Marie did not pause until she reached the service corridor behind the Queen's drawing room. The warmth of the tea had seeped through the tray and into her fingers, grounding her in the familiarity of her task. And yet, the Duke's voice echoed in her mind, brushing over her like silk: "You walk like you carry secrets…"
She shook the thought away. Servants did not indulge in such distractions—not at Versailles, where a misplaced glance could lead to punishment, dismissal, or worse. The court had eyes and ears in every corner.
"Late again," murmured Léonie, the head chambermaid, with a sidelong glance. She plucked a stray thread from Marie's sleeve. "And flushed. What happened?"
"Nothing," Marie said too quickly, setting down the tray. "A delay in the corridor."
Léonie's brow arched knowingly. "The Duke?"
Marie's silence was enough. Her cheeks gave her away.
"You'd do well to avoid him, Marie. The nobles play games we cannot afford," she whispered, her voice hardening. "They find amusement in our ruin."
"I know," Marie murmured. And she did. Her mother had warned her, before the fever took her, of the cruelty wrapped in powdered wigs and perfume.
---
Later that evening, long after the last candle in the Queen's chamber had been snuffed, Marie lingered by the servants' entrance to the gardens. Moonlight spilled across the gravel paths, painting the fountains in silver. The night air was cool against her skin, carrying the distant sound of laughter from the Grand Salon.
She stepped outside. The scent of lavender and trimmed hedges clung to the breeze. It was a stolen moment of freedom, one of the few she allowed herself.
"Still walking with secrets, I see."
Her heart leapt. She turned—and there he was again. The Duke.
This time, he was without his fine coat, dressed in a dark waistcoat, his cravat undone. He looked more like a man than a noble. Less polished. More real.
"You shouldn't be here," she said quietly, looking around.
"Neither should you," he countered, stepping closer. "But here we are."
Silence stretched between them, taut and dangerous.
"You know my name," he said at last. "But I don't know yours."
She hesitated. "Marie."
He smiled, as though savoring it. "Marie."
It was the first time in her life her name had sounded like a promise.
---