To Serve a King by Donna Russo Morin Page B

furniture and courtiers to the long head table and placed her in one of the two vacant chairs in the center of the banquet, with a shallow bow over her hand. He sat beside her, turning to his companions who filled the table to his right. Chabot and d’Annebault sat in the row, as did the king’s youngest children, his son Charles—the duc d’Orléans—and daughter Marguerite, both blossoms of young adulthood. On the queen’s side of the table, Constable Montmorency sat after the Dauphin and his wife.
    Two main tables abutted that of the king, perpendicular to his and equally spaced. At one, the duchesse d’Étampes perched herself at the end, nearest to the king, and Arabelle led Geneviève to sit with their mistress, finding a place amidst other courtiers, many of whom looked upon Geneviève with undisguised curiosity.
    At the opposite table sat the Dauphin’s mistress and her own entourage of ladies and gents.
    The king seated and each player to their place, servants flocked through the room, huge silver platters piled with every possible delectable held aloft, the first placed upon the perfumed linens of the king’s table.
    With a hearty laugh encouraging everyone to imbibe, the king dug in to the meat course, crowned by a slab of venison from the very stag caught this day. With the venison came partridge, wild boar, and rabbit, succulent and juicy, exquisitely prepared. Sumptuously gowned and groomed courtiers tore into their food, one hand upon their knives while the other picked the food off their plates and popped each tender morsel into their mouths.
    Geneviève began her meal, so very aware of how different thisone was from every other meal in her life. Never before had she eaten in the company of so many others, having taken most of her meals alone or with her aunt. Her life of solitude was finding balance in this greatest of opposite extremes.
    “Monsieur the duc de Nevers,” Arabelle announced to Gene-viève with a nod of indication to the man beside her. “Next to him is the duc de Ventadour, and the marquis de Limoges is on his right.”
    Arabelle introduced her to the many of Anne’s noble league … their names jumbling together. To all and sundry, Geneviève responded in kind, “ Enchanté . It is my great pleasure to meet you.”
    Her lessons echoed in her ears—the repetitive drilling and recitations, the sting of her aunt’s fan had she failed to respond correctly. As her guide offered more names, Geneviève knew their positions … the prince and princesses of the blood, the courtiers and the men of the king’s chamber, and the others who were nothing more than filles de joie suivant la cour , those grasping, always hopeful court-followers. With half an ear intent upon the goings-on at the king’s table, the ladies and minor gentlemen of the king’s chamber shared the scrumptious victuals set before them.
    “What a magnificent addition to our table,” announced the marquis de Limoges, turning his attention from Jecelyn seated beside him. Geneviève felt the prick of the woman’s black gaze from beyond his shoulder.
    “You are most kind, monsieur,” Geneviève assured him.
    “Please, mademoiselle, call me Albret.” Picking up his plate, the russet-haired man stood and strode the few steps to where Geneviève sat, and squeezed his thick warrior’s body between Geneviève and Anne’s cousin, leaving behind an agitated Jecelyn. “Why have you not come to court sooner?” His wide smile and laughing brown eyes dimmed. “Tell me you are not married?”
    “Not married, no.” Geneviève shook her head, taking another small bite of the meat pie upon her plate. “I have been caring foran ailing aunt who insisted I come. She has many nurses about her now who can give her much better care than I.”
    Albret’s parodied sadness became sincere. “I am sorry for her illness, though thankful it has brought you to our door.”
    Geneviève tipped her head to the side, turning her striking