Chapter 20: The Trap That Can’t Be Resisted
Vivienne had just gotten out of the kitchen when she saw Madame Lefevre pass by in the corridor.
Her body stiffened at once, as if her spine had just turned into a wooden stick. Her arms went straight to her sides and she stood tall, chin tucked, hands folded like some proper maid. Then, after three seconds, her brain finally caught up with her body.
"What the hell, Vivienne," she thought. "You’re not actually a maid. Why are you acting like some soldier at roll call? You’re a thief, you idiot. You’re supposed to sneak, not salute."
Her heart was pounding. She thought Madame Lefevre would stop her, scold her, demand to know where she’d been all morning. She even pictured herself getting dragged by the ear, exposed, ruined.
But to her greatest shock, Madame Lefevre didn’t even look her way. She just walked past with her usual stiff face, skirts brushing the marble floor like nothing at all was wrong.
Vivienne’s mouth opened a little. "That’s... strange," she whispered. She almost wanted to check if the woman was real.
Still confused, she hurried along the corridor and headed to her tiny little room she shared with Genevieve.
Inside, Genevieve was kneeling over a pile of laundry, folding clothes like a saint who had nothing better to do. Vivienne didn’t even bother to greet her. She staggered straight to her own tiny bed and fell backward onto it like a corpse returning to the grave.
"I am so exhausted," she thought, staring at the cracked ceiling. "I had to smile so much today I thought my face would actually tear apart. My jaw hurts. I swear if I smile one more time I’ll end up in the infirmary."
Genevieve gave her a light tap on the leg. "Where were you this morning? You weren’t here when I woke up."
Vivienne rolled her head toward her, already annoyed. She needed a lie and she needed it fast. "I had to run some errands for his grace."
Genevieve blinked. That seemed good enough. She just nodded slowly, picked up her basket of folded clothes, and left without asking more questions.
Vivienne exhaled loudly once the door closed. Then she covered her face with both hands and groaned.
"I can’t keep this up. I’ll lose my mind."
When she finally dropped her hands and looked back up, the cracked ceiling greeted her again. It was always the ceiling. It was becoming her best friend at this point. She whispered to it like it was alive.
"I have to find that horse tonight."
That was the plan. Always the plan.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Vivienne.
She washed clothes. She scrubbed until her knuckles were raw and her fingers looked like they belonged to an old woman. Water splashed into her eyes, her back ached, and every time she wrung out another wet sheet, she wanted to scream. Her hands were pale and sore by the end, the skin peeling like thin paper.
When she was finally done, she looked outside the narrow window and saw that it was already late.
Her body begged her to give up. To go back to the little bed and close her eyes. Her muscles shouted at her. Her eyelids hung heavy. Her body whispered, "Forget the gold, Vivienne. Just one night. Just one night of sleep. You’ll die if you don’t sleep."
But her mind didn’t care. Her mind screamed louder. "No. You have to find it. You have to find that damn horse. You can’t stay here another night like this. If you sleep, he wins. Wake up. Wake up!"
It became a war. Her body begging for rest. Her mind demanding movement. And somehow, some cursed way, her mind won. She forced herself upright, biting her tongue to stay awake, and began preparing.
---
Meanwhile, André sat in his room.
The room was dimly lit, candles flickering against the gold frames of portraits that looked down like silent judges.
André sat on a velvet chair, wearing only his robe. He didn’t look tired at all. He looked calm. Too calm. His eyes were sharp, his smile soft, and in his hand he turned a glass of red wine slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.
He was waiting.
He knew she would return.
He wasn’t even questioning it. The moment he had seen her sneaking eyes, the restless way she scanned the hall last night, he had known. She was looking for something.
Tonight she’d come back.
André tilted his head back and chuckled quietly.
"She must be running away from me," he thought. "And that makes me want to cage her even more. She’ll look so lovely behind bars."
His smile stretched, almost too wide, before he calmly sipped his wine.
---
Midnight came.
Genevieve was fast asleep, breathing softly like an angel. Vivienne sat up slowly, careful not to make the bed creak. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs as if her own chest wanted to give her away.
She crept to the door, bare feet silent against the cold floor, and slipped out into the corridor.
The air felt colder at night. The walls darker. Every sound echoed. She moved quickly, her eyes darting left and right, her breath caught in her throat.
And then she was there—at the duke’s chambers again.
Her fingers hesitated at the door. One wrong move and he’d wake. He’d be there. She’d be caught. But she pushed anyway, careful, careful, her whole body shaking.
Inside, it was quiet.
The main chamber was empty, dim, perfectly still. The bed was untouched. He wasn’t here.
"Good," she whispered. Relief poured into her chest.
She wasted no time. She began searching the rest of the rooms connected to his chambers.
One by one.
She pushed open doors, crept inside, searched corners, and peeked under furniture. But nothing. Just rooms filled with couches and chaises, cushions and empty armoires. Room after room of nothing.
It was maddening.
"What a waste of time," she muttered through gritted teeth. "There’s nothing here."
She leaned against a wall, rubbing her sore temples. Where could it be? Where would he keep a treasure like that?
Her stomach twisted as the thought formed.
"What if... it’s in his room? What if it’s right where he sleeps?"
She closed her eyes and groaned.
"It makes sense, doesn’t it? If I had a stash of treasures, I’d keep it close. He probably has some little room inside his chamber. Some chest. Some key. Something."
She almost gagged at her own realization.
"That means... I’ll have to see him. I’ll have to go in there. I’ll have to..." She nearly bit her tongue just to keep from spitting it out. "I’ll have to maybe fuck him if I have to. Then wait until he falls asleep and search."
The thought alone made her skin crawl. Her stomach turned like sour milk. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to scream.
But she had no choice.
She leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it was God himself.
"Why me? Why always me?"
Meanwhile, in his chamber, André sat with his robe slightly open, smiling into the darkness.
He was nearly trembling with anticipation.
"She’ll come," he whispered. "She can’t resist."
His eyes glowed with something too close to madness.