Privately, on occasion, she could not help but wonder if it was time to leave this place. Not as she had so many times before, packing up their days and amusements to properly with, and guiding Louis from one moment to the next. Not as she had the very first time, fresh from meeting the king that stood so long as her ambition, sure of the knowledge that she had captured his attention. And not even as she had so recently, taking that single step away from him before he took the all more damaging first step back. Instead choosing her successor, moving her rooms and reimagining her life
( ... )
The brisk air was pleasant. A cool breeze always reminded him of the windy air in Cardiff Bay (and he reminded himself again that that was something he ought to be forgetting
( ... )
It was not like her to have such a difficult time with a decision. Though precisely mapped, Reinette still relied greatly on instinct in the course of her days. It was most unsettling, then. And though she had never stepped foot on a ship, she felt at sea.
Something captured her attention. She would be hard pressed to state precisely what, if asked. The flutter of fabric, or a breath that was not her own. Reinette spent the course of her childhood until now attuned to the fine ticking of clocks and what might lurk unexpectedly in the shadows. She was nothing if not aware.
Her gaze moved evenly over a gentleman that was standing most absurdly behind a tree. The purpose of Versailles was to be seen, not to remain out of sight. It was the first lesson one learned.
Which made him a stranger. To both this place, and to her.
And Reinette had crafted that into an art. Knowing.
Though Jack could be adept at hiding if he so chose, he'd grown used to doing quite the opposite. The man with a secret organisation that he often ignored the 'secret' element of, to parade around the city like he owned it.
So when he was addressed, he didn't slink back or shy away, why would he? He stepped forward with his hands in his pockets.
Ah, so he was right, French. Well he was a little rusty, but he'd do his best. He should be fluent, if he just remembered how.
"Good question," he answered without answering at all. He looked her up and down without moving his head at all, a quick flick of eyes, appraising and analysing.
"Call me a sightseer," he added, by way of half-assed explanation.
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Something captured her attention. She would be hard pressed to state precisely what, if asked. The flutter of fabric, or a breath that was not her own. Reinette spent the course of her childhood until now attuned to the fine ticking of clocks and what might lurk unexpectedly in the shadows. She was nothing if not aware.
Her gaze moved evenly over a gentleman that was standing most absurdly behind a tree. The purpose of Versailles was to be seen, not to remain out of sight. It was the first lesson one learned.
Which made him a stranger. To both this place, and to her.
And Reinette had crafted that into an art. Knowing.
She was meant to know.
"And you are?"
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So when he was addressed, he didn't slink back or shy away, why would he? He stepped forward with his hands in his pockets.
Ah, so he was right, French. Well he was a little rusty, but he'd do his best. He should be fluent, if he just remembered how.
"Good question," he answered without answering at all. He looked her up and down without moving his head at all, a quick flick of eyes, appraising and analysing.
"Call me a sightseer," he added, by way of half-assed explanation.
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