Enchantress of Paris by Marci Jefferson Page A

peek onstage. When she couldn’t find me, she panicked and begged Conti to organize a search party. I’d started laughing, and they spotted me. Say you’re sorry, she’d commanded. But I wasn’t. I’d seen the Sun King dance!
    Now I touched Martinozzi’s arm. “He’ll send me to the convent if I fail.”
    She sighed. “Don’t try to fool him, you wicked girl. He’ll make you beg for the convent.”
    The king’s herald called from the antechamber, “His Majesty the King!” and we curtsied.
    King Louis went straight to his mother and kissed her. He looked at her cards, then rounded the table, checking everyone’s hand. “I’d slip Madame de Motteville a spare ace, but that would give her away.” He paused to absorb their chuckles. “So instead, I’ll sweeten the bank.” He tossed a golden coin on the table, where it clinked among the silver. Then he turned to me. “Marie!”
    Martinozzi backed away as the king approached.
    â€œYou don’t play cards?” he asked.
    I glanced at the table, where I had not been invited to play. “I’m afraid I’m no better at dealing with card players than with politicians.”
    He looked confused.
    I grinned. “I never know when they’re bluffing.”
    He laughed heartily. So did the queen’s ladies.
    â€œMarie,” cried the queen, “you’re such a wit!”
    â€œPray don’t tell my uncle,” I said. “He’ll either ship me to a convent or rent me out as a royal jester and pocket all my profits.”
    Everyone roared at that, and I prayed they really wouldn’t tell my uncle.
    The queen mother dabbed her eyes and gestured to a tufted bench. “Please, Marie, sit when you talk to the king.”
    To be allowed to sit in the presence of royalty was rare. Everyone watched us sit together, and I didn’t have time to worry what they thought.
    King Louis reached into his doublet and pulled out my book. “There was a reason for the delay. I … I had to learn Italian.”
    I was stunned. “You learned Italian—for me?”
    â€œYour sisters say you read in every language.”
    â€œNot every. Greek, Latin, English, Italian, French, Spanish.”
    He laughed. “I confess, I struggled with some passages.” He flipped through the pages to canto fourteen. “Here. What’s Armida doing?”
    I looked. “Ah, the best part. She’s just enchanted Rinaldo.”
    â€œBut why does she fly him to her magic castle?”
    â€œTo keep him for her pleasure.” My cheeks burned. “But it doesn’t last.”
    The queen mother looked our way. “Read aloud, Marie.”
    â€œShe doesn’t have to read,” said the king. “She knows whole cantos by heart.”
    The queen’s eyes widened. “Then recite!”
    â€œYes,” said the king. He searched the pages. “Here. Recite your favorite verses from canto sixteen, and I will see if you get them right.”
    I resisted the urge to wipe my palms on my silk skirts. I began to recite the canto in Italian.
    â€œHer veil, flung open, shows her breast; in curls
    Her wild hair woos the summer wind: she dies
    Of the sweet passion, and the heat that pearls,
    Yet more her ardent aspect beautifies:
    A fiery smile within her humid eyes,
    Trembling and tender, sparkles like a streak
    Of sunshine in blue fountains; as she sighs,
    She o’er him hangs; he on her white breast sleek
    Pillowing his head reclines, cheek blushing turn’d to cheek.”
    Aware of the furious blush in my own cheeks, I glanced at the king.
    He rifled through pages. “Yes! She got it.”
    The queen and her ladies applauded, murmuring to each other. They have no idea it is a love scene! I bowed my head.
    King Louis handed the book to me. “Alas, I promised my brother a game of billiards.” He stood to go.