Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Se Florindo è fedele io m'innamorerò,
S'è fedele Florindo m'innamorerò.
Potrà ben l'arco tendere il faretrato arcier,
Ch'io mi saprò difendere d'un guardo lusinghier.
Preghi, pianti e querele, io non ascolterò
Ma, se sarà fedele, io m'innamorerò.

If Florindo will be loyal, I'll fall in love with him
If he's loyal, I'll fall in love with him.
Let him tighten his bow, That quiverful archer Cupid,
I'll surely be able to defend myself from tempting glances.
I won't listen to petitions, tears and quarrels.
But if he'll behave in loyalty, I'll fall in love with him

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On the first day he brought flowers. The wind had swept many of the petals away by the time I found them lying on the doorstep, but I knew instantly they were from him. He always liked to flirt with the girls in town, and I’d noticed his eyes on me not a few times before. I wasn’t about to throw myself at him like the silly schoolgirls that followed him around like a herd of sheep with their shepherd. I brought the flowers inside, but said nothing of them to anyone.

On the second day another bunch of flowers appeared, larger this time and with a ribbon around the stems to hold them together. I placed them in a water jug by my bedside and told no one.

On the third day he left a note. In a graceful hand he wrote of his ardor, his secret love for me that he’d concealed from all until now. He said things in that letter which I have never heard spoken aloud by any man, and certainly not by him, so suave and confident in everything he says and does. These phrases, delicately scratched on paper, told of a different man altogether, one whose heart had the ability to remain true to only one woman, if that woman was the right one. But it is early yet; we shall see how his love stands the test of time. If Florindo is faithful then maybe, maybe I’ll fall in love.

Chapter Text

Per la gloria d'adorarvi
voglio amarvi,
o luci care.
Amando penero,
ma sempre v'amerò,
sì, sì, nel mio penare,
penerò,
v'amerò,
luci care.

Senza speme di diletto
vano affetto
è sospirare,
ma i vostri dolci rai
chi vagheggiar può mai
e non, e non v'amare?
penerò,
v'amerò,
luci care!

For the glory of adoring you
I want to love you,
oh dear eyes.
In love I will suffer,
yet always I will love you,
Yes, in my suffering:
I will suffer,
I will love you,
dear, dear eyes.

Without a hope of pleasure
It is vain affection
to sigh,
Yet your sweet glances:
Who can ever admire them,
No, and not love you?
I will suffer,
I will love you,
dear, dear eyes.

The prison walls were dank and covered with the sort of mold that can only grow in the darkest, most foul of places, those chambers where men had lost their lives to torture or starvation or merely to the trials of time. Time was in short supply for those condemned to survive in oppressive darkness. Only one thing brightened up the lives of those poor souls locked away from the world, and her name was Sophia. The daughter of the prison warden, she descended to the level of the jail cells each Sunday and brought what little comfort she could to the miserable wretches wasting away. In her soft voice she would read aloud from the bible, her kind heart leading her to passages about hope and salvation, and steering her away from the ever-present verses about damnation and punishment. Each prisoner would crowd to the door of their cell and peer through the tiny barred window to get a look at the maiden sitting calmly by the stairs. She remained calm and collected, reading without regard to any noises around her, and returned the way she’d come when she had finished. But one day, after a rainstorm had left the stone stairs moist and slippery, Sophia lost her footing and, in throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling, let go of the Good Book and let it drop to the ground. It landed by the door of the nearest cell, and she rushed to retrieve it before it could be soiled. Bending, she gathered the Bible into her arms, but as she stood her gaze was inexplicably drawn to the barred window imbedded in the heavy wood of the cell’s door. A pair of piercing blue eyes met hers, drawing her in with their gaze. The prisoner, his body hidden in shadows, leaned closer to the cell door until she could hear him whisper words meant only for her ears. “For the glory of adoring an angel such as you I would gladly suffer all torments.”

Chapter Text

Non posso disperar,
sei troppo cara al cor:
il solo sperare
d'aver a gioire
m'è un dolce languire,
m'è un caro dolor.

I cannot despair;
you are far too dear to my heart.
The mere hope
of enjoying you
is for me a sweet suffering,
an adorable pain.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Day 263. Still no sign of Papagena. I have seen many a brightly colored bird fall into my traps, but not the sweet little robin I most desire. Such long searching tires me, and I pine for her every moment of every day and night. Yet I will not give up hope – she is somewhere out there in the great wide world, and no matter how long it takes I shall find her. Images of her play through my mind: her sweet smile as she gazes upon me, our little nest of a home that we will build to raise our little Papagenos. When I dream of her I know that I cannot despair, for even in suffering I am happy. And so I shall continue hunting for her and waiting for that blessed day when she will be mine to call my own. Papagena, Papagena, Papagena!”

Chapter Text

O cessate di piagarmi,
o lasciatemi morir!
Luci ingrate, dispietate,
Più del gelo e più de' marmi
fredde e sorde a' miei martir.

Più d'un angue, più d'un aspe
crudi e sordi a' miei sospir,
occhi alteri, ciechi e fieri,
voi potete risanarmi,
e godete al mio languir.

O stop wounding me,
o leave me to die!
eyes so ungrateful, merciless,
more than ice and more than marble
cold and deaf to my sufferings!

More than a snake, more than an asp,
cruel and unhearing to my sighs,
eyes so proud,
unseeing and ferocious,
you have power to make me well again,
and you enjoy my fainting.

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It was nearing midnight, after all of the temple’s attendants had long since made their way down the hill and back to their homes, when a man dressed entirely in black slipped through the heavy wooden doors, letting them shut with a creak behind him. Holding his own torch high, he used it to light those encircling the temple until the whole room was filled with flickering golden light. The beams from the torches illuminated a statue, over ten feet in height, depicting a semi-nude woman with long, flowing hair and graceful limbs. At her feet were strewn flowers and other offerings, and one of her arms extended forward as if reaching out to comfort or aid the supplicant before her. The man in black stared at the statue with a mixture of longing and hatred. He moved so that he could stand directly in front of the statue and meet its cold, unseeing eyes. “Well? Have you quite finished, then? Must you take all I love from me before you allow death to take me to my final, blessed rest? I have left my home, my family, my country in pursuit of her, done all that is humanly possible to win her, and yet your interference has been on behalf of my rival, not me. How have I offended? Or is it simply amusing to you, seeing my suffering. You have the power to give and take love from people’s hearts and yet, like true marble, you feel no pity or compassion for my dreadful state.”

A new, cold glint shone from the man’s eyes, and he took a step backwards so that he could survey the entire temple. “Perhaps that is all you are: marble. There can be no goddess worthy of worship who sees my pain and yet remains silent and unheeding. You are nothing to me now, cruel one. My destiny is my own.”

Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the temple, leaving every torch burning. With luck, the whole place would catch fire and burn to the ground. At the very least, it would mean an inconvenience for the temple staff as they scrambled to find new torches to illuminate their precious idol. She would soon learn though, that goddess, how worthless and trifling her power really was. He felt new strength rising within him, and already plans were forming in his mind. His destiny was in his own hands, and never had he been more assured of success.

Chapter Text

Sebben, crudele,
Mi fai languir,
Sempre fedele
Ti voglio amar.

Con la lunghezza
Del mio servir
La tua fierezza
Saprò stancar.

Although, cruel love,
you make me languish,
I will always
love you truly.

With the patience
of my servitude
I will be able to outlast
your pride.

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The ship pulled away from the harbor and began to float in the direction of the current. The crew was quick to unfurl the enormous red sails, and as they did so the sound of cheering echoed across the water. A crowd had gathered to watch the launch, the women throwing flowers into the ship’s wake as they glided by. The sailors took the opportunity to wave to the masses, enjoying their fame, however brief. At the helm the Captain of the proud vessel stood, stoic, unmoved by the scene around him. The first mate approached and cleared his throat hesitantly. “Sir, everything is in place. There shouldn’t be anything to worry about until we reach the open ocean.”

The Captain nodded. “Thank you, Carlo. Why don’t you enjoy yourself, the rest of the crew seems to have gotten a head start.”

Carlo nodded, frowning. “Yes, sir. But –“

He broke off and the Captain turned to look at him. “Go on – you have something to say?”

The sailor nodded, his gaze shifting to the spectators, who still cheered wildly. “I just thought you’d be more interested in the crowds, that’s all.”

The Captain’s smile was sad, almost wistful. “There is no one in that crowd I wish to see, so why should I play the fool for people’s entertainment?” His gaze shifted until his eyes scanned the hill above the city, the villas and palazzos that covered its slopes glittering in the morning sun. The first mate nodded and left, but the Captain still stared, eyes locked on a rose-pink palazzo on the hilltop. In his mind’s eye he could see her, standing by the window and looking out towards the river, listening for the roar of the crowds. He’d sworn to her that he would return, that he would not give up hope of winning her, and she had not denied him. Still, she had let him go without so much as a word of affection. Who knew how long the voyage might take, how many weeks or months would go by before he saw her again? The Captain realized that he had unconsciously taken several steps forward until he was pressed up against the ship’s rail, staring back longingly at the receding hill. He took a deep breath and returned to his place by the wheel. When he looked back, the hill was nearly out of sight, and the noises from the crowd had faded away. He squared his shoulders, preparing himself for the task at hand. Neither time nor distance could shake his resolve: she would be his, no matter how long he was forced to wait and languish on foreign shores. One day his patience would be rewarded, and her cruelty would give way to love. Until then he was, and indeed always would be, her most devoted servant.

Chapter Text

Pur dicesti, o bocca bella,
Quel soave e caro sì,
Che fatutto il mio piacer.

Per onor di sua facella
Con un bacio Amor t'aprì,
Dolce fonte del goder, ah!

Beautiful mouth, at last you have spoken
that gentle, lovable "yes"
that makes my joy complete.
In his own honor
Love has opened you with a kiss,
o sweet fountain of pleasure.

He waved off his manservant impatiently, momentarily annoyed by the hustle and bustle around him. His irritation faded as he heard the church bells begin to ring ten o’clock. In a few short hours they would ring again, joyfully and with abandon. After his patience, his careful courtship, she had finally said that blessed word “yes”, accepting his heart and offering hers in return. He’d seen in her eyes that she’d grown to love him just as much as he adored her. From the moment they’d both been introduced he’d seen something special, something different about her that set her apart from the other giggling and gossiping girls her age. There was a quiet reserve in her demeanor that made him feel like an awkward giant, stumbling over his feet and words in her presence. Hardly a conversation took place that he didn’t come away mentally kicking himself for saying something doltish. But she’d overlooked that failing, she’d listened to him and waited for him to get a grip on himself and speak to her like a man. And when he’d finally mustered the courage to ask for her hand, she’d said that one word, “yes”, that would change his life forever. Smiling, he let his manservant resume fussing over his clothes. He had to look perfect today, for her.

Chapter Text

Già il sole dal Gange
Più chiaro sfavilla,
E terge ogni stilla
Dell'alba che piange.

Col raggio dorato
Ingemma ogni stello,
E gli astri del cielo
Dipinge nel prato.

Already, from over the Ganges, the sun
Sparkles more brightly
And dries every drop
of the dawn, which weeps.

With the gilded ray
It adorns each blade of grass;
And the stars of the sky
It paints in the field.

The boy held his breath as he carefully slid the cottage door shut behind him. He released it with a sigh as he heard it click shut, the hinges offering no squeak of sound to give away his escape. The faintest hint of dawn was beginning to show over the horizon, and he raced towards the river, hoping he wouldn’t be too late. He reached the banks and hid in a large ditch covered by foliage. Stories had been around for years about what happened on the river at the dawn of midsummer, and this year he was determined to see the truth for himself. He’d found the ditch a week earlier and had hidden it from view until only the most astute observer could tell it was different from the surrounding tangle of grasses. Breathless, he peeked over the edge of the ditch, his eyes locked on the dark water of the river as it lazily flowed southward. He did not move a muscle, not when his nose itched, not even when a small spider scuttled across his hand. He’d waited nearly an hour before he saw it. The sun had begun to turn the water a shimmering gold, and as the light reflected off the waves a tiny light flew to join it. Another pinprick of light joined the first, then another, until a swarm of tiny lights circled above the water. They were like fireflies, but larger and more graceful, and they skimmed among the waves in the morning light. Their whirling dance sped up until the entire river seemed to glitter and sparkle with reflected light from the sun and from the tiny creatures. This went on until the final curve of the sun cleared the horizon. Then, as suddenly as they’d come, the tiny dancers faded away, returning to burrows beneath the grasses or out into the hills, to hide themselves away for another year. The boy waited, but they did not reappear. He heard a church bell begin to ring, and knew he should return before his mother noticed his absence. Still, he walked as though entranced, the memory of the tiny lights filling his mind. He knew now that the stories had been true: faeries were real, and their dance was the most beautiful and magical thing he’d ever seen.

Chapter Text

Amarilli, mia bella,
Non credi, o del mio cor dolce desio,
D'esser tu l'amor mio?
Credilo pur: e se timor t'assale,
Dubitar non ti vale.
Aprimi il petto e vedrai scritto in core:
Amarilli, Amarilli, Amarailli
è il mio amore.

Amaryllis, my lovely one,
do you not believe, o my heart's sweet desire,
That you are my love?
Believe it thus: and if fear assails you,
Doubt not its truth.
Open my breast and see written on my heart:
Amaryllis, Amaryllis, Amaryllis,
Is my beloved.

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It seemed like hours that he stood at the crossroads, looking down on the mist-shrouded valley below. He had watched the sun rise above the hills. Early morning travelers had passed him by, carrying their packs loaded with goods for trading in the next town, or the next after that. Over and over he went over in his head the words he’d last spoken to her – had he seemed too harsh, too demanding? But she knew how he loved her—no, not love. Love was not a deep enough emotion to truly express how much he desired her, worshipped her, lived for her alone. It was only her hesitation that made him react that way, surely she could see that, surely…He shifted weight and grunted as he felt the stiffness in his muscles. He stretched his neck and heard it crackle. Then his heart stopped as he felt a hand brush along his shoulder. He leaped forward and spun, hand reaching for a knife that he kept at his belt. There she stood, leaning on the signpost that pointed the way north to the mountain pass. “I told you I’d be here. Did you think that anything in the world would stop me? My father does not have that sort of power, nor does my mother. I only wavered because I feared for your safety if we were caught.”

Well,” he said, recovering from his shock enough to catch his breath. “We’d best be on our way then.”

She nodded and walked forward, taking his hand. Beaming unashamedly, he led her up the path towards the distant mountains and freedom.

Chapter Text

Danza, danza, fanciulla,
al mio cantar;
danza, danza fanciulla gentile,
al mio cantar.
Gira leggera, sottile al suono,
al suono dell'onde del mar.
Senti il vago rumore
dell'aura scherzosa
che parla al core
con languido suon,
e che invita a danzar
senza posa, senza posa,
che invita a danzar.
Danza, danza, fanciulla gentile,
al mio cantar.

Dance, dance, young girl
to my song;
Dance, dance, gentle young girl
to my song;
Twirl lightly and softly to the sound,
to the sound of the waves of the sea.
Hear the vague rustle
of the playful breeze
that speaks to the heart
with its languid sound,
and invites you to dance
without stopping, without stopping
that invites you to dance.
Dance, dance, gentle young girl
to my song.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

His smile was so rakish that she had half a mind to refuse him, just to see the look on his face, but before she could utter a word the music had begun and she was in his arms, her movement effortless as he guided her through the many weaving and spinning couples circling the ballroom. He had not been boasting – he really could dance! She felt breathless from the sheer speed of his turns. Her body felt as though it no longer belonged to her at all; she was his until he chose to let her go. She squeaked as she felt herself pass within a hairsbreadth of another couple, and he chuckled. “Don’t you trust me?”

She made the mistake of meeting his eyes and her retort died in her throat. He laughed again and with one motion they’d left the mass of dancers, whirling their way out onto the terrace. The sounds of the instruments faded, replaced by the dull roar of the waves far below them as the ocean met the rocky shore. Soon she could hear nothing at all but the pounding of her heart and softer, slower, the beat of his within his chest. Almost imperceptibly they began to slow, both so lost in one another’s presence that neither seemed to notice. Somehow her head had moved to rest on his breast, his hands had pulled her closer and closer. When they finally halted the world seemed as though it still spun around her, and as his lips met hers she felt as though she were dancing still.

Chapter Text

Nina

Tre giorni son che Nina
In letto se ne sta.
Il sonno l'assassina
Svegliatela, per pietà!

E cimbali e timpani e pifferi,
Svegliatemi Ninetta
Perchè non dorma più

For three days Nina has stayed in her bed.
The slumber is killing her.
Please waken her!

Cymbals, drums, and shawms,
waken my little Nina,
so she may not sleep any more.

Night had fallen over the little town, and one by one the lights in each house were extinguished. Finally, only one house remained lit. It was a small cottage, with only one large room, near the edge of town by the river. A candle was burning in the window, and another at the bedside of a young woman. She was around 16, her long blonde hair darkened with sweat, and though she tossed and turned with fever her eyes never opened. An old woman sat at her bedside, frowning as she felt the girl’s forehead for the hundredth time. She froze as she heard a soft scratching at the door, then sighed and went to answer it. She opened the door to reveal a young man with disheveled black hair and a threadbare tunic. There were dark circles around his haunted eyes, and he stared past her into the room where the girl lay. “My apologies for disturbing you, I just…how is she?”

The old woman looked at him pityingly. “She is the same as this afternoon. There is nothing to be done but wait.” Seeing the heartbreak in the boy’s eyes, she laid a soft hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Kurt. You will know soon enough if anything changes.”

The boy nodded and she closed the door once more. Listening closely, she heard the boy take a step away from the door, then sit on the ground beneath the window. She returned to watch over the sick young woman, knowing that she was no longer waiting alone. There was no crime in letting him stay, and his prayers could perhaps do what hers could not. For the time being, Nina slumbered on.

Chapter Text

Rugiadose Odorose
Violette graziose,
Voi vi state Vergognose,
Mezzo ascose Fra le foglie,

E sgridate
Le mie voglie,
Che son troppo ambiziose.

Dewy Scented
Pretty violets,
You are standing Shy,
Half hidden Among the leaves,

And you scold
My desires,
That are too ambitious.

The group of picnickers departed, laughing as they made their way back down the grassy hill towards their carriages. They did not realize that a pair of sparkling green eyes watched their every move. Hidden among a stand of violets, a sprite lurked beneath a leaf. Her form was that of a beautiful woman in miniature, her brown hair cropped to fall just above her shoulders, her delicate hands no larger than a leaf of clover. A pair of translucent wings lay flat along her back. She stared at the receding form of a young man in a brown coat, her gaze full of both longing and sadness. It was only once they had gone that she ventured out from her hiding place and onto the soft, springy grass. The beautiful April sky was dotted with white clouds, and the sun shone upon every leaf and flower with equal radiance, yet the sprite saw none of nature’s beauty. Lost in melancholy, she pressed a hand into the indentation that came from the footprint of one of the young men who had ventured onto the hill. “If only I could speak to him. But as I am now, he might not even hear my words. He might mistake me for an insect and crush me with one strong hand. Sometimes, I wish he would.” She glanced back at the violets that had afforded her shelter. “What say you? Should I make myself known to him? Or should I crush my own feelings and hide once more – a creature in the woods, not a person.”

The violets did not answer her, nor did she expect them to. Violets were quiet flowers, not like some, and she had chosen them as her sanctuary for that reason. But as she wandered through the trampled grass she heard a wind rustle through the leaves of the little violets, and she knew they disapproved of her. Still, she could not abandon the glorious vision she had created, and as she lay down in one of the many hollows created by boot-shod feet on soft earth, she found herself hoping that some mysterious force in the universe would bring him back to the hill, to her waiting arms. Closing her eyes, she let the heat of the day wash over her and escaped into her dreams.

Chapter Text

Vergin, tutt'amor,
o madre di bontade,
o madre pia, ascolta, dolce Maria
la voce del peccator.
Il pianto suo ti muova,
giungano a te i suoi lamenti,
suo duol, suoi tristi accenti;
senti pietoso quel tuo cor.
O madre di bontade,
Vergin, tutt'amor.

Virgin, all made of love,
mother of goodness,
pious mother—hark, sweet Mary,
the sinner's voice.
May his cry move you,
may to you come his laments,
his sorrow, his sad words;
may you feel pity in your heart.
Oh, mother of goodness,
all made of love.

He knelt at the base of the Virgin’s statue, one hand resting heavily on the inscribed front. Grief shook his shoulders, along with bone-deep exhaustion, but he found the strength to beg. “Please, Mother Mary,” he rasped. “Not her, too. Not my little girl.”

He could not bear it if he lost Doretta to the same illness had taken his dearest Annina just the month before. His daughter lay ill at home, carefully nursed by her grandmother, but nothing seemed to help her condition. The fever just rose. He couldn’t give up, but despair threatened to overwhelm him every time he contemplated life without her. All around, the cemetery was quiet and still, a reminder of how the world would be the moment Doretta took her final breath. He ought to have gone to church to pray, but he trusted that the Holy Mother would hear him no matter where he was. And he wanted to be near his Annina. Their little one was so close to joining her in death, after all. If Blessed Mary would only help them, would intercede, then perhaps he could keep Doretta by his side for a while longer. But the statue gave him no sign that his prayer had been heard. No miracle arrived from the heavens. There was only pitiless silence, and the sound of his own ragged breath.

Chapter Text

Lasciatemi morire!
E chi volete voi che mi conforte
in così dura sorte,
in così gran martire?
Lasciatemi morire!

Let me die!
and what do you think can comfort me
in such harsh fate,
in such great suffering?
Let me die!

The only advantage she had left was the barrenness of the sands. At least, when the island’s beasts finally came to feast upon her flesh, she would see them coming. The waves lapped against the shore, taunting her with reminders of home. How often had she listened to the gentle sound of the ocean from her bedroom window? Then it had been a comfort; now it was a threat. Incoming tide would force her further ashore, into the lair of whatever predators stalked the island’s cliffs.

Pain tore at her insides. How could she have been abandoned, discarded this way? He had seemed so honest in his professions of love. She was not wise in the ways of men, but she was no fool either. She would not have forsaken her family, her country, had she not been absolutely certain . . .

Wind whistled ominously through the crags of the surrounding bluffs, raising goosebumps on her arms. The agony inside her began to harden into an emotion she barely recognized: hatred. She hated him now, more than she had ever loved him. Eyes shut tight, she prayed to any God that would listen, begging them to wreck his ship, to cast him into the waves and drag him to the bottom of the sea. And in the same breath, she pleaded for death to take her as well. It was not that she could not live without him. Rather, she could not live with the shame of having lost him. It was too much for anyone to bear.

Chapter Text

Alma del core,
Spirto dell'alma,
Sempre costante t'adorerò!
Sarò contento
Nel mio tormento
Se quel bel labbro baciar potrò

Soul of my heart,
Spirit of my soul,
Always constant, I shall adore you!
I will be contented
In my torment
If only I could kiss those beautiful lips.

The wedding was small and furtive, less a celebration than a transaction in a dark alley. Yet for the bride, it might as well have taken place in the grand cathedral of Milan. She was radiant, her joy transforming her ordinary Sunday dress into a gown fit for a queen. She clung to her bridegroom’s arm as the priest, a weedy man with small, shifting eyes, read through the time-honored text of the ceremony. She didn’t mind that he rushed through bits; they had only scrounged a few coins to pay him with, and he was risking his reputation to wed them anyway. Most priests looked down on women in her . . . condition. The slim cut of the dress could not hide the evidence of a swelling stomach, a mark of her shame. But the babe was most certainly Matteo’s, and he seemed as ready to be a father as she was to bear his child. This marriage would give them some aspect of respectability, even if their child was born a mere six months after the wedding. People would forget, in time. Gossips would move on to other low-hanging fruit. And she would have Matteo.

As the priest concluded, she tilted her head upward, ready to receive the kiss that would bind them together for eternity. In that moment, she knew she’d never be happier.

Chapter Text

Come raggio di sol mite e sereno,
Sovre placidi flutti si riposa,
Mentre del mare nel profondo seno
Sta la tempesta ascosa:

Così riso talor gaio e pacato
Di contento, di gioia un labbro infiora,
Mentre nel suo segreto il cor piagato
S'angoscia e si martora.

Like a sunbeam, mild and serene,
upon placid waves seeks repose,
whilst within the sea's deep clutches
a tempest lies hidden:

So a blithe and calm smile sometimes
lets one's lips exude contentment,
midst the hidden sufferings of a wounded heart.

She was as calm and unruffled as a lake on a summer’s day. Before her, a diplomat bowed deferentially, just one of a hundred guests she’d greeted so far. The party dazzled with light, music drifting from the string ensemble in the corner and weaving though the many threads of conversation. There was laughter, gaiety. And none of it mattered.

On her left-hand side stood her husband, dashing as always in red and black. His military distinctions, all honorary, gleamed upon his broad chest. He chuckled as he took the Prussian ambassador’s hand. You louse, she thought, though she kept her face composed.

His gaze met hers for just a moment, and she felt her breath catch. He had such beautiful eyes: green with flecks of gold. She’d loved those eyes once, loved the man who’d looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. She knew better now. He may have been the only man she’d ever loved, but he’d loved many women before and after meeting her. Their marriage was a sham, a cover for his many indiscretions. But though half the court was probably aware of her husband’s philandering, she would not flaunt her displeasure with him publicly. He did enough flaunting for the both of them, anyway.