I hadn’t eaten an orange in ages, and I’d never seen an orange tree. They were rare in France, and incredibly expensive. Sometimes at Christmas, Papa Noël would bring me one, and sometimes my papa brought one back from court. There were two sets of steps leading down to the Orangerie from the terrace. After descending one, we came across an open door leading into the Orangerie’s indoor galleries.
“Should we go in?” Elodie asked, peering into the dim, shadowy room nervously.
“I don’t see why not. The door is open. And Papa’s been here before with other courtiers.”
We went inside. The air in the gallery was humid and smelled of fresh soil. Small potted trees and bushes lined both sides of the gallery, leaving only a narrow path to walk on. I ran my fingers across the soft green leaves but couldn’t tell what kind of plants they were. I didn’t see any oranges. It felt like we were walking through a miniature forest.
“It’s lovely in here,” whispered Elodie, stopping to inspect one of the trees. “Is that a pomegranate? I’ve never seen a pomegranate before! Only in books!”
Elodie reached for the red fruit and ran her fingers across it gently.
“Where’s Marius?” I asked, realizing that he’d wandered off while we were examining the trees.
“Through here!”
I turned to see Marius up ahead of us, disappearing around a corner. We followed him.
“Come see!” he called.
It was an orange tree, my height or perhaps a little taller, and absolutely covered in huge oranges that hung heavy on the branches. A lonely little orange lay on the ground just underneath the tree. I bent down to pick it up. I would never dare pick one of the king’s oranges for myself, but surely he wouldn’t mind if we took one that had already fallen.
I turned to Elodie and Marius. “Should we share it?”
“Yes!” Marius said eagerly.
Elodie frowned at us. “You two are really going to steal one of the king’s oranges?”
“It was already on the ground,” I said. “It’ll go bad if we don’t take it, so I’m sure he won’t mind.”
She stared at me for a second, then shrugged. “That’s a good point.”
“We should find someplace to eat this that isn’t here. It’s . . . pretty, I guess, but far too hot,” said Marius while he warily poked at the skin of the orange as if he expected it to burst.
“Let’s find a quiet place farther out in the gardens. There might be less people there.”
“What are you doing?” someone behind me said, loud and imperious.
I turned slowly, my heart jolting in my chest. The owner of the voice was a boy, maybe a year or two older than me, with dark brown hair and a sneer etched onto his face, standing on the path behind us, blocking our way back. He wore a golden embroidered justaucorps and a ridiculously lacy cravat at his throat. With him was another boy and two girls. The girls stood arm in arm, wearing matching green silk dresses with pristine lacy white petticoats. Both girls had silver-blond hair that glowed in the sunlight. They had to be sisters. Lady Françoise always cooed over baby sisters who wore matching outfits, but the mother of these girls had continued the style long beyond the age it was considered to be sweet.
“I said, what are you doing?” the boy said, taking a step toward us, his red high-heeled shoes crunching on the gravel path.
I took a step back instinctively. I wouldn’t usually be afraid with Marius and Elodie by my side, but he was quite tall, nearly as tall as a full-grown man. He was also clearly highborn. By the state of their clothes, I’d say all four were highborn.
“Exploring the Orangerie,” I said, glad my voice didn’t tremble even though I nearly lost my grip on the orange.
“Who gave you permission to explore the Orangerie? No one is supposed to be in here.”
“You’re in here, aren’t you?” I asked. “I thought it was open to the public.”
“You thought wrong. And I don’t need permission.”
The other boy, who had been standing behind the rest of his group examining the orange tree next to him, stepped forward and put his hand on the mean boy’s arm. “We received special permission from the king to visit the Orangerie. There really isn’t supposed to be anyone else here. My brother is correct about that.”
He smiled at me and shrugged his shoulders, as if in apology. His eyes were green and clear, and he seemed a little shy, glancing at me and then looking away when our eyes met. I was surprised that the boys were brothers, and much preferred the younger boy’s shyness to his brother’s rudeness.
“Yes, no one is supposed to be here but us,” the shorter girl said, eyeing Elodie and Marius. “Is that an apron?” she asked Elodie with flagrant distaste.
Elodie opened her mouth to reply, her cheeks bright red, when the taller girl cut in, completely ignoring her.
“Of course it’s an apron, Alexandre. She’s obviously a servant. Which is why you,” she said, directing her comments to me, “shouldn’t have brought them here. The only servants allowed in Versailles are footmen or lady’s maids.”
“Actually, they are my footman and lady’s maid,” I said, my words short and clipped.
I was trying to remain polite, but the girl had upset me.
Her eyes widened. She glanced at the one named Alexandre and mouthed something to her that I couldn’t make out. The tall boy in the golden justaucorps leaned in to listen and smirked at whatever they were saying.
The girl turned back to me. “They’re your footman and lady’s maid?”
When I nodded, she continued. “You must be new at court, aren’t you? At Versailles, footmen and lady’s maids don’t wear . . . rags like those.” The girl glanced disdainfully at their clothing. “Surely it’s embarrassing for you to wander about with servants dressed so poorly.”
I wanted to snap back at them, but there was nothing I could say that these girls would listen to, much less a defense of Marius’s and Elodie’s sturdy but simple clothing.
“Severine, please. You’re being rude,” the younger boy said.
He attempted to walk over to the girls, but his brother grabbed his arm and held him back.
“Severine is asking a perfectly valid question. Why is this girl wandering about where she shouldn’t be with shabbily attired servants?”
“Based on what she’s wearing, I’d guess she was from the country. That dress is positively rustic,” Severine said, her mouth twisted up as if she’d tasted something sour.