"Good nature is more agreeable in conversation than wit and gives a certain air to the countenance which is more amiable than beauty. "--- Joseph Addison

The trouble began for the simple reason that the Princesse Anne-Camille needed a husband.

When a match appeared in France for her hand, even those like Evienne who lived far from Court shared in the sense of excitement. Evienne knew the entire story of Anne-Camille and the enormous royal family. Of course, when her father argued Evienne should have the chance to attend the party in Versailles to celebrate, her heart did cartwheels in excitement. Charlotte was too young to go, or so her father told her, but Lottie seemed indifferent.

Staring at a trembling hand inside a single pool of light the decorated the darkness, Evienne saw herself clearly and turned away in shame. She remembered she was there, barely breathing in the shadows, the night that her father and his friends supposedly tried to kill the Princesse.

Evienne was not only there, but she also looked stunning. She felt it, underneath the shame. For possibly the first time in her life, that evening made her the sort of woman meant to be envied and admired. During a moment that could have perhaps been Evienne's greatest regret, she felt jealousy. Some women lived like this and dressed in beautiful gowns and coiffed hair daily. She would have given anything to trade places with even the most unremarkable person there. In her world, Evienne was almost always unremarkable. Here, she could be taught to shine and to catch the eyes of admirers. She was a bright girl and good company, so why should she not be loved by Dauphins and Princes from foreign lands?

In the back of her mind, even she knew the answer. She was innocent for her age, sheltered, expected to know things she didn't. She'd never even had a boy like her enough to kiss her, so some of what was said travelled directly over her head. A place like Versailles ate girls like Evienne up and left them with nothing but mysterious maladies or illegitimate children.

Still, it didn't hurt Evienne to feel beautiful and special, just for one night.

There were many women there the evening who'd been made up like flowers in bloom, appropriate enough for the May wedding of the Roi's ninth daughter and reportedly his most headstrong, Princesse Anne-Camille. Evienne was obsessed with the pomp and circumstance, absorbing every detail about Court life in case she should ever get to go. More than anything, she wanted to see the very lovely Princesse in her wedding gown. Evienne was the type of girl who sighed over such things and dreamed of her own wedding and her own Prince, even though perhaps both would remain impossibilities.

Anne-Camille was a bit of a legend. Everything about the tall and graceful woman caused controversy, but at twenty-three, she carried herself with a beauty and hint of arrogance the royal couple's other daughters lacked. Where almost all had inherited the dark hair, olive skin, and thick eyebrows of their mother, Anne-Camille had light blonde hair and skin so pale she took many precautions to keep from the summer sun.

The Roi had nine daughters and had not brought most to Versailles nor made matches for them. His priority, of course, was his one living son. The Dauphin Louis was his pride and joy, although not born into the role. It was one the little boy inherited upon his brother's death, but he took to the new title as if he'd been given a gift.

Evienne imagined that the thrill of having a son who'd one day be a great ruler was a bit like a drug. In contrast, the tediousness of finding proper suitors for unattractive daughters bored Roi Louis. Most lived as unmarried Mesdames who doted upon their father, spinsterhood decided before the age of 20. Deep down, she feared what would happen to her, especially if her mother had any say in it. Her father would make her a whore for his profit and her mother would keep her a virgin forever to protect her. Either way, Evienne's cheeks burned with humiliation when she considered her future. She did not want to be like the Mesdames, but she was no Anne-Camille.

Rumour had it the King sired sixteen children he was willing to claim, though decorum, of course, stated he could never do so in public. Despite being advised otherwise, he did little to keep the existence of his illegitimate offspring a secret. It was, in any case, the worst kept secret in all of France. Most of Louis' children shared his small, cherubic face and those who favoured him also sported light blonde or strawberry curls. Unfortunately, the Reine had not only a strong constitution but a strong genetic line, and most of the children copied her appearance her quite a bit.

The gossip flew freely when Louis was heartbroken over being kept from Madame Pompadour's funeral. Unlike other men, Roi Louis was proud of his bastards and his mistresses. On more than one occasion, he was heard to have said, "Why should a man have only one wife and sire children with no other when it takes so long to get them, and half do not live? Wives no longer make children halfway through life, but we men have so much longer!"

Roi Louis the Beloved was both witty and practical.

Most of the nine girls recognised in the line of succession were far from beautiful or of agreeable disposition. The most precious died as a toddler, petite with lovely blue eyes and blonde curls. She was the spitting image of the Roi in every way Though he'd made matches for his first daughters, after a while, he gave up the pursuit.

From what Evienne had seen and heard, the royal daughters were cursed. Some were fragile and lovely, possessing the sort of delicacy that meant a short stay on Earth, a trait the boys also inherited. Those of a stronger constitution had other challenges. As a group, they were opinionated, homely, and without charm. They did, however, all share the intellect of Reine Marie-Caroline. The ruler was herself no beauty but as shrewd a woman as the throne had seen in centuries.

The Roi's youngest daughter, Madame Louise, was not only unfortunately featured and difficult. She possessed a club foot, a malady for which physicians had no cure. She had taken her vows with the Carmelites, a damaged girl only four years younger than Anne-Camille, but so different.

That was why Anne-Camille's would be the last Royal wedding, and Evienne was breathless at being there with some of the people she idolised, especially once a champagne flute was put in her hand. The men were all concealed, but Evienne hid in plain sight, a guest at a magnificent party. If it were the last, it meant the world she'd been allowed to see it.

The treasonous whispers that the Roi himself would not live many more years had some validity. Though some men lived through their sixties and into their seventies, Roi Louis was tired and drawn after the death of his beloved son, and then his mistress and best friend, Madame Jeanne du Pompadour. He had not given up on life, but he did not pursue it with the same fierceness he always had. The country's Beloved Louis was now an old man, and tired. He closed off the apartments and residences built for Madame Pompadour and less remembered royal mistresses. The country thought the man simply realised his age. Evienne liked to think he did it out of love for a woman he would have married, had the world been a place where choosing a match for love was possible.

Controversy spun about the wedding because the Court was nothing if not a place of gossip. Many claimed that both Anne-Camille and Louise were not Reine's daughters, though an elaborate show had been put on. Both the number of children she'd borne and the number of mistresses the Roi flaunted has left the Reine Marie-Caroline frigid near the end of her child-bearing years. Louis was always a kind-hearted and understanding man and knew Marie-Caroline had done her duty as a wife, a Queen, and a mother. Servants whispered about how e never again shared her bed, and she was the happiest she'd ever been for it. People who spoke in whispered tones did the math, and not one of them believed Princesse Anne-Camille to be legitimate. Yet, the country needed a young and charming woman who was suited to marry a man in line for the throne and solidify foreign relations.

When a match was found with as dubious a reputation but as bright a future as Anne-Camille's, all of France was ecstatic. One man, of course, did not even try to hide his lack of enthusiasm, but he was far from the only one.

Evienne, her father, and their party had all assembled to meet with the Duc Roland de Parnese, the lover of the beautiful woman married just a half-day ago. The celebration was still going on for the Princesse Anne-Camille and her bridegroom, a Spanish man named Antonio, the Duc of Cambria.  He would inherit the Spanish throne upon his father's death. Since the man had a reputation for a nasty temper and unbridled ambition, it was assumed by all that the beautiful Princesse would become a Queen sooner rather than later, a fate usually impossible for one of the youngest of a Roi's daughters.

Many at Court gossiped about the poorly hidden fact that something was off about the Duc of Cambria, aside from his brusque temperament and tendency to fly into violent rages. At one point, he had grabbed Marie-Caroline by the wrist at a public event when she refused him an audience, claiming she had to attend to duty. The poor Reine's hand was wrenched so violently it would have broken, were she not always the larger, strong-boned type.

Anne-Camille was far more delicate in build, like her father, and not known for fidelity and constancy. She was not the type to bow to whatever men instructed her to do, as most of her sisters were. What she lacked in physical strength, she made up for in spirit. Many feared the Princesse would end up dead before she could become Queen.

Something had to be done, people whispered, though the Roi seemed unconcerned. He was happy with the match. Spain was a valuable ally.

No one was more upset then Roland de Parnese, Anne-Camille's lover. He accepted he could never marry a Princesse. He did not accept her being taken to another country with a man capable of murdering his father, his brother, his wife, or anyone else who stood in his way.

It was Baron Armand de Gascoigne, who had led the group to Versailles and not Evienne's father. She had an inkling they were the ones going to do the something that had to be done but betrayed little. Evienne had heard enough to know she was there only as a backup distraction if the plan failed.

When Armand saw Evienne in the carriage, he swore profusely at Jacques for bringing her. Evienne knew she had not been brought for a simple party, but the ulterior motive she believed to be true was not her father's first plan.

"Why is she here? A girl and your daughter besides that? It is a cold man that would risk his daughter."

"The Reine is risking hers, isn't she? She knows we are coming for the man in his chambers tonight. Still, she sends her beautiful daughter to consummate the marriage bed." Jacques gave a snort of derision. "My wife says Evie has powers. She can help protect us, act as a lookout if she can see what's coming before we do."

"Your daughter is a witch? Jesus Christ. That's going to damn us all to Hell if we get caught."

"If we get caught, we're dead either way. Does it really matter? I'll protect Evie. I always do."

Evienne had wanted to snap back that she protected herself, but she held her tongue. Her father was a kind man but not always a good one. A fondness for drink and gambling often led to unexplained bruises on his face, favours owed, and things mysteriously missing from their home.

While Jacques was a brave warrior, he wasn't much of a husband or a father. Selfishness often triumphed over love. It was one battle Jacques de Roussel constantly lost, yet Evienne still adored him.

Most people thought titles meant money, but that wasn't always the case. Many a courtier of the time was in serious debt, especially those of minor nobility inherited through blood rather than any particular service. Reine Marie-Caroline whom everyone thought of as a shrewd but kind woman, took a liking to Jacques. That was the sort of approval needed for their family to be given a bit of opportunity.

Evienne heard the whispers as her father told her mother of the offer. Corinne wasted no time flying into a rage. Evie's mother had a reputation for being a shrew, and that was the kind word for it. It wasn't undeserved. Corinne had been brought up to be an independent and demanding woman, wanting more freedom than the time allowed respectable women.

Corinne did her duty and traded freedom for security, only to learn her husband was her own personal albatross, with endless debt from a lifetime gambling and whoring, and a reputation as a con artist. It was only his talent as a soldier and his complete lack of moral compass that kept him in Versailles and out of prison.

Evienne knew the truth about her father the first time she saw her mother hiding money and jewels in the false bottom of her collection of painted figurines. It was a hobby about which Jacques could not care less, and thus he'd never look. "Try to put something small and valuable in your pocket when the shop-keeper turns away. Old porcelain bits are worthless, but a pocket watch in your pocket could help us."

Everything was an opportunity for Jacques, and yet, he squandered them all. As he got older and realised his faults, he turned to encourage his wife and daughters to shed morality for the greater good of the family. That night, it was Evienne who was going to be his sacrifice.

"Corinne, don't worry about these things. Great reward requires great risk. You didn't marry me to live like a peasant." Evienne's ears stung at the words. Were they that poor? She cringed as she heard the next part of the plan.

"If you say no, I won't do it. There's a fine young Viscount who is willing to pay well to spend some time with Evie now and then. An opportunity to be the esteemed mistress to a handsome gentleman isn't anything to turn away. He would bring her to Court, and he is married so she would be free for a better opportunity. She might even turn the head of the King. What's the point of a young girl being blessed with good looks and a good temper if she can't use them to her advantage."

That was how Jacques obtained Corinne's blessing for the assassination. When given a choice, Corinne would sacrifice her husband's life for her daughter's dignity.

Only Evie knew the truth about why she was there. Her father had brought her as a bargaining chip. If things went wrong, she'd live in Versailles as the mistress to a Viscount who already had too many, but quickly grew tired of anything not young, new, and shiny. It was why she didn't play the role of a servant in disguise, why her strawberry curls were pinned so beautifully to her head, and her lips painted an appalling shade of crimson. If he failed and died, she would pay his debt and secure her future. A more cynical person would think it the better outcome, but Evienne was still young enough and inexperienced enough to care about honour.

"You look so beautiful, how could the Viscount say no? My girl is a jewel. Oh, Evienne! I am a proud Papa, seeing you grown up. " Evie returned his appreciative stare with a coldness lingering inside her emerald eyes. She felt like a prostitute, being sold by her father. For the first time, she wished she'd been married to an ordinary young man and had some protection from schemes like this one. Evienne's mind was still innocent enough not to know her father's plans would have been the same regardless.

If the men succeeded that night, all of them would see rewards. Debts would suddenly disappear. Lands and coin and prettier titles would be handed out as a thank you. That is how, on a May night, a ragtag crew of a jilted lover, feisty soldiers and ambitious courtiers dressed as bandits to surround the chambers of the Princesse Anne-Camille.

Evienne knew everything about what was going on, standing near a different window, concealed from view by anyone inside the Palace by the heavy draperies. If anyone did see her, they'd see a mysteriously charming young woman dressed for the occasion---and perhaps waiting for an assignation with a married lover, as her low-cut gown, and bold red lips announced.

She did not try to know, to hear, to see, but it was her gift as much as healing others what Charlotte's. If she concentrated, the thoughts of others ran through Evienne's head as if she heard them spoken aloud. That night, the person closest to Evienne, the one whose words were the loudest, was Marie-Caroline herself.

No one was there to harm the Princesse. She was playing the part of the perfect bride and a sweet girl who would make a beloved Queen one day, only not of her own country. Reine Marie-Caroline, herself an old woman who had turned out as long-lived and beloved as her husband, looked upon the festivities with pride.

She was the only one who knew of the crew assembled around the Palace, waiting for the moment when the party ended, and the royal couple were given privacy for their wedding night. Marie-Caroline was no fool and did not believe either of the young people to be virgins, but tradition and ceremony were worth much. She would be the one to help her daughter get ready to receive her new husband. She would also be the one to give the signal to the Duc de Parnese, just on the other side of a brocade curtain.

After all, it was her plan, and it was not a poorly organised one.

They were there to kill the Spanish bridegroom, a man who had been physically violent with the Princesse on many occasions, yet her beloved father would not protect. Not everyone knew the truth of the match; it would not do for Anne-Camille's sense of dignity. Everyone knew the man would murder his father to steal his throne and bring a beautiful French bride to Spain.

This situation did not trouble Roi Louis. When Marie-Caroline told him, she expected outrage, but instead received an indifferent shrug.  It was all just a part of Court life, politics and families of monarchs being the same the world over. It was Reine Marie-Caroline who could not bear the thought of the young girl sharing a wedding night with that sort of man, and would prefer to send her to Spain a widow if she had to go at all.

It didn't matter one bit that the Princesse was not her daughter and could not possibly be. Only the physicians and the Roi knew Marie-Caroline's exact age, and that a woman of forty-one who'd already birthed nine children was unlikely to give birth and survive, no matter how strong her constitution.

Anne-Camille was Louis' daughter in a time when he needed one for the good of the country. He had plenty of daughters, but he needed one that was young, pretty, and above all, an amiable bride. Anne-Camille fit the role perfectly. They all played their parts and did so for so long they'd all convinced themselves the lie was the truth. Marie-Caroline regretted nothing.

That shrewd deception led to another, which led to another. It was the reason one of the most intelligent women to grace the French throne ended up causing the deaths of fourteen men--all at the spry young age of sixty-four.