I don’t know why I stopped to open the letter. I never have. I swore an oath not to. But there was a worry in Jean-Baptiste’s eyes when he handed me the envelope. A concern I felt was meant for me, not the recipient.

I paced the road as my horse drank from a nearby stream. I kept looking between the letter in my hand and the signpost at the intersection: Domaine de La Comtesse de Eger.

“Take it tonight Étienne,” he insisted.

“The sun will be down soon, Monsieur Lefèvre. Surely it can wait until the morning?”

“Are you afraid of the dark now?”

“No, it’s just that…”

“What, the wolves?” he laughed, meaning to shame me for even thinking it. But wild beasts were not what I feared.

“La Comtesse,” I said, glancing down at the name on the envelope, “she’s the recent arrival from Hungary?”

That’s when I saw the look.

“Yes,” he said turning, unable to hold eye contact with me. “And a shipment of her belongings is now waiting for her in the warehouse. We were given explicit instructions to send word the minute they arrived.”

Monsieur Lefèvre tried to hide his nervousness by clearing his throat and putting his hand on my shoulder as he guided me to the door.

“We won’t be disappointing her,” his voice cracked when he said it. “It’s not an option.”

“What if,” I began. “What if what they say about the Hungarians is true?”

“I’ll have none of that.” He tried to sound stern, but wasn’t very convincing.

There was a silence between us. A dead one.

“I’ll tell you what, boy. When you return, come to my place. Claire’s roasting a duck for supper, and I’ll see there’s a share left for you.”

I hadn’t had meat in weeks, and the thought of it was enough to make me set aside my superstitions. To Saint-Cloud and back would be no more than two hours.

In the distance, I heard the evening chime ring out from Saint-Roch.

“The bell’s just rung for vespers,” I said. “I’ll be back just after the lamps are lit to have that duck.”

“You will boy,” he patted my back. “A horse is waiting. Now, off you go.”

I wish I’d just ridden through. But here I am, on the side of the road holding a letter with a broken seal in a shaking hand, not sure what to do next.

Paris, the 26th of October, 1753

To La Comtesse Ilona Szabó de Eger,
Residing at Saint-Cloud,

Madame,

In accordance with your wishes, I have dispatched the boy of whom we spoke. Should his character prove equal to his reputation, he will exceed your expectations. He remains unaware of our arrangement, and I trust, as you have assured me, that no harm will come to him.

Your very humble and obedient servant,

Jean-Baptiste Lefèvre
Clerk, Office of the Royal Messengers
Rue Saint-Honoré, Paris

What had Jean-Baptiste gotten me into?

The horse tossed his head and stamped, more eager to finish the last leg of our journey than I was. Whatever this was about, Jean-Baptiste seems to have secured my safety. But that came with implied risk. What if this Comtesse doesn’t hold true to her word? I could already taste the duck in my mouth, but it wasn’t worth dying over.

I told myself that twice, then a third time, trying to force myself to believe the words alone could make it true.

There was no hope. Curiosity has always gotten the better of me, and there wasn’t going to be an exception today. The clerk was a good man, and he’d never put me in danger. I trusted in that as I climbed back into the saddle.

Not more than a few minutes down the road, the estate appeared through the early evening mist. It was a large manor that had sat empty for years before the Comtesse returned. People said she was a Habsburg, with some connection to French nobility, though I’d never heard mention of a Comte.

I secured the horse to a post and took in the view of the grounds. There weren’t many signs of activity. Some trees had been trimmed, and someone had given shape to the hedges, but the house itself needed attention. It wasn’t in disrepair, but years of neglect left their mark.

I stood there longer than I should have, staring at the windows, trying to tell if anyone was watching. Then I steeled my nerves and walked to the front door, just as the last of the day’s sun dipped behind the hills. I caught the faint smell of smoke coming from inside the house, maybe from a kitchen fire gone cold. That should have been a comfort, but somehow it wasn’t.

I looked down and brushed trail dust from my clothes. With the letter in one hand, I lifted the brass knocker and struck the door. The sound was dull and heavy, much louder than I expected. It made me conscious of myself. Instinct made me turn, wanting to leave, but the door opened at once. Someone had been waiting on the other side the whole time.

“Bonjour?” My voice broke. I tried again. “Bonjour, I have a message for—”

The door pulled open wide. Darkness hid whatever was inside, and for a moment no one spoke. I stepped back, expecting to see a servant, but the woman who appeared before me could only be the Comtesse. She was too well-dressed to be anyone else.

“Please, come in.”

“Madame,” I said, giving a slight bow while holding out the letter. I waited for her to look at it. When she didn’t, I flinched and tried to make it seem as though I’d just broken the seal in front of her. “My apologies, Madame la Comtesse.”

“It’s Mademoiselle,” she corrected, showing no interest in the letter. “And please, come in.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled back from the entry and disappeared, leaving me to follow her and close the door behind. It had been dark outside, but the house swallowed what little light was left. It took a moment for my eyes to make sense of the place.

“I’m waiting on a delivery,” she said somewhere ahead of me, as if reading my mind. “I’m low on candles and oil, but I have a lit fire in the drawing room. Come through.”

“Had I known I could have brought some,” I said, trying to sound useful. She didn’t answer. I heard only the sound of her steps on the floor ahead of me.

The warmth of the drawing room fire hit me before the light did. When I saw the Comtesse clearly for the first time, she was much younger than I would have thought. Around my age, early twenties. Not surprisingly, she was beautiful. Everyone with money was beautiful.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked in a way that felt like she was testing me.

“The letter,” I said, stepping forward, extending it to her.

“No, not that.” She took it from my hand and tossed it into the fire without even looking at it.

The hair on my arms stood up as a quiet dread crept over me. Somehow this woman, half my size, had me at her mercy.

“I saw you the other day,” she began. “I was speaking with Monsieur Lefèvre outside the messenger’s office.” She said it slowly, watching me.

“Apologies Mademoiselle, I didn’t see you.”

“But I noticed you,” she said with a smile.

She turned her back to me and walked to a small table against the far wall. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but I… I have to get back to the city. Monsieur Lefèvre’s wife has duck waiting for me.”

I didn’t know what was happening, but no part of it felt right. I’d delivered the letter, that’s all I was required to do. Whatever ‘arrangement’ Jean-Baptiste had with this woman… I never agreed to anything.

“One glass, Étienne,” she said. “I insist. And please, call me Ilona.”

No one of her class had ever spoken my name, and now she was offering hers.

Before I knew it, I had a glass of wine in my hand. I don’t exactly remember how it got there.

“Tell me, what do you know of us Hungarians?”

“Very little.” I swallowed hard.

“Surely you know something don’t you? Myths? Stories? Rumors?”

I looked down at the wine and took a sip, hoping the delay would allow me to shift topics.

“If you don’t mind me saying, your French is perfect. It’s easy to forget that you’re not Parisian.”

“I’ve had a long time to practice.”

It sounded like a confession. One that sent a chill down my spine.

“I can read your thoughts, you know.”

She didn’t say the words, but I heard them in my head.

“You may not know this, but in other parts of Europe, men tend to view love as a conquest.” She spoke as if nothing unusual had just happened.

“I think the wine has turned,” I said, hoping it was the wine and not my mind. She paid no attention and continued with her own line of thought.

“But recently, I’ve been hearing about what’s being called ‘French Love’. Do you know what this is?”

“Yes, I think so. I mean, I’m not sure but… I know what they say about us. We put our lovers first.”

“I’ll be blunt, Étienne. I can make you do anything I want. For centuries, it’s how I’ve gotten what I need from men who think only of themselves.”

“May I sit?” I wasn’t sure if I was understanding her, or if there was something in the wine that was confusing my thoughts. Either way, I needed to gather myself.

“Take your time. We have all night.”

I panned the room and lowered myself into an armchair, still struggling to make sense of what she was after. Ilona didn’t speak, giving me time to think. I don’t know for how long. Time felt stuck, but no more or less time would lead me to ask any other question.

“Are you a— “

“Of course.”

“Are you going to—”

“Absolutely not.”

I took a deep breath.

“What… what do you want from me?”

“A night of love with a man who puts me first, when he's not under my control. Some French Love."

“That’s all?”

“No. That’s everything.”

I don’t remember standing, but the next moment, we were in her bedroom. I'd agreed to it. Not from fear, but I think maybe because I sensed the sorrow in her.

The details of the room blur in my head. I remember only the moonlight coming through the window and the red bedcover. Velvet, I think. My mind splinters when I try to recall anything more than that.

Standing in front of her made the strangeness of the night vanish. Knowing what she was but seeing her now as a woman with deep eyes, and perfectly straight hair… all I wanted was to kiss her, but wasn’t sure if I should.

“You can,” she said, before apologizing. “I’ll stay out of your head. Please, treat me the same as any of your other girls.”

I put my hand on her side and pulled her in, pressing my lips against hers. She placed a hand on my chest, and I felt her body relax, as if she was giving herself over to me.

I let my coat fall to the ground and tugged at my shirt, first pulling it free from the waist of my trousers, then over my head. The air was cool against my skin, but I was warmed by her touch.

Ilona turned her back to me and lifted her hair from the clasps that held her dress closed. My hands trembled as I released each of them, one by one. The dress loosened, then slid from her shoulders, pooling at our feet. Underneath was a thin white linen chemise, catching what little light came through the window. I could see the outline of her shoulder blades move with each breath.

I don’t remember moving closer, only that I was near enough to smell the faint scent of rose petals on her skin. She turned her head slightly, offering me her neck to kiss. I held her with one hand and drew down my trousers with the other. She turned to face me and lifted her arms, inviting me to remove the soft linen that covered her. I let it fall to the floor.

We stood before each other. Naked. Equal in ways that we weren’t.

Our mouths met, and her tongue moved against mine. She seemed unsure, almost inexperienced, in kissing the French way. I slowed her down and let her follow my lead. She got the rhythm as our hands explored each other’s bodies.

Ilona pulled away and sat on the edge of her bed.

“Have you ever…”

For the first time, she was nervous.

“What?”

“Used your tongue between a woman’s legs before?”

I smiled. “Is that what you meant by French love?”

She nodded and lay back on the bed, parting her legs.

I knelt before her, then began kissing my way up the inside of her thighs, feeling her breath deepen each time I inched closer. Ilona’s chest rose sharply. When I paused, she tensed beneath me, letting a soft sound escape her throat. I leaned in to taste her and felt her body relax back into the bed.

“Oh my,” she moaned. “This is why I chose you.”

Her body answered my tongue instinctively, then I heightened the attention by introducing my fingers.

“I’ve had women do this,” she gasped. “But never a man. The difference is…”

 Her words faded. That’s when I knew I had her.

I tried to put all thoughts of who she was out of my head and live up to whatever she had seen in me. My hands and mouth moved together, guided by the motion of her hips and the heave of her breasts.

“Mmm… these are the skills other men of Europe are lacking.”

Her hand moved to the back of my head, gripping my hair.

“Your mouth is wonderful.”

I slid my hands under her bottom and lifted her sex closer to my face. She spread wider, pushing up on her feet as her body arched toward me.

“Étienne… you’re so full of surprises,” she panted. “You’re driving me to delirium.”

Her hands went to the red velvet, clutching and releasing handfuls of the material as her head thrashed from side to side. The ravishment was building in her. I could taste it as much as I could feel it.

She cried out all at once with an unnatural sound that unsettled me. I looked up at her, and for a brief instance, Ilona’s eyes burned the color of blood. Then her mouth fell open, showing jagged teeth that confirmed every rumor I’d ever feared.

I sprang back, letting go of her. She dropped to the bed as I stumbled away.

I’d allowed myself to forget what she was, but there was no mistaking it now. The truth was before me.

For a moment she didn’t move. She just lay there, breathing hard. Then she propped herself up smiling wickedly.

“That was incredible,” she said, her face returning to normal. “Now come, claim your reward.”

She pulled herself to the top of the bed, adding an extra pillow beneath her head. She let her arms fall to either side and held her legs open, waiting to be mounted.

“I… I’m fine,” I managed to say.

“This is meant to be a night of mutual love. You must have yours.”

“It was my honor to serve you, Mademoiselle, but the city… the duck…”

Her expression changed again. I saw the sorrow return.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please, return to the bed.” Her voice softened. It sounded almost like a plea.

I couldn’t move and was still struggling to speak.

“I won’t harm or force you, Étienne,” she said. “I gave Jean-Baptiste my word, and now you have it too.”

I wanted to believe her. I think I did. But couldn’t bring myself to move.

“He’s expecting me… his wife, she made us dinner. Duck, I think I mentioned that…” I kept one eye on her while I gathered my clothes and dressed as quickly as I could.

“You’ve given me something rare tonight,” she said as I struggled with my shirt. “I wish I could have given you more, but fear… fear is the nature of your kind. It will always hold you back.”

She turned her head to the window and finished softly. “It’s tragic. But so are we.”

Those words were the last I can recall her speaking. My memory breaks into pieces after that. I remember scrambling to dress, then unhitching the horse. I rode off. When I looked back at the manor, I half expected to see her at the door, or maybe peering from a window, but she wasn’t there.

Next, I remember myself at Jean-Baptiste’s door, hammering at it with my fist.

“Étienne? Is that you Étienne?” His panicked voice came from inside. I couldn’t call back, just pound my hand into the thick oak until it opened.

“It’s you!” he said, relieved. “Thank God it’s you. Come in, come in.”

Then I was sitting in front of a fire, a blanket over my shoulders, with an empty plate in front of me. I must have eaten.

“Take your time, son.” It was Jean-Baptiste’s voice again. I raised my head to look at him and saw he was afraid too.

“I saw her eyes… she has teeth like fangs…”

“I didn’t...” He shook his head. “She promised me. I had no choice.”

His shoulders dropped, and his voice gave out. “I’m glad you’re safe.”