The next several days blurred into a frenzied montage of activity. Dakota darted from the salon in the palace to the rowdy pubs of the townspeople, piecing together information and rumors of the king's planned assault against the British.

Anything important he would put to memory. Then he would write it in his journal in the knowledge that Pierre would send the reports to London with haste.

Yet, amidst all this cloak-and-dagger activity, his mind constantly wandered to the vision of beauty that was the Duchess Celine. The spill of gold blonde hair down her back, the sparkle of deep blue eyes.

Later that day, Dakota's hand brushed against Celine's while they strolled through the opulence of Palace gardens, away from prying eyes at court.

"Race you to the fountain," she teased.

He accepted with a smirk and said nothing. They then ran across manicured lawns, giggles bubbling between them. Of course, Dakota was faster, but he let her win.

"Cheater," he accused with a smile.

"Strategist," she said.

Their teasing became life itself, and they lost themselves in their new world. He lifted his hand and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers trembled with the need to stroke her cheek.

"Is this madness?" Celine whispered.

"Perhaps the sweetest sort," Dakota returned, his voice low.

Celine nodded toward an overgrown archway. The stones were ancient and covered in moss. They slipped through, curiosity drawing them forward.

There appeared a dark room, filled with secrets.

"Look at this," Dakota whispered, pulling out a small amulet from its dusty pedestal.

"Careful," Celine warned, "There is magic here."

For a second, Dakota thought he saw Celine's hand glow an emerald hue as the amulet appeared to vibrate.

Suddenly—next door, a thrum of violins rose to a crescendo that swept through the antechamber like an invisible tide. Dakota and Celine donned masks of feather and gold before weaving out into a sea of twirling gowns and formal coats.

"Can you believe we just met?" Celine's whisper barely rose above the music, her breath warm against his cheek.

"Every night, I dream of you now," Dakota said, spinning her beneath his arm.

"Let's escape," she whispered, her lips barely moving, an invitation rife with adventure.

"Lead the way."

Skimming past the silk-draped tables, under stone angels looking down, they closed onto a terrace where the moon gave the gardens a silver veining.

"Here," Celine said, tugging him into a secluded grove. Above them, the stars dripped like a chandelier.

"Are we mad?" Dakota asked in a low rumble that was drowned by quiet.

"Madly alive," she corrected, drawing him down to meet her lips.

Their lips clashed in a wild, never-yielding spark. A kiss that flared between them beneath the canvas of the heavens. The taste of her was intoxicating.

"Let them find us," Celine breathed against his mouth, defiance laced within her tone.

"Let them try," Dakota grinned, his arms wrapping around her. They were tempests in a palace garden, hearts thundering louder than any drumbeat, every kiss a rebellion they were ready to stake their souls upon.

----------------------------------------

Later, seated among nobles at the high table, they attempted to appear uninterested. The Dauphin's eyes, as keen as the jewels winking on his fingers, settled on them.

"Mon cher Duvall," said the Dauphin, "your attentions to Mademoiselle Celine seem—fervent."

"Lover of the arts, Your Grace," Dakota said. "Mademoiselle has views on poetry which set the mind aflame."

"Poetry?" The Dauphin's brow rose, every line a picture of incredulity.

"Yes," Celine inserted, her smile serene and yet her eyes alight with silent laughter. "Monsieur Duvall's interpretations are quite—enlightening."

"Is that all?" Suspicion still lingered in the Dauphin's tone, a challenge laid bare.

"Art, Your Grace, is an impassioned pursuit," Dakota replied smoothly, his gaze locked on that of the Dauphin. "Would you not agree?"

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A moment hung between them, weighted and electric. Then the Dauphin laughed, his booming voice across the hall.

"Indeed, impassioned." And with that, he dismissed himself back to his plate.

Dakota breathed a soft sigh, barely perceptible except to Celine, who pressed his hand under the table. Tonight, they had danced on the edge of a blade, their secret safe for one more day.

After dinner, they vanished again into the halls of secrecy.

"Left here," Dakota whispered. "Faster."

A door appeared ahead. Dakota shoved it open, and moonlight spilled across their toes. They emerged onto the banks of a creek, the palace looming as an overshadowing dark shape behind them.

"Where are we going?" Celine whispered, her voice caught somewhere between fear and exhilaration.

"Somewhere we can be us," Dakota replied, and he walked her along the quiet banks into a secluded forest.

"Look." Dakota nodded toward the stars above. See—the constellation of Andromeda.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

"Like you," he said.

"Whatever comes, I am yours," Dakota vowed, finding her hand anew.

"And I, yours," Celine assured him.

Above them arced the limitless sky, a canvas to the promise of tomorrow.

Underneath the shadow of Versailles, the smile faltered on Celine's lips. Dakota caught the shift, his brow furrowed.

"Celine, what is wrong?—speak," he urged.

"I'm." She stammered, "I am a bird in a gilded cage, Dakota. Every step I take is measured against a thousand eyes, each waiting for a misstep."

"Celine," he whispered, drawing her close. "You are no caged creature. You are the wind itself wild, free.

"Easy for you to say," she returned, her lips twisting wryly. "You defy them with every breath. But if I fall—"

"—Then I'll catch you," Dakota cut in, his tone fierce. "We'll fly or fall together."

"Is that enough?"

"Isn't it?" he shot back. The heat from their bodies was inches apart, the tension palpable.

"Love in shadows—is that a life?

"Better than a life without love." He took her arms very gently. "Isn't it?"

"No!" Celine pulled out of his grasp, turning to pace before him. "It's not just us. There are expectations, obligations."

"Blast the court!" he exclaimed, voice echoing off stone walls.

"Words," she flung at him, her breathing high in her chest. "Just words, when what we need, Dakota, is actions.

"Then what do you want me to do?" He stepped into her space, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me, Celine."

"Fight," she whispered fiercely, her eyes ablaze. "Not with swords or witty retorts, but for us. For a future where we don't hide," she said.

"I will."

"Promise?" It was a plea, her armor cracking.

"My Life, your heart" he vowed, hand reaching once more to find hers.

"Are you ready?" he asked in a low tone.

"Always," she replied, her hand clenching on his.

Celine leaned against him. "I'm scared," she said, the words spilling out, raw.

"Me too," he said, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

"Promises break," she whispered, and doubts crept in like unwanted shadows.

"Then we won't promise," Dakota said, his eyes ablaze. "We'll do. Act. Be."

"Be what?" The word teetered between them delicate, daunting.

"Ourselves. Together." In his tone was a surety that wrapped around her like a mantle. "Let the world adjust."

"Adjust," she echoed, and the word was a flavor of freedom.

"I will protect you," he swore.

"Even from ourselves?"

"Especially from ourselves," he affirmed, drawing her near.

"Dare to," Celine said, a fire lighting in her heart.

"Dare we shall," Dakota said, and his lips brushed hers in a promise deeper than any vow spoken.