The following day, pewter clouds, pregnant with a summer rain, have rolled in and cast a dull grey over the palace grounds. I love painting when it's raining so I open the windows wide and let the wind blow the first drops of rain on me where I sit down to sketch. Inspiration strikes the moment my charcoal hits paper.

I send for Destan within the hour.

"Florette," he says in a rather stiff greeting as he enters my studio and finds me sketching on the floor. "Do you have a sketch already?"

He wears his guard's uniform again. When he crouches down beside me, I'm overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baked baguettes.

"You smell like a boulangerie," I remark. Destan's displeased look makes me laugh.

"I am living above the kitchens in the Grand Commun. Not everyone gets an apartment in the actual palace the day they arrive."

I look up and catch the flicker of a smile on his lips. "You do not live in the palace?"

Destan picks up one of my sketches and examines it with a furrowed brow. "My father is having an apartment prepared for me in the Grand Stables. He wants me to stay in the palace, but I would rather be with the other members of the Royal Guard."

The breeze through the window picks up and so does the rain. The wind catches my papers and sends them skittering across the parquet floor. Destan jumps up to close the window and I chase after my sketches.

After I gather the last of them, I turn to find Destan with my final sketch in hand. He looks up from the page and his face is full of emotion. "This looks... perfect."

"It is Mercury," I say, as pride blooms in my chest.

"I can see his winged helmet. Are these ropes?" He holds out the sketch to me.

"Thorny vines that turn into the snakes of the Caduceus."

Destan shakes his head at me. "The Roman god of messages, trapped."

My stomach turns a little. I don't know why I so desperately want him to like it, but I do. "A little on-the-nose," I say. "Do you think anyone will discover what we are trying to say?"

"Paintings in the approved style don't carry meaning anymore. Moralizing went out of style decades ago. No one will see what they aren't looking for."

He's right, but I have another precaution in mind. Something that when I even think of mentioning it, my pulse starts to race. "I also had a thought about that..."

Destan's gaze flicks to scan my face. "What? I'm not sure I like that look," he says.

I will my cheeks not to blush. "I think we should give them something worth looking at."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to sit for the painting," I say. My face heats against my control.

Destan's eyes widen as he looks down at the sketch. "Mercury is barely clothed."

I snatch the drawing away from him before he gets scared away. "I know, but I can tailor Mercury's clothing to fit you. He has the apron and pteruges of a Roman soldier and a red commander's cloak—"

"No," Destan says. "You cannot paint me like this."

"Why not? It will give you an excuse to write to your friend to tell him to look for your portrait in the Salon. How else will he know where to find it? Furthermore, what better place to hide an encrypted message than a beautiful painting that screams to be looked at? And you cannot deny that you have a certain physical appeal—"

I almost detect a blush on Destan's cheeks, but it's gone before I can convince myself it wasn't just my imagination. "We cannot do this," he repeats. "You need to find something else."

Heat flames in my chest. "Why not? It's a perfect plan."

Destan looks at me. Everything warm has left his face. The muscles in his jaw pulse and I think perhaps I've done something to offend him. "Forget it. I can find another way to get messages out of Versailles."

The heat turns to fire. "This will work." I remember Lavernia's advice: I push. "What are you so afraid of?" I take a step closer to him.

"I'm not afraid." His voice is a growl that makes me pause. Only then do I remember that I'm alone with a very dangerous man. The skies growl back as they open up and rain pounds the window panes. Destan pauses for a long while. His fists clench and unclench and for a moment I think he might storm out of my studio, but he doesn't. At last his shoulders fall before he turns on his heel and marches to stand in front of my easel. "Where do you want me?"

My jaw unclenches. "You are going to sit for the painting?" I ask, almost in shock.

Destan fixes me with a glare. "It is a fine plan, but if I hear any gloating we are done. And we will get someone to commission the painting. I am not going to let Lord Gardet think you are painting me out of anything except obligation. If he thinks we're having an affair—"

My cheeks heat at even the mention of it. "Would that be any worse than what we are actually doing?"

Destan's shoulders tense. "For you, yes. You underestimate how little my father thinks of humans — how expendable you are to him. If you get in the way of his plans, he will remove you."

"I see." I look hesitantly at the scandalous sketch. "And will a painting like this get in the way of his plans?"

His entire body seems to relax as if he accepts defeat. "I think it may serve many purposes, but we shall see."

"We are going to do this?"

Destan glares. "Yes, now let's get started before I change my mind."

I have to bite my lip to hide my satisfied grin and I point to a privacy screen in the corner of the studio. "I borrowed a costume from the theatre. You can change over there."

While Destan curses at me from behind the folding divider, I lock the door to the studio and set about creating the scene. I roll out a large swath of black fabric across the floor to form the backdrop. There weren't any prop vines in the theatre's scene shop so I will have to make do with twisted strips of fabric and use my imagination. I choose a massive canvas for the work and set it on my easel. When it's finished, Destan will appear almost life-size in the painting.

He appears from behind the screen and I freeze. He looks like every classical depiction of winged Mercury: elegant, youthful, and a bit mischievous. I'm not sure what I expected a barely-clothed soldier to look like, but it's not the defined muscles that take me by surprise. His body is heavily scarred from years of battle.

I redirect my eyes to his face, but the damage is already done.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asks.

"No." My throat thickens.

He rubs his arm where a dark slash marks his bicep. I wonder if it's the most recent. "I can glamour away the scars," he offers.

"It is up to you. Would it be too personal if I included them?"

He looks between me and the size of the canvas. "Perhaps it would be best if they weren't included."

"Of course," I say. "You can lie down there."

He doesn't glamour away the scars though. Destan lowers himself to the floor and I hand him a short staff that will stand in for the caduceus. I expect him to be awkward when I pose him, but he is surprisingly natural. He doesn't even fuss when I rearrange the vines several times. I try to minimize my contact with him, but he has a lot of skin showing and it's hard to avoid.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask with burning cheeks when I finally sit down at my easel to begin.

Destan chuckles. "As comfortable as can be expected."

I push away a warmth that rises in my chest. Seeing him prostrate on the floor makes me feel bold, like I can tell him anything. "Why is it called The Order of Athena?"

He goes unnaturally still. "Who told you about that?"

"Does it matter who?" I keep my eyes on the canvas as I start sketching Destan's figure.

"I suppose not and I expect you won't tell me anyway."

I steal a glance at him. "You don't want to take a guess? I thought you could read everything I was thinking from my expressions," I tease.

Destan's blue eyes slide up to meet mine. He looks entirely unamused, but a curious line forms between his brows.

"I know you're trying to protect me, but is there truly nothing more you can tell me?"

A sigh rises in Destan's chest and his gaze softens. "Florette, please. We already discussed this."

"Yes, but I don't like where things ended. If you want my help, then let me be a part of this. If you can't do that then I'm forced to believe that either you don't trust me to keep your secrets, or you don't respect my choice to risk my safety for this cause." When I finish my speech, my heart is thundering against my ribs like the drums of battle.

"Now that's not fair—" Destan moves to rise from the floor but stops when I raise my hand.

"Don't move," I command with as much courage as I can muster. To my surprise, Destan obeys and returns to his pose. "And no it is not fair. You have taken charge of my protection, and for that, I owe you my life, but I don't want your protection if it costs me my right to decide my own limits. You are free to continue your role as my protector if you would like, but only if you at least consider my desires."

Destan's expression is unreadable, but he eventually heaves a groan and shakes his head. "Fine. I can accept your proposal but only on these terms: first, that you will consider my counsel when it comes to your safety. I've been doing this far longer than you have, and I usually make decisions with good reason."

I sit taller on my stool. "I can abide by that term."

"And second," he continues. "You will let me teach you how to defend yourself."

My heart sputters. "Of course."

"Good," Destan says, and it's as if a weight is lifted from my shoulders.

The air in the room feels lighter, crisper, and a breeze through the open window feels blissfully cool against my flushed cheeks. Destan's chest rises and falls faster, but his silence extends a long while before he speaks. "Athena is the Greek goddess of wisdom. She has long been a symbol of freedom and democracy. We felt her a fitting figurehead to represent our cause."

"I think she's the perfect fit. By 'we' do you mean your friend in Paris and you?"

"Yes. We call him The Protectorate. I'm sure he would be glad to meet you someday — you two have much in common."

"Truly?"

A smile twitches at the corner of Destan's lips. "I've never met two more insufferably stubborn people in my life.

"I think I'd like to meet this man." I fix Destan with a smirk. "I hear he wants you to take a position in the National Assembly."

Destan looks much less amused. "Now that is a complicated discussion that we will not be getting into."

I raise my brows. "Why not? We have plenty of time."

"I won't discuss it because I've made up my mind. I won't do it." Muscles tense across his body, but I sense some apprehension in his voice.

"Why not?"

"I'm not a politician. I don't make speeches," he growls.

"I think the Protectorate could find worse men to be his politician."

Destan turns his glare on me. "I'm not certain if you're trying to compliment me or insult me."

A laugh breaks through my lips. "Perhaps both, but I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit."

Something like surprise flashes across Destan's face and it makes my heart stumble. I slow my sketching as I watch him work out what to say next.

"The Protectorate and I agree on many things," he says. "but we disagree on how we should dismantle the Fae's control over France. He wants to give me too much power."

I can't look away from him. "You don't want power or you don't trust yourself with it?"

"Both," he says. "If I've learned anything from the Fae it's this: absolute power corrupts absolutely."

It's not the answer I expected, but it leaves me with enough to think about and we finish the session in silence.

***

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