The Ouroboros Cycle, Book One. G.D. Falksen

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      Paris, France

      The next few days were a confused blur for Babette as she was bustled about by Father, driven mad by the fussing of servants packing—including a trunk full of new gowns that she had no interest in wearing—and finally compounded into delirium by the hurried journey south to Paris.

      Their rooms in the capital were spacious and charming, but Babette had scarcely enough time to familiarize herself with the surroundings before she was again uprooted, pulled out to visit jewelers and dressmakers for even more adornments—“for later in the season,” Father had said. She soon found herself forced into the company of French society and her fellow debutantes, people she had no inclination to like.

      She was presented to the Emperor and Empress along with the other girls, a process that somehow managed to be both tedious and brief. The days that followed were filled with balls and luncheons, fine dinners and quiet salons. Day and night it was an unending chorus of music and trite conversation. There were no books.

      It was unbearable.

      * * * *

      It was nearly two weeks before Babette saw Korbinian again. By that time, she had lost all thought of when she might encounter him next, though he had never left her mind. Far from it: she could scarcely think of anything else as the tedium of high society surrounded her, slowly choking away her will to live. She had not seen him in Paris since their arrival, not once. By the end of the second week, she had all but given up hope.

      Which is why, when she saw him at Madame de Saint-Étienne’s soiree at the end of the second week, she nearly dropped her glass. For a moment she could not believe her eyes, and she stood there, amid the other guests, and stared across the well-appointed chamber. Was she mad? Was he a figment of her imagination?

      But no, as she blinked several times, she realized that her eyes did not deceive her. There stood Korbinian just as she remembered him, clothed in black and scarlet and smiling at a joke only he understood. He met her eyes from across the room and slowly bowed his head. Babette felt the corner of her mouth curl up into a smirk and she nodded slightly.

      The cunning devil. He had come there unannounced to surprise her! She was certain of it! But how had he known? Someone must have told him.…

      She closed her eyes as her mind began to whirl out of control. That was nonsense, of course. No one in Society would miss the chance to be entertained by Madame de Saint-Étienne. Her soirees were almost as official as the presentation to the Empress Eugénie. The social season was not complete without them, informal as they were. Of course Korbinian had guessed she would be there.

      Babette took a sip of her wine to settle her nerves. The sight of Korbinian in all his foreign elegance was enough to make her head spin. It would not do to make a fool of herself in front of him. Or in front of the rest of Parisian society…she supposed.

      She traded looks with Korbinian across the room for a few minutes, the two of them smiling at their secret communication, of which—she was certain—the rest of the company was wholly ignorant.

      She was interrupted as the opulence of Madame de Saint-Étienne appeared from the crowd, dressed in a glittering gown of magnificent proportions, and rushed forward to envelope her with hospitality.

      “My dear Mademoiselle Varanus,” said Madame de Saint-Étienne, taking Babette’s hands for a moment and giving her a warm smile. “How are you?”

      “Well, Madame,” Babette said.

      “I am most pleased that you are here,” Madame de Saint-Étienne continued, saying the same thing that she had said to every other guest over the course of the evening. Still, it was a pleasant thing to hear. At least Madame de Saint-Étienne had a spirit to her. There was more substance to her than her baubles and frills, at least if Grandfather was to be believed.

      “Your father has been looking for you,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “Playing the dutiful chaperone of course, as he always does.”

      “Yes, I fear we were separated by the crowd,” Babette said. “I simply couldn’t find him again, so I thought to wait here until he found me.”

      “Of course you did,” Madame de Saint-Étienne said, smiling.

      Babette smiled back politely and flicked her eyes in Korbinian’s direction, wondering how to engineer a meeting with him among the throng. Their dance at Grandfather’s ball had been daring enough. If she approached him here, there would be no end of unwanted gossip. That would make Father fuss more, and that would be insufferable.

      But Korbinian was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Babette felt a twinge of irritation. How dare he disappear before she had deduced a terribly clever way of speaking to him!

      She looked back at Madame de Saint-Étienne and nearly cried out in surprise. Korbinian stood a few paces away, carefully maneuvering himself in the direction of Madame de Saint-Étienne’s elbow.

      The clever scoundrel! Clearly he meant to draw the lady’s attention and inspire her to introduce them.

      As expected, Madame de Saint-Étienne chanced a look in Korbinian’s direction and gave a cry of delight.

      “My dear Baron von Fuschburg!” she exclaimed. “So delightful that you could attend. How is your father?”

      “Dead,” Korbinian replied.

      “Oh, what a dreadful thing,” Madame de Saint-Étienne said. “Your mother?”

      “In Asia.”

      “Oh, the poor dear! Grief does such peculiar things to a person. And СКАЧАТЬ