It seemed as if Versailles had been transformed into a fever dream.
Vines of golden thread and silk leaves hung from the salon ceilings, bisecting frescoes of gods and cherubs lounging atop candy-colored clouds. The statues along the walls had been decorated with tropical flowers—crimson, violet, and cerulean blossoms stuck behind marble ears and draped around elegantly molded necks. As Jacqueline, Renée, and I walked through the gilded hallways, jewel-toned birds darted across the ceilings, chirping to each other. Incense hung so cloying and thick in the air, I could taste it.
The courtiers themselves were dressed to match the decor. Some wore dresses and frock coats in bright silks, while others had elaborate flower patterns embroidered into their lapels and bodices. Some took it a step further and had olive-tinted leaves sewn onto their coat tails, with great clusters of blossoms perched atop their powdered wigs.
“Splendid.” I glanced down at my own outfit and frowned. “Another party we weren’t invited to and know nothing about. I love being reminded that everyone hates us.”
If I didn’t already stand out as a member of the d’Aumont family, I certainly would in my navy frock coat and breeches. Everyone around me looked as if they’d been dipped in sunset, and I looked like the midnight sky after a storm.
Jacqueline shook off my complaint with a wave of her hand. “No one will even notice we’re here.”
I eyed my sister’s gown—a massive concoction of golden and peach silk, with thick plumes of lace at the sleeves and countless pearl-tipped bows sewn into her billowing skirts. “Unlikely, considering Renée’s dress is made with enough fabric to clothe thirty whales.”
“Hush,” Renée whispered. “I’ve spotted Madeleine de Froix and Mathieu de Coligny,”
I followed her line of sight to where Madeleine and Mathieu stood farther down the hall in front of a marble pilaster, surrounded by other young courtiers.
“We should leave before they spot us,” I said.
She fastened her hand around my arm. “No. The king told us he would send someone to meet us here. We can’t leave.”
“Are you suggesting we continue to hide here alone like a trio of social lepers?”
“No. I’m suggesting we go speak with Madeleine.”
I raised my eyebrow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t give me that look. The king told us to remain discreet, and we’ll raise less suspicions if we’re seen speaking with people our age.”
“Then why are we still standing here?” Jacqueline asked, turning on her heel.
“Wait! But what if—” I stopped. This is for your brother. This is for your brother. This is for your brother. “All right.”
We started down the long expanse of the Galerie de Glaces, our images reflecting back at us from the many glittering mirrors along the wall. Renée, confident and bright. Jacqueline, determined and strong. Me, breathless and scared.
All I ever looked was goddamn scared.
“Good evening,” Jacqueline said as we approached the group.
Everyone stopped mid-conversation and turned to her, wearing uniform looks of confusion.
“This is when you curtsy,” I whispered into her ear.
“Oh. Right.” She grabbed fistfuls of her dress and leaned forward, looking more like a confused puppy lowering its head into a water dish than a lady curtsying. On her way up, her heel turned on its side, and she shot her hand out to grasp around my arm. I flashed the group the biggest smile I could manage.
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The Consequences of Champagne and Murder
Historical Fiction{Wattys 2019 winner - Historical Fiction} In the glittering, rococo Paris of 1728, eighteen-year-old Olivier d'Aumont has a plethora of problems he'd rather not deal with, the most troublesome of which is his straight-laced and boring-to-tears older...