Chapter 1: Interrogation Turned Seduction
The clasp of the sapphire necklace refused to cooperate. Yuu de Valois sighed, her breath misting the gilded mirror, her reflection a study in frustrated elegance. The new gown was a weapon—deep burgundy silk that whispered against the floor, cut to suggest what it concealed. But the final piece of her armor was stuck.
“Allow me.”
The voice from the doorway was like cool water. Yuu didn’t startle. She’d heard the footsteps, deliberate and unapologetic, on the parquet floor. In the mirror, she watched Céline Dubois enter the chamber, her form cutting through the room’s rose-scented haze.
Céline wore a simple, dark jacket and trousers, her short hair untouched by powder. She looked utterly, provocatively out of place amidst the shimmering silks and gilded scrollwork. Yuu felt a familiar thrill—part annoyance, part anticipation.
“The investigator plays lady’s maid?” Yuu murmured, not turning. “Has the King’s budget been cut so severely?”
“The King’s budget is fine. Your security is lacking.” Céline’s hands came up, blunt and efficient. Her fingers, calloused and sure, brushed against the nape of Yuu’s neck as they found the stubborn clasp. “A child could have walked in here.”
“I was expecting someone.”
“I know.” The clasp gave way with a soft click, and Céline laid the necklace carefully on the velvet-lined tray. But her hands didn’t retreat. They rested, warm and heavy, on Yuu’s bare shoulders. “You’ve been asking questions in the south wing. Talking to guards who had no business talking to you.”
Yuu met Céline’s gaze in the mirror. The investigator’s eyes were a flat, unreadable gray. “I have an interest in justice. As do you.”
“My interest is in the truth. Yours is in leverage.” Céline’s thumbs pressed gently into the tension coiled at the base of Yuu’s neck. “The Comte de Leroy. You were seen with him the evening before he was found.”
A direct hit. Yuu kept her smile in place, a delicate curve she’d practiced for years. “He was a charming conversationalist. Is that a crime now?”
“It is when everyone you charm ends up dead.” Céline’s voice dropped, a low rumble in the quiet room. “Stop playing. This isn’t a salon game. Tell me what you know about the markings on his hand.”
So, they’d found that detail. Yuu had paid the chambermaid a small fortune to keep it quiet. She shifted, letting the silk of her sleeve slide against Céline’s wrist. “And if I don’t? Will you drag me before the King? I doubt it. You have no proof of anything. Just theories… and a clear fascination with where I spend my evenings.”
Céline’s hands tightened. Not painfully, but with a firmness that made Yuu’s breath catch. The genteel pressure was gone, replaced by something more visceral. “You think this is fascinating?” Céline leaned closer, her lips near Yuu’s ear. Her scent was plain soap and cold stone, a jarring contrast to the perfumed room. “I’ve seen what’s left of those men. This isn’t intrigue. It’s butchery.”
For a moment, Yuu saw it—a flash of genuine anger, of raw investment, in the other woman’s eyes. It was more compelling than any flirtation from a courtier. It was real.
Yuu turned then, forcing Céline’s hands to fall away. They stood close, the extravagant spill of Yuu’s skirts brushing against Céline’s practical trousers. “What do you want from me, Céline?”
“The truth.”
“Everyone here lies. It’s the first language we learn.”
“Then stop speaking it.” Céline’s gaze was unflinching. “You’re not a victim here. You’re in the middle of it. I can’t protect you if you’re fencing with me.”
“Who said I wanted your protection?” Yuu lifted a hand, tracing the severe line of Céline’s jaw. A challenge. “Perhaps I want something else.”
Céline caught her wrist, fast. The move was startling, her grip iron. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Yuu whispered, her pulse hammering against Céline’s fingers.
“Don’t use that tired script on me. I’m not one of your puppets.” Céline didn’t let go. Her other hand came up, but not to caress. It fisted in the intricate lace at Yuu’s bodice, holding her still. “You have information. Give it to me.”
The raw command in her voice, the sheer physicality of it, short-circuited something in Yuu. The carefully constructed persona, the arsenal of seductive glances and honeyed words, felt suddenly flimsy. Useless. A hot, shameful wave of submission flooded her, followed by a sharper, brighter spike of desire.
She stopped fighting the grip. Her body went pliant. “What will you do if I refuse?”
Céline studied her face, the defiance bleeding into something else. Her gray eyes darkened. “I’ll stop asking nicely.”
She pushed Yuu backward. It wasn’t a violent shove, but a controlled, undeniable force that guided Yuu until the carved edge of her dressing table pressed into the small of her back. The crystal bottles rattled. Céline stepped into the space between her legs, not letting go of her wrist or the lace at her chest.
“The markings, Yuu.”
The use of her given name, stripped of title, was the final surrender. Yuu exhaled, the sound shaky. “It’s a family crest. Not his. The Duval family. They were exiled years ago.”
Céline’s mind was visibly working, connecting threads. “Why carve it into a dead man’s skin?”
“A message. Or a signature.” Yuu leaned back, bracing herself on the table. The cool marble seeped through the silk. “The Duval heir is back. He’s here. And he’s not just killing people. He’s making a statement.”
Céline absorbed this, her body still a cage of tension around Yuu. The initial objective was met, but the atmosphere between them had cracked open, revealing something far more dangerous than shared secrets. The professional inquiry had melted away, leaving only a stark, humming tension.
“You knew,” Céline said, her voice rough. “You knew and you said nothing.”
“I needed to be sure.”
“Of what?”
“Of who I could trust.”
Céline laughed, a short, harsh sound. “And you trust me now?”
“No.” Yuu looked up at her, all pretense gone. “But you’re the only real thing in this entire rotting palace.”
For a long moment, they were perfectly still. The candlelight flickered over Céline’s face, softening its severe lines. Then, with a rough sound, she closed the last inch between them and kissed her.
It was nothing like the kisses Yuu knew. It was not a question or a negotiation. It was pure, claiming possession. Céline’s mouth was demanding, her hands releasing their grips only to find new, more definitive holds—one tangling in Yuu’s long black hair, the other spanning her waist, pulling her hard against the solid, unyielding line of Céline’s body.
Yuu kissed her back with a desperation that shocked her. She clutched at Céline’s shoulders, her nails scraping the wool of her jacket. The taste of her was clean, sharp, overwhelming the cloying rose. This was not a game. This was a collision.
Céline broke the kiss, her breath hot on Yuu’s cheek. “The gown,” she commanded, her voice ragged. “Off.”
It was an order, not a request. Yuu, her hands trembling, fumbled for the ties at her back. Céline watched, her gaze burning, until impatience won. She turned Yuu around and with a few ruthless tugs, undid the fastenings herself. The heavy silk sighed into a pool at their feet.
Céline spun her back, her eyes sweeping over her. The appraisal was frank, intense, devoid of poetic flattery. She just looked, and in looking, possessed. Then she kissed her again, walking her backward toward the bed.
They fell onto the silk covers in a tangle. The power had shifted, crystallized. Céline was everywhere—her weight, her hands, her mouth. She mapped Yuu’s body with a thoroughness that felt like an interrogation, peeling away every layer of defense until only raw sensation remained. Yuu could only arch and gasp, her courtly cunning reduced to a language of sighs and pleading touches.
When Céline finally entered her, it was with that same unanswerable authority. Yuu cried out, her head thrown back, her fingers clawing at the bedding. There was no gentle buildup, only this devastating, consuming reality. Céline set a relentless, driving rhythm, her eyes locked on Yuu’s, watching every fracture, every surrender.
The climax, when it broke over Yuu, was a silent, shattering wave. It ripped through her with a violence that left her blind and breathless, a sob caught in her throat. She felt Céline follow her, a low groan muffled against the skin of Yuu’s shoulder, her body shuddering with a release that felt as much like anger as passion.
For a minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the opulent room. The candles had burned lower.
Céline shifted, rolling onto her back beside Yuu, one arm thrown over her eyes. The distance, physical and emotional, began to re-form instantly.
Yuu lay still, feeling the cool air on her heated skin, the profound emptiness where Céline’s weight had been. The truth was now a physical thing between them, messy and complicated.
“The Duval heir,” Céline said, her voice now flat, professional. The moment of vulnerability was sealed shut. “A name. Do you have one?”
Yuu stared at the painted cherubs on the ceiling. She felt used, laid bare, and more alive than she had in years. “No. But I know who might.”
Céline sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. She found her clothes and began dressing with efficient, unselfconscious movements. “You’ll take me to them. Tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a question.
Yuu watched her fasten her jacket, the investigator once more. “And tonight?”
Céline finished buttoning, then looked down at her. Her expression was unreadable, a mask firmly back in place. Only a slight dishevelment in her hair betrayed what had happened. “Tonight, you lock your door. For real.”
She left without another word, her footsteps echoing down the hall until they were swallowed by the vast, silent palace.
Yuu lay alone in the wreckage of her silk sheets, the scent of soap and sweat still on her skin. The game had changed. The danger was no longer just out there in the shadowy corridors of Versailles. It was in here, in the frantic, unfamiliar beating of her own heart. And for the first time, she had no idea what her next move should be.