Charles d'Éon de Beaumont

The beat of my heart lags exactly half a measure behind the rhythm of the minuet. Silks rustle. A hundred candles reflect in the parquet of the Winter Palace, turning the hall into a boiling lake of liquid gold. It smells of burnt sugar, violet powder, and stale sweat—the true aroma of the Russian court.

Elizabeth Petrovna sits upon her throne. When the master of ceremonies cries out, "Mademoiselle Lia de Beaumont!", I take a step forward. The heel of my satin shoe betrays me, sinking into the wax. I barely maintain my balance.

I sink into a curtsy. The Empress's fingers linger on my chin longer than propriety allows. She looks straight into my eyes, and for a second, I feel as though my entire Burgundian legend has crumbled to dust. But Elizabeth nods graciously and turns away.

The men swarm toward the golden halo of my hair like flies to molasses.

— Ah, such freshness... From France itself? — whispers the elderly Prince Golitsyn, stepping on my foot during the contredanse.

"You would have emerged more gracefully from a morgue, Your Excellency," I think, forcing a smile and allowing him to lead me in the dance.

I retreat toward a column, pretending to fan myself. And then, a shadow looms before me.

He wears no wig. No beauty marks or gold embroidery screaming of wealth. Only a muted, dark green velvet of military cut. He smells of wet snow and something spicy—certainly not French perfume.

He says nothing, looking down at me, and his gaze strips me far more effectively than Prince Golitsyn's sweaty palms ever did. A genuine shiver runs down my spine—it is the pure, primal thrill of a hunter who has, for the first time, become the prey.

He slowly raises his right hand. The gesture is entirely masculine, devoid of courtly affectation. The outstretched hand is an invitation. To what? A dance? A conversation? My death?

My mind frantically scans his face. Not a single cipher from De Broglie contained such a description. Danger.

I must refuse. But instead, I silently place my trembling palm into his.