Page 11 of Misadventures with a Duke

“All right.” I half expected that, considering every detail that has made it through the morass of my mind. The increased insurgent activity around Versailles. The murmurs of unrest in every tavern between here and there, likely spreading beyond that. The manifestation of it all in how Marq and Lonzo just burst into my room upstairs and—

Dieu.

How they did what they did.

And these rebels are calling us the monsters?

“All right.” I use the words as a needed slap to my mind. “So you are wishing to continue to Versailles?” I do not fault their logic. If our family’s château has already been comprised, seeking the king’s protection would be a safe hedge. And the armoire… “Ahhh, oui. I see now. Versailles it is. And this is your insurance through the gates.”

The conclusion has me dipping a nod of fresh respect. The pair has done some thinking. We will not be the only party seeking refuge at Versailles’ Court of Honor. The wardrobe stands out as a better gift for Louis than a mere vase or statuette.

“You are not going to the palais either.”

Kavia’s tone has me stopping. Never have I heard her sound so serious. Not even when I came home with salamanders in both pockets. “Then what is this all about? Kavia?”

“Just get in, Bastien.” There is a wobble beneath her words now. Tears that refuse to stay at bay. “And obey every word I say.”

“She knows what she is about, boy.” Carl’s assertion is easier to focus on, like a verbal light in the sudden darkness around me. Even the slim crack between the closed cabinet doors lends me illumination. My senses pick up on movement, but not the comforting sort. Not the rolls of the wagon or even a jingling of reins and harnesses, indicating we are about to get out of here. “Listen to her, Bastien!”

I grit my teeth to avoid snapping back at him. In the blackness of my strange new prison, I vacillate between desolation and frustration. Being addressed as if I’m twelve again is not a huge assuagement.

The moment I prepare to remind them that I am a man over twice that age, Kavia speaks again.

“Take a deep breath, Bastien. After that, take another.”

Once more, her voice is something I have never heard before. Something that sneaks across all my pores and into the pulse of my blood. It happens between one blink and the next…one breath and the next. Though I’ve needed her first direction, it is impossible to pull in the second breath. For that matter, any air at all.

“Kavia?” I blurt. “Carl? What the absolute hell?”

“Ssshhh,” Kavia charges. “You are going to be fine, Bastien. Just fine.”

“This is not fine, damn it.”

I raise both hands to shove the doors open again but encounter a small hitch. All right, not so small. My hands refuse to move. So do the lengths of both arms.

“Kavia! This is not fine at all!”

“Bastien!” Carl this time. “Calm yourself or this will not go well!”

“This…what?” I bellow, beyond caring if the horde on the avenue hears. It might be best if they do. These two people, the ones who sometimes saw me more in a day than Mother or Father, have now put me in the most horrific of cages. My legs have joined with my arms, shackled beneath invisible weights. I cannot move!

“Please, my sweet boy.” Kavia nearly sings it despite her fervent underline. Once more, it is nothing I have ever heard from her. What kind of creature has taken over the kitchen maid I love so much? “Please, Bastien. You must at least try for me.”

“Do I have a fucking choice?” I still fight for strength, demanding my muscles hearken the screams from my mind. The effort is useless. Completely futile.

“Of course you do.” Kavia’s croon is still too gentle. And beyond strange. “You always have a choice, my little warrior.”

“Mierde.” The woman has not forgotten any of her emotional weapons, including the use of the nickname I loved throughout boyhood. But it accomplishes her purpose. I surrender to utter stillness now. Resign myself to hearing her.

“Now close your eyes,” she instructs as soon as I fill my lungs with my second breath. “And in your mind and your heart and your soul, envision her as completely as you can.”

I huff. “Envision who?”

“You already know the answer to that, Bastien Eneas Jacques De Leon. The only one you can see, if you set your soul free and let your heart fly. Your true love, mon petit guerrier. The only one who is going to get you through this.”

I shake my head—thankfully, I’m not numb from the neck up—with fresh ferocity. “Is this a joke? Why are you doing this to me?”

A low hum emerges from Kavia. I know it is her because there is still a tiny wobble in her eruption. But she does not stop. Now her drone nearly is a song—but not a tune I recognize. I would have remembered this melody. It’s haunting but ethereal. Frightening but fascinating.