Chapter Text
The room was mostly dark, except for the soft glow emanating from the fireplace as the flames crackled, enveloping the pair in a warm, orange blanket. John was curled up against Milady’s chest, still young enough to need his mother’s touch—even if he wouldn’t admit it aloud.
In twelve hours, she would be in the Queen’s quarters, accepting her next orders. But for now, she would allow herself this peace.
After all, it wasn’t very long until John went away to school, and these moments would be few and far between. There’d be no more cuddles by the fire, no more pleading for a glass of milk late into the night, no more need to tuck him into bed with a kiss. By the time he came home in the winter, he wouldn’t need her anymore.
She’d thought about his future so many times recently that it was impossible to keep track of just what kind of life she’d imagined for him. With her status as the Queen’s spy, she’d managed to secure a good education for him, and he’d made his dent in court from infancy thanks to the young King’s adoration; it was probable he’d keep a position there, should he want one. As much as she was reluctant to send him away to school this coming autumn, she couldn’t deny that it was for the best. He’d have more opportunities in life than she could ever have dreamed of at his age—and not just because she had been born a woman.
Sometimes, all you needed to get yourself far in life was the right connections.
Milady inhaled softly, her arm tightening around John’s little body, and she leaned down to kiss the top of his head. She smiled fondly as she carded her fingers through his mop of thick, dark hair. He’d inherited that from her, at least.
He still liked to fall asleep in her arms, she realised, just the way he had as a toddler. He was getting too big for it now; once, she had held him in her arms and he had been just the right size to fit. Once, he had nestled comfortably with his head on her shoulder, and she had held him with just one arm—lighter than a bag of sugar.
Now, she had one precious summer left with him before he started to become independent—one summer before he no longer needed her for everything in his life.
‘Alright, my sweet.’ She smiled, watching the way his eyes drooped and his eyelids fluttered shut for a few seconds. ‘I think it’s time for bed. You have a big, big day tomorrow.’
He nodded minutely against her. ‘It’s the last day before summer,’ he murmured. ‘Madame Pénélope said I have to get all my papers ready to send to the academy.’
‘Mmh, yes, that’s right,’ she agreed, pushing a strand of hair from his eyes. ‘And are you excited to go away to school after summer?’
John considered this silently, his hands curling around the fabric of her dress. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m going to make lots of friends.’
The answer made Milady’s heart ache. How she wished she could keep him here, just for one more year. How she’d treasure that year, hold him as close as she could just a while longer.
But he wanted to go to school. He wanted more independence, wanted to make friends, and even wanted to stay the night at the Louvre when the King offered. As much as she so often rejected the thought, he wasn’t very little anymore.
Reluctantly, she helped him to his feet and guided the sleepy child in the direction of his bedroom. The thought that he wouldn’t be using it all the time for very much longer sent another pang through her heart, and her hands instinctively tightened around his shoulders.
What would happen while he was gone? Would he lose interest in his toys now; would they sit on his shelf and collect dust? Who would play with them now? Who would sit at the table and read their books aloud? Who would chat to her incessantly about their day?
What on earth would she do without him?
John climbed into bed without protest, huddling beneath the duvet as he waited for her to tuck him in. Milady was happy to oblige, making sure he was comfortable before she kissed him on the forehead, as she had always done.
‘Don’t forget my nightlight,’ he reminded her through a yawn.
She smiled warmly. How could she forget?
‘Of course.’
Promptly, she lit the candle by his bedside, and then she made sure he was tucked in as he liked, knowing how fast the summer would go, how fast he would go from wanting to be tucked in every night to undoubtedly being embarrassed at the thought of it.
‘Goodnight, Maman,’ he mumbled, the words obscured by another yawn.
She laughed softly. ‘Goodnight, my sweet. Sleep tight.’
With her child safely and securely in bed for the night, Milady returned to the living room, sitting herself in front of the fire with a glass of wine—well-earned, if she said so herself.
She took a sip, allowing the liquid to burn her throat.
A part of her wanted to cry in relief that he still needed his nightlight, that he still needed to be tucked in, that he still needed her. The other part wanted to grieve the child that she was about to lose, the child who would spend so long without her that he would learn not to need her.
It wasn’t too late, she thought. She could ask Pénélope not to send his work to the academy; she could hire a tutor for him and he could stay at home a while longer. It was hardly unusual; plenty of parents educated their children at home and hired governesses and tutors for them.
But most of the other parents at court had sent their children to the academy—all of them with no fuss at all.
Besides, despite his clear nerves, John was excited to be going off to school in the autumn. One of his little friends from court was already there, and they’d had plenty of conversations about it, so much so that he seemed to already know the ins and outs of it. He already had a whole set of boys ready to help him out in his first year, like a pre-made group of friends.
He had more opportunities there than he ever would if he stayed at home.
Milady swilled the wine around in her glass, staring at it mournfully before she downed the rest of the liquid in a decisive action. And then she leant her elbow on the arm of the chair, her head veering in the direction of her hand.
In hindsight, this was when she should’ve realised how exhausted she was and retired to bed for the night. Instead, she placed her empty glass on the table to the side of the couch and sat there, slumped against one of the cushions, drowsily watching the flames flicker in the fireplace.
She woke up in darkness.
Milady groaned softly at the obvious crick in her neck, adjusting her position on the couch as much as her exhausted limbs would allow. The fire seemed to have died out long ago, leaving her disoriented, wondering just how long she’d been asleep.
‘Maman?’
Milady sighed, turning her head in the direction of the doorway. Sure enough, there stood John, his face illuminated by candlelight.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, without much heat. If she wanted to treasure all her moments with him before he started growing too fast for her to handle, she had to treasure this, too. Even if he had just woken her up for God knows what reason this time. ‘You should be asleep.’
‘But I’m thirsty, Maman,’ he whined. ‘Do we have any milk left?’
She shouldn’t complain. He’d been an easy baby and an even easier child, if only for one thing—for one reason or another, he couldn’t quite manage to sleep through the night. She didn’t know why; he didn’t wet the bed, didn’t have nightmares, and didn’t get separation anxiety like a lot of children his age did.
Milady stood up reluctantly, rubbing her eyes wearily with the palms of her hands as she did so.
‘Do you want it warm?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer to her question.
Maybe he’d change his mind one of these days.
‘Yes, please, Maman.’
She took the candelabra from his hands and he followed her doggedly into the kitchen, leaning against the counter to peer over at her as she heated the milk up in a pan.
‘You won’t be able to do this at school, you know,’ she said seriously, glancing away from the pan to look over at him. ‘They’ll expect you to stay in bed after curfew, even if you are thirsty.’
John gave her a small pout that she pretended not to see, instead tactfully looking down at the pan as she stirred the milk.
‘I know,’ he replied, sounding a little put out at the thought.
He was, perhaps, a little spoiled. She had never been spoiled as a child; her parents couldn’t afford to spoil her. But he was her only child, and she more than certainly had the means to do so. Besides, Milady wasn’t stupid. She knew she’d never have another child—she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
Regardless of whether he was spoiled or not, she’d rest easy knowing he was well-mannered and respectful—and kind. She never dreamed of having the luxury to be able to raise a child to be kind; it was an impossible thing to be in the dog-eat-dog world she’d lived in as the Cardinal’s creature, as one of Sazarin’s thieves.
Perhaps it was achievable now, though.
The thought softened her, and Milady smiled faintly as she dampened the fire and transferred the contents of the pan to one of John’s favourite mugs.
‘Here, darling, you take the mug and I’ll hold your light. Careful, watch your fingers.’
The child eagerly held out the candelabra towards her and she took it from him, guiding the mug of warm milk into his hands as she did so.
‘It’s hot, John,’ she warned, but he didn’t seem to need the reminder.
‘I know, Maman,’ he said, grinning up at her. ‘I can hold it by myself.’
Her gaze softened. Of course he could. He wasn’t a little boy, not anymore.
He knew to be careful not to burn himself, just like how he knew not to run off when they were at the market together, just like how he knew to stay close to her without having to hold her hand.
And God, did it hurt.
‘Alright, back to bed with you,’ she said firmly, trying to push down those feelings before they got too much for her. ‘And watch you don’t burn your tongue. Or spill any of that milk on you, or your sheets. Or—’
‘I know, Maman,’ said John with an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m not an infant anymore. I can do it by myself.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed faintly. ‘You’re right, my sweet. You can.’
She tailed him back to his bedroom, placing the candelabra down on his nightstand as she watched him sit easily in the bed, tucking his feet underneath him as he blew gently on the warm milk.
‘It’s okay, Maman,’ he said, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a gulp. ‘I don’t need you to watch me. I’m not going to hurt myself.’
Milady nodded in agreement. Loathe as she was to admit it, he was right. He was perfectly capable of drinking his milk and putting himself back to bed without her watching over him like a hawk. He wasn’t going to spill the milk, or choke, or burn himself on it. He was old enough and responsible enough to be independent now.
He wasn’t struggling with any of this. If anything, she was the one who was struggling.
‘Goodnight, darling,’ she said quietly, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead again.
He didn’t need it.
‘Goodnight, Maman,’ came his reply, muffled by a mouthful of milk, the words echoing around the mug.
Then it was time for Milady to get to bed herself; she could already feel her joints complaining from her stint on the couch. She really, really needed to stop falling asleep there, especially considering John seemed to know that was where she’d be.
Milady shouldn’t have assumed her duties at the Louvre would be nothing less than a headache, but the longer she stood in silence next to the Queen, the more confused she was.
Anne was fixing her with an amused, sly smile, one that clearly suggested she was up to something, but she gave no answers, not even a hint of what was going on.
‘Your Majesty, if I may,’ she began, somewhat apprehensively, ‘please—’
‘Aramis will be here soon,’ she replied, smoothly ending Milady’s words right there and then. ‘And then we’ll be able to tell you everything.’
She opened her mouth to question, to argue, to insist on some sort of answer. But her brain didn’t seem to be working. She stood there, looking over at the Queen with complete bewilderment.
What on earth did those two have planned now?
It couldn’t have been anything serious, given Anne’s expressions. No, it looked more like they’d been plotting something—but what?
‘I heard from Louis you’re sending John to the boys’ school in Lille,’ said Anne conversationally.
Milady cleared her throat quietly. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Yes, that’s right. He has a few friends from the royal court attending, and I thought it was about time he started to get to know other boys his age.’ She sighed softly. ‘He needs to cultivate his intelligence, and gain independence, and … I alone cannot give him that.’
Anne nodded, smiling tenderly at her. The Queen reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
‘I have no doubt he’ll flourish there,’ she assuaged. ‘And I’m sure the boys at court will continue to be good friends with him at the academy. Louis tells me they have a nickname for him already.’
‘Oh?’ And didn’t that pique Milady’s curiosity.
‘Yes,’ she continued with a nod. ‘Mordaunt.’
‘Mordaunt, Your Majesty?’ the other woman echoed, raising her eyebrows. ‘What does that mean?’
Anne stifled a laugh. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. But all his friends call him that. Even Louis.’
As strange as this new nickname was, the mention of it comforted Milady. She’d always been worried that her history would be a barrier when it came to her son being accepted amongst the other children in court, but this didn’t seem to be the case. He had friends, the King being one of them—and they weren’t based on status.
The sound of footsteps caught her attention.
There were two pairs; one clearly belonged to Aramis, but the other was unfamiliar to her.
She turned her head to the Queen questioningly, but, infuriatingly, Anne just had a wide smile on her face. It was as though some kind of joke was happening, something that Milady was evidently not privy to.
It was irritating.
But then Aramis entered the room alongside a young woman, and she couldn’t help but stare. She was a little shorter than Milady herself, with long, dark ringlets, an attractive, pale face adorned with freckles, and a pair of blue-green eyes that seemed deeper than the ocean. She was looking at Milady with an almost unreadable expression, if not for the very obvious intrigue written all over her face. She seemed a good five years younger than her—at the very least—and she curtseyed delicately towards the Queen as she entered.
Immediately, Milady decided she couldn’t stand her, whoever she was.
Aramis and Anne locked eyes over the young woman’s head, giving each other a knowing look that Milady wasn’t stupid enough not to notice.
‘Milady, this is Geneviève,’ said Aramis finally, a wide smile on his face.
God, she wanted to scrub that smile off of him with a cheese grater.
‘We thought it might be time for you to have someone to work alongside you,’ added Anne brightly. ‘Not as an apprentice, but a partner, perhaps.’
Milady suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Oh, excellent. So that was what this was all about. Now she was getting older, and John was to be a less permanent face in the King’s court, they thought she was less capable of doing her job.
This was a test, Milady realised. To see if she could be outperformed. If she couldn’t do her job the way she used to, she’d be replaced by a younger, prettier model.
Of course.
She narrowed her eyes a little, looking over at Geneviève intently. She had a dainty little nose, perfectly pink puckered lips, and a face as fresh as a dewdrop.
Yes, she was certainly prettier.
‘If Your Majesty wishes,’ she agreed finally. ‘Two heads are definitely better than one in many circumstances.’
‘Excellent,’ said Aramis brightly, sounding far too proud of himself for his own good.
So this had been his idea, she thought, bristling with irritation. Even after she had saved him from his near-inescapable death at Rochefort’s hands, even after ten years of being practically coworkers, he still disliked her enough to have her goddamn job on the line.
And—worst of all, somehow—the Queen was agreeing. If she didn’t, this exchange wouldn’t be happening, Milady was sure of it.
‘Yes, excellent,’ she found herself echoing emotionlessly.
This was definitely the worst way to be fired, ever.