The summons arrived at dawn, sealed with the golden crest of the Queen herself. Marie turned the envelope over in her hands, her heart a wild thing caged in her chest.
"You are requested for private tea at the Petit Trianon," Montmorency read aloud beside her. His voice was steady, but Marie caught the tightness beneath it.
"This is...good?" she ventured.
"It is dangerous," he answered, moving to the window. "The Queen's attention is a double-edged sword. It can raise you up—or destroy you."
Marie inhaled slowly. "Then I must tread carefully."
Montmorency crossed the room, catching her hand. "And remember—whatever is said, whatever is implied—you have nothing to fear. Not while I stand with you."
She nodded, finding strength in his touch.
---
The Petit Trianon gleamed like a pearl under the midday sun. As Marie was ushered through its marbled halls, her palms dampened despite the coolness of the air.
Queen Marie Antoinette awaited her in a delicate salon, surrounded by a scattering of ladies-in-waiting who faded into the background as Marie entered.
"You may leave us," the Queen said, her voice soft yet commanding.
Once they were alone, the Queen gestured to a chair opposite her.
"Sit, Mademoiselle Delacour."
Marie curtsied deeply before taking her seat.
The Queen studied her in silence for a long moment. Marie fought the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.
"I have heard much of you," the Queen said finally. "You have become something of a... fascination."
Marie lowered her gaze. "I seek no attention, Your Majesty. Only to serve faithfully."
A faint smile curved the Queen's lips. "A wise answer. But do not be so modest. Versailles is a nest of vipers. To survive here requires cunning—or powerful friends."
Marie lifted her chin. "I have been fortunate."
"Fortune," the Queen mused, stirring her tea, "often favors the brave."
There was a pause, heavy with meaning.
"And brave you must be," the Queen continued, "for there are whispers. Some would see you fall."
Marie met her gaze steadily. "I am aware, Your Majesty."
"Good." The Queen set down her cup. "I admire courage. Perhaps we shall become allies, you and I."
Marie dared a small smile. "It would be my greatest honor."
The Queen's eyes twinkled. "We shall see."
---
Meanwhile, in the shadowed corridors of Versailles, danger sharpened its claws.
Duchess Geneviève d'Artois met once again with Duc de Brois, their conversation hushed and heated.
"You are certain of the letter's contents?" Brois demanded.
Geneviève's smile was predatory. "I have it here."
She produced a crumpled parchment, yellowed with age. Brois snatched it, scanning the lines.
A confession. A secret buried by the late Duke of Montmorency—a scandal that, if revealed, could topple the current Duke from grace.
"Forgery?" Brois asked skeptically.
"Authentic," Geneviève assured him. "Verified by three sources. If we move carefully, we can expose him before the Queen."
Brois folded the letter carefully. "And the girl?"
"Collateral damage," Geneviève said coolly. "Her fate will crumble alongside his."
Their plan was simple yet devastating: at the upcoming Royal Hunt, where all the court would gather, the letter would be "discovered," passed discreetly into the Queen's possession.
No scandal could be suppressed once the Queen's own hands were tainted by it.
---
That evening, Marie returned to the Montmorency wing, her limbs aching with tension.
Montmorency was waiting.
"Well?" he asked, stepping forward.
Marie smiled wearily. "She is...interested."
He caught her in his arms, pressing his forehead to hers. "That is both blessing and burden."
"I know," she whispered.
For a moment, they stood there in silence, drawing strength from one another.
But the moment shattered as Montmorency's steward entered, bowing low.
"My lord," he said urgently, "a message."
Montmorency accepted the sealed parchment, breaking it open. His eyes flickered rapidly across the words, his jaw tightening.
Marie watched, alarm rising. "What is it?"
He looked at her, something almost desperate in his gaze.
"My past," he said grimly. "It seems it has finally caught up to us."
---
Later, in the privacy of his study, Montmorency revealed the truth.
"My father...was not the man the world believed him to be," he said, voice low and bitter. "There was an affair, a betrayal. A bastard child, hidden in the countryside."
Marie listened, stunned.
"If the court learns of this," he continued, "they will question my legitimacy. My titles. My lands."
"And your alliance with me," Marie whispered, realizing.
He nodded. "Would be seen as a further disgrace."
Marie rose, pacing the room. "Who sent the warning?"
"A friend still loyal to our house. But the fact that it was sent at all means the secret is no longer secure."
She stopped before him, eyes blazing. "Then we must act first."
Montmorency stared. "What do you propose?"
"We turn their weapon against them," she said fiercely. "We confess—on our terms. Publicly. Before they can spin it into scandal."
He barked a short, humorless laugh. "The court would devour us."
"Perhaps," she said. "But it would be on our terms. Not theirs."
He rose slowly, reaching out to cup her cheek. "You are extraordinary," he murmured.
"I am yours," she replied.
Their lips met in a fierce kiss, sealing a bond that had become more than mere alliance. It was survival. It was love. It was war.
---
Across the palace, Geneviève stood by her window, watching the moon rise over the darkened gardens.
Soon, she thought. Very soon.
And this time, there would be no salvation.
---