Free Before She Wakes: Forbidden Fairy Tales by Sharon Lynn Fisher

ultramarine against a cobalt sky. I wonder if my color has worked its way under his skin as his has mine. I wonder if he knows that he has freed me. His eyes flash as he meets my gaze, and he tosses his head back with a roar of pure pleasure. Whether or not we are allies, he’s right that we are kin. I understand that this freedom is like life’s blood to us both.
    I want to freeze this moment. Rest in this bliss, this perfect contentment, and forget the failure that precipitated this transformation. The decisions that I must soon make, and the perils that await in the court of the Sun King.
    —
    I’m transfixed by Paris—noises, colors, and smells, not all of them pleasing. I’ve never seen a city so large, nor so much activity all in one place. From my vantage point I like it very well, but know that I would feel small and lost in its crowded streets. Perhaps one day I will see it close up, but for now I’m relieved that we’ll meet the king at his new palace at Versailles. Roark said that the second of three building phases has just begun, and the royal family has yet to move in. But when the king is not with his army, he’s at Versailles, overseeing progress on the palace and gardens, enjoying the company of favorite courtiers—including his high-born mistresses.
    The king is still in his prime, and handsome, they say. But I know nothing of the French court and worry how I will be received. Perhaps he’ll laugh at or scorn my simplicity. Or lock me away in the Bastille for daring to address him with demands of my own.
    I am soon to find out. We alight in a clearing near the palace. The earth is torn and scarred, and carts of farm implements are scattered about. This section of the grounds is currently deserted, but soon after we arrive an armed guard marches out to meet us. Roark has already shifted, and as he strides forward to speak with the captain, I feel the falling sensation that preceded my own shift the first time.
    The captain seems to know Roark, and both appear oblivious to his nakedness. But I scramble for the leather bag Roark brought and clothe myself while a dozen men watch. They continue to eye me—with a mix of fear, curiosity, and lust—as we accompany them toward the palace.
    I have not the education to adequately describe this new palace, but it is by far the largest building I have ever seen, even in the illustrated manuscripts that made their way through our village via the Silk Road. This is a dwelling for one family, and my whole village could reside within its walls.
    We’re led through a series of large, open halls and passageways, all richly furnished and strangely silent. After a wait of perhaps a quarter of an hour in a small salon, a man and woman join us.
    “I understand you have news from the south for His Majesty, my lord Roark?” says the man, a tall fellow in a gold-embroidered crimson doublet, with dark hair cascading over his shoulders and back. He’s speaking French, and I’m grateful that my parents undertook the expense of having me tutored, though I’ve not had much use for it before now.
    “I do, my lord,” confirms Roark.
    The man nods. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll help you prepare to meet the king. The Lady Catherine will assist
la Occitane
.”
    A lovely woman in a pale blue gown steps forward, eyes sweeping over me. “I have never seen a woman in breeches,” she cries, clasping her hands and smiling brightly. “I’m delighted, but we shall have to polish you up for His Majesty.” She holds out a soft-looking white hand. “Lady Catherine Charlotte de Gramont, Princess of Monaco, and lady-in-waiting to Madame de Montespan.”
    She must be able to read my bewilderment, because she raises her hand to her cheek and whispers theatrically, “Madame is the favorite of His Majesty. Now tell me, what shall we call you other than
la Occitane
?”
    I stare at her with my mouth hanging half open like the provincial I am. How am I to introduce myself to a