prettier, for that part of the game has already been won. But the more care I take with my appearance, the more he will feel I am honoring him.
When I am finally ready, the chamberlain glances at me with approval, then escorts me in silence to the king’s apartments. When we arrive at a pair of thick double doors, one of the guards steps forward to open it for me. I cannot help but wonder what my mother and aunts would think of one of their own sleeping with the king of France himself. I give a regal nod of thanks and smooth my skirts before stepping into the private bedchamber.
The room is huge and made welcoming with rich oak paneling and exquisitely rendered Flemish tapestries hung on the walls. There are two fireplaces, a fire roaring in each one. Along the farthest wall is an enormous canopied bed with deep blue velvet curtains embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis.
The king himself rises from a couch covered in the same blue velvet. He is but a young man, only a handful of years older than I. Even though he is king, I am struck by how vulnerable he looks without his retainers and the trappings of state. “Genevieve! You came.”
I curtsy. “But of course, Your Majesty. I said that I would.”
When he reaches me, there is an almost palpable uncertainty lurking behind his regalness, and I realize that I am well suited to this task. Desire is my mother’s stock in trade, and surely I am my mother’s daughter as well as my father’s.