A count! Named Axel! A military man! With black hair and blue eyes! And in a state of distress! Oh, the universe had outdone herself. The universe would be sent flowers.
“Monsieur Bane, I have heard of your talents. I can’t say whether I believe what I’ve heard, but rational, intelligent, sensible people swear to me that you are capable of wonderful things beyond my understanding.”
Magnus spread his hands in false modesty.
“It’s all true,” he said. “As long as it was wonderful.”
“They say you can alter a person’s appearance by some sort of . . . conjuring trick.”
Magnus allowed this insult to pass.
“Monsieur,” von Fersen said, “what are your feelings on the revolution?”
“The revolution will happen regardless of my feelings on the matter,” Magnus said coolly. “I am not a native son of France, so I do not presume to have opinions on how the nation conducts itself.”
“And I am not a son of France either. I am from Sweden. But I do have feelings on this, very strong feelings. . . .”
Magnus liked it when von Fersen talked about his very strong feelings. He liked it very much.
“I come here because I must, and because you are the only person who can help. By coming here today and telling you what I am going to tell you, I put my life in your hands. I also risk lives much more valuable than mine. But I do not do so blindly. I have learned much about you, Monsieur Bane. I know you have many aristocratic friends. I know you have been in Paris for six years, and you are well liked and well known. And you are said to be a man of your word. Are you, monsieur, a man of your word?”
“It really depends upon the word,” Magnus said. “There are so many wonderful words out there . . .”
Magnus silently cursed himself on his poor knowledge of Swedish. He could have added another witty line. He tried to learn seductive phrases in all languages, but the only Swedish he had ever really needed was, “Do you serve anything aside from pickled fish?” and “If you wrap me in furs, I can pretend to be your little fuzzy bear.”
Von Fersen visibly steadied himself before speaking again.
“I need you to save the king and queen. I need you to preserve the royal family of France.”
Well. That was certainly an unexpected turn. As if in reply, the sky darkened again and there was another rumble of thunder.
“I see,” Magnus replied after a moment.
“How does that statement make you feel, monsieur?”
“Quite the same as always,” Magnus replied, making sure to keep his calm demeanor. “With my hands.”
But he felt anything but calm. The peasant women had broken into the palace of Versailles and thrown out the king and queen, who now lived at the Tuileries, that broken-down old palace in the middle of Paris. The people had produced pamphlets detailing the supposed crimes of the royal family. They seemed to focus quite heavily on Queen Marie Antoinette, accusing her of the most terrible things—often sexual. (There was no way possible she could have done all of the things the pamphleteers claimed. The crimes were too gross, too immoral, and far too physically challenging. Magnus himself had never attempted half of them.)
Anything relating to the royal family was bad and dangerous to know.
Which made it as appealing as it was frightening.
“Obviously, monsieur, I’ve just taken a great risk in saying that much to you.”
“I realize that,” Magnus said. “But save the royal family? No one has harmed them.”
“It is only a matter of time,” von Fersen said. His emotion brought a flush to his cheeks that made Magnus’s heart flutter a bit. “They are prisoners. Kings and queens who are imprisoned are generally not freed to rule again. No . . . no. It is only a matter of time before the situation grows very dire. It is already intolerable, the conditions under which they are forced to live. The palace is dirty. The servants are cruel and mocking. Every day their possessions and natural entitlements are diminished. I am certain . . . I am quite, quite certain . . . if they are not freed, they shall not live. And I cannot live with that knowledge. When they were dragged from Versailles, I sold everything and followed them to Paris. I will follow them anywhere.”
“What is it you want me to do?” Magnus said.
“I am told you can alter a person’s appearance through . . . some kind of . . . marvel.”
Magnus was happy to accept that description of his talents.
“Whatever price you wish, it shall be paid. The royal family of Sweden will also be informed of your great service.”
“With all due respect, monsieur,” Magnus said, “I do not live in Sweden. I live here. And if I do this . . .”
“If you do this, you do the greatest service to France. And when the family is restored to their proper place, you will be honored as a great hero.”
Again, this made little difference. But what did make a difference was von Fersen himself. It was the blue eyes and the dark hair and the passion and the obvious courage. It was the way he stood, tall and strong . . .
“Monsieur, will you stand with us? Do we have your word, monsieur?”