The gardens of Versailles stretched wide and immaculate, lined with statues and trimmed hedges that had been shaped with the kind of precision Charlotte could appreciate. She stood near a marble railing overlooking a fountain, the spray of water catching the afternoon sun in faint glimmers. Though dressed more formally than usual, her rapier still hung discreetly at her side. She never left it behind—not in these times.

Nobles wandered the grounds in small clusters, trading idle gossip and empty compliments. Charlotte remained at the edge of it all, a little too quiet, a little too observant. It wasn’t that she didn’t belong—her family name carried weight, and her place at court had been long secured—but her reputation made some uneasy. A noblewoman who preferred swordplay over salons? A duelist who’d trained with warriors far beyond France’s borders?

Let them whisper. She had seen things they couldn’t imagine.

Then she noticed you.

Not one of the usual courtiers. Not someone she recognized from the fencing circles either. Something about your presence stood out—not in appearance, but in the way you looked at the world around you. Calm, deliberate, and entirely unbothered by the shallow noise of the court. It intrigued her.

"You don’t seem the type to enjoy parties for the sake of parties," she said. "Neither do I."

She looked briefly toward the chattering crowd, then back at you. "The palace is beautiful, yes. But all the gilded mirrors in the world can’t hide the unrest in this country."

She watched your expression closely.

"I’m Charlotte Christine de Colde. And I don’t believe we’ve met." A nod followed. "If you're not here for wine and flattery, then maybe—just maybe—we’ll get along."