Waters of Versailles Read Online Free PDF

were as translucent as soap bubbles.
    â€œYou won a lot of bets today,” he said.
    â€œGood girls win.” She dropped the coin into the pond and peered up at him, eyes wide and imploring.
    He cut her off before she could speak. “No singing, only work.”
    â€œYou sang once.”
    He had, that was true. How could she remember? He’d nearly forgotten himself. He had crouched at the edge of a high mountain cataract with icy mist spraying his face and beading on his hair, singing a shepherd’s tune to lure her into his canteen. She’d been no bigger than a tadpole, but she could flip and jump through the massive rapids as if it took no effort at all.
    She had grown so much in the past two years. From smaller than his thumb to the size of a half-grown child. Full growth from egg in just two years.
    But two years was a lifetime ago, and those mountains now seemed unreachable and remote. He wouldn’t think about it. He had an evening of entertainments to attend, and after that, much work to do.
    -8-
    Sylvain had almost drifted off when Annette dug her toes into the muscle of his calf. He rolled over and pretended to sleep.
    He had given her an afternoon of ardent attention and finished up splayed across her bed, fully naked, spent, and sweating. Though he was bone tired from long nights planning the palace’s new array of velvet tubes, he had given Annette a very good facsimile of devotion and several hours of his time. Surely she couldn’t want more from him.
    She raked her toenails down his calf again. Sylvain cracked an eyelid, trying for the lazy gaze of the Versailles sybarite. Annette reclined in the middle of the bed draped in a scrap of pink chiffon. The short locks of her own dark hair curled over her ears like a boy’s. She had ripped the wig from his head earlier, and he had responded by pulling hers off as well, more gently but with equal enthusiasm.
    â€œNo sleeping, Sylvain. Not here. You must be prepared to leap from the window if my husband arrives.”
    â€œYou want me to dash naked through the gardens in full view of half the court? My dear woman, it would mean my death and your disappointment.” He couldn’t suppress a yawn. “The ladies would hound after me day and night.”
    â€œI forgot that about you,” she said under her breath.
    Sylvain rolled to his feet and lifted a silken shawl off the floor. He wrapped it around his hips like a savage and returned to bed. He lifted an eyebrow, inviting her to continue, but she had begun playing with a pot of cosmetic.
    â€œWhat did you forget about me?” If she meant to insult him, he intended to know.
    She put her foot in his lap. “I forgot that you are a singular man.”
    That didn’t sound like an insult. Sylvain let a smile touch his lips. “Is that your own assessment, or do others speak of me as a singular man?”
    â€œMy judgment alone. How many people in the palace ever take a moment to think of anyone other than themselves? Even I, as extraordinary as I am, rarely find a moment to notice the existence of others. Life is so full.” She nudged him with her toe.
    â€œIn this moment, then, before it passes, tell me what you mean by singular .” To encourage her, he took her foot in both hands and squeezed.
    A dimple appeared on her cheek. “It is a contradiction and a conundrum. By singular , I mean the exact opposite. You are at least three or four men where many others have trouble achieving more than a half manhood.”
    â€œFlattery. Isn’t that my role?”
    â€œI mean no flattery. Quite the opposite, in fact.” She dipped her finger into the cosmetic pot and daubed her pout with glossy pigment. Then she stretched herself back on the velvet pillows, arching as he kneaded her toes.
    â€œSylvain the wit may be a good guest to have at a dinner party but no better than any other man with some quickness about him. Sylvain the