The way in which Francesca smoothed the fabric of her dress was demure propriety itself. “Perhaps—”
“Which brings us to the third possibility,” said the Emperor loudly. The gaze he now bestowed on Francesca was almost angry. “Every now and then—not often—a whore becomes truly ambitious. And—if she’s smart enough—realizes that the ultimate coin in this sinful world is trust.”
Francesca meet the fierce eyes with calm ones of her own. “Trust which would be quite shattered if I abandoned the prince for the emperor. For the one as much as the other.”
The Emperor nodded. “Good. Now—it is time to speak honestly. I will allow you two lies. No more. What do you want, Marie-Françoise de Guemadeuc? Tell me all of it.”
She grimaced. “First of all, I don’t want that name. Francesca is now—”
“That’s the first lie. Be careful, woman.”
For the first time since he’d met the courtesan, her aplomb was shaken. Francesca almost jerked in the saddle.
“It is not a lie,” she hissed. “I am simply—” She broke off, staring at the countryside with eyes which clearly saw a different one. “My God,” she whispered, “it is a lie.”
“Of course it is,” snapped Charles Fredrik. “The mistake your mother made, Marie-Françoise, was settling for revenge. She should have bided her time, and waited until she could triumph.”
They rode on in silence for a bit. Then Francesca shook her head, as if to clear it. “Yes and no, Your Majesty. Oddly enough, I find that I like Francesca de Chevreuse rather more than I did the girl she was. So I believe I’ll stick with the name—within, as well as without.” Again, that soft throaty chuckle. “But . . . yes. I will keep an eye out for the possibility of triumph.”
“Good. What else?” He waved a thick hand. “Wealth, ease, comfort, all that. Naturally. But what else?”
Francesca seemed to be groping for words. The Emperor clucked his tongue. “Well, it’s time you did start thinking about it. Clearly, for a change.” He twisted a bit in the saddle, until he was facing her almost squarely. “Let an old man provide you with some assistance. The ‘what else,’ I’m quite sure, is power and influence. Your own power and influence, not that which you derive from befuddling a man’s wits with your—no doubt magnificent—legs and bosom.”
Francesca hesitated. Then, nodded abruptly.
“Good. That ambition an emperor can trust. For the simple reason that it cannot be achieved without trust.” His smile was almost that of a cherub. “And I must say you’re doing quite well, for such a young and innocent girl.”
Francesca began that soft throaty chuckle again; but this time she choked it off almost before it began. “Good God! You’re serious. Um—Your Majesty.”
“Of course I’m serious.” The cherub smile was replaced by something infinitely grimmer. “Take it from an emperor, child. What you know about sin is pitiful; what you know about wickedness . . . almost nothing.”
Again, they rode on in silence. After a time, the Emperor spoke again. “I’ll be sending Manfred off, soon enough. It’s time for the next stage of his education—as well as the education of the Grand Duke of Lithuania.”
Francesca’s eyes widened. “No, girl,” said the Emperor softly, “I am not sending him off to war. Not directly, at least. The time isn’t right for a war with Jagiellon. Not with Emeric on the throne in Hungary, still unbloodied, and now this rot in my own—”
He broke off. Then, cleared his throat. “Never mind that. But I do think a demonstration is called for. Since that Lithuanian bastard chose to use a demon from the Svear, against the Svear it shall be.”
Francesca seemed to wince. The Emperor grinned. “Oh please, demoiselle! I do not expect you to traipse around with Manfred and Erik in the marshes and forests of Småland! But I will expect you to accompany them as far as Mainz. And then, possibly, to Copenhagen.”
The Emperor’s grin widened, seeing the eager light in the young woman’s eyes. “Yes, yes—intrigue with the Danes against the Sots, all that. You’ll have a splendid time of it. But there’s something else, more important, we need to discuss.”