The opening of the Royal Academy's Salon arrives and I feel suddenly more nervous than I have ever felt in my life. Will the Academy kick me out for what I've presented? Or will no one care enough about the panting's of a great master's lowly apprentice to give them a closer look? Will the Protectorate get the message carefully crafted for him?

Lavernia attempts to distract me with parties and operas and dresses and champagne, but they do little to settle my uneasy stomach. I resolve to hire a carriage and go to Paris to see the Salon for myself and perhaps gauge the Academy and the public's reaction to the paintings of Lavernia and Destan. I dress in my finest traveling clothes, but as I lock up my apartments I spy a note on the floor.

Slid under my door?

It's highly unusual. All letters to me during my time at Versailles have been delivered to me by hand from a palace page. There no seal, just my name on the outside. I unfold the note and read its sparse contents.

I need you. Come quickly.

Very sparse. The sender didn't bother to sign the note, and I don't recognize the handwriting. Lavernia, perhaps? Or Destan.

I don't want to abandon my plans to go to Paris, but the note seems important. My pulse races at the thought of Destan slipping the note under my door, but it doesn't strike me as something he would do. It must be from Lavernia.

At this hour, I should expect to find her eating breakfast in her apartments, but I'm not sure what I'll find her up to after receiving a note of this nature.

There is surprise on her face when she answers the door, a half-eaten pain au chocolate in her hand. "Florette? Did we make plans?" Her eyes flick over my traveling dress.

"No." I smile weakly and hold up the note. "So it wasn't you who left this for me?"

A line creases between Lavernia's brows and she takes the note. "This wasn't me. It wasn't signed? Where's the seal?"

"It didn't have one. It was just folded over and slipped under my door."

Lavernia hands it back. "Highly unusual," she says and takes a bite of her croissant.

"Could it be from Destan?"

A wicked grin slinks across Lavernia's lips. "I don't know. Does he usually send you notes, he doesn't want the palace pages to have a peek at."

My stomach lurches and I shove the note into the pocket of my skirts. "No! Of course not! I just wondered if this was something about..." I don't dare say the name of the Order out loud when anyone passing by in the hall might overhear.

Lavernia shrugs. "Perhaps. You should ask him yourself."

"I think I will," I say, but I'm not sure where to look for him; he usually finds me.

"Try his office in the Great Stables," Lavernia says as if she senses my hesitation. "If he's not on guard duty, he'll be there."

I don't want to delay my trip to Paris any longer, but the stables are in the direction I'm headed anyways. My steps falter as my feet carry me out of the palace and across the marble courts and hesitation turns sour in my stomach. I pull out the note once more and glance across the simple script, hurried but confident. Courtiers that stream towards the palace on this cool morning throw me questioning glances, so I continue towards the massive horseshoe-shaped buildings outside the palace gates.

A veritable palace in its own right, the stables are a hive of busy activity with the whinnies of horses and the clang of a ferrier's hammer in the air. I am obviously out of place as I stumble into a gallery of coaches and find a fleet of ceremonial carriages. A footman spots me wandering aimlessly through the chaos and directs me towards the offices. Several other officers have to stop to give me directions before I make it to Destan's door.

I stop to knock but pause when I hear the faintest shuffle on the other side.

The door flies open and Destan's eyes widen in shock, pupils flaring. "What are you doing here?" He presses his lips into a thin line as he pulls me into the room by my arm and slams the door behind me.

"Excuse me!" I cry as he practically flings me against the closed door. "How did you know it was me?"

Destan looms over me, eyes dark. He's in his guard's uniform, but his dark waves of hair hang loose to his shoulders. A curl hangs into his face, but he has gone dangerously still and he doesn't even flinch to brush it away. "Orange blossoms. You favor perfumes with it," he says and my stomach flutters. His sense of smell is almost as good as his sense of hearing. "Now tell me: what are you doing here?"

"I—I—" my voice falters under the severity of Destan's gaze and the intoxicating smell of his office: saddle leather, black tea, and freshly cut cedar. Coming here was a very bad idea. I remember myself and fish the note from my skirts. "This strange note was slipped under my door this morning. I thought it might be from..."

Tension seeps from Destan's face as he looks down at the note. "From me?"

"Or anyone in the order," I add.

Destan reads the message and straightens. "Was there no sender inscribed on it? No seal?"

"No. Nothing."

"It's not from anyone in the order." He heads to his desk and I get my first glance at his office. The creamy, stone-walled room has been dressed with simple furnishings — a large wooden desk, a large cedar wardrobe, and several bookcases lined with books and compartments for rolled maps. Red damask curtains flank the window with a view of the palace and match the red in the ornate rug on the floor. The fire in the grate crackles jovially. The room is remarkably orderly, but not in a stuffy way. It feels intimately curated so every facet of the room is necessary and serves a purpose. It's like how I imagine the inside of Destan's mind to be: ascetic, stolid, and careful.

At his desk, Destan opens a drawer and locks the letter inside.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I need to examine the note further, but then I'm burning it. You, however, need to leave. Now." He bears down on me again.

"Burn it! What if someone really needs me?"

"And what if it was a trap? What if someone was trying to set you up, see where you go when you get a cryptic note."

My heart rises in my throat. "Why would someone do that?"

"If they suspect you're up to something—"

"But what if it's not that. Can I have it back?"

Destan shakes his head. "No. No one can find it here. Nor should they find you here. My father is meeting me soon so you need to go!"

Lord Gardet is the last person I want to run into, so Destan's command spurs me into action. I pull open the door without so much as a goodbye, but Destan moves with inhuman speed to push it closed before I can leave.

"He's already here. You need to hide."

My pulse thunders in my ears as Destan takes my hand and pulls me toward the wardrobe. He flings open the door and before I even know what's happening, he picks me up by the waist and sets me inside between a set of dress uniforms and a formal frac coat and vest.

I drag a quick breath through my teeth as the wound on my side protests against the strength of his grip.

Destan's eyes, dark with panic, find mine. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. It's just my side," I breathe.

His gaze flicks to my side for a moment. "Whatever you do, don't move. Don't make a sound. Shallow breaths if you can."

I nod and he takes a bottle of cologne from a small shelf inside the wardrobe. He closes the door and everything goes dark. The sharp smell of cedar fills my nose as I try to breathe as quietly as possible. My legs and neck quickly start to cramp as I am a little too tall to stand fully in the wardrobe, but I don't dare shift my position.

I hear the click of heeled shoes echo in the hall and the tinkling crash as glass smashes on the floor. Destan curses loudly.

The cologne bottle?

There's a knock on the door. Latches rattle and thunk. Footsteps enter the room and shuffle to a halt. "Destan! Saints, what is that smell?" Lord Gardet's oily drawl is unmistakable. Just the sound of his voice makes my blood run cold.

"Sorry," Destan replies. "I just dropped a bottle of cologne."

"I can't breathe in here." Gardet's words are muffled as if he covers his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

"I need to get someone in here to clean this up, can I meet you at the palace?"

"Yes, fine," Gardet says dismissively. "But don't dawdle. I'm traveling to Paris this afternoon."

"Paris?"

"Yes, Paris," Gardet barks, annoyed by the smell.

"What are you doing in Paris?" Destan asks casually.

"There's an interesting painting on display at the Royal Academy's Salon. I hear it's causing quite a stir. I also hear that you are the subject of said painting."

My stomach clenches. We knew Destan's painting wouldn't go unnoticed, but there was no way to be certain what Lord Gardet's reaction would be.

"Oh!" Destan's surprise sounds genuine to my ears. He pauses. "Are you displeased?"

"No, no. Is that why you didn't tell me?"

"No. I honestly didn't think anything of it. The painting of me was commissioned by Marie Antoinette, I didn't know Mademoiselle Florette was sending it into Paris for the Salon."

A lie, but a convincing one.

"Regardless," Gardet says, "I think a little infamy could be good for you. It's time you took an interest in things other than marching about in a uniform."

"Things like..." Destan prompts. He fails to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"I know of several princesses and a duchess who would be happy to receive an introduction to you."

Destan sighs. "Maybe you're right, but let's discuss this another time. The smell in here is making my head hurt."

"Fine," Gardet says, "But hurry along to my office when you're done. The Finance Minister won't like to be kept waiting."

"Understood," Destan replies.

Heels clunk on the wood floors and the door closes with a snick. The seconds drag on until the door to the wardrobe finally opens. Destan looks relieved but extremely displeased. He helps me down but this time he's careful to avoid the wound on my side.

"Was that to cover my scent?" I gesture to the bits of smashed glass that sparkle on the floor.

"Yes, and it worked, thankfully." Destan pushes his hands through his hair and ties it back with a black ribbon. His eyes dance over my traveling dress. "Were you going somewhere?"

"To Paris to see the Salon."

Destan shakes his head and something like exhaustion falls over his face. "That wouldn't be wise. Paris is a powder keg right now."

"I know, but I couldn't just sit idly and wonder how the Academy would react to my paintings. I wanted to see the show for myself."

"I'm sorry," Destan says sympathetically. "If you want to be part of the Order, you can't just leave Versailles as you please. After the attack, the king has grown more suspicious. He's tasked Lord Gardet with weeding out traitors to the crown. If he had seen you there, if he had any suspicion of your loyalty, he could have you thrown out of Versailles, your license to paint revoked, or worse."

I swallow my fear at the thought of the guillotine's keen blade, but he's wrong. "You're being overly cautious," I say. "It would be perfectly normal for an artist to make an appearance at the Salon."

"Yes, but your situation is not perfectly normal." Destan takes me by the arm and guides me to the door. "Return to your chambers, Florette. I'll let you know if my inspection of that note yields any new information."

"Fine," I say, my pride surges against his ordering me around, but I know better than to ignore Destan's orders.

"It's time I taught you how to be a proper spy," he admits glumly.

My eyes widen with excitement and I catch the flicker of a smile on Destan's lips.

"Don't be too thrilled. I'm not letting you out into the field yet. You're too ambitious for your own good, but I'm going to make sure you can save you from yourself."

My mouth falls open at such a bald insult. "Give me some credit!"

Destan chuckles and the smirk reaches his eyes. "I will when you stop following the instructions of cryptic notes left under your door."

He deposits me into the hall unceremoniously.

"Fair enough," I grind out.

"I'll be in touch," he says, and without so much as a goodbye, he closes the door and locks me out.

Frustration rises in my throat and I growl at the closed door. I'm not a danger to myself, and I fully intend to prove him wrong. If he's going to teach me to be a spy, then I'm going to be the best student he's ever had.

***

Thanks for unlocking this chapter and reading! What do you think of Destan's office? How well do you think Florette's spy training is going to go!?