The Diamond Slipper

Prologue

Paris, 1765

"No… please, no more." The words emerged as barely a breath through the woman's dry, cracked lips. Feebly she tried to push aside the silver chalice held to her mouth.

"You must take it, my dear. It will make you well." The man held her head in the crook of his elbow. Her eyes were closed and she was too weak to resist as he tipped the contents of the chalice down her throat. At the familiar bittersweet taste, the woman groaned faintly. Her head fell back against his arm, and gently he lowered her head to the pillow. He hung over her, staring down at her beautiful white face, the skin so translucent he could almost see through to the bones of her skull. Then her eyes opened. For a moment they were as clear and brilliant as they had ever been.

For a long moment, her dying gaze held his. Then her eyelids dropped, her lips parted on a struggling sob of a breath.

The man stepped back into the shadows of the bed-curtains. He took up a glass of wine from the bedside table and sipped, his cold brown gaze never leaving the woman's face. It wouldn't be long now.

A whimpering snuffle came from beyond the bed-curtains. He moved them aside and stepped into the warm, firelit chamber. A nurse sat beside the fire, rocking a double cradle with her foot.

"Should I bring the babes to her, Your Highness?"

The man went over to the cradle. He looked down into two matching pairs of bright blue eyes, two sets of rosy cheeks, four dimpled fists clutched on top of the pale pink blankets.

Were they his? He would never know. And it didn't matter now. "Yes," he said. "They will bring the princess comfort, but don't let them tire her."

"No, of course not, sir." The nurse bent to scoop up the two snuffling bundles. She smiled and kissed them. "There, my pretties, your mama is waiting to see you." She carried her burden to the bed.

The prince sipped his wine and stared into the fire. The nurse returned the infants to their cradle in a very few minutes. "Her highness is so weak. I don't believe she'll last the night," she said sadly.

The prince didn't reply. He returned to his deathwatch in the shadows of the bedcurtains, listening to the rattle of his wife's labored breathing. He was still there when the sound stopped.

He approached the bedside, leaned over, pressed his lips to hers, felt their cold deadness, the total absence of spirit in her body. He straightened slowly and lifted the woman's fragile right wrist. He unclasped the charm bracelet she wore, holding it up to the dim light of the lamp burning at the bedside. The dainty charms glittered and glowed, shockingly frivolous in this dark chamber of death. He slipped the bracelet into his pocket and called for the nurse.