Read Chapter 12: The Trap Springs

The marble floor of the Galerie des Glaces threw back the afternoon light in a thousand fractured diamonds, but Élodie saw none of them. She saw only Liselotte's face—pale as candle wax—and the Comtesse de Vaudreuil advancing like a ship under full sail, her gown of silver brocade hissing against the polished floor.

"Your Majesty." The Comtesse curtsied low before the queen, who had paused mid-promenade beside the great windows. A small crowd of courtiers gathered, scenting blood the way hounds scent a hare. "I beg your indulgence for a matter of grave concern."

The queen tilted her head, her smile fading. Behind her, Madame de La Motte stood rigid, and Élodie's fingers tightened around the scrap of linen in her pocket—the hidden note, still unread by anyone but her. The sapphire pin weighed hot and heavy in her other hand, hidden in the folds of her apron. She had meant to return it this very hour, before anyone noticed. But now—

"I have received certain intelligence," the Comtesse continued, her voice carrying to every corner, "that the missing sapphire pin—the one from your dressing room, Your Majesty—has been found."

A murmur rippled through the courtiers. Liselotte went very still beside Élodie.

The queen's eyes narrowed. "Found? By whom?"

"By my own maid, who discovered it but an hour ago." The Comtesse turned, her gaze finding Liselotte with the precision of a hawk sighting prey. "Hidden in the mattress of Mademoiselle Liselotte's chamber."

Liselotte's breath caught audibly. "That is a lie. I swear it, Your Majesty—"

"You call the Comtesse de Vaudreuil a liar?" The queen's voice had turned to ice. "Before the entire court?"

"No, Your Majesty, I—I only mean that I have never seen the pin, and I cannot imagine how it came to be in my chamber—"

"Then you admit your imagination is lacking," the Comtesse said sweetly. "For the pin is there, and the evidence is plain. Unless," and here she paused, letting the silence stretch, "you mean to suggest someone else placed it there. Someone who wishes to see you absolved at any cost."

The implication landed like a blow. Élodie felt a dozen eyes slide toward her—the provincial seamstress, the queen's new favorite, the girl who had been seen whispering with the accused.

The trap was not merely for Liselotte. It was for them both.

Élodie's throat closed. The Comtesse had offered her protection, and she had refused. Now the price of that refusal would be paid in Liselotte's blood—or her own.

"Your Majesty." The words came out before Élodie could stop them. Her voice trembled, but she stepped forward anyway, out of the shadow of the pillar where she had been standing. "I beg leave to speak."

The queen's gaze swung to her. "Mademoiselle Marchand. You have something to add?"

"Only this, Your Majesty." Élodie's hand emerged from her apron, the sapphire pin glittering between her fingers. Beside her, she heard Marguerite's sharp intake of breath. "The pin was not in Liselotte's chamber. It was in the sewing room, hidden in the basket of one of the other seamstresses."

A gasp ran through the crowd. The Comtesse's smile flickered, just for an instant, before she smoothed it away.

"This is a serious accusation," the queen said slowly. "Whose basket?"

Élodie turned, found Marguerite's face among the gathered servants—white as bone, her eyes wide with terror. She could not meet them. She looked instead at the queen, and told the truth.

"Mademoiselle Marguerite's basket, Your Majesty. I found it there myself, two days past."

"I did not—" Marguerite's voice cracked. "I swear I did not take it! I was forced—"

"By whom?" the queen demanded.

Marguerite's mouth opened and closed. Her gaze flickered to the Comtesse, then away. "I... I cannot say, Your Majesty."

"Cannot, or will not?" The queen's voice had gone dangerously soft. "Mademoiselle Marchand, you say you found the pin in Marguerite's basket. Why did you not come forward at once?"

The Galerie fell silent. Even the courtiers held their breath. Élodie could feel the Comtesse watching her, a predator measuring the distance before it strikes.

"I believed," Élodie said carefully, "that there had been some mistake. I intended to return the pin quietly, to spare Your Majesty the trouble of an investigation." A lie, but a small one, and she prayed it would hold. "When I heard the accusation against Liselotte, I could not in good conscience remain silent."

The queen studied her for a long moment. Then she turned to Marguerite, still trembling at the edge of the crowd.

"You will remain in your quarters until I decide what is to be done with you," she said coldly. "And you, Mademoiselle Marchand." Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "Your honesty does you credit."

The Comtesse stepped forward, her voice honeyed with concern. "Your Majesty, I fear the girl may have acted in concert with Marguerite to deceive you. After all, if she truly found the pin days ago, why wait until the thief was accused to produce it?"

Élodie's heart hammered. The argument was poisonously logical.

But the queen shook her head. "The girl acted out of loyalty to her friend. A failing, perhaps, but not a crime." She raised her hand, signalling an end to the audience. "The matter is settled. Liselotte is cleared. Marguerite will be questioned further. And I" —she smiled, a thin edge of steel beneath the silk— "shall hear no more of it today."

The court dispersed like mist before the sun. Élodie stood frozen in the center of the Galerie, the pin still cold in her palm, as Liselotte rushed to her side and caught her hands.

"You saved me," Liselotte whispered, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You actually saved me."

But Élodie could not answer. She was watching the Comtesse de Vaudreuil retreat down the length of the gallery, her silver gown gleaming in the afternoon light. Just before she passed through the far doors, she paused. Turned. And smiled at Élodie—a smile of such perfect courtesy that it might have been carved from ice.

The message was unmistakable.

*You have chosen your enemy. I will not forget.*

Élodie's hand closed around the sapphire pin until the edges bit into her palm. The queen's favor was a fragile shield, and she had just handed the Comtesse a reason to break it.