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VERSAILLES 4:02 - "THOSE WHO ARE LOST"

EXT. PLACE DE GRÈVE - COLD FROSTY MORNING.

A scattering of gunfire.

A harrowing onslaught of screaming throats. The heavy crash of the hangman's body, and then soldier, after soldier, after soldier-

The noose hangs, empty.

Threadbare boots and dainty court shoes rush through the pooling blood, as the Place de Grève erupts into a cacophony of panic.

LOUIS'S eyes watch, wide and glistening with madness, as the spectre of JEANNE smiles and disappears into the chaos.

EXT. WINDING STREETS OF PARIS - COLD FROSTY MORNING.

A decrepit street, all shuttered shopfronts, lined with the lingering sick and poverty-stricken.

SOPHIE DE CASSEL grips FABIEN MARCHAL'S hand.

She drags him behind her, as she leads him away from the execution site. Gun raised, wind whipping her loose hair, cheeks flushed like a ripe strawberry. The condemned man, condemned no more, is visibly weakened, but keeping up.

He cannot take his eyes from her - his avenging angel.

GUARD (O.S.)

Search every building!

As the echo of a distant order reaches them, SOPHIE and FABIEN change direction. Moving quickly, barely stopping to glance behind them, further and further into the grimy and forgotten bowels of Paris-

INT. PARISIAN SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

... SOPHIE and MARCHAL come bursting through the tall wooden door of an old townhouse. The interior is dilapidated luxury, decades out of fashion. Wallpaper charred by smoke. Furniture half burnt, half covered by dust sheets. Damp, mould, climbing ivy, vermin. Portraits of forgotten faces stare out from every wall.

Light pours in where the ceiling has rotted away.

The moment they are safely inside, SOPHIE proceeds further into the house, to check they are alone. MARCHAL leans heavily against the door.

His hand scratches where the rope had sat but a moment ago.

SOPHIE

We can stay here until Reynie calls off the search. It's been abandoned for a long time - they won't think to look here.

(Returning to him)

There's a safehouse in Vaugirard where-

MARCHAL turns in the blink of an eye, disarming her. The barrel of the pistol comes to rest between her ribs, and they swivel, her back slamming hard against the door.

Their faces are inches from each other.

SOPHIE (CONT'D)

(Snarling)

Is how you intend to thank your rescuer?

MARCHAL

I ordered you to leave.

SOPHIE

If I had, you'd be dead.

MARCHAL

The Princess Eleanor? Is she alive?

SOPHIE

Of course. Away from your King. And now, so are you.

The sounds of movement outside - of shouted orders, horses hooves and primed weapons. In the echoey streets, it is impossible to gauge how close the soldiers are.

SOPHIE (CONT'D)

Those are your men out there.

(glancing down at the gun)

If they hear the shot, do you think they would take you back to the noose, or finish the job here? Do you think your King would prefer to watch?

(Pause)

You deserve a better fate than that. You're not a monster, Fabien. And neither am I.

MARCHAL

Why did you come back?

SOPHIE doesn't answer.

Indecision thrums through MARCHAL'S veins. He has so rarely trusted, knows that this woman has treachery within her.

MARCHAL (CONT'D)

You really are your mother's daughter.

SOPHIE

(with more than a little of Beatrice's fire)

Yes, I am. And proud of it.

MARCHAL

I should kill you.

SOPHIE

Probably. But this is the second time you've had the advantage over me, and you haven't managed to bring yourself to do it yet.

(Pause)

You don't want to kill me. Not when it serves no purpose. That's not who you are. But even now, even with the rope barely off your neck, you're thinking of your orders.

(She stares forcefully into his eyes)

You have to stop obeying him.

His grip loosens a little on the pistol.

Still, he is drawn to her, magnetic and burning with desire.

She smiles. Pulls him closer.

SOPHIE (CONT'D)

I missed them, you know.

MARCHAL

Missed what?

SOPHIE

Those eyes. Those eyes that see everything. Forgive nothing.

INT. VERSAILLES PASSAGEWAY - NIGHTFALL.

PHILIPPE, shivering in a nightgown, with sleep and worry lining his brow, is urgently ushered by BONTEMPS down the palace hallways.

A storm rattles the windows outside.

Around him, the palace is darkened - candles extinguished, salons empty. Servants move freely about corridors, unafraid of colliding with the nobility… until they find themselves suddenly confronted by the tempest that is Monsieur.

They bow their heads in reverence as he marches by.

INT. HALL OF MIRRORS - CONTINUOUS.

The floor of the magnificent Hall of Mirrors is covered in shattered glass.

LOUIS, still in his evening finery, has blood on his face and hands. Flecks of glass rest in his hair. He wields a candelabra like a policeman’s baton. CRASH - another mirror cracks - CRASH - splintering like a cannonball on bone-

He aims for one more swing, but his little brother takes hold of his arm.

Grasps it, restrains it.

The King attempts in vain to wrestle away.

PHILIPPE

I thought I was supposed to be the unruly one.

LOUIS

Let go, let go of me-!

PHILIPPE

Two mirrors is the storm, Louis. A door left open. But three? You know how rumours travel. You don't want the Sun King turning into the Mad King.

LOUIS strains to come out of his dissociative state. He sees the consequences of his despair, sees his brother standing before him, coming into focus.

Their eyes meet, and in that moment, it is a reminder to them both that of all the people in this palace, they are the only ones who truly understand each other.

CUT TO:

INT. HALL OF MIRRORS - CONTINUOUS.

Amidst the glass shards that now twinkle in the soft cobalt moonlight, and flare in the flashes of lightning, LOUIS and PHILIPPE sit upon the floor, as children might sit to play in the grass. BONTEMPS and the guards have been dismissed.

They are alone.

The King's hands are bleeding, and he stares at them, not sure what to do.

PHILIPPE

(Holding out a hand to LOUIS)

Let me.

(When Louis frowns as his brother gestures to his throat)

You're the King. You have hundreds. What's one lost to a little blood?

Sighing, and relenting with a weary gaze, LOUIS removes his jabot, and PHILIPPE winds it around his brother's hand.

LOUIS

Where did you learn to-?

PHILIPPE

Where do you think?

(Pause)

I'll have Bontemps send for your doctor.

LOUIS

It's a scratch-

PHILIPPE

I'm not talking about your hand.

LOUIS

No doctor can cure what ails me.

PHILIPPE

And smashing up your golden palace can?

LOUIS

...It might.

PHILIPPE

It won't. Tearing it all apart, it's not the key to some imperceptible enlightenment. It won't make the chaos suddenly make sense.

LOUIS watches PHILIPPE work on his binding. He has only just seen his brother return to court, to pick up the pieces of his own life... but knows it was a long, well-worn path.

LOUIS

How do you bear it?

PHILIPPE gives him a questioning look.

The night is beginning to wear on the King, and his voice is tired.

LOUIS (CONT'D)

Weakness. Living every moment of your life at the mercy of a force whose every will and whim you must bow to?

PHILIPPE is taken aback by this question.

It strikes a nerve.

PHILIPPE

Do you intend to finally challenge God now?

LOUIS

I already have. Please. Answer the question, brother.

PHILIPPE considers his reply.

PHILIPPE

By telling myself that, despite how it may feel sometimes, somewhere in that gilded heart of his, my brother loves me. That, and a little hedonism. But I don't think you have any aversions there either.

They both huff a soft laugh in the darkness.

PHILIPPE (CONT'D)

I came back to Versailles to help you, Louis. To be your brother. But you have to let me help you.

LOUIS

I have-

PHILIPPE

(softly, with care)

Never as you should. I know why you resist. You think I don't, after years of being treated like a traitor lurking in the wings? Even as a child, bridled and punished, because Mother told you I might-

LOUIS

(Interrupting, pulling his bandaged hand away)

Do not pretend that is the only reason you resent me. That you do not still blame me for what we did. Another choice I made, that you could not fight.

PHILIPPE gives no confirmation, but anger flashes in his eyes.

And LOUIS confides:

LOUIS (CONT'D)

Do you believe in evil, Philippe?

PHILIPPE

Yes. I see it when I look at us.

(looking at the smashed mirror)

I suspect you might too.

LOUIS

I cannot see the path ahead. All my life, I have been guided by a divine purpose. Visions and dreams, showing me a holy path. But now I have walked it... and I am still tormented. I no longer dream, as I once did. Now, my mind is burdened with doubt. I fear, despite my devotion, that God tears the feathers from my wings. Takes my every action, and like wine into blood, turns all I have done, all I thought righteous into wanton, unconscionable sin. He punishes me with revolt, betrayal, nightmares, cruel ghosts, into noise, into... ceaseless music, and I need... I need...

(Exhaling with exhaustion)

I need silence. I need peace.

(Pause)

You are the only reflection I can bear to look upon anymore, brother. The only voice which calms my soul. Please, Philippe. Help me. I'm so tired.

PHILIPPE takes his brother's hand again.

He wants to shout, to accuse, to lay blame at LOUIS'S feet.

But he is changed.

Instead, he summons something softer. Kinder.

PHILIPPE

My advice?

(LOUIS nods)

For once in your life... do nothing. Ignore your mirrors. Your dreams. Ignore your edicts and your crusades and your council and your wife-

LOUIS

I can't-

PHILIPPE

Do nothing, Louis. Sleep. Try to, anyway. Rest. Remember who you once were.

LOUIS

I am France, I cannot just stop-

PHILIPPE

You can. Not forever, but right now. And you are more than just France. There was time you believed in benevolence and progress, or pretended to, at least. You were a man who listened to the demands of his soldiers. Who, opposed by everyone, made a woman your doctor. Who didn't lock up those who thought the Bible should be in French instead of Latin.

LOUIS

You think acquiescence is strength-?

PHILIPPE

The King I remember, the brother I knew, told me he intended to build a glorious palace because it was to be a home for all of France.

LOUIS

It remains so-

PHILIPPE

Does it? Does it really, Louis?

In LOUIS'S face, we see a glimmer of a younger man, of the artist and visionary, now lost to the tyrant. Of the boy who once openly shed tears, in grief and in fear.

Tormented, and wrestling with a giant.

CUT TO:

CREDITS

George Blagden

Alexander Vlahos

Tygh Runyan

Stuart Bowman

Catherine Walker

Evan Williams

Jessica Clark

Maddison Jaizani

Joe Sheridan

Geoffrey Bateman

INT. CHAPEL - GREY SUNDAY MORNING.

The worshippers line up to receive communion.

There is no shine to the usually glittering chapel, or its inhabitants. No gossip in the pews, no one hurrying to break the silence.

Snow falls fast and thick outside, the cold bleeding into the room. There is a funereal air... only the glances are not towards a coffin, but up to the King's balcony, where LOUIS sits, stony faced.

MAINTENON stands in line.

MAINTENON

The King grows impatient with his ministers' failure in this matter.

BONTEMPS waits behind her, and speaks into her ear.

BONTEMPS

The turning weather has hindered the search, Madame. And all gathered witness testimony has proved unhelpful. He has not been sighted since.

MAINTENON

How difficult it is to find one man.

BONTEMPS

There are those on the council who now consider our efforts excessive.

MAINTENON

Excessive?

BONTEMPS

The manhunt is coming with great expenditure. Expenditure that is yielding few results, and would be better used elsewhere.

She reaches BOSSUET and kneels for communion.

Having claimed wafer and wine, they remove themselves to a nearby transept.

MAINTENON

Reynie should be reprimanded for his failures. He ought to be on the gallows beside Marchal for allowing that spectacle at the Place de Grève.

BONTEMPS

Such punishment would not be the correct course of action at this time, Madame. The expulsion of the Protestants from court has already inspired unease throughout the palace. I am assured the nobles are not moving against the King, but further arrests of the King's inner circle, further incursions into the courtiers' private lives, further displays of weakness in the King's security, may lead to open revolt.

MAINTENON

Assurances are no longer enough, Bontemps. If word reaches our enemies that the King is under threat from his own people, his own ministers, his own former Chief of Police, what is to prevent them from declaring war?

(Pause)

Marchal must be found.

INT. CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS.

Further down the line, PHILIPPE, CHEVALIER and LISELOTTE sombrely await their turn.

CHEVALIER

Innocent little Sophie... who knew she took after her mother so?

PHILIPPE

Promise me you didn't.

CHEVALIER

For once, my ship is sailing true. Your brother's, however, appears to be in the doldrums.

PHILIPPE

He's floundered. He actually asked me for help.

LISELOTTE

Goodness. Well, you know what they say about pigs and wings...

CHEVALIER

He is taking all this Marchal business rather to heart. Unless there is another reason he would be quite so fraught with consternation?

PHILIPPE turns to see both his wife and his lover, expectantly awaiting an explanation.

PHILIPPE

You both have quite the active imaginations.

CHEVALIER

(muttering, exasperated, to Liselotte)

As does half of Versailles, darling.

INT. CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS.

REYNIE sits praying, or simply pretending to. He is aware that every set of eyes in the place - including LOUIS'S - are turned upon him. Hungry, thirsting to see his wounded pride, like mosquitos to a gaping jugular.

No longer able to stomach the humiliation, he stands, strides from the chapel-

INT. CHAPEL PASSAGE - CONTINUOUS.

- Before coming face to face with LOUVOIS, who is walking to the chapel from the ghostly palace beyond.

They pass without notice...

Until REYNIE can no longer hold his tongue.

He turns to call back to the First Minister.

REYNIE

I warned you. I warned you, Marchal should have been executed within the prison walls.

LOUVOIS stops in his tracks.

Sneers with unbridled contempt.

LOUVOIS

I shoulder no responsibility for your failures, Reynie. The King has provided all the accoutrements of the state for your disposal, and not one enemy has been brought to justice. No forger, no Marchal. Just perfume and pandemonium.

REYNIE

These things take time. I am not a miracle worker, Louvois, and you will find my methods quite different from that of my predecessors. I do not believe in torture first, evidence later. I will not simply bludgeon my way through the entire court, never mind the whole of Paris, to extract false confessions and condemn innocent men.

LOUVOIS

Then you should inform the King that he must continue to expect disappointment. That is, of course, if you keep your head.

LOUVOIS flounces away into the chapel, leaving REYNIE alone to seethe with anger.

INT. CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS.

LOUIS broods, surveying his court at prayer.

His glare moves to the majestic crucifix that seems to mock him from the opposite wall.

Christ's face is turned away.

Below, PHILIPPE looks up, catching his brother's eye.

He is summoned with a brief flick of the King's hand.

INT. WAR ROOM - LATE MORNING.

The King's Council has gathered... although, conspicuously, PHILIPPE stands at the head of the table, in place of the King. He is frowning at the bleak expressions on the ministers' faces.

LOUVOIS and REYNIE stand centered in the gaggle, each with dark circles beneath his eyes, and a drawn pallor.

PHILIPPE

If you had told me fifteen years ago that, all these years later, we'd still be arguing with builders over whether they will work or not, I'd have burned this place to the ground. And gotten merry and drunk watching it turn to ash.

LOUVOIS

It is simply too cold, Your Highness. The Grand Commun's roof is incomplete, and thus the interior scaffolds have become too icy to climb.

PHILIPPE

Pay whomever volunteers to complete the roof double.

MINISTER

Monsieur, Minister Colbert's death has left the palace finances in disarray. The builders have not been paid since September.

PHILLIPE'S jaw sets in frustration.

PHILIPPE

What exactly is it that you all do all day?

LOUVOIS

Your Highness?

PHILIPPE

My brother does not demand much of you. Keep the coffers. Pay the builders. Ensure no one gets him in sight of a clean shot. But instead you prefer to, what... disappoint your mistresses? Why is there no money?

LOUVOIS

No remedy to the loss of the Protestant taxes has been implemented yet, and trade with the English is at an impasse.

PHILIPPE

Why?

LOUVOIS

The River Thames is frozen completely. No ships have left London in weeks. And instead of sending men to break the ice, King Charles permitted a festival to be held upon it.

PHILIPPE

(exasperated)

Kings. Does anyone have any good news for me?

The door crashes open, and the DAUPHIN strides in, shoulders back, disinterest apparent in his every movement.

PHILIPPE

Nephew. How kind of you to grace us with an appearance.

DAUPHIN

What do you want?

PHILIPPE

I believe your father has requested you attend meetings of the cabinet, to further your education. First lesson - a King doesn't keep his ministers needlessly waiting.

DAUPHIN

How would you know?

The appalled silence from the collected ministers is palpable.

DAUPHIN (CONT'D)

Where is my father, anyway?

PHILIPPE

He is about to depart for the convent at Montmartre.

Everyone in the room is visibly confused at this news.

DAUPHIN

Why would he do that?

PHILIPPE

The King's business is his own. Something which I have come to understand very well.

(to LOUVOIS)

Ensure that the builders are paid everything they are owed and encouraged back to work.

LOUVOIS

But Your Highness-

PHILIPPE

Find a way.

(Pause, sighing)

What's next?

INT. STABLES - DINGY GREY LATE MORNING.

Two horses are saddled, but modestly, without sigil or standard befitting a king.

BONTEMPS stands nearby, preparing pistol and shot for the road ahead.

LOUIS kisses MAINTENON upon the brow. She closes her eyes and wavers a little, pale and with visible beads of sweat at her temples. He steadies her before he speaks, in a calm, warm murmur.

LOUIS

I will return before the Noel. I simply need time.

MAINTENON

Will you not let me come with you?

LOUIS

I need you here. My brother will manage state business, but I need you to mind him. See that he does not get ahead of himself.

MAINTENON

Of course.

LOUIS

And you should rest. You are wan, and not yourself.

MAINTENON

Do not be concerned for me, Louis. A chill, from the changing season, nothing more.

(Pause)

I will pray for you, that God may provide inspiration and clarity.

LOUIS

Yes. Perhaps, through prayer, my path will reveal itself.

He kisses her again, before mounting his horse.

EXT. STABLES - CONTINUOUS.

LOUIS and BONTEMPS spur their horses into action. Gaining momentum, they ride quickly over the cobbled paths of the stable courtyard, towards the gate, out into the surrounding swampland.

The snow still falls with unforgiving defiance.

INT. PARISIAN SAFEHOUSE - NOON.

MARCHAL sits on the floor, attending to the wounds upon his ankles. The shackles have worn away at the skin, blistered the raw flesh below. The pain barely registers on his face... but exhaustion draws at the corners of his eyes.

SOPHIE appears in the doorway.

Watching.

SOPHIE

You should let me-

He glares at her from under his dark eyebrows, and it is enough of a warning for her. She sits opposite him, watching him work.

SOPHIE

Now you know how it feels. To be condemned because of who you are and what you believe.

MARCHAL

You are not hunted because of your faith. You are hunted because you believe in nothing but the gold of the highest bidder.

SOPHIE

Is that so bad? It's kept me alive.

MARCHAL

It has made you a murderer and a traitor.

(Pause)

This house. You knew of it, without hesitation.

SOPHIE

It belonged to my family. Before they were driven out of Paris and massacred for being Huguenots.

This is new information, but not a surprise to MARCHAL. He turns his gaze back to the mottled and festering flesh.

MARCHAL

Who paid you to ensure I lived?

SOPHIE

Would you believe me if I said no one?

MARCHAL

You were not acting alone. Someone is master of those men.

SOPHIE

They have no master. Since the thaumaturgy, you have more friends in Paris than you know.

MARCHAL

I have no desire to become a instrument of anarchy.

SOPHIE

Then what are you going to do now?

MARCHAL gives no reply, not because he doesn't wish to tell her...

But because he doesn't know.

SOPHIE senses this.

SOPHIE

I've never asked if you have any family.

MARCHAL

No.

SOPHIE

No secreted wife somewhere?

MARCHAL

No. I am alone.

SOPHIE

Not entirely. Not if you don't want to be.

MARCHAL

Do not pretend to harbour affection for me. You came to my bed to distract me while you plotted to kidnap the princess. To throw me off the scent of your regicide. Nothing more.

SOPHIE cannot argue with that.

SOPHIE

And if we shared one now? What would my motive be then, I wonder?

(Pause)

I told you I loved you, and I meant it.

(Sighing, when he ignores her)

It seems we both need to find a reason to live again.

EXT. KING'S ROAD - AFTERNOON.

The dirt of the road crunches under the horses' hooves, icier with every step. Their gallops have slowed to a cautious trot. LOUIS and BONTEMPS' hands rest on the pistols concealed beneath their cloaks.

BONTEMPS

When we arrive, you should allow me to enter the convent first, Sire. The Mother Superior is not expecting us, and may be host to any number of unfriendly strangers.

LOUIS

We aren't going to the convent.

BONTEMPS is taken aback by the revelation... as much as he is ever visibly taken aback.

BONTEMPS

Sire?

LOUIS

There are other places where humble prayer may find receptive acoustics.

The displeasure of once again having been denied access to the inner sanctum of the King's mind leaves furrows upon BONTEMPS' brow.

They spur their horses on thoughtfully, snow kicking up behind them.

EXT. LAKE WITHIN THE GROUNDS - STARK WHITE AFTERNOON.

A pair of bone skates whisk along the surface of the lake, accompanied by joyous laughter. Mink fur, trimming hats and muffs. Sparkling embroidery, to match the twinkle of the snow.

MADAME DE BOURBON carves a circle within the ice, as she skates freely. Several of her friends watch, shivering, from the grassy bank.

MADAME DE BOURBON

When he gets back, why not simply ask to see him? He isn't busy all of the time.

VERMANDOIS, like a new-born gazelle, is wobbling his way towards his sister, on his own set of skates.

VERMANDOIS

It would be 30 seconds of lukewarm pleasantries, before he rushes away to see to something else.

MADAME DE BOURBON

Well then, find something more interesting to say to him.

VERMANDOIS

That's what Madame said too.

MADAME DE BOURBON

And has Monsieur seen you yet?

VERMANDOIS

No.

MADAME DE BOURBON

I think you may simply have a terrible sense of timing and occasion, brother. You mustn't let it worry you, though. You're barely out of the nursery.

VERMANDOIS

I'm sixteen! And you're only a year older than me!

MADAME DE BOURBON

A year can make all the difference!

(Pause)

Why are you so insistent on speaking to Monsieur anyway?

Her brother rapidly changes the subject... though his panic is written plainly across his face.

VERMANDOIS

...Are you going to visit Mother this Noel?

MADAME DE BOURBON

No. She wasn't terribly welcoming last year. Not cruel. Just... contrite. She did hold my hand a little though.

VERMANDOIS

When I tried last, she wouldn't even look at me. Told me she would pray for my soul. It's not our fault we were born.

MADAME DE BOURBON

But it is our fault if we're boring. So think of some way of making your mark, and think of it fast.

CUT TO:

EXT. GARDENS- CONTINUATION.

The two skating figures are now distant, though their laughter and shouts still carry across the expansive grounds.

Atop a verge, closer to the palace, LISELOTTE'S arms are threaded through those of PHILIPPE and the CHEVALIER.

They wander the gardens three abreast, turning the heads of everyone who passes them, for each of them sports a rather spectacular 'teutonic' hat, clearly pulled straight from Liselotte's closet.

They appear rather pleased with themselves.

CHEVALIER

You do recall that you were a Protestant before you came here?

LISELOTTE

Distinctly.

CHEVALIER

And surely you have come to learn that a Catholic Christmas consists entirely of mass, penance, prayer, more mass, contrition, communion, and, to really stir things up this year, the unyielding persecution of Protestants.

LISELOTTE

I had noticed.

PHILIPPE

My advice? Bring a book.

LISELOTTE

I can't believe you two, of all people, are turning down the opportunity to have a bit of fun!

PHILIPPE

Being lectured by Bossuet on the evils of Protestant materialism doesn't sound fun.

CHEVALIER

Agreed.

LISELOTTE

Because Versailles is famously modest, the halls as barren as a nun's bedchamber.

PHILIPPE

I'm sorry, Liselotte. My brother has finally seen fit to trust me with matters of state, and I can't risk any contretemps that might make him regret it. And besides, we are...

His voice trails away - this topic is clearly a matter the two men had sought to breach, but hadn't yet found the time or the words. He gestures to the CHEVALIER, who finishes his sentence for him.

CHEVALIER

Convalescing.

LISELOTTE

I thought you two had made up?

CHEVALIER

We have. But... some things take time. We thought a little festive sentimentality would be... invigorating.

She realizes the meaning beneath their words. They are looking to further reconnect, to nurture their still fragile, yet healing hearts.

Without her.

It stings, but she swallows the pain.

LISELOTTE

I see.

PHILIPPE

It's not that we don't-

LISELOTTE

I know. I'm not upset. As long as you promise you'll both come.

PHILIPPE

We wouldn't miss it.

He kisses her forehead, and the CHEVALIER, her hand. LISELOTTE allows the two boys to walk on ahead, watching as the CHEVALIER curls himself around the prince's arm.

A lonely smile crosses her face.

The distant sounds of MADAME DE BOURBON and VERMANDOIS calling to one another reaches LISELOTTE'S ears, and she turns to watch the young siblings skating upon the pond.

An idea crosses her mind.

If her husband won't help her, she knows exactly who will.

INT. LISELOTTE'S PARLOUR - AFTERNOON.

An elaborate illustration, a beautiful miniature portrait of a cherub. Fair-haired, with wide eyes and feathery wings. VERMANDOIS sits upon a chair, holding the painting, curious at the sight of something so familiar, and yet so foreign.

LISELOTTE rests opposite him. Fire crackles in the hearth, warming them as they scheme.

LISELOTTE

The Christkind is a spirit. An angel who brings gifts to children on Christmas Eve. We used to wait for him every year at home in Heidelberg. We Germans love a festive tradition. Especially a Protestant one.

VERMANDOIS

...There are no children at Versailles, Madame.

LISELOTTE

Perhaps not in body, but in emotional maturity and general common sense, I think there are some here who make up the shortfall. The palace could do with an injection of goodwill. I thought it might be fun.

VERMANDOIS bites his lip, conflicted.

LISELOTTE

What is it?

VERMANDOIS

Why me?

(When she looks confused)

I thought you didn't like me.

LISELOTTE

Well... I can't condone your father's infidelity. Our dear late Queen suffered greatly. But it's hardly your fault. We can't help how we're born. And you have been wandering the palace looking rather like a half-drowned kitten.

He smiles, thinking back to how he'd said much the same to his sister.

VERMANDOIS

But what do you need of me?

LISELOTTE

I need a taste of home. You need something to do while the King is away. I hoped we lonely souls might put our heads together to bring a little Christmas cheer. What do you say?

They share in the joyful anticipation of bringing a glimmer of energy back to Versailles' diminished soul.

EXT. PALAIS ROYAL - NIGHT.

A rising moon. Almost empty streets. Two riders and their horses pass through wrought iron gates, stealing inside unseen like thieves and assassins...

INT. PALAIS ROYAL - CONTINUOUS.

...but it is LOUIS and BONTEMPS who come to a stop, and dismount under the shadow of the great palace.

BONTEMPS weighs the scene in his mind, both the looming building, and his enigmatic king.

BONTEMPS

The Palais Royal, Sire?

Tying his horse's reins to a nearby post, LOUIS completely ignores his valet.

INT. PALAIS ROYAL - CORRIDOR - NIGHT.

LOUIS leads BONTEMPS though the darkened hallways. It is evident that no one is in residence there, save for a servant or two to keep the grime from settling.

BONTEMPS

Shall I send word to the cook, Sire, to prepare some supper for you?

LOUIS

No. No one is to know we are here.

BONTEMPS

Not even his Highness, Sire?

LOUIS gives a wry smile to his confidante.

LOUIS

This was France's house before it was his.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL- CONTINUOUS.

The door creaks open, and LOUIS and BONTEMPS make their way into a worn, disused study. The wallpaper has seen better days, the books yellowing, untouched on the shelves.

LOUIS wanders to the centre of the room.

BONTEMPS lurks behind in the doorway.

LOUIS

Do you remember this room, my friend? This place, now neglected, and forgotten.

(Pause)

This is the birthplace of absolute monarchy in France. It was here Cardinal Richelieu advised my father to colonise the Americas. Here, where strategy was laid to vanquish our enemies. Habsburgs, Huguenots, the rebels at La Marfée.

BONTEMPS

I remember, Sire.

The King moves to look at a corner of the room, where a chair sits, half uncovered. He pulls the dustsheet from it gently.

It is a modest thing, dark wood with faded upholstery.

LOUIS

And it was here that a Regent Queen of France comforted a young King, when they feared that evil would prevail.

(turning to his valet)

Do you see, Alexandre? Evil once again clambers at my gates. I have sown seeds to ensure that this is God's land, forevermore, and yet still, dark forces pollute my dreams. And so I have come here to be with her. To seek her council.

BONTEMPS

Your Mother is with God, Sire.

LOUIS

Yes.

BONTEMPS

Then how is this advice to be obtained?

LOUIS does not answer. Merely places a hand upon the chair.

BONTEMPS (CONT'D)

I fear, as would His Highness, that keeping vigil here will not ease Your Majesty's troubles-

LOUIS

She will. She was the first to teach me right from wrong. The first to instil within me how a King must be both just and merciless, righteous and cruel. If I am cursed to suffer judgment from spectres of old, it is her I wish to see. My mother, who of all people, could protect me best. She will silence the voices in my head. She will bring me peace.

(Pause)

I feel her spirit here.

BONTEMPS

Sire-

LOUIS

And until she shows me the way, we will not return to Versailles.

BONTEMPS can do nothing but bow his head in deference.

INT. MADAME DE MAINTENON'S CHAMBERS - MORNING.

A slender hand rubs at an aching neck, as MAINTENON reclines beside the window, letting the reflection of the white sunlight upon the snow caress her face. A DOCTOR - MONSIEUR FORTIN packs his instruments away, scrubbing the blood from where he has bled the patient.

MONSIEUR FORTIN

You are the picture of health, Madame. There is no need for concern.

MAINTENON

It is unlike me to feel so delicate. In all my years, I have barely had a passing cold. You do not believe my humors could be out of balance? Perhaps with the turning weather?

MONSIEUR FORTIN

Humorism is no longer a recommended method of diagnosis, Madame... but an overabundance of phlegm would present itself in that case. You have no such symptoms.

MAINTENON

But I am so tired.

An idea occurs to MONSIEUR FORTIN, who approaches the subject with a heightened intensity upon his packing away.

MONSIEUR FORTIN

...Forgive me, Madame, if I may ask a rather blunt question. May I ask how old Madame will be upon her next birthday?

MAINTENON

Why?

MONSIEUR FORTIN

A precautionary enquiry.

MAINTENON

...Forty-nine.

MONSIEUR FORTIN

And has Madame experienced any decline in the regularity of her menstruations?

MAINTENON'S face falls - the enormity of this moment ripping through her like a falcon's talons within a sparrow.

MONSIEUR FORTIN takes her reaction as confirmation of his diagnosis.

MONSIEUR FORTIN (CONT'D)

It is nothing to fear, Madame - such distempers can occur when one reaches a certain age, when one has more pressing concerns than maintaining ones' menses. It is easy to lapse, to neglect-

MAINTENON

No... no, this cannot be.

MONSIEUR FORTIN

Be sure not to overexert yourself, Madame, if you feel drowsy or faint. I will give you some rosemary for any discomfort. My advice is rest. The course of these things can be corrected with simple reaffirmation to the prospect of motherhood...

The doctor's advice is all but lost into the fading room, as MAINTENON grapples with the passing of time, and the steady march of life carrying her along.

INT. ROYAL THEATRE - AFTERNOON.

A yearning melody upon a fiddle. Well practiced, calloused fingers create vibrato upon the notes. The theatre is silent and empty, all gentle forest green tones and earthy wooden floorboards, save for LULLY and his next opera.

He finishes the bar, and frowns, for something isn't quite striking the soul as it should.

D'EFFIAT

(From behind him, upstage)

You are utterly wasted at Versailles. Why, listen to this thunderous reception!

D'EFFIAT pauses to raise his arms, directing the composer to look upon the empty seats, as if they were occupied.

LULLY

Silence is the perfect collaborator. The most attentive mistress.

D'EFFIAT

And the kindest critic.

LULLY

How might I be of service, Monsieur Marquis?

D'EFFIAT

Jean... don't stand on ceremony. Once you've worshipped at the Petit Rue du Marais, titles are all but forgotten.

LULLY turns away, beginning again to work on the bar that so eludes him.

D'EFFIAT (CONT'D)

I can see you are unmoved. I simply came by to let you know a friend of mine is hosting some Arabian gentlemen for a little supper next month. Perhaps you might join us?

LULLY

My evenings are quite occupied at the moment.

D'EFFIAT

And in four weeks time?

LULLY

I fear so.

D'EFFIAT gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest.

D'EFFIAT

Your heart is as cold as this snowfall.

LULLY

I find such pursuits are incompatible with life at court.

D'EFFIAT

On the contrary, the good Chevalier and I have ensured otherwise.

LULLY

You are a fool, Antoine, if you think yourself in possession of the same protections as the Chevalier de Lorraine.

D'EFFIAT casts away the doubt with a nonchalant shrug.</[>

D'EFFIAT

These Arabians are avid music lovers, Jean. I hear one can play the Oud so beautifully, it is like Apollo's voice, brought forth from Olympus where only the Gods had known it.

LULLY

I leave Apollo to you.

The marquis is beaten, but before departing, leans in, to whisper in the composer's ear.

D'EFFIAT

Alas, how sad it is to be a lonely old man. But remember, Jean. If the exaltations of your silent audience aren't quite hitting the spot, there's always another Congregation on their knees for you.

INT. PALAIS ROYAL - CORRIDOR - AFTERNOON.

BONTEMPS lingers, still as a poised Bengal tiger, outside the study door, ear pressed to the wood.

He knows eavesdropping is unbecoming of the King's valet. But, having been cast out from the room by royal command, he has no choice but to lurk and wait.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - CONTINUOUS.

Pencil sketches across paper, furious, unfocused. LOUIS frowns. He has not sketched like this since that wondrous vision of Versailles so many years ago.

Upon the page, the profile of a woman, regal , maternal, stern, over and over again, her features shifted, reshaped, misremembered, as if she was nothing but a dream.

Frustrated, LOUIS tears the paper.

Casts them into the fire.

Watches them burn.

INT. PALAIS ROYAL - CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS.

BONTEMPS has propped himself against the wall, legs outstretched across the carpet.

The mist of sleep threatens to suffocate him.

Every time, he pulls himself awake again.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL- EARLY MORNING.

A night has passed. The sun has barely risen. The room is somehow more wearied and wizened in the daylight, in stark contrast to the beauty of Versailles.

LOUIS sits opposite from the chair, staring at it with blank expectation. Almost feverish, the sweat of exertion streaking through his unkempt hair.

The food from last night lies untouched upon the plate.

BONTEMPS

You must eat, Sire.

(When no reply comes)

If you do not eat, I fear I must send for your doctor-

LOUIS

I cannot remember my mother's face. Neither as it was in life, nor as it has come to me in my dreams in the years since.

BONTEMPS

Such is the cruelty of time. All are destined for such obscurity, Sire. Even those whose name and great deeds will live on, even by those who loved them most. They will be as whispers and rumour only. Do not be hard upon yourself for forgetting.

(Pause)

Please, Louis, you must eat-

LOUIS

We are here to commune with spirits, Bontemps. They do not eat, and neither shall I.

His King is shivering, and BONTEMPS brings a blanket, to wrap around him. LOUIS makes no complaint.

BONTEMPS

Is it inspiration you await, or a miracle?

Tears mock LOUIS, as they dance at the corners of his eyes.

LOUIS

I must find peace. She will tell me, and it will bring me peace.

BONTEMPS

Tell you what?

LOUIS

If the shoemaker is right.

Enigmatic reasoning left as truth, LOUIS pushes his valet away, to stare again at the abandoned chair.

INT. GRAND COMMUN - MORNING.

It would appear to be raining indoors, such is the unceasing dripping of rain. The floor is now a mirror, swirls of plaster and dust thickening the growing puddle.

A raindrop splashes neatly onto LOUVOIS'S head.

It is times like this when he really misses Colbert.

MINISTER

We must find capital from somewhere within the King's existing investments. Another increase in taxation would be seen as a flagrant overstep. A precarious notion, owing to the mood of the people.

LOUVOIS

We will not be cowed into inaction. We must simply choose our moments carefully. Do you agree, Madame?

MAINTENON is barely listening. She stares into the middle distance, shawl wrapped around her shoulders, thinking of the doctor's unwelcome diagnosis.

LOUVOIS

Madame? Are you unwell?

MAINTENON

(Coming back to reality with a start)

No... no, I am quite well. Is this not a question for the Duc d'Orleans?

LOUVOIS

We have put it to him. But he is unaccustomed to the sustained movement of the state. He already finds himself distracted.

INT. PHILIPPE'S CHAMBERS - MORNING.

Half of the room is filled with sumptuous goods - fabrics, gowns, coats and costumes, jewels, feathers, cosmetics. PHILIPPE rubs rouge into his cheeks, trying the colour against his alabaster complexion.

In the other half, a tailor stands measuring a LITTLE GIRL of about four or five. She stands upon a footstool, fidgeting with boredom.

LISELOTTE

(to PHILIPPE)

He'll prefer the red to the pink shades.

PHILIPPE

Who?

LISELOTTE raises an eyebrow at him, and he nods, understanding.

PHILIPPE

Oh. Thank you.

LISELOTTE turns back to the child, her unspoken feelings of being left out giving way to a beaming smile.

LISELOTTE

How marvellous you look!

PHILIPPE

Who is that?

LISELOTTE

The Brûlarts' youngest daughter, Aliénor. She's going to be our little Christkind.

PHILIPPE

Our?

LISELOTTE

I've asked Vermandois to help me. He's currently off giving the kitchen my order for decorative fruits.

PHILIPPE

You've been spending a lot of time with him recently.

LISELOTTE

I pity the poor boy. Your brother completely ignores him. As do you.

PHILIPPE

Can't see what my brother's bastard would want with me.

Simultaneously, a door on each side of the room swings open.

In one, VERMANDOIS appears, a little out of breath.

In the other, the CHEVALIER, blasé as usual.

VERMANDOIS (SIMULTANEOUSLY)

Madame, Monsieur wished to know if you preferred Sevillian oranges to-

CHEVALIER (SIMULTANEOUSLY)

Darling, Louvois is whining of your absence again-

The room falls silent, as the two arrivals cease attempting to overwhelm the other.

A boyish blush rises in VERMANDOIS' cheeks at the sight of the CHEVALIER, who stares back at the unfamiliar intruder.

After a long pause:

PHILIPPE

(breaking the charged silence)

Louvois wants what, exactly?

CHEVALIER

Oh, matters of state, our imperial hell quite literally freezing over... that sort of thing.

PHILIPPE

Is the Dauphin with him?

CHEVALIER

... Yes, dear...?

PHILIPPE tosses the rouge aside with a childish sulk, and makes his way towards the door.

PHILIPPE

How enthralling.

CHEVALIER

I thought you wanted a seat at the table?

PHILIPPE

Not if it also means babysitting my nephews.

PHILIPPE gives a pointed look at VERMANDOIS, before storming from the room. The CHEVALIER'S gaze hovers upon the boy, before he follows the prince.

LISELOTTE offers a consoling hand to the young Comte, who joins her on the chaise longue to watch the costume fitting.

LISELOTTE

Don't worry about him.

The blush still lingers on VERMANDOIS' face.

And LISELOTTE can't help but wonder...

EXT. GARDENS - NOON.

Amidst a series of evergreen hedgerows, a group of excitable spaniels rush and play at MADAME DE BOURBON'S feet. She hurls a long stick for them to bark at and chase, as she laughs at their jubilant game.

A gentle sob stops her in her tracks.

She frowns.

Waits.

Another sob, a sharp intake of breath.

Moving round a snow-capped hedgerow, a pitiful sight comes into view.

MAINTENON - poorly dressed for the weather, without gloves or furs - sits hunched upon a stone bench, weeping.

At the sight of her step-daughter, MAINTENON wipes at her eyes. Hides her face.

MADAME DE BOURBON

Madame! You will catch your death out here in this snow! Whatever is the matter?

She rushes to sit beside her stepmother. Offers her fur muff for her blue-tinted hands.

MAINTENON

Oh, you sweet child, you mustn't concern yourself with me...

MADAME DE BOURBON

I can and I shall. This is most unlike you. Now, tell me what is the matter, or I shall have to fetch someone.

MAINTENON

I am being foolish, making such a fuss...

Admitting the truth is agony...

... But MAINTENON acquiesces to the young woman's insistence.

MAINTENON

Monsieur Fortin visited me this morning.

MADAME DE BOURBON

The surgeon? Oh Heavens, nothing awful, I hope?

MAINTENON

It seems I am... passing beyond the years of motherhood.

MADAME DE BOURBON

Oh.

MAINTENON

My first husband, Paul... we tried for many years for a child, but were never blessed. I had hoped, with your father... But now the time has truly passed, and such things will never be. And he will resent me for it.

MADAME DE BOURBON

It is hardly your fault that time takes such a toll-

MAINTENON

It is.

MADAME DE BOURBON

It most certainly isn't. You are as bound to age and mortality as the rest of us. Just because you married a King does not change that.

(Pause)

And my father could never resent you. Certainly not for a lack of children. He has more than enough of those. He admires you for what you do give him. Companionship. Love. You do love him, don't you?

MAINTENON

Of course. More than anything.

MADAME DE BOURBON

Then what have you to fear?

MAINTENON

It is not fear. It is grief. I thought I had more time. I prayed...

MADAME DE BOURBON

Sometimes it is simply not meant to be. But you are blessed, Madame.

MAINTENON

Am I?

MADAME DE BOURBON

Yes. That you have been fortunate to reach an age where such change occurs. To have lived so long and done so much, and have wisdom and strength to share with the countless daughters of this country. Many are not so fortunate.

MAINTENON

I had not seen it in such a way.

(Pause)

Bossuet tells me I am now a mother to all of France.

MADAME DE BOURBON

And you are.

MAINTENON

Perhaps. Perhaps this is God's way of ensuring my loyalty to your father's glory, and that of his sons... and not my own.

MADAME DE BOURBON

And his daughters, I hope?

Through drying tears, MAINTENON gives her a rare smile.

INT. APOTHECARY - NOON.

The intimate store's walls are armoured with dark shelves, bearing all manner of tinctures, tonics, balms and perfumes.

REYNIE meets the APOTHECARY across the counter. The merchant presents a page of parchment, with a substantial list of names carefully scratched in ink upon it.

APOTHECARY

My list of regular clientele, Monsieur Reynie, as requested. I have marked beside the names of each lady or gentleman who has purchased a jasmine scent from my ‘égyptiennes’ collection.

REYNIE scours the list.

REYNIE

How far is this dated back?

APOTHECARY

Within the year, sir. If you'd prefer records from last winter, I may need another day to find and mark the ledger.

REYNIE

You are meticulous in your work.

APOTHECARY

I learned my lesson, sir, after all that business with the poisons up at the palace.

REYNIE takes a closer inspection at the list of names - spanning every imaginable position at court.

A momentous task is before him.

REYNIE

Thank you. I may be in touch again.

EXT. APOTHECARY - CONTINUOUS.

The snow is ankle deep, save for a path trawled through the centre of the road by passing carts and daring travellers.

The noon bells ring across lower Paris.

REYNIE slips the list within his coat, and begins to trudge back to where his horse is hitched.

Through the icy haze, something catches his eye.

A old townhouse, upon a side street.

Ruined.

Home only to memories.

To REYNIE, the sight of it is as a butchered corpse, unearthed from a airtight tomb. Somehow still whole, still a stark memento of deeds thought lost to time.

He approaches the house, hugging his cloak tightly to his frame against the wind.

EXT. SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

There is nothing inherently alarming about the hollowed domicile - but for the ghost of a red smear, across a Huguenot Cross, engraved in the stucco.

REYNIE cannot believe it is still here, after all this time.

His gloved hand touches it gingerly.

INT. SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

... On the other side of the door, watching through an imperceptible crack in the timber, SOPHIE listens.

... Primed, pistol cocked...

EXT. SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

REYNIE drinks in the sight of the Huguenot cross.

Moves to the dirty window, to wipe away the grime-

INT. SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

SOPHIE raises the pistol to take aim-

EXT. SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

The sound of two VENDORS - fraternal twins, around seventeen, a boy and a girl with beautiful, similar faces - calling out their wares stirs REYNIE from his thoughts.

GIRL VENDOR

Chestnuts, Monsieur? From the Cévennes?

REYNIE stares at the pair.

GIRL VENDOR

Are you hungry, Monsieur?

REYNIE

(faintly)

No, no...

He retreats from the window.

The cross, forgotten.

Dismissing the vendors with a courteous shake of his head, and with a final look to the house, he retreats to his horse.

INT. SAFEHOUSE - CONTINUOUS.

Relief escapes SOPHIE in a long sigh. The pistol drops, to hang by her side.

MARCHAL, still resting on the sodden floor, watches the murderous instinct slip from her shoulders like a silk robe.

She senses him judging her.

SOPHIE

I know why you let me go. And why you can't look at me.

(Pause)

It's because you did this to me. You, and my mother, and the King, and Cassel. I'm another sin you can't wash away.

He says nothing.

SOPHIE (CONT'D)

I wondered what it was, that led you to the thaumaturgy, to stand with men who took arms against the King. You never cared for poverty or taxes or starvation before. You never deigned to listen to the justifications of traitors. How many have you killed, without even knowing their names? So why those people? Why now?

(Pause)

And then I had an idea.

She approaches.

Kneels next to him.

Genuine fascination and pity crosses her face.

SOPHIE (CONT'D)

You're a Protestant, aren't you?

MARCHAL doesn't agree.

... He doesn't deny it either.

SOPHIE (CONT'D)

Maybe not in practise. But by blood, once upon a time. As a child, maybe. Am I right?

(Pause)

Your mother? Your father?

MARCHAL

It doesn't matter.

SOPHIE

Yes, it does. Why else would you turn on the King, now, after so many years of bloodshed?

While there is truth in her conclusion, it is only half of the story. He still does not dare to give up the King's darkest secret... and definitely not to her.

MARCHAL

I left for my own salvation.

SOPHIE

A salvation you never concerned yourself with before... until Louis sent you to massacre Protestants in the streets. My mother was one rebel, one Protestant who stepped out of line. Executing her wasn't because of who she was, but what she did. You didn't think twice. But when faced with hundreds, maybe thousands-

MARCHAL

In life we can only be judged by our actions. To do otherwise is not justice.

SOPHIE

Yes. And that belief makes us allies, as well as our blood.

(Pause)

Come to Vaugirard, Fabien.

MARCHAL

Whatever is there is not my concern-

SOPHIE

Let me show you.

MARCHAL

Show me what?

She takes his hand with a small smile.

He lets her.

SOPHIE

A new Age.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - EVENING.

Pencil across paper once more.

The strokes are weary.

The woman's sketched face still blurs and bends.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - CONTINUOUS.

LOUIS pours over the page upon the table.

He has never looked quite so much like a cossetted brat, the residue of a tantrum drying on his face. He runs his hands through his hair with the stress of it.

Stares imploringly at the empty chair...

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - FLASHBACK.

Thirty years ago, a pallid 10-year-old LOUIS sits bolt upright upon the very same chair, as shouts, gunfire, and the lambent flicker of flame, threaten to come shattering down upon their heads.

He trembles uncontrollably.

The queen stands at the window, watching the Fronde unfold.

Her face, obscured.

A half-remembered dream.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL- CONTINUOUS.

LOUIS watches the memory play out before him.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - FLASHBACK.

An invigorated cannonade roars.

Ferocious, too close for comfort.

Across the room, QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA OF ENGLAND sits with an 8-year-old PHILIPPE (still in skirts) and a 4-year-old HENRIETTE upon her lap.

10-year-old LOUIS'S terrified gaze meets his brother's...

... who smiles back, with innocent reassurance.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL- CONTINUOUS.

And LOUIS remembers...

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - FLASHBACK.

Little LOUIS yelps in fear, clasps his hands to his ears, as the gunfire shatters one of the windows.

LOUIS

Am I wicked, Maman? Is that why they are coming for me? Maman? Maman? Am I wicked, Maman? Help me!

The queen never turns from the window.

INT. BEDROOM - MANY YEARS AGO.

LOUIS is grown once more.

He walks amidst a dream he once had.

Stands above his mother's death bed...

... But she is not there.

PHILIPPE weeps into crumpled, bloodstained sheets.

LOUIS

(echoing)

Where is she?

PHILIPPE

Gone.

(echoing his earlier words)

Yet here you are. Looking for comfort in the one place I told you not to look. Did I not say to do nothing, brother? To ignore your mirrors. Your ghosts. Your dreams. Are you not strong enough to decide on your own morality, without our mother telling you what to think?

(Turning to glare at LOUIS)

You never listen to me.

LOUIS

That's not true.

PHILIPPE stands from where he kneels, and comes forth, to stare his brother in the eye.

PHILIPPE

You may be divinely chosen, Louis but, in the end, you'll stand before God with the rest of us. Sometimes I think you forget that.

And Monsieur leans in to whisper in LOUIS' ear-

PHILIPPE (CONT'D)

Morningstar.

INT. PALAIS ROYAL - EVENING.

Evening has settled. The fire in the hearth has died to mere embers. Peering into the room, BONTEMPS finds LOUIS sleeping at the foot of the chair. His eyes cast themselves over the scribbled and scrawled pages that cover every surface.

As he picks one up to examine it, LOUIS stirs.

LOUIS

Alexandre?

The valet kneels beside him.

BONTEMPS

You were sleeping, Sire. I beg you go to bed. You will hurt yourself, sleeping on the floor.

LOUIS

(sleepily)

Still, the nightmares. Why will she not come to me in sweet dreams? Why does she not appear, when I need her most?

BONTEMPS

Will her wisdom truly bring you the silence you seek?

LOUIS

... I do not know. But she has looked upon the face of God, has seen Him smile and seen Him weep, and knows the bearing of that face when He looks at me. I will only know peace when I know which it is.

(Pause)

Go. Leave me.

BONTEMPS

I will not leave you-

LOUIS

I command you. I will eat, I will sleep, I promise, but I must be alone.

(A tired smile)

We are in Paris. Seek your own ghosts, my friend. They wait for you too.

INT. BALLROOM - EVENING.

LISELOTTE is putting the finishing touches on a statuesque fir tree, evergreen and adorned with rosy apples, nuts gilded in a sheen of gold. Ruby ribbons, strung in delicate waves, hang upon the branches.

Her eyes are glazed in memory.

VERMANDOIS approaches.

VERMANDOIS

Madame?

(Pause, when she does not reply)

Aunt Liselotte?

LISELOTTE

Hmm? Yes? Is everything alright?

VERMANDOIS

The dancers are here.

(Pause)

Are you well, Madame?

LISELOTTE

Perfectly. I'm afraid I was just getting a little dewy eyed.

VERMANDOIS

Why?

LISELOTTE

I was remembering my brother, Charles, playing the Christkind when he was... oh, maybe seven or eight. I am only a year younger than him and I made a terrible fuss. I thought it so unfair they didn’t pick me.

VERMANDOIS

Because you're a girl?

LISELOTTE

Exactly. The Christkind is always played by a girl, but my father insisted Charles do it. He is a shy thing, he hated every minute of it. But he found me afterwards. He'd saved the biggest candied apple he could find for me, to cheer me up. It was always only he and I, tearing around that castle. Well, until our thirteen half siblings came along, but we shan't go there.

(She sighs, melancholy)

Odd, how the mind sweetens memories, even if they were not all happiness. There was one Christmas where our father beat Mother so badly she was forced to hide for weeks powdering her bruises. My aunt Sophia tried to convince me Mother had dreamt she was an plum falling from a tree, and was terribly embarrassed upon waking to have found she'd fallen out of bed, purple all over. But I knew. Even then...

(Pause)

Which reminds me...

She shakes herself from her memories, and turns to a nearby table. She retrieves a plate bearing elaborately crafted figures - ‘zwetschgenmännla’ - made from figs, walnuts and prunes. Each wears a coat and hat, clearly intended for a doll.

LISELOTTE

Try one. I had the plums imported from the Palatinate.

VERMANDOIS selects one and begins to nibble.

She smiles sadly, watching him enjoy it.

LISELOTTE

Be thankful, Louis, that you have never been sent so far from home.

INT. PHILIPPE'S CHAMBERS - NIGHT.

Low moans in the throes of ecstasy. Hips pressing into hips, firm but tender. A hand grasps at a naked back, nails scraping across flesh where wild curls - brunette and blond alike - are tousled from the night's passion.

INT. PHILIPPE'S CHAMBERS - A WHILE LATER.

PHILIPPE

You don't think she was hurt?

CHEVALIER

She isn't one to equivocate if she was.

PHILIPPE

No. But then again, she promised you she wouldn't 'get in the way'. Maybe we should have agreed to help her.

CHEVALIER

There will be opportunity enough until death do you part. I am sure she understands.

(PHILIPPE looks unconvinced)

What are we supposed to do, mignonette? Invite her to bed? You blanche at the prospect of even thinking of a woman without her petticoats on, and as for me...

The CHEVALIER quickly silences himself, knowing his mind and tongue have wandered to conversations he'd rather not have. Not simply because such reminders are awkward...

... but because they hurt.

PHILIPPE senses this and sits up, turning to face his lover.

PHILIPPE

You are allowed to talk about her, you know.

CHEVALIER

(Feigning ignorance)

Madame de Beauvillier's new insistence of laughing through her nose? I know, it's distressing-

PHILIPPE'S eyebrow arches and his lover concedes immediately.

CHEVALIER

I know. But I'd rather we not start biting each other's heads off again.

PHILIPPE

I won't, if you won't. It's just... before... you'd never really talked about...

CHEVALIER

Huguenots?

PHILIPPE

Women.

CHEVALIER

Nor do we need to now.

PHILIPPE

Is it something you want? Marriage? Children?

CHEVALIER

Does it matter? Delphine is gone. You and I are harmoniously discordant once more.

PHILIPPE

That wasn't a no.

The CHEVALIER feels they are on dangerous ground.

CHEVALIER

Darling, there is only one I would ever wish to marry, and I fear we would have terrible trouble finding a priest who is willing to overlook our glaringly obvious disqualifications.

(They smile)

Besides, being unfaithful to a wife is the singular sin I have so gracefully avoided. She would be miserable. Not everyone is so patient as our little streusel.

PHILIPPE

I just want you to be happy. To have all those things that I have, that I can't give you.

A sadness falls upon them both.

The room feels intimate, like a confession box, every word an unspoken taboo.

PHILIPPE sees his lover on the precipice of honesty.

PHILIPPE (CONT'D)

You can say it.

A halting breath.

The CHEVALIER'S gaze wanders, vulnerably grasping at the surrounding splendour.

CHEVALIER

Say what? That you broke my heart?

(Philippe remains silent, lets him continue)

I shan't pretend that I've never hurt you. On the contrary. But I never meant to hurt you. Not truly. I never let you believe you were unworthy of me. I couldn't.

(Pause)

You knew exactly where to sheathe your sword in me. Exactly how to butcher me. And I thank God for the hands who held me together.

PHILIPPE

Liselotte.

CHEVALIER

Yes. And Delphine.

(Pause)

I confess, she taught me more about myself than I realised. She has not left me unchanged. But I suppose, when all is said, all that I ask is...

PHILIPPE

Anything.

CHEVALIER

(tears brimming)

That should you wish to hurt me again, you will at least tell me why.

PHILIPPE presses his forehead to his lover's.

PHILIPPE

I'm sorry.

CHEVALIER

(smiling through his tears)

I know, mignonette. I know.

Their lips meet again, as they wrap their arms around one another. PHILIPPE swiftly moves to kiss the CHEVALIER'S neck, suckling at the skin. CHEVALIER'S eyes close in contentment.

Apologies made, kisses given, PHILIPPE offers a final nuzzle and pulls away.

PHILIPPE

Come on- our angel awaits.

INT. BALLROOM - MIDNIGHT.

The enormous fir tree is now illuminated with candles.

The rest of the room is shadowy and dark, with only small orbs of light from the occasional candelabra lighting the faces of the awaiting onlookers.

The whole court is gathered.

There are varying shades of approval and disapproval on display.

PHILIPPE and the CHEVALIER cannot hide their excitement and pride in their German sweetheart.

To a pretty tune, DANCERS, dressed as the Star, the Angels and the Devil perform a mesmerising cavalcade.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - MIDNIGHT.

Face cast in a moonbeam, LOUIS lies awake, head resting upon the chair, as if he is laying upon his mother's lap.

INT. BALLROOM - CONTINUOUS.

LISELOTTE squeezes VERMANDOIS'S arm as the sound of a tinkling bell rings out.

The LITTLE GIRL appears, dressed as Christ in a white smock. Feathery wings are tied to her shoulders with dainty ribbons, and she carries a basket brimming with little gifts.

A dancer, entirely too young and androgynous to be a true likeness, is dressed as SAINT PETER, and accompanies her.

The courtiers 'ooh' and 'aah' at the sweet sight.

SAINT PETER

All gathered, give thanks! All gathered, give praise! For on this winter night, the Christkind - he walks among you!

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL- CONTINUOUS.

LOUIS'S eyes are like stars, pupils enhaloed with desperation.

INT. BALLROOM - CONTINUOUS.

SAINT PETER crouches beside the LITTLE GIRL, to encourage her with her lines.

The court watch on with joy.

SAINT PETER

Now, my Lord, do you forgive these poor sinners?

LITTLE GIRL

Yes.

And were they once wicked, now honest and good?

LITTLE GIRL

Yes.

SAINT PETER

And were they once lost, and now found, to be saved in your loving arms?

She nods shyly.

SAINT PETER (CONT'D)

Then upon them, bestow your gifts, my Lord! And to all, bring joy and love in your name!

One by one, the LITTLE GIRL approaches each noble.

To every one she bears a single gift - ribbons of silk, phials of perfume, sweet treats, hair adornments, lace cuffs.

Though the gifts are pocket-sized, the decadence is patent.

Encircling the gift-giving, the angels dance to subdue the Devil.

And amidst them, SAINT PETER leaps up onto a dais, to address the crowd further-

SAINT PETER

Be kind!

INT. KING'S BEDROOM - MIDNIGHT.

MAINTENON - in the safety of a silent bedroom, far from the festivities, watches the snow fall against the black sky.

Tears slip down her cheeks.

SAINT PETER (V.O.)

Be kind, good Christian people! Give nurture and be gentle. Do not despair if the world seems dark and cruel, for the light walks with you, always.

INT. BALLROOM - CONTINUOUS.

The evening glows. Another noble is presented a gift and it is unwrapped with great ceremony.

MADAME DE BOURBON hugs VERMANDOIS tightly, kisses him on the cheek with pride.

SAINT PETER

And be patient!

EXT. SNOWY CHURCHYARD - MIDNIGHT.

A graveyard somewhere in Paris. The egalitarian snow, enveloping the home of the King has also come to cradle the home of the dead.

BONTEMPS, hood shadowing his face, crouches beside a headstone.

He has not visited here in some time.

He brushes the old stone clean, revealing the engraving:

'A la memoire de la famille BONTEMPS:

Claude-Marguerite Bosc du Bois 1627-1674

Charles Alexandre Bontemps 1659-1666'

SAINT PETER (V.O.)

Be patient, good Christian people! Forgive yourself the sacrifices made. Forgive yourself the time you lived in sin -

INT. BALLROOM - CONTINUOUS.

The CHEVALIER twirls the LITTLE GIRL around, in a faux-waltz. PHILIPPE and LISELOTTE watch, beaming.

SAINT PETER

... For there is always more time. The mortal and immortal.

EXT. SNOWY CHURCHYARD - CONTINUOUS.

There is movement in BONTEMPS' periphery and he turns to look.

A WOMAN stands across the graveyard, in solemn reverence before another stone. She has brought something to lay upon the grave.

BONTEMPS watches her place it and bow her head in prayer.

EXT. SNOWY CHURCHYARD - CONTINUOUS.

As BONTEMPS makes to leave his family's gravesite, to return to the Palais Royal, he deliberately passes the widow's headstone, to examine what she has laid there.

A crocheted chrysanthemum flower. It is clearly made with love, by practiced hands - dyed a warm orange tone.

He does not touch it.

Simply admires.

It brings a hint of vibrant life to a place so full of death.

For the first time in quite a while, the ghost of a smile appears on BONTEMPS' face.

SAINT PETER (V.O.)

There is always life anew.

INT. SAFEHOUSE - MIDNIGHT.

SOPHIE sleeps, an empathetic shadow obscuring her face, as it contorts with fitful dreams.

MARCHAL watches her.

Wondering.

SAINT PETER (V.O.)

Hold close those whom you love. Forgive those who have strayed from the path of light, and keep all who might be saved. For you may the one to save them.

INT. LISELOTTE'S PARLOUR - NIGHT.

The glow of the evening's success still rosy in her cheeks, LISELOTTE is asleep upon the chaise longue.

PHILLIPE gathers her up, carries her to her bed. There, he gently removes her dress, leaving her only in her shift.

The CHEVALIER removes her shoes, the beads and ribbons from her hair.

She is laid, as a child might be, under the blankets.

They slip into the bed on either side of her, curling into her sides.

SAINT PETER (V.O.)

For you may be the bearer of their souls.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL - CONTINUOUS.

The King's hands clutch at the chair, and he presses his face into the upholstery, as though it might offer some of his mother's warmth.

EXT. PALACE OF VERSAILLES - MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

SAINT PETER, still in costume and rouge, makes his way from the palace, surrounded by his fellow performers - turned out into the snowy night after the festivities.

Across the grounds they walk, back to obscurity.

He speaks to his companions, his breath frosted before him.

SAINT PETER

And truest of all, my friends. Do not despair those who are lost. Though they cannot be summoned like a player to a palace, or a child to a bell, they are never gone. They are within us.

INT. STUDY AT THE PALAIS ROYAL- CONTINUOUS.

LOUIS' eyes slip closed.

His sleep is calm, his breathing even.

Still, the chair is empty.

SAINT PETER (V.O.)

And that is what must bring us peace.

INT. TOILETTE - MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

Away from the mirth, in a dressing room, wardrobes and armoires on each of the enclosing walls, REYNIE rummages through drawers, searching for evidence of the incriminating perfume.

For forged travel papers, or Protestant hallmarks.

He is careful not to rumple, rearrange or ruin, leaving no evidence he was ever present.

On the verge of giving up, something catches his interest.

REYNIE picks it up, to observe it closely.

A HANDKERCHIEF.

Unusual, in its design.

Embroidered upon it, a petite, exquisitely detailed Grecian youth, bearing a cup that overflows with water.

And beside him, in elaborate swirls, the letters:

'S' and 'C'

REYNIE holds it to the candlelight, where the threads shimmer.

END OF EPISODE 4:02