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Chapter Text

His dancing had been so elegant, not a misstep to be had, and with the orchestra in the background… But no, she would not allow herself to be distracted by her runaway thoughts- it had been over a week since the masquerade, and Marie still could not begin to forget the events of the night. The dancing, champagne, and fleeting smiles hidden behind luxurious outfits designed to conceal the identities of all attendants had ingrained itself in her mind, replaying at the most inconvenient times - 

“What do you think, Marie?… Marie!” Marie blinked back to focus, a smile smoothly hiding her internal panic as she raced to recall what the conversation had been about. King Louis had called her to his office to talk about… taxes! That was it - tax reforms and ensuring  financial security for France, a topic that never went over well with le noblesse. 

“I…” Marie trailed off, as she realized she had no idea what her husband had been saying for the last minute. “Sorry, I didn't understand,” she murmured, turning away to hide the heating of her cheeks as she was caught daydreaming. 

Blaisdell looked unimpressed, Louis was concerned, and Lafayette was, well. 

He didn’t look any different than normal, his face apparently set in stone. 

“Marie, are you feeling alright? You haven't been acting normal today,” Louis questioned, concerned. 

“It's nothing serious, my King,” Marie said quietly, but Louis was already shaking his head. 

“That won't do, you should rest and recover in your chambers today, we can resume tomorrow,” Louis was firm in his decision, but gentle as he gathered the papers in his hands and turned to stow them away in his bureau. “Lafayette, accompany the Queen to her chambers, please,”

“Of course, my King,” Lafayette replied. “Let us depart, Madame.”

The Marquis bowed deeply to Louis before going to hold the door open for Marie, who bowed her head in deference to the king before following her escort out. 

She folded her hands together, silk gloves twisting as she fiddled with them, the silence in the corridor interrupted only by the soft clicking of her heels and the whisper of the Marquis' boots. 

His posture was stiff and formal, a true soldier and servant of the country, a stern expression and cobalt eyes that revealed nothing; Marie could practically see the walls that the man had built around him. She wondered what lay beyond, if the man she’d seen at the masquerade was the true Marquis, or if he had revealed it to anyone else. The way his lips could form a smirk, a single dimple in his right cheek, the burning eyes that -

But no.

She was Marie Antoinette, the queen of France, a grand country with a burden of responsibilities and needs.

Her destiny, her fate - it was to govern France by her husband’s side, a steady force to aid in reforms and bring change as best she could. 

The Angel from Austria, l’Ange de l’Autriche.

She had one job, and it was to be just that, to live up to her mother’s name for her. 

Breathing deeply, she straightened her back, lifted her head higher, forcing herself to keep the regal bearing she had been taught to strive for. 

No words were shared between the two until they arrived at the doors to Marie’s chambers, and Lafayette bent at the waist, a deep bow that he held after opening the door.

“My Queen,” he murmured, before rising to meet her eyes.

“Thank you, Marquis. And…” Marie trailed off, halfway into her room, a hand still on the door as she hesitated. 

Lafayette tilted his head to the side quizzically, curious where his queen was going with this, but she exhaled through her nose and shook her head. 

“Nevermind. It's nothing,” Marie slipped into the room and the door slid shut with a soft click before Lafayette had any idea what had just happened. 

Marie walked slowly to the large window beside her bed, resting her elbows upon it as she gazed outside. The view was one of the best in the palace, probably in all of France if she had to guess. The elaborate and delicately kept gardens were below, and faintly she could make out the scent of the honeysuckle in bloom, and could hear the soft splash of water from fountains and streams running through the grounds.

She lived a life of overwhelming luxury as queen, but it was a lonely life - most of the members of the court at Versailles would be civil to her face, but despised her and talked behind her back without shame. 

Her reputation as a spendthrift and brainlessly vain woman had spread so far that most people were unwilling to give her a chance. To make matters worse, her husband was so busy with work that the two hardly ever spent time together, and when they did it was almost always work related - discussions of reforms and bureaucratic matters that hardly encouraged bonding between husband and wife. 

Marie considered her life and the country she lived for as she quietly stood before the window, and all she could think to herself was that it would have been nice to have married someone she loved. To spend her days with a person who cared for her in a way that stretched beyond friendship and necessity. 

But that was not to be the life of a queen, and Marie shook her head before turning away from the window and sitting down at her desk to reply to correspondence and letters from foreign dignitaries and nobles.

The palace bells rang, one, two, three… eight chimes, signaling the time of day or night, and Marie startled in her chair as she realized how long she had been working. She vaguely remembered Gabrielle coming in to check on her and providing her with lunch and tea, but she must have been buried in the work for hours! Standing up and stretching, she yawned, her joints expressing their distaste for how long she’d been hunched over her desk.

A walk would be nice, perhaps in the Spring Garden, but Marie was still dressed in her gown from the morning, which was tragically quite wrinkled and creased. 

Deciding to change into a dark vermillion gown and slippers that were easy to walk in, Marie made her way to the garden that was filled with her favorite lilies and lilacs, excited to get some fresh air and unwind in the calm. 

She smiled at the flowers and well cared for plants that the gardeners had been instructed to take special care of - at the queen’s request. The lilies were pearlescent in the moonlight, and the soft glow of the occasional lantern, but it was mostly dark and quiet - save for the whisper of wind in the air that played with Marie’s hair gently. 

So focused was she on the flora that she walked face first into a man who stood in the pathway, gazing into a fountain and completely unaware of her existence until she had quite literally run into him. 

“Ohhh… that hurt,” Marie grumbled as she looked up to see the person she had bumped into. 

And she had to keep looking up, because the man had run into was tall, annoyingly tall. When she finally met his eyes she had to resist the urge to groan because of course she had to run into him. 

“Marquis, I apologize,” Marie said, and Lafayette shrugged, stepping back to give her space before answering.

“It's alright, are you ok?” He questioned, as she rubbed at her forehead.

“Yes, yes,” She said, biting her lip anxiously, worried that he would be angry.

“You could not hurt me easily, my Queen, not physically at least,” Lafayette replied before continuing, "Were out for a walk?"

Marie nodded, hands brushing over her skirts as she met the Marquis' eyes once more.

"The lilies are lovely this time of year, so I wanted to check on them," Marie murmured. Lafayette's eyes crinkled faintly, and Marie had to breathe deeply to try and calm her heart - what dangerous things the Marquis' smile did to her heart!

"Well, I must be on my way, but I trust I shall see you tomorrow, my Queen," Lafayette said briskly, bowing before turning to stride away. 

Marie lifted a hand to stop him, but he was already several meters away by the time she had opened her mouth, and she curled her fingers in, she couldn't forget that the Marquis did not see her the way he had seen the version of her at the Masquerade. Closing her eyes, she turned to the flowers and took a seat at the nearest bench, letting the scent of the gardens overwhelm her and wash away the worries of the day.

Chapter Text

Marie slowly made her way down the hallway to her husband’s study, where they would resume the discussion of the financial situation of France, and how best to keep the peace in a time of revolutionary ideas. Her ankle throbbed slightly, but she had exchanged her heels for satin slippers today, which provided her with a more stable sole, even if it revealed how short she was in comparison to the men of the court. 

Not wanting to reveal this weakness to her handmaids, or anyone for that matter, she had played the slippers off as a stylistic choice that she had made to accompany the dress she had chosen for the day, a tasteful rose gown that accented her waist and pooled around her softly. 

The voices from inside the study are raised and tight, the tension running high in a way that Marie recognizes. In times of duress, even the court advisors who usually remain collected lose their calm, and she hates the hostility it leads to in the discussions.

Firmly, she pushes the door open and steps inside to greet the men in the room, bowing her head to the king before taking her seat beside him. 

“I’m telling you, Lafayette - we cannot tax the nobility! It will only lead to rebellion, and we are nothing without their support!” Louis cries, his face flushed as he stands opposite the general. Fersen is sitting between them, but any attempts to divert their attention or alleviate the stress with which they are arguing does nothing to dissuade them.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, we are powerless without the commoners as well, we need their support, and their resentment for the upper class will certainly only increase if they are taxed even more. The ideas of the Americans may be radical, but if we do not at least attempt to make some changes the threat of revolution becomes very much real,” comes Lafayette’s retort, his eyes burning blue in the intensity with which the two men hold eye contact.

“Please, sit, you two need to be able to communicate,” Marie exclaims, stepping in between the king and general. 

Astonished, they look at her for a moment, but quickly they avert their gazes to the walls. Louis looks ashamed, and Lafayette’s face is tight with the force of keeping his expression even, or as close to it as he can get. 

“I beg of you,” Marie continues, hands clasping in a plea, “You must be level headed if you are to work out a solution for the people. This is not an option, we must spend more time thinking and doing, rather than arguing!”

Louis nods, and Fersen breathes an audible sigh of relief as the two men sit down carefully in their seats. 

“What would you recommend, Marie?” Fersen questions, and Marie’s eyes widen. She has been put on the spot, and she licks her lips nervously before answering.

“I agree with the Marquis, I believe that by taxing the commoners we will achieve nothing more than civil unrest, or perhaps worse. The nobles may not like it, but they must chip in, or else the voice of the revolutionaries will gain traction.”

Lafayette’s eyes widen, and he blinks a few times as though he cannot believe his ears.

“How do you suppose we convince the court to obey the new law though?” Louis asks incredulously, and she gazes into the distance for a moment before straightening up and bringing her fist to her hand .

“I know! I will pay my taxes first, setting a good example. Some of the money in my private bank account can be given to the government, and I can donate much of my remaining jewelry!” 

Louis gasps, “But Marie, you love your accessory collection, and you’ve already given some of it up over the necklace incident!” 

He is not the only one to be surprised, and glancing around, Marie sees that Fersen’s eyes are round as saucers, and even the unmovable Lafayette’s eyebrows are raised.

Despite the appalled reaction, she plunges on, expressing her plan to convince various nobles one by one to pay the taxes, until the pressure of the others will force even the most obstinate to pay their dues. 

At last, she looks up, nervous to see if her suggestions will be taken, terrified that they will laugh her out of the office and back to her reading or needlework, but a hint of a smile on Lafayette’s face and his next words are enough to assure her that she may stand a chance in the court after all.

“I stand with the Queen. I will help lead the transition to the nobility paying taxes by being the second to do so, after her, of course.” 

Fersen is nodding along, and Louis’ expression is wavering as he listens to his general speak. 

He asks more questions; about how they will enforce the laws, how much to tax, all the minutia required in lawmaking, and it is hours of discussion and notes before Louis finally heaves a sigh and rings for Blaisdell, calling for him to begin drawing up a new taxation law for the nobles.

Louis escorts Fersen and Lafayette out of his study, thanking them for their work before returning to talk to Marie.

He gently takes her hands in his, gratitude evident on his face as he thanks her for helping him and Lafayette to come to a compromise, for staying the extra hours, and Marie spaces out after a minute or two. She just wants to go get dinner, and as if on cue, her stomach rumbles.

“I’ve kept you too long, you must be starving. I can order dinner for us!” Louis says as he rushes to the bell in his study, but Marie stops him with her next words.

“I’ll dine alone, please don’t bother to call the butler on my account,”

Louis’ face falls, but he quickly straightens and smiles as he hastens to open the door that Marie has stepped towards. 

“In that case, please have a good night, Marie,” he says, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before she leaves. 

“Good night, my King,” Marie responds as she heads down the corridor towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat.

The exhaustion of the day is catching up, and she speeds up in her quest for nourishment - she’d kill for some mohnstrudel or gugelhupf right about now, but the cook at Versailles refuses to make Austrian dishes or sweets, so she’ll have to settle for whatever he feels like making. 

You’d think she could order people to make her whatever she wants, but it turns out that trying to connect with her home country of Austria makes people angry, and from past experiences, it can lead to rumors about her being a spy. It wasn’t pleasant last time she asked for an Austrian style meal, so she refrains from those wishes nowadays.

Occasionally, Gabrielle will make her gugelhupf, and that is enough (it isn’t really, but that’s what she tells herself).

As the glow of the kitchens approaches, Marie inhales deeply, and smells warm bread and even if it’s not gugelhupf, it does smell so delicious.

Walking in, she smiles at the cooks and servants, quietly asking one of them for a slice of bread and cheese. The servant nearly trips over herself to slice up a loaf of bread and get her a hunk of cheese, but Marie is happy to bask in the warmth of the kitchens. 

“My Queen,” a deep voice says from behind her, jolting her from her hazy thoughts of warm bread and yummy food.

“Marquis!” Marie exclaims, “What are you doing here this late at night?” 

“I came to grab something to eat, as it seems was your intention,” Lafayette answers. 

Just then, the servant comes running back towards them, a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit laid out for Marie.

“Here, your Majesty,” he murmurs with a bow, and turns to go.

“What’s your name?” Marie asks, and the servant turns around, face pale and hands shaking.

“I am a lowly servant by the name of Kirst, your Majesty,” he speaks softly, as though he is afraid of something. It takes Marie far too long to realize that he is afraid. 

He thinks she’s  going to punish him, and she winces at how he must feel, “I just wanted  to thank you, Kirst,” she says with a smile that she hopes will come across as reassuring. 

Kirst bows again before rushing off, and Marie sighs before looking down at the huge plate she’s been handed.

“Would you care to share, Marquis?” she asks, hoping that he’ll say yes, because despite his rigid personality and bearing, she doesn’t want to eat alone.

She doesn’t know why she turned down her husband, yet is offering to eat with his general, but she pushes the thought out of her mind when Lafayette nods. 

The two walk out of the kitchens and the cooler air outside calms Marie, reminding her that they need to choose someplace to eat.

“We can return to my parlor to eat, if you’d like,” she says, the pitch of her voice turning up at the end in question.

“Please lead the way,” Lafayette murmurs.

Chapter Text

Lafayette sips the sauvignon blanc that Marie has set out, and she takes a massive bite out of a hunk of bread. Her cheek puffs out as she munches, leaning forward in the candlelight to see Lafayette’s face as he describes to her what the countryside of France is like where his manor and estate lie.

The conversation stemmed from her mention of having never seen the rural sections of France, aside from brief glimpses when traveling by carriage. Shocked, the Marquis had offered to tell her of his experiences, and she had enthusiastically accepted. 

“The stars glitter so, in Auvergne, and beyond. Marseilles is quite pretty too, though that is much farther south, of course. And the flora of the wild -” 

Lafayette cuts himself off, looking away from Marie, his face flushed, from the alcohol or something else, she knows not. 

“It sounds lovely, Marquis. I’d love to visit, one day - when France has reached a more stable state,” Marie reaches out for her glass of wine, only to find it quite lacking in contents. Downing the remaining dregs in a gulp, she pops open another bottle, this one of sancerre, and offers some to her companion.

He accepts gratefully, and she smiles as she pours the glittering stream swirl into his glass. Placing the bottle down, she notices that there are already two empty ones beside it, and she wonders vaguely where all the liquor has gone. 

Perhaps there is a faerie who has been stealing sips from the bottles, she considers.

“I would be happy to host you, My Queen,” Lafayette murmurs, his eyes striking hers in their intensity. She swallows, mind frozen by this image of his piercing cornflower eyes and slightly parted lips, his sharp jaw less tightly clenched than normal. 

“Please, call me Marie,” 

Lafayette’s eyes widen in surprise, and he lowers his gaze, “I am unsure whether that would be proper, Your Majesty,” he says, voice taut with an emotion she cannot place.

“Please, even if it is just when we are alone…” 

An owl hoots far out in the distance, but aside from that, the night remains quiet and calm as Marie clasps her hands in her lap, hoping that he will agree.

Her expression must sway him, because he finally nods, playing with the glass of wine in his hand as he sits still, eyes never leaving hers.

“Marie… It is my honor to call you by your given name,” he says, a pleasant rumble accompanying his words.

Marie shivers, and she cannot help the soft sigh that escapes her at the pleasure of having him say her name. 

“You may call me whatever you wish, of course,” Lafayette says, and she grins.

“Anything?”

“Within reason, of course,” he says with a laugh. The shared camaraderie fills Marie with a warmth that spools in her stomach, makes her want to smile and laugh into the night.

“Lafayette,” she experiments, the name flowing off her tongue in a way that she feels must be so familiar. It’s as though she’s said it a thousand times before, and she watches as the man across from her downs the rest of his glass of wine in an attempt to hide the slight redness of the tips of his ears. 

“It… it is getting late, Marie. I think that… I must go,” Lafayette stumbles over his words, and Marie's face falls, but she nods nonetheless. They both have their palace duties to carry on tomorrow, and staying up late into the night drinking fine wine - while thoroughly enjoyable - will not help their productivity the next day.

If her heart swoops to the ground when the marquis stands up and fixes his jacket, she lets nothing on. 

He bows to her, thanking her for her hospitality before leaving the room briskly, his expression returning to one of impassiveness, or at least as close as he can get to it. The door clicks shut behind him, and the air seems to leave the room in a rush.

Marie calls her servants to clear the table of the bottles, and she tidies up the remaining crumbs before she changes into her nightgown to go to bed. 

The quiet of her chambers, without a low voice chiming in at intervals makes it feel empty - it seems...

Far too large, for one person.

Marie spends what feels like hours gazing up at the sage green canopy above her bed before she finally drifts off into a deep sleep, a single name on the tip of her tongue. 

...

When the sun begins to rise in the morning, a letter is slipped under her door, hasty footsteps fading down the hall as she continues to slumber. 

The envelope is a thick, creamy one with a blood red seal of wax, a rose pressed into it. No sender is specified, and the only thing written on it is in a hasty cursive, 'For My Queen' it says.

As the servants silently sweep the floors of the Queen's chambers before she wakes, they spot the letter, and place it carefully on her bedside table, before moving on to their next tasks.

The sender is already far away, deep in the heart of the palace, talking with a few others as they holster their freshly sharpened swords, smirks on their faces and ice in their eyes.

Chapter Text

Marie sips her almond tea, basking in the warm morning light that shines into her room. She may be tired from last night, and her head feels like it’s been repeatedly slammed against a wall - but she’ll figure out how to deal with it later. In the meantime, she sets about breakfast, shoving half of a croissant into her mouth, not caring if it seems ‘un-ladylike’ because there’s no one here to see it.

A letter on the table nearby catches her eye, and she snatches it up, curiously slicing the envelope open with her letter opener. The paper is thick and expensive, and Marie wonders which noble must have sent it. 

Swallowing the last of her croissant down and following it with a swig of tea, she unfolds the letter, eye scanning the lines or hasty penmanship.

To the Honorable Queen, Marie Antionette,

I would like to invite you to take a walk in the gardens this evening, perhaps we can admire the flowers together; I hear that the dahlias are in bloom at the moment. 

For the sake of privacy, I would appreciate it if you came alone - we can discuss something that has been on my mind of late, if it would please Your Highness.

Adieu, good madame.

The Marquis de Lafayette 

The official stamp of the fief, or House of Lafayette is neatly located in the bottom corner of the page, and Marie wrinkles her nose. The note didn’t sound particularly like how she imagined Lafayette would write, but she’s never corresponded with him before so she hesitates to make assumptions.

In addition, the House Seal is sacred, and shows authenticity. Lafayette is the only person with the ring to make that specific rose shaped mark on the page, and so Marie decides not to doubt him.

After last night, it seems inevitable that he’d want to talk to her in private, and Marie shrugs off her initial misgivings to go change for the day.

She rifles through her wardrobe, finally settling on a dove gray gown that has a meticulously embroidered bodice of silver and crystals. She tries not to think too hard about why she is spending more time these days choosing outfits - she’d been vain as a young woman, but she is in her twenties now - and already married. 

She hasn’t thought much of fashion in years, letting her attendants and designers dress her up; yet now, here she is, genuinely wanting to look beautiful, to steal the breath of Lafaye-

No.

She will not continue down that path. 

It will lead nowhere good.

She is a married woman, after all, and to the King of France, no less.

Marie goes to perform a twirl in the mirror, only to wince slightly when her ankle tilts uncomfortably. 

Though it’s bearable, her ankle has been a bit delicate since her literal run in with Lafayette a few days ago in the garden. She must have rolled it when she tripped, she thinks.

Grabbing a handful of mint leaves on her way out to deal with her aching head, Marie strolls out of her chambers and into the halls, ready to take on the day.

…

Throughout the course of the afternoon, Marie talks with various nobles and influential politicians to try and convince them to agree to pay the new tax. Many of them are opposed to it, and some even flat out refuse her to her face, but there are, hearteningly, a few that agree readily.

It turns out that at least there are some nobles who realize the severity of the situation, as the peasants grow more and more vocal - and radical - in their calls for anarchy and change.

It frustrates Marie when a few of the noblemen she speaks to flat out ignore her, calling her ‘hysterical’ and telling her to ’know her place’ because she is a woman.

Marie does not lash out at them like she wishes to, but merely gives them chilly smiles, and remembers their names. She does not forgive and forget, but more than anything, she does not forget - and those men will regret their dismissal of women one day.

She will make sure of it.

A brief meeting with her husband is the last thing on her agenda for the day, and Marie heads to the library where they meet when talking about matters unrelated to the state, or at least matters that are more private and do not require nobles to overhear. Her stomach twists, and she has to take a moment to breathe before she enters, anxious about what she will face.

“Ah, Marie! It is good to see you, my dear,” Louis says with a smile as she slips into the library, letting the aroma of stacks upon stacks of books and scrolls wash over her.

“Hello, Louis,” she replies, taking a seat in one of the wingback chairs before the grand fireplace. (Yes, even in a library. It’s the aesthetic.)

“I suppose you might have an idea of why we need to talk,” Louis says quietly, and carefully, calculatedly, takes a seat into the chair opposite hers.

Marie nods, her throat tight as she considers what to say next. The topic is a heavy and complicated one that neither likes to bring up often.

“We still have yet to settle on an heir, and you know how important it is to keep the bloodline of the monarchy going,” Louis says as he gazes into the flames before them, the light seemingly swallowed in his eyes as his face is cast in shadow. “Marie, I know that you have expressed disinterest in, well. Producing an heir, but the nobility are starting to talk, and it is not a good appearance for the monarchy. We look unstable, weak, to the populace,”

Marie grits her teeth, this is the third time this year that her husband has brought this up, and she detests it. 

She does not want to… cannot want to… cannot, have a child with Louis. 

She would rather sell her soul.

She would rather -

well. 

She would rather not.

Grimacing, she turns to look her husband in the eye, “I understand, Louis, but with the turmoil right now, I don’t think it is the time. We would… We would be putting any potential child in danger, and… and your aunt has children in the line to succession, you know. It is not like there will be any question as to who the crown will go to, even if we were to die right now. The crown has plenty of options,”

She knows she is grasping at straws, but it is still true. 

Louis’ expression hardens, the apparent calmness from earlier dissipating into thin air, and frustration and distaste line his eyes and cheekbones.

Marie wants to recoil in fear, but instead, she straightens and stands (or technically sits) her ground. She will not let him pressure her into anything, even if she fears him when he is in one of his ‘moods’ as she has taken to calling them. 

She thinks back to Lafayette’s gentle way of speaking to her, his expression that slowly opens to let her in the longer they spend together. 

He never tries to make her do things she has no interest in. 

He respects her.

She misses him.

She wishes he was here.

Abruptly, she is shaken from her thoughts when her husband snaps, in his own way.

“Fine. I have given you time to consider, but this is your final warning. You may have your way this time, Marie. But you will come to change your mind, I am certain,”

Marie feels her stomach curdle; her husband scares her in ways no rebellion can. She suspects that the conversation, if it could be called one, is over, and she stands. Hesitating to leave, she fingers the fabric of her dress, fidgeting for a moment in the silence.

“Out. GET OUT!” Louis yells, his voice echoing around the library, and in Marie’s head.

She scurries out of the room and down the hall until she is a sufficient distance away, where she can wrap her arms around herself and rock back and forth, back and forth, until her breathing returns to a normal rate.

Chapter Text

Measured footsteps are coming in her direction, but Marie keeps her eyes shut, hoping that whomever it is will continue past, giving her peace. Instead, the steps stop in front of her, and finally, she accepts that they are not going to just walk by.

Opening her eyes, she meets Lafayette’s gaze, and her chest loosens a little bit at the sight of him, the comforting scent of sandalwood and bergamot enveloping her. 

“Marie - what has happened?” he asks, forehead pinched with barely concealed worry.

She shakes her head, not wanting to discuss the previous exchange with her - her husband - though the word leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“It is nothing, Lafayette. A simple disagreement with the King,”

She tries to play it off, giving a soft laugh, but it comes out trembling, and her hands are buried in her skirts - betraying her fear and anxiety to the general.

His eyes widen in understanding, and she is not surprised that he knows. He is a sharp man, of course - and it is not news that she is failing, failing miserably, at her job as queen, by not producing heirs. 

She knows this, and awaits his judgment, his ‘tsk, tsk’ at her inadequacy, the disappointment that ultimately follows whenever someone hears that she has rejected the King again in his wishes for children.

But it doesn’t come, and instead -

A gentle hand takes hers, and the general is pressing a whisper of a kiss to her knuckles, solemn as he speaks his next words, “Do not let the King pressure you into it, Marie. There are others to take his place in the line, and though I am loyal to the King… so too am I loyal to you. If you do not desire to conceive an heir, I will do everything in my power to protect you; even if it comes from a rather… selfish place in my heart.”

There is a beat of silence before he seems to realize what he said, and he quickly releases Marie’s hand, though she remains speechless for longer than she cares to admit. Has Lafayette just admitted to… to caring for her? Perhaps even - and she hesitates to hope - but is he acknowledging that he has feelings for her? 

But no. 

It cannot be, Lafayette is an honored general, a hero of the people - where she is a famously vain princess. 

As though confirming her fears, Lafayette’s face has resumed its typical state of stony impassiveness, and Marie has to clasp her hands together in order to physically refrain from reaching out to the man across from her.

"Thank you, Lafayette. I appreciate your sentiment, I truly do," she says instead, careful to keep her voice steady and measured when she feels anything but.

They stand in the hall for several moments, and Marie is unsure what to do next, the ceiling suddenly seeming oh-so fascinating.

"Would you like to duel?" Marie blurts out, and the expression on Lafayette's face is incredulous. "As in, with swords, of course,” she adds.

That does not make him look any less shocked, but he manages a faint, "I don't think that would be quite proper, Marie," frowning in worry.

Marie grins, she loves that she has the power to make this great, seemingly unshakable man uncertain, to make him question life and the many oddities to it. He's likely never been challenged to a duel before by a woman, and clearly needs to learn just how fierce one can fight.

"Scared, Lafayette?" she asks with a smirk, and the general's eyes narrow, lips curling up in a smile of his own.

"You're on."

…

Swords clash, and the metallic reverberations echo in the training area, empty except for two figures engaged in battle. One figure is much smaller than the other, yet holds her own just as well against the taller aristocrat. 

The fading sunlight casts a golden glow on the duelers, the shadows darkening in contrast to the warmth. 

Panting in exertion, Marie surges forward, going on the offensive. The movement shocks Lafayette, but after being forced into defense - he pushes back, trying to limit her movement by advancing towards the wall.

“Is this all you’ve got, Lafayette?” Marie gasps, heart pounding as their weapons clang.

“I assure you that I am well versed in battle, my lady,” he says with a huff, deflecting her strike with the side of his sword before twisting out of her reach momentarily.

The swords continue to flash in the golden hour light, and at last, Lafayette knocks Marie’s sword to the ground, letting it skid several feet away. 

The two are edged up against the side of the arena, gasping for breath and faces flushed from the exercise.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Lafayette asks, awestruck.

“My aunt insisted that I learn, so I would be able to protect myself if need be,” Marie answers, breathless. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and grins, “Not very ladylike, is it?”

Lafayette frowns, struggling to answer, and Marie imagines that he is unsure whether to say what he knows is ‘proper’ or what he truly thinks.

The pair finally realize how close together they are, and the marquis draws back, turning his head away as he seems to remember something, and Marie feels the loss, the way the space beside her feels gapingly empty without him immediately beside her. 

Abruptly, Marie remembers the letter from the morning, and opens her mouth to ask Lafayette -

But he is already walking away, carefully replacing the training swords where they belong, and straightening his collar stiffly.

“Please have a good evening, my Queen. It was a pleasure to duel,” he says quietly, going to the door leading out of the arena. Bowing to Marie, he opens the door, and disappears before she can get in another word. 

Her chest aches as his retreating figure leaves her sight, and she closes her eyes for a moment. 

Just as she feels that Lafayette is opening up to her, something has happened, and duty or some such annoyance prevents him from treating her as a friend, or even something more. He has closed himself off, that much she can tell; and she can only hope that he will explain more to her this evening when they speak in the gardens. 

Wiping the dust off her clothes, she strides back in the direction of her chambers to get dressed for a late night walk in the gardens, and to get some food in her stomach, which is complaining of hunger.

Chapter Text

After scarfing down a plate of cheeses, bread, and grapes in a manner most undignified, Marie is slipping back into a dress she feels will be appropriate for an evening meeting with the general. 

Well, appropriate by her definitions, that is. It is a lovely white gown that drapes about her, with long sleeves that cling to her skin. There is no adornment, save for the silver embossed rose that twines around her hips and waist, its thorns and leaves curling at her solar plexus. She leaves her hair down, and doesn’t bother with makeup or jewelry, besides the pendant from her mother that she never takes off. 

 With a deep breath, she pushes open the doors to her chamber and begins the long walk to the gardens, anticipation thrumming through her veins. Will the Marquis finally make a move? Does he have some great secret to inform her of?

Or — and this would make Marie equally happy, maybe he just wants to see her and talk. 

She’s in trouble, she thinks to herself. The things she would do for this man…  

The halls are empty and quiet, only half of the sconces lit, casting shadows every which way she looks. 

It's not long before she’s exiting the palace and stepping onto the paths of the gardens, inhaling the soft scent of the flowers outside. Continuing down the path, she looks left and right, wondering where the Marquis is. She thinks she knows him rather well, and it simply wouldn’t be like him to keep a lady, or anyone for that matter, waiting. 

“Lafayette?” She calls out softly, coming to a stop before the benches where she ran into him not so long ago. When no response comes, she shivers; the first prickles at the back of her mind that something may be off. Her hands are trembling as she laces them together, and calls out again, louder this time. “Gilbert?” Her voice squeaks on the last note, and if she hadn’t been so on edge she would have blushed in embarrassment. 

The sounds of footsteps on the path behind her make her sigh with relief, “There you are —” she begins, but is cut off by the sudden impact of something or someone heavy ramming into her back.

With a cry she falls to the ground, trying to scramble backwards but unable to find purchase with her delicate slippers and ankle which now aches furiously after a second tumble so soon after the last time she tripped in this very same place.

She doesn’t have a chance to do anything more because in the next second a hand is wrapping itself around her throat and squeezing.

She can feel the bruises forming, and black spots already swimming in her vision, and all she can think is that she’s going to die. She’s going to die at the hands of some nobody, and she’ll never see Gilbert again. 

She tries to struggle, but quickly gives in when she feels a blade at her side.

There's more than one person, she realizes; and if she had the air to do it, she would have sobbed. Not in pain, though it hurts very much, but in anger. Fury at the unfairness of it all; because they caught her off guard; because she never got a chance to fight; because all of her training went down the drain when she was caught with her head in the clouds. 

She was stupid, she sees that now. Blinded by emotions, she didn't take the necessary precautions, and look where it's gotten her now?

Just as the thoughts are beginning to slow, and she can feel a bitingly cold blade carving into her side, yanking her attention to the searing sensation in her side. 

The blade cuts just deep enough into her side to surely scar, to ache as it curves about her skin in slashes and twists. 

A rustling sounds off in the distance.

She thinks she hears something. The shriek of steel, perhaps? The pounding of feet — is she imagining things? It feels as though she's underwater…

But then the fist about her neck loosens and she drops to the ground, everything going black. 

Lafayette roars in anger when he sees what they've done to Marie; and he only grows angrier when he sees the assassins drop her coldly, leaving her head to bounce off the stone pathway.

He swings his sword at the assassin that approaches him, and decapitates the man in a heavy blow before he wrenches his sword out of the bone and whirls on the other attacker.

All he can think of is that he needs to keep his Queen safe, and he wastes no time with mercy like he normally would. The castle Guards are not far behind him, and he takes down the remaining attackers without issue as they swarm the now frightened enemies.

As soon as the final man drops Lafayette is running to Marie's side where he assesses her wounds to the best of his ability. 

Rage fills him once more when he sees mutilated skin of her stomach, the once pure white dress in bloody tatters on the ground. Her neck is marred with purple and yellow bruising in the shape of a man's fingers, and if Marie wasn't hurt Lafayette would have had to let put the anger by punching something. Instead, he gently covers her with his coat and applies pressure to the lacerations.

“Send for the doctor!” he calls as he bundles her in his arms and starts towards the palace.

He can just barely feel her pulse when he checks, and he swears he's not crying but something wet is landing on her cheeks and his own feel wet.

She has to be okay. 

She has to.

Chapter Text

The next several days are agonizing for Lafayette as he tries to pretend that everything is fine, when it’s so not. He tries not to betray how unnerved he was by the attack, but he knows he’s failing. Miserably.

The men in his unit are tiptoeing on glass around him, every conversation is whispered, and the usually boisterous soldiers are solemn. 

It isn’t until five days after the incident that a messenger comes running, skidding to a stop before Lafayette. He’s bent over, hands on his knees as he tries to get back his breath.

“What is it?” Lafayette asks, unable to quench the hope that rises in his stomach. Please, please, please… Let Marie be okay.

“The Queen has awoken, my Lord. She’s calling for you,” the man barely manages to gasp out before collapsing to his knees. 

Lafayette’s men quickly rush to help the poor messenger to his feet and walk him off the training grounds, but Lafayette is long gone by then. 

He tears across the grounds, sprinting the long way to his Queen’s chambers, a path he’s long since memorized after checking on her every few hours for the past several days.

The walk (now run) has never felt so long before, and Lafayette blatantly ignores the stares he’s attracting. Maids have to swerve left to avoid him with their large laundry baskets, and butlers scurry away from him as he charges down the narrow passages.

By the time he finally makes it to the Queen’s chambers, he’s sweating profusely and is rather unflatteringly out of breath, but when he throws the doors open and finally lays eyes upon Marie, sitting upright in bed; he nearly weeps in relief.

Scratch that, he actually does cry. 

Tears trickle down his cheeks, and lord, he hasn’t cried this much in the span of a week since his father died over a decade ago. 

He strides to Marie’s side, and she beams up at him weakly, her pale face doing nothing to stop the glow Lafayette swears the woman gives off. 

How she manages to maintain such a positive disposition is completely beyond him, and he lets out a pained sob as he takes her hand as if she is made of glass.

How fragile she appears, swallowed by the freshly fluffed cushions and large bed! Lafayette wonders at the existence of such a lady, of someone so lovely in a world so horribly gruesome.

How can she look at him with those shining eyes when he has personally brought scores to their death, thousands if he counts the soldiers he rides against for the military. His entire career has centered around hurting others, using elaborate battle techniques and strategy to wipe out the so-called enemy.

After facing such brutal violence in her very own home, how can the woman before him still tenderly place her other hand atop his, and gently run her fingertips over his knuckles?

How can she trace the wet tracks the tears have created on his cheeks, and lean in to press the lightest of kisses to each of the salty paths running down his face?
“My Queen…” Lafayette trails off as Marie leans back and resumes her previous position, clasping his trembling hands. 

“Gilbert. You came back for me, ma cheri,” Marie murmurs in awe.

“Of course I did, I will always come back for you. I am only sorry that I could not have made it there sooner. Marie, I can’t possibly hope to ask for your forgiveness, as my lax attitude led to your injury but —”

Marie cuts him off with a finger to his lips, and a stern frown that Lafayette knows better than to contradict. 

“As if you could have known I’d received a secret letter that I never told you about — and it’s not like you can be guarding me every second of the day! Besides, my own maids had thought I’d already gone to bed,”

Lafayette wants to argue; wants to tell her that this shouldn’t have happened, that he’ll never let her out of sight again, but he knows that won’t change the past. And perhaps more importantly, it’s not what his queen wishes to hear.

The pair sit in silence for some minutes, the only sound is the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room as it lazily takes the time.

At last, Lafayette cracks the silence with a hoarse whisper. “I almost lost you.”

Marie’s expression is soft as she smiles at him and shakes her head.

“But you didn’t. Here I am, safe and sound,”

And if Lafayette’s heart possibly swelled any more, he’s positive it would implode. The love he feels for this woman is positively overwhelming, and he cradles her face in his hands to gently, ever so carefully press a kiss to her lips.

She tastes of honey and herbs, likely the medicines and poultices they’ve dosed her with over the past week, but Lafayette has never tasted anything sweeter.

Their noses bump against each other occasionally, and after a few minutes of exploring each other; Marie pulls back to give a laugh.

Her voice is light, and it reminds Lafayette of the rolling fields of green in Auvergne and the sun coming out on a rainy day. 

Laugh lines crinkle beside her eyes, and Lafayette lets out a short chuckle. 

Neither really seems to know what is so funny, but the lightness they feel is unlike any sensation they’ve experienced before. 

It’s not long before Marie pulls him into another kiss, this one lasting far longer, and reaching heights of passion that Lafayette has never experienced before in a mere kiss.

The two spend the hours of the night together in peace; relieved at last to have time for themselves in a world so fraught with tension.

Beneath the cloak of darkness, they become not the General and Queen of France, but Gilbert and Marie; two lovers inseparable in soul and tied together in a million different ways.

By the time morning comes, they are not afraid of what lies ahead; of what unknowns the future will surely hold, because one way or another they will face it head on.

And surely, despite everything that has happened, they can carve out a place for themselves in this world.

To share wine in the starlight and kisses in the rain.

A future where they can take long, meandering walks hand-in-hand through fields of flowers and trees.

A place to be Gilbert and Marie, shedding the masks they have worn for so long.

An existence of their very own.