When the Night Falls Short Story: Madame Miele
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Nureyluna
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Chapter 1
Enthralled: being captivated or fascinated by something, often to the point of being unable to look away or disengage.
MARIE ANTOINETTE
Small, unforgiving hands gripped my shoulders. They were yanked backwards with surprising strength. Cold seeped down the exposed skin of my back. I fought back a shiver.
âAgain!â The terse voice of Countess Von Brandeis sounded in my ears as disapproving as ever. With a deep sigh, I straightened and began the aria again.
The melody was gratingly familiar. Restless, I let my gaze wander out of the grand windows that decorated the drawing room.
The grounds of the Austrian Palace lay just beyond the gaudy curtains. I longed to race across them. I longed to take a step without the hawk-like eyes of my governess following me.
I longed to make a decision for myself, for once.
âCountess?â My young voice broke out of song, startling the older woman. Her sharp eyes snapped to mine. There was a reproachful glint already shining in them.
âWhat did I tell you about interruptions? We can take a break for tea after you show me that you can focus for more than five minutes at a time. Now, again!â
But I twisted on my stool, turning away from the grand piano before me. âCountess,â I implored again, âisnât there something else I could do?â
My voice perked up as I conjured an idea. âHow about I sit in on a court meeting with Father! If Iâm to be queen one day, I should learn how to rule, shouldnât I?â
A hopeful smile split my lips at the idea, but it was short-lived. The expression on my governessâ face was a mix between pity and annoyance. I sighed before the words even left her lips.
âNow, now, you know better than that, dear. If you are indeed to be Queen Antoinette one day, you had better learn where your priorities lie.â
âButââ I tried to interject, my frustration growing with the Countessâ placating tone.
âNo buts! Princesses do not interrupt!â I flinched at the ice in her tone, pushing back tears of frustration. âAnd princesses certainly do not slouch,â she continued, wrenching my shoulders back forcefully.
I couldnât help the yelp that escaped my lips.
âI do not mean to be strict, dear,â my governess spoke, her voice softer this time. âI only mean to prepare you for your future.â
Her cold hands moved pale ringlets of hair off my shoulder. The action was oddly affectionate. Sighing, I forced myself to listen.
âYou would do best to put ruling out of your mind. Leave the decision-making up to the men, and focus on whatâs important: your singing. Now, again!â
My gaze found the window. The grounds looked far more distant as I started up the familiar melody.
Bang!
The sound of a loud slam wrestled me from sleep, and I awoke with a jolt. The remnants of my dream washed over me, but I pushed them away with unease.
âWhatâs going on?â My voice was groggy with sleep as I tried to gain my bearings. I could see the outline of a manâs back as he roughly pulled on a fine linen shirt, tucking it into his velvet trousers.
Confusion clouded my mind for a few seconds until the fog of sleep rolled off. âWhere are you going?â I tried again, imploring my husband to answer. The only indication that heâd heard me was a scoff.
Then, seeming to just notice my existence, he finally spoke. âYou woke me up last night.â
âOh yeah, Iâm sorry. I needed a glass of water and the pitcher by the bed wasââ I began to respond, but he waved my apology away. His back was still turned as he dressed.
âThen go thirsty next time. I canât be expected to run a country off of a measly four hours of sleep.â
Pulling on a coat the color of eggplant with a lavish lace trim, he stalked out the door without so much as a wave. The door slammed shut in his wake.
With a sigh, I slumped back onto the mountainous bed beneath me. My eyes found the top of the bed frame out of habit. It was decorated in a beautifully intricate tapestry that I found myself admiring far too often.
Ever since arriving in Versailles a few years before, Iâd found getting a good nightâs sleep an almost-impossible task. I found I craved my own space, and often had to relocate to the sofa to sleep.
If I didnât have to sleep with Louisâ tossing and turningâ
âMarieâŚâ I scolded myself, pulling my weary limbs out of the buttery-soft blankets. âHeâs your husband. Your job as queen is to support him, quirks and all.â
He hasnât exactly made that easy⌠But I brushed the idea from my mind before it could take hold. I was the queen after all, and my place was by the kingâs side.
Whether I liked it or not, I was married to King Louis XVI of France. Just because it wasnât a perfect union didnât mean I would let myself wallow in self-pity over the loveless affair.
âToday is a new day!â I spoke, forcing pep into my tone. Stretching my slender arms overhead, I strolled into my personal chambers, throwing open a large armoire.
My grin grew into something real as I took in the mountain of pretty fabrics just waiting to be worn. They were soft to the touch.
âOh yeah, I can work with this.â
***
My hopeful outlook was short-lived.
âTheyâre not going to let you out. Kingâs orders.â
The smug voice of Analene followed me as I strode towards the palace doors. My lady-in-waiting was close on my heels. I could feel her smirk burning its way through my back.
âOh⌠well maybe Iâll see if the king can lift the order, then. Iâm sure heâll understand!â Will he? questioned a small voice in my head. I kept the question to myself, too scared to know the answer.
âThe king can do as he pleases,â Analene responded, not bothering to hide her disdain. âBesides, heâs in court today, and shouldnât be bothered over your petty boredom.â
I ground my teeth to bite back a rude response. I wouldnât stoop to the other womanâs level. Sheâd held a grudge against me ever since I arrived in the countryâa far cry from the female confidant Iâd been hoping for.
The female confidant Iâd desperately needed when Iâd arrived in the new country, friendless and scared.
But that was old news, and I wouldnât let her sour my mood. I was determined to have a good day.
Iâd awoken with a desperate sweet tooth and was excited to explore the countless bakeries that Paris offered.
That is, if I could get outside the palace walls.
Slowing before the brute-faced guards, I gave them my sweetest smile. Willing confidence into my voice, I spoke: âGood morning, Iâll be leaving now!â
But just as Analene had predicted, they shook their heads. The taller one responded in a monotone voice.
His gaze was unmoving on the wall behind me. âApologies, your highness, but we canât let you do that. Kingâs orders.â
I choked down my exasperation as Analene stifled a giggle behind me. âI told you they wouldnât let you out. You know, you should listen to meââ
She broke off her reproof at my pointed look. Shuffling backwards, she lowered her head in mock deference, and I sighed wearily.
âI just want to see the city, maybe stop in at a few bakeries, thatâs it,â I tried again. âIâll even bring guards with me!â
But the same guard shook his head, firm in his resolve. There would be no getting through to him.
I turned to leave, shame burning my cheeks, when a voice stopped me in place.
âWell, well, well, whatâs going on here?â
My cheeks split into a wide smile at the sound of my one and only friendâs voice.
âWiggy!â I looked up to see her approaching with a frown that looked out of place on her usually smiling face.
She shot me a wink before directing her focus to the guard before me. He gulped audibly under her intense scrutiny.
âWhatâs this I hear about denying our Queen access to HER city?â I fought back a smirk as the two guards exchanged uncertain looks.
They were clearly familiar with the womanâs steely determination.
Sheâs the princess of Schleswig-Holstein. As queen, I far outranked her. That, however, did not matter to the guards.
Not when it came to my proud friend.
It was this very pride for her homeland that had landed her the nickname Wiggy. Sheâd loved it from the get-go and it had stuck ever since.
âPrincess Marie-Louise, if you donât mindââ Analeneâs nasally voice rang out.
âI do mind, actually,â Wiggy cut through, shooting the shorter woman a glare. âAnd I donât remember addressing you; this is a matter between the queen and me. Or have you forgotten? Sheâs your queen too.â
Analene shrunk underneath Wiggyâs sharp glare, and I couldnât help but feel somewhat bad for the woman.
My friend was nothing if not intimidating. And she did not share the same patience I did, when it came to my lady-in-waiting.
But when she muttered something that sounded like ânot my queenâ under her breath, my sympathy died out.
Directing my attention back to the guards, I watched as their confidence wavered.
âCome on Julien, think about who youâre dealing with hereâŚâ The main guard paled at the mention of his name, and I didnât blame him.
Wiggy was an absolute sweetheart in private, but in court she wasâŚinfluential, to say the least.
Iâd asked her about it before, but sheâd just winked and said âa girlâs gotta do what a girlâs gotta do.â
I couldnât help but respect her for it.
âOf course, Princess,â the guardâJulienâfinally relented. I tried not to gape as Wiggy winked at me, a playful smirk on her face.
âWell, are you going?â she teased. I didnât wait to be asked twice, half expecting the guards to reconsider.
Striding out of the palace doors, I breathed in my first breath of fresh air in months.
We spent the next few hours strolling through the winding Parisian streets and eating far too many pastries.
It was easy, and carefree, and the most fun Iâd had since leaving home.
âThank you, Wiggy, seriously. I was going insane cooped up in that place. Sometimes I canât imagine living there for the rest of my life.â
I squeezed my friendâs hand to emphasize my words, but she just rolled her eyes. âOh come on, itâs not the place thatâs the problem. Itâs the people. Or rather, the person.â
âWiggyââ I warned her, not wanting to ruin the moment.
âI mean it, Marie, you have to stand up to Louis. Sure heâs the king and all, but at the end of the day heâs just a brute of a man!â
I sighed, there was no avoiding the conversation now. âYou know itâs more complicated than that. Heâs the king of France, and Iâm just me. You know I couldnât stand up to himâI donât have that kind of power.â
Wiggy opened her mouth in retort, but I acted first. Before she could speak, I grabbed her hand, tugging her through a cute little door on the side of the street.
It opened up into a bakery that smelled of vanilla, sugar, and pure goodness. Our guards filed in behind us, filling up the small space. âNo more boy talk, letâs eat!â
Ringing a little bell on the counter, I studied the space. It was quaint and bright with natural light, but the sight of the pastries lining the counter is what really caught my attention.
My mouth watered in anticipation.
âCan I help you?â A gruff voice broke through my ogling.
I raised my eyes to find a man towering over the counter. He was ruggedly handsome with unwavering brown eyes, hair that fell in messy curls, and a look of complete disinterest on his face.
It was made somewhat less intimidating by the flour decorating his jaw andâwell, just about everywhere else.
We had clearly interrupted him mid-baking. He didnât look too happy about it.
InterestingâŚMost people rushed to bow when they saw me, but this man couldnât care less.
I couldnât help but be impressed as he held his composure. Especially when my guards were no doubt glowering over my shoulder.
âThatâs no way to address your queen!â one of said guards growled out, anger radiating through his words.
The baker didnât so much as flinch. In fact, he looked rather bored.
âI had no clue I was in the presence of such royalty,â he retorted, sarcasm coating his words.
My brows cocked in response, and I struggled to hide an amused grin.
Interesting indeed.
The guard apparently did not agree. âWhat is your name, peasant?â he spat out the last word like an insult before continuing, âI could take you out for your insolence alone.â
To emphasize his point, the guard brandished his sword. Still, the baker didnât back down. It was as if he was immune to any self-preservation instincts.
âPierre De Gouges,â he bit out lazily. âAnd Iâm flattered, but youâre not exactly my type.â
A choked laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it.
âWell, Pierre, youâve just signed your own death warrant.â Before I could react, my guard had the bakerâPierreâby his collar and was raising his sword to strike. If the baker was scared at all, he didnât show it.
The same couldnât be said for me.
âWait!â My voice broke through the commotion, the distress in it clear as day. âWhat are you doing? Heâs done nothing wrong. You canât go around killing everyone who doesnât fall at my feet!â
I wrapped my hands around the guardâs extended arm and tugged. He paused for a second too long before lowering his sword. With a snarl, he shoved Pierre by the collar, sending him tumbling to the ground.
The baker landed with a painful-sounding thump, and my body cringed in response. Rushing around the counter, I held out my hand to him.
He paused, shock written across his handsome face. But I didnât think it was shock from the fall, rather shock at my gesture. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his hand in mine.
âThank you.â
This time when he spoke, the bakerâs voice was softer, more genuine. I nodded quickly, trying to hide the spark that traveled down my spine as the warmth of his palm seeped into mine. The sensation left heat coursing through me long after he moved away.
Who is this man?
