“How did you get that?” I ask. I see Anjou smile and I know—though how precisely he intercepted the letter I cannot say.
“Let us say”—my mother rests a hand on Anjou’s arm, confirming my suspicion—“that some at Court care more for your reputation than you do yourself.”
“Madame, surely a few lines are not so serious. I swear I have done nothing worse—nothing to compromise my reputation.”
Mother’s hand moves so quickly that, before I realize it has left my brother’s arm, I feel her palm strike my face.
As I raise a hand to my stinging cheek she glances calmly down the page. “‘I long for you by the light of the sun and dream of you by the light of the moon.’” The words I wrote so lovingly are defiled by her cold voice. “‘Come back soon, that we may enjoy such words as cannot be trusted to a letter.’” I spring forward, reaching for the page, but Anjou grabs me and pulls me back sharply, tearing my sleeve as he does. There is nothing I can do but watch as Mother touches the corner of the page to one of the tapers, then drops the sheet to the stone floor. When the page ceases to burn, she calmly grinds the remnants to ash with her foot. Anjou releases me with a shove.
“Do you realize,” Mother asks, “that, before I bid him hold his tongue, the Cardinal of Lorraine boasted his nephew will have you for a bride? Perhaps the Duc de Guise has had you already.”
“Whore!” This time it is Charles who slaps me, so hard that I stagger backwards.
“No! Charles, I swear I have no sin of that type upon my conscience. The Duc’s intentions have been honorable. He does wish to marry me; in this his uncle is not mistaken.” This is not the ideal time to approach my brother with my hopes, but I have no other defense. I reach out to Charles, but he recoils.
“I have no doubt that the Duc wishes to marry you.” Charles’ voice is filled with venom. “He is wildly ambitious. But what Guise wishes for and what he will get are two different things.”
“Very different.” Anjou’s voice is menacing.
“It is not only the Cardinal of Lorraine who speaks of your marriage to Guise.” Charles circles me slowly, coming to a stop behind me. Leaning in, he hisses, “My court hums with talk of it.” I tremble. “But I was willing to believe the rumors arose solely from your beauty and the Duc’s avarice, even when our brother told me things were otherwise.” I feel his hand in the hair hanging down my back and then, in a single, violent, twisting pull, I am drawn back against him. “I thought you an innocent”—he twists harder, until I fear the hank of hair he holds will be ripped from my head—“and you made a fool of me.”
“Charles, please,” I beg, trying to reach behind and free myself from his torment, “I swear that I have consented to nothing. I have promised nothing. We meant to come to you when Henri returned to Court. To come to you together so that the Duc might ask for my hand.”
Charles snorts in disgust, but he releases my hair and pushes me away. For a single instant I consider running, but I am like an animal cornered with the King behind me, my mother before me, Anjou to one side, and the door, which I know to be guarded by the Baron de Retz, to the other.
“Why should I condescend to have the Duc as my brother when I expect to call the King of Portugal by that name?”
“Because he loves me, and I him.” The moment the words are spoken I wish them unsaid. The mocking looks of Mother and Anjou are painful proof that my confession makes me ridiculous in their eyes.
“Charles, you know what it is to love, even if others do not,” I plead. “You love Marie.”
“But I do not think to marry her. I must consider my duties as a monarch and you must remember your duty to your monarch.”
Moving to stand beside the King, Mother says, “Daughter, you do Mademoiselle Touchet ill by comparing her to Guise. She is utterly devoted to Charles. Can you really be foolish enough to believe that you are the Duc’s object?” The curl of her lip is like a knife upon my flesh. “Let me disabuse you of that notion. You may be a fool in love, but the Duc is a practical man, a man of power who hungers for more. When he whispered pretty words to you in the dark, it was a connection with the royal House of Valois he sought.”
“That and a cozy place for his cock,” Anjou sneers.