“Iwillspeak!” myloyal subjectinterrupts me. “And youwilllisten! Have you ever wondered why Henri left Mount Evor so suddenly ten years ago?”
“Julian, please?—”
He plows on, “I’ll tell you why. Because this covert commie, thisrevolutionaryhad been caught plotting with a group of like-minded anti-royalists to depose the royal family. Your family, Gigi!”
Henri blanches.
Julian glares at him, oozing contempt. “Go on, deny it, traitor! Will you have the gall to tell her it isn’t true? Will you dare to tell Gigi I’m lying?”
“You’re lying,” Henri says, his voice as steely as the look in his eyes. “We didn’t get caught.”
You aren’t helping, Henri!
Besides, they did get caught—but they never knew because Carlo had enough discernment to refrain from calling their bluff.
I shut my eyes, gutted.
Damn you, Julian!
Whoever spilled those beans to him—and I can’t imagine who that could be—they did so at the worst possible time. Henri was about to come clean. Tomorrow, he was going to tell me the truth. He was going to explain himself, probably assure me how much he regretted his misguided actions, and thus set a standard of honesty for our second chance.
But Julian swooped in and ruined everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The afternoon light filters softly through the windows of the château’s library, casting long shadows across the floor. Outside, Odile’s voice punctuates the air as she orchestrates the cleaning. An energetic crew arrived from the village this morning and began to scour the building as soon as the bloggers left. The sound of scrubbing and moving furniture creates a distant, rhythmic backdrop to the whirlwind in my head.
Henri hasn’t been himself since Julian’s stunt. He barely spoke to me all evening. He slept in his own bed, and he left for some business meeting as soon as he said goodbye to the last blogger. The smile on his face was so canned, so unlike his usual winsome grin, that some of the bloggers inquired if he was all right.
Meanwhile, Audrey and I are hunkered down here in the library with files, photo albums, microchips, and photocopied manuscripts sprawled around us. So far, luck hasn’t been on our side. Each turned page and scanned document feels like a small hope extinguished. Yet, there’s a stubborn determination in me that boosts me against the fatigue.
Audrey looks up from a hefty tome, her brow furrowed. “Your Highness, what exactly are we looking for? A specific place, a name?”
“We’re searching for a clue,” I reply, rubbing my temples. “It could be a mention of a place, something tied to the de Bellay lineage. Something that might hold a meaning to them. Think abandoned ruins or maybe an intact castle or church in the area, or anywhere in France, or even beyond.”
She absorbs the information. “Somewhere they might’ve stashed the Montevor key.”
“Exactly,” I reply, feeling the weight of the hours we’ve already spent in search. “We’re looking for mentions of unexplained journeys, properties outside the estate, anything out of the ordinary.”
“Got it!”
“And keep an eye out for any cryptic references, anything that doesn’t quite fit.” I pick up a photo album, its pages yellowed with age. “And flag anything connected to Jean-Baptiste or Antoinette, even if it seems far-fetched.”
Audrey lets out a small huff of laughter. “Me, the ultimate action woman, I never thought I’d be playing historian!”
“Neither did I, the quintessential blond socialite without a care in the world.”
“Ah, I see Henri has already rubbed off on you,” she murmurs.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Forgive me, Your Highness.” She hangs her head. “I overstepped.”
“I’ll forgive you if you explain what you meant.”
“The thing about Henri… um…” She lifts her eyes to mine. “I’ve never met anyone so worthy who sells himself so short.”
You’re right on the button, Audrey!
