The duchess stops. Her gaze grows more direct, without artifice or indulgence.
— You are a man to be trusted, Henri. Trustworthy men are rare.
He inclines his head. He understands what she expects of him. It is neither love nor desire — but a discipline of power, a way of keeping things in order.
In this garden where everything seems to breathe reason, Henri nonetheless feels each step carrying him a little further from himself.
