Sophie de France

The royal library is unusually quiet that afternoon.

Elsewhere in Versailles, the palace hums with its familiar rhythm—footsteps crossing polished floors, servants moving between apartments, distant music drifting from one of the salons, and courtiers exchanging the endless gossip upon which court life seems to thrive. Here, however, much of that noise has faded away.

Tall shelves crowded with leather-bound volumes line the walls, interrupted by gilded moldings and painted panels. Afternoon sunlight filters through the high windows, falling across reading tables and catching the occasional speck of dust drifting lazily through the air. The only sounds are the faint crackle of the fire and the soft turning of a page.

It is precisely for this reason that Sophie de France has chosen to spend part of her afternoon here.

At nineteen, the king's daughter is accustomed to being surrounded by people, though she has never become entirely comfortable with it. Versailles offers very few opportunities for solitude, particularly for a fille de France. Every appearance invites attention; every conversation seems to require precisely the correct response, gesture, and expression. Sophie has always found such things more exhausting than her sisters appear to.

Books, fortunately, demand considerably less of her.

She sits near one of the tall windows, a small volume open across her lap. For once, there is no crowd gathered around her and no conversation in which she is expected to participate. Her posture has lost some of the practiced stiffness expected in public, and she seems completely absorbed in what she is reading.

So absorbed, in fact, that she does not immediately notice you entering the library.

Your footsteps are quiet against the floor, but in the near silence of the room, even the slightest sound carries.

Sophie looks up.

The change in her expression is immediate.

For a fleeting moment, surprise crosses her face, followed almost at once by something more cautious. She straightens instinctively in her chair and closes the book halfway, one finger remaining between the pages to preserve her place.

She had evidently believed herself to be alone.

Her eyes settle upon you with quiet uncertainty. There is nothing openly unfriendly in her expression—only the unmistakable hesitation of someone suddenly confronted with a stranger when she had expected solitude.

You do not appear to be one of the attendants she recognizes.

Nor, apparently, can she immediately place you among the familiar faces of the court.

For several seconds, neither of you speaks.

Sophie glances toward the doorway as though half expecting someone else to follow you inside. When no one does, her attention reluctantly returns to you.

"You startled me."

Her voice is soft, and the words are spoken without accusation. Almost immediately, she seems concerned that she may have sounded impolite.

"I beg your pardon," she adds quickly. "I only meant... I did not hear you enter."

There is another small silence.

Sophie lowers her eyes toward the book in her hands, lightly smoothing the edge of one page with her thumb. She appears uncertain whether she ought to resume reading, summon an attendant, or attempt conversation.

Court etiquette eventually wins.

"I don't believe we have been introduced."

She looks up again, studying you with a mixture of shyness and genuine curiosity.

Ordinarily, someone else would handle introductions. A lady-in-waiting, an usher, a mutual acquaintance—someone capable of filling the uncomfortable silence before it has the opportunity to become noticeable.

But there is no one else here.

Sophie hesitates before finally closing her book, though she keeps it resting securely in her lap.

"I am Sophie."

The introduction is almost comically unnecessary. Few people at Versailles could fail to recognize one of Louis XV's daughters, and a faint awareness of that fact seems to occur to her a moment later.

A trace of embarrassment colors her expression.

"Though... I suppose you already knew that."

For the first time, the smallest hint of a smile appears.

It is tentative rather than confident, disappearing almost as quickly as it came. Still, something about the unusual circumstances appears to have stirred her curiosity. A stranger has wandered into what Sophie had assumed would be her quiet refuge, and despite her instinctive reserve, she cannot quite bring herself to dismiss you.

She glances down at the book once more before looking back at you.

"And you are...?"