"There is no longer a king of France."
That is what Louis had mumbled to himself when he had stepped out of his cell that morning, back in Varennes. Now Élise was with him in their carriage as they were being paraded through the streets of Paris, surrounded by a battalion of Gardes Françaises.
Élise and Arno sat across from each other. The king was next to him, and the queen next to her. It was a funny and powerful twist. She had led the charge of fishwives at the Palace of Versailles. She would have killed them both, or at least the king, if she had seen them there. Now she could feel and see their pain. Their destination only compounded this irony: the Tuiliers Palace, where the royalty had relocated after the raid of Versailles.
In Varennes they had been in prison for four nights. At least Arno and Élise had got their own cell after the, and the soldiers had gradually lost interest in them. It seemed, however, that even without Robespierre's influence, the king was already suspected of a sinister plot: if not going to Fort Montmédy to start a counter revolution, then fleeing to Austria to start an invasion.
Were they wrong? Élise did not remember exactly how the letter she found was worded, but if she recalled, the king had simply not confided his intentions in Germain.
The number of eyes on them thinned as they were now crossing the Seine river. Élise knew this area. They were close. This would probably be over for Élise and Arno soon, when none of the higher ups recognized them. For the king and queen this horror was only just beginning. The political waves this would make would surely be tremendous.
The carriage finished crossing the bridge. To the left were gardens at the front of palace, full of spectators kept at bay by the military. To right was the towering building of Tuileirs.
The carriage stopped.
"Everybody out, please exit from the right of the vehicle," a voice called.
The king's sister exited first. Then the royal children. Then the queen. Then the king. She could only imagine what was rushing through their heads. Then it was Arno and Élise's turn, the anomalies.
Her feet touched the Parisian pavement. But someone caught her eye, the officer waiting for them about six paces away:
Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. The most powerful Templar in the French military. She could tell he remembered her too.
Captain Brissont spoke to him, "Sir, we found these two riding along side the royalty. They claim to be simple travelers. Do you recognize them?"
"I- no. They're not among the royalty. They're surely just travelers as they say. Let them leave these royal intrigues."
"Sir, they were suspiciously well armed and -"
"Enough! Soldier, I've made my decision! Let these two go. We have enough on our plate with this royal fiasco."
"...yes sir." He turned and nodded toward them. "You heard the man. Go, you're free."
That was over even quicker than Élise expected. The others began engaging with the royalty.
"Well, that was fortunate," Arno said to her.
"Not fortune. That was Pierre Choderlos. We've met before."
"He's a Templar?"
"Yes."
Then she immediately felt stupid for letting that slip out. She should not have been giving away the identity of Templars so readily. But her lips really had loosened around him since their arrest.
"So where are we going now?" Arno asked.
"Back to the chateau. Timothee must be worried sick about us."
"Worried sick about one of us," Arno corrected.