With each course of the meal, Marguerite ensured that she consumed at least a glass of wine. By the time the king spoke with her, she transitioned from German to French without notice. Even though she was certain the king had to converse more with her hand gestures than her words, Marguerite did notice something suspicious.
The king was preparing for a fight.
Marguerite knew a fair bit about men preparing for fights. They developed a shifty air when they discussed her work, proposing hypothetical limits, laughing too easily, and pointedly overlooking her grip on a wine glass. Froderick, on the other hand, anxiously followed each sip she took, and even tried to draw the servants away from refilling it.
Once the commotion of Marie’s entry and inevitable disruption passed, Marguerite tucked the syringe back in its place among her skirts. Froderick cast a questioning glance at her.
“I should hope we have stayed long enough to be polite,” she said.
“I believe we have.”
The hallways echoed Marguerite’s giggles as she and Froderick distanced themselves from the royal dinner. He began a game of finding the things she had hidden in her skirts. He would reach under a fold, and she would scold him, dancing away a few steps. She was glad she chose her practical boots for the evening. The silly things Alexandra left for her would have left her flat on her back by then. Though given the nature of this evening’s last game, Marguerite thought, that might not be such a bad thing.
“You have yet to see my rooms, Rita. I’ve a few hidden treasures there,” Froderick said, having successfully found Marguerite’s garter. He pulled her close.
“Oh, Froderick, I am not the kind of woman to leap at the sound of a trinket. You must intrigue me.”
“I must intrigue you, you say. And what intrigues you, my lady?”
“What weapons has the king asked you to build?”
Froderick paused in his amatory advances, but did not recoil. Marguerite read his wary glance towards the dining hall, and let him lead her to his rooms after all.
“He only asked recently,” Froderick began once they occupied an inner room of his apartments, clearly a study.
Marguerite sat upon a large desk across from a table strewn with drawings and documents. After a brief but sudden desire to have her own papers again, Marguerite focused on Froderick.
“He wanted some display pieces at first, functional for celebratory events, pageants and the like. Then he asked me to forget them. Keep the notes, the drawings, but eliminate any public records and dismantle any models I kept in the hangar. I moved on to my usual projects until a few months ago. He asked me to continue the project in private, and to request assistance only at the last possible moment.”
“I presume, then, that his curiosity about my own work did not escape your notice.”
“No, it did not.”
Marguerite stared past her lover at his notes. The wine trailed slowly through her mind, drawing vague connections between the drawings, Froderick, the king, the Cirque... then it took them away before she could make sense of it.
“Has he mentioned it since we arrived?” She asked.
Froderick shook his head. Marguerite sighed.
“A matter for sober minds to ponder,” she said. “My dear, I think I have had enough for one night.”
“Of course. I will escort you to your ship.”
Marguerite scoffed.
“Please, do not be such a gentleman. My lady-honor would suffer more from my current state than if I were to stay here.”
Froderick smiled.
“So, your lady-honor doesn’t mind spending the night in a castle?”
“There was a time I was not a circus performer. In fact, I still have a reputation as the best manipulator of earthly bodies this planet is likely to see for generations.”
“A manipulator, you say?” Froderick said, guiding Marguerite to his bedroom.
“Oh yes. Had I not rushed myself so early on in my work, I would have no need to travel with these people. My creatures are not intended for sideshows. They are modern marvels.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“Froderick.”
“Marguerite.”
“I’ve killed a man.”
Froderick stopped short of pulling down the bed covers.
“He was a very tiny man when I killed him, but I did. And I’ve no intention to do so again, if I can help it.”
“That’s quite… um…”
“I didn’t mean to, Froderick. I didn’t know better at the time. My methods were not yet perfected, and I was working with limited means. His tiny little man organs were perfect, but he couldn’t take it. He was too frightened, a little man in a large world... Anyway, help me undress?”
She struggled to remove her clothing by herself. Froderick assisted cautiously before finally readying himself for sleep. Marguerite crawled into the bed, and was well cocooned under the covers by the time Froderick joined her.
“Rita.”
She snored in response. Froderick sighed and continued anyhow.
“Rita, I work for a royal family. There are worse crimes than killing a man.”
He placed an arm around her, and joined her in sleep.
