When the Night Falls Short Story: Madame Miele

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.

“What’s going on?” My voice was groggy with sleep as I tried to gain my bearings. I could see the outline of a man’s 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. “Where are you going?” I tried again, imploring my husband to answer. The only indication that he’d heard me was a scoff.

Then, seeming to just notice my existence, he finally spoke. “You woke me up last night.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry. I needed a glass of water and the pitcher by the bed was—” I began to respond, but he waved my apology away. His back was still turned as he dressed.

“Then go thirsty next time. I can’t be expected to run a country off of a measly four hours of sleep.”

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, I’d found getting a good night’s sleep an almost-impossible task. I found I craved my own space, and often had to relocate to the sofa to sleep.

“Marie…” I scolded myself, pulling my weary limbs out of the buttery-soft blankets. “He’s your husband. Your job as queen is to support him, quirks and all.”

Whether I liked it or not, I was married to King Louis XVI of France. Just because it wasn’t a perfect union didn’t mean I would let myself wallow in self-pity over the loveless affair.

“Today is a new day!” 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.

“Oh yeah, I can work with this.”

My hopeful outlook was short-lived.

“They’re not going to let you out. King’s orders.”

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.

“The king can do as he pleases,” Analene responded, not bothering to hide her disdain. “Besides, he’s in court today, and shouldn’t be bothered over your petty boredom.”

I ground my teeth to bite back a rude response. I wouldn’t stoop to the other woman’s level. She’d held a grudge against me ever since I arrived in the country—a far cry from the female confidant I’d been hoping for.

The female confidant I’d desperately needed when I’d arrived in the new country, friendless and scared.

But that was old news, and I wouldn’t let her sour my mood. I was determined to have a good day.

I’d 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: “Good morning, I’ll be leaving now!”

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. “Apologies, your highness, but we can’t let you do that. King’s orders.”

I choked down my exasperation as Analene stifled a giggle behind me. “I told you they wouldn’t let you out. You know, you should listen to me—”

She broke off her reproof at my pointed look. Shuffling backwards, she lowered her head in mock deference, and I sighed wearily.

“I just want to see the city, maybe stop in at a few bakeries, that’s it,” I tried again. “I’ll even bring guards with me!”

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.

“Well, well, well, what’s going on here?”

My cheeks split into a wide smile at the sound of my one and only friend’s voice.

“Wiggy!” 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.

“What’s this I hear about denying our Queen access to HER city?” I fought back a smirk as the two guards exchanged uncertain looks.

They were clearly familiar with the woman’s steely determination.

She’s 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. She’d loved it from the get-go and it had stuck ever since.

“Princess Marie-Louise, if you don’t mind—” Analene’s nasally voice rang out.

“I do mind, actually,” Wiggy cut through, shooting the shorter woman a glare. “And I don’t remember addressing you; this is a matter between the queen and me. Or have you forgotten? She’s your queen too.”

Analene shrunk underneath Wiggy’s sharp glare, and I couldn’t 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 “not my queen” under her breath, my sympathy died out.

Directing my attention back to the guards, I watched as their confidence wavered.

“Come on Julien, think about who you’re dealing with here…” The main guard paled at the mention of his name, and I didn’t blame him.

Wiggy was an absolute sweetheart in private, but in court she was…influential, to say the least.

I’d asked her about it before, but she’d just winked and said “a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

I couldn’t help but respect her for it.

“Of course, Princess,” the guard—Julien—finally relented. I tried not to gape as Wiggy winked at me, a playful smirk on her face.

“Well, are you going?” she teased. I didn’t 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 I’d had since leaving home.

“Thank you, Wiggy, seriously. I was going insane cooped up in that place. Sometimes I can’t imagine living there for the rest of my life.”

I squeezed my friend’s hand to emphasize my words, but she just rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, it’s not the place that’s the problem. It’s the people. Or rather, the person.”

“Wiggy—” I warned her, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I mean it, Marie, you have to stand up to Louis. Sure he’s the king and all, but at the end of the day he’s just a brute of a man!”

I sighed, there was no avoiding the conversation now. “You know it’s more complicated than that. He’s the king of France, and I’m just me. You know I couldn’t stand up to him—I don’t have that kind of power.”

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. “No more boy talk, let’s eat!”

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.

“Can I help you?” 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 and—well, just about everywhere else.

We had clearly interrupted him mid-baking. He didn’t look too happy about it.

I couldn’t help but be impressed as he held his composure. Especially when my guards were no doubt glowering over my shoulder.

“That’s no way to address your queen!” one of said guards growled out, anger radiating through his words.

The baker didn’t so much as flinch. In fact, he looked rather bored.

“I had no clue I was in the presence of such royalty,” he retorted, sarcasm coating his words.

My brows cocked in response, and I struggled to hide an amused grin.

The guard apparently did not agree. “What is your name, peasant?” he spat out the last word like an insult before continuing, “I could take you out for your insolence alone.”

To emphasize his point, the guard brandished his sword. Still, the baker didn’t back down. It was as if he was immune to any self-preservation instincts.

“Pierre De Gouges,” he bit out lazily. “And I’m flattered, but you’re not exactly my type.”

A choked laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it.

“Well, Pierre, you’ve just signed your own death warrant.” Before I could react, my guard had the baker—Pierre—by his collar and was raising his sword to strike. If the baker was scared at all, he didn’t show it.

The same couldn’t be said for me.

“Wait!” My voice broke through the commotion, the distress in it clear as day. “What are you doing? He’s done nothing wrong. You can’t go around killing everyone who doesn’t fall at my feet!”

I wrapped my hands around the guard’s 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 didn’t think it was shock from the fall, rather shock at my gesture. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his hand in mine.

“Thank you.”

This time when he spoke, the baker’s 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.