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Chapter Text

The yellowish haze and the slap of boots on cobbles preceded the guards arrival, becoming brighter and louder as he came closer to the door. There was a turn of a key before the spartan cell was cast into sickly light. The occupants, a young girl in her teens, slender and blond, and an imperious woman nearing thirty stood to receive the gaoler.

“Food” the guard muttered, casting the meagre repast down onto a stoop.

“The Madame Royale must be treated as befits her station” Madame Renée stared the guard down with icy formality. “Spoken to with respect. Given good clothes and books to read. Allowed to write to her mother”.

The mention of her mother sent a lump into her throat and the girl turned away briefly. She was still the Madame Royale, Fille de France. She must behave with dignity and composure, she must not cry.

“You will allow me to write to my mother” she commanded, fighting to keep her voice level and composed.

“The Mademoiselle Capet gets what she deserves”, the guard said with a contemptuous sneer. He turned on his heel and left, slamming the heavy door shut behind him.

She took a sharp piece of stone and began to etch her loneliness into the wall: "Marie-Thérèse Charlotte is the most unhappy person in the world. She can obtain no news of her mother; nor be reunited to her, though she has asked it a thousand times. Live, my good mother! whom I love well, but of whom I can hear no tidings. O my father! watch over me from Heaven above. O my God! forgive those who have made my parents suffer."

Chapter Text

1794

Despite the best efforts of the city fathers to clear the slum, the Cour des Miracles clung on. It stubbornly resisted gentrification and any attempts to make it a worthier place. Same thick, cloying smoke, same old smells of rising sewage, dampness, sickly perfume and the unmistakable, bitter tang of hashish. And yet something in you still responded to it like it was home. Years and years spent training and travelling and this was still where you felt most you. Raising a leather gloved hand you rapped on the door. 2 fast beats, a slow one and then 3 fast. "I seek an audience with the Roi des Thunes."

"For Gods sake. Let her in." A beautifully cultured voice came from the depths. De Sade? Of course, you mentally smack yourself. He had replaced the previous incumbent which was an improvement of sorts. The former King of the Court was a reprehensible individual with a notoriety that meant even the Assassin Order left him to operate in his own pathetic domain. But he was gone now and there was probably a good story about how that had happened. The Marquis would have some entertaining tale and it was still early.

"My dear! You look so well. As you can see I've made many changes. The previous decor simply had to go." Your eyes slowly adjust to the low light in the Roi's, no, the Marquis personal chambers as you pick your way over to the chaise and it's beckoning occupant.

It had somehow become more licentious in the Cour, if such a thing were possible. Less dangerous but more of a baccanal. It certainly looked more tasteful. De Sade was a consummate connoisseur. Sculpture, tapestries, oils, antiquities. People. Anything, as long as it pleased his eye. "All legitimately acquired, I can assure you." De Sade adds smoothly as he follows the track of your gaze from the walls to the people sprawling around the room.

"I hear congratulations are in order" you smile before lowering yourself down next to him. As always he is powdered, rouged and scented. A heady smell of ambergris and vetiver wafted as he called for drinks with an elegant wave of his hand.

"Indeed. Le roi est mort" he proclaims dramatically.

"…vive le roi" you finish with a raised eyebrow

"Quite so. Ah, I've missed you, my dear. Between you and I, the members of your staid, little order are so incredibly rigid. So close minded and judgemental. Not like you." He punctuates the praise with a stroke along your bracer.

"So you've had dealings with my people?" That was strange in itself. The Order, in an attempt at political respectability had been staying away from controversial types like De Sade. An ethos of working in the dark didn't really mesh with those who courted the limelight.

"Well. One of them. An absolutely delightful boy. Quite, quite beautiful." You halt him quickly. De Sade was extremely susceptible to attractiveness, in women or men, and talking about it. He could probably rhapsodise about the pretty assassin for hours. No one has that kind of time.

"Let's talk about more important things." De Sade pouted in irritation at the unwelcome interjection.

"You can tell me about the lovely man later. In great detail. But first what happened here? The old nobility of the court?" Your tongue was firmly in its cheek as you referred to the former King, his slimy enforcer La Touche and their acolytes. De Sade gave an unrepentant smirk. "Yes, what an intriguing episode that was. Conspiracy, the fall of an order and the rise of another. And at the heart of it, a tragic love story. One of your own, the pretty one, and a Templar ." The pretty one. Of course. De Sade seemed obsessed with the man and you were going to have to hear about it. At least you'd be able to pick him out at the council tomorrow and have something nice to look at while the Masters bored on for France.

De Sade gasps dramatically, gauging your reaction with amused eyes. "It was incredibly poetic." There really was no stopping him. You cross your legs and lean back into the faded jacquard and let the Marquis' voice wash over you.