Luce nodded. She straightened Lys’s black gown and held her head a little higher. “Snap to it.”

  “And … go.” Bill snapped his fingers.

  For a split second, the party snagged like a scratched record. Then every midconversation syllable, every whiff of perfume being carried through the air, every drop of punch sliding down every bejeweled throat, every note of music from every player in the orchestra, picked up, smoothed out, and carried on as if nothing in the world had happened.

  Only Luce had changed. Her mind became assaulted by a thousand words and images. A sprawling thatch-roofed country house in the foothills of the Alps. A chestnut-colored horse named Gauche. The smell of straw everywhere. A single long-stemmed white peony laid across her pillow. And Daniel. Daniel. Daniel. Coming back from the well with four heavy buckets of water balanced from a pole laid across his shoulders. Grooming Gauche first thing every morning so Lys could take him for a ride. When it came to small, lovely favors for Luce, there was nothing Daniel overlooked, even in the midst of all the labor he did for her father. His violet eyes finding her always. Daniel in her dreams, in her heart, in her arms. It was like the flashes of Luschka’s memories that had come to her in Moscow when she’d touched the church gate—but stronger, more overwhelming, intrinsically a part of her.

  Daniel was here. In the stables or the servants’ quarters. He was here. And she would find him.

  Something rustled near Luce’s neck. She jumped.

  “Just me.” Bill flitted over the top of her capelet. “You’re doing great.”

  The great golden doors at the head of the room were eased open by two footmen, who stood at attention on either side. The girls in line in front of Luce began to titter with excitement, and then a hush swept the room. Meanwhile, Luce was looking for the fastest way out of here and into Daniel’s arms.

  “Focus, Luce,” Bill said, as if reading her mind. “You’re about to be called into duty.”

  The strings of the orchestra began playing the baroque opening chords of the Ballet de Jeunesse, and the whole room shifted its attention. Luce followed everyone else’s gaze and gasped: She recognized the man who stood there in the doorway, gazing out at the party with a patch over one eye.

  It was the Duc de Bourbon, the cousin of the king.

  He was tall and skinny, as wilted as a bean plant in a drought. His ill-fitting blue velvet suit was ornamented with a mauve sash to match the mauve stockings on his twig-thin legs. His ostentatious powdered wig and his milky-white face were both exceptionally ugly.

  She didn’t recognize the duke from some photograph in a history book. She knew far too much about him. She knew everything. Like how the royal ladies-in-waiting swapped bawdy jokes about the sad size of the duke’s scepter. About how he’d lost that eye (hunting accident, on a trip he’d joined to appease the king). And about how right now, the duke was going to send in the girls whom he’d preselected as suitable marriage material for the twelve-year-old king waiting inside.

  And Luce—no, Lys—was an early favorite of the duke’s to fill the slot. That was the reason for the heavy, aching feeling in her chest: Lys couldn’t marry the king, because she loved Daniel. She had loved him passionately for years. But in this life, Daniel was a servant, and the two of them were forced to hide their romance. Luce felt Lys’s paralyzing fear—that if she took the king’s fancy tonight, all hope of having a life with Daniel would disappear.

  Bill had warned her that going 3-D would be intense, but there was no way Luce could have prepared for the onslaught of so much emotion: Every fear and doubt that had ever crossed Lys’s mind swamped Luce. Every hope and dream. It was too much.

  She gasped and looked around her at the ball—anywhere but at the duke. And realized she knew everything there was to know about this time and place. She suddenly understood why the king was looking for a wife even though he was already engaged. She recognized half the faces moving around her in the ballroom, knew their stories, and knew which ones envied her. She knew how to stand in the corseted gown so that she could breathe comfortably. And she knew, judging from the skilled eye she cast on the dancers, that Lys had been trained in the art of ballroom dancing from childhood.

  It was an eerie feeling, being in Lys’s body, as if Luce were both the ghost and the one haunted.

  The orchestra came to the end of the song, and a man near the door stepped forward to read from a scroll. “Princess Lys of Savoy.”

  Luce raised her head with more elegance and confidence than she’d expected, and accepted the hand of the young man in the pale-green waistcoat who had appeared to escort her into the king’s receiving room.

  Once inside the entirely pastel-blue room, Luce tried not to stare at the king. His towering gray wig looked silly poised over his small, drawn face. His pale-blue eyes leered at the line of duchesses and princesses—all beautiful, all dressed exquisitely—the way a man deprived of food might leer at a pig on a spit.

  The pimply figure on the throne was little more than a child.

  Louis XV had assumed the crown when he was only five years old. In compliance with his dying father’s wishes, he’d been betrothed to the Spanish princess, the infanta. But she was still barely a toddler. It was a match made in Hell. The young king, who was frail and sickly, wasn’t expected to live long enough to produce an heir with the Spanish princess, who herself might also die before reaching childbearing age. So the king had to find a consort to produce an heir. Which explained this extravagant party, and the ladies lined up on display.

  Luce fidgeted with the lace on her gown, feeling ridiculous. The other girls all looked so patient. Maybe they truly wanted to marry the acne-ridden twelve-year-old King Louis, though Luce didn’t see how that was possible. They were all so elegant and beautiful. From the Russian princess, Elizabeth, whose sapphire-velvet gown had a collar trimmed in rabbit’s fur, to Maria, the princess from Poland, whose tiny button nose and full red mouth made her dizzyingly alluring, they all gazed at the boy king with wide, hopeful eyes.

  But he was staring straight at Luce. With a satisfied smirk that made her stomach turn.

  “That one.” He pointed at her lazily. “Let me see her up close.”

  The duke appeared at Luce’s side, gently shoving her shoulders forward with his long, icy fingers. “Present yourself, Princess,” he said quietly. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  The Luce part of her groaned inwardly, but on the outside, Lys was in charge, and she practically floated forward to greet the king. She curtseyed with a perfectly proper bow of her head, extending her hand for his kiss. It was what her family expected of her.

  “Will you get fat?” the king blurted out at Luce, eyeing her corset-squeezed waist. “I like the way she looks now,” he said to the duke. “But I don’t want her to get fat.”

  Had she been in her own body, Luce might have told the king exactly what she thought of his unappealing physique. But Lys had perfect composure, and Luce felt herself reply, “I should hope to always please the king, with my looks and with my temperament.”

  “Yes, of course,” the duke purred, walking a tight circle around Luce. “I’m sure His Majesty could keep the princess on the diet of his choice.”

  “What about hunting?” the king asked.

  “Your Majesty,” the duke began to say, “that isn’t befitting a queen. You have plenty of other hunting companions. I, for one—”

  “My father is an excellent hunter,” Luce said. Her brain was whirling, working toward something—anything—that might help her escape this scene.

  “Should I bed down with your father, then?” the king sneered.

  “Knowing Your Majesty likes guns,” Luce said, straining to keep her tone polite, “I have brought you a gift—my father’s most prized hunting rifle. He’d asked me to bring it to you this evening, but I wasn’t sure when I’d have the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

  She had the king’s full attention. He was perched on the edge of his throne.

  “What’s it look like? Are there jewels in its butt?”

  “The … the stock is hand-carved from cherry-wood,” she said, feeding the king the details Bill called out from where he stood beside the king’s chair. “The bore was milled by—by—”

  “Oh, what would sound impressive? By a Russian metalworker who has since gone to work for the czar.” Bill leaned over the king’s pastries and sniffed hungrily. “These look good.”

  Luce repeated Bill’s line and then added, “I could bring it to Your Majesty, if you’d just allow me to go and retrieve it from my chambers—”

  “A servant can bring the gun down tomorrow, I’m sure,” the duke said.

  “I want to see it now.” The king crossed his arms, looking even younger than he was.

  “Please.” Luce turned to the duke. “It would give me great pleasure to present the rifle to His Majesty myself.”

  “Go.” The king snapped his fingers, dismissing Luce.

  Luce wanted to spin on her heel, but Lys knew better—one never showed the king one’s back—and she bowed and walked backward out of the room. She showed the most gracious restraint, gliding along as though she hadn’t any feet at all—just until she got to the other side of the mirrored door.

  Then she ran.

  Through the ballroom, past the splendid dancing couples and the orchestra, whirring from one pastel-yellow room into another decorated all in deep chartreuse. She ran past gasping ladies and grunting gentlemen, over hardwood floors and thick, opulent Persian rugs, until the lights grew dimmer and the partygoers thinned out, and at last she found the mullioned doors that led outside. She thrust them open, gasping in her corset to draw the fresh air of freedom into her lungs. She strode onto an enormous balcony made of brilliant white marble that wrapped around the entire second story of the palace.

  The night was bright with stars; all Luce wanted to do was to be in Daniel’s arms and flying up toward those stars. If only he were by her side to take her far from all of this—

  “What are you doing out here?”

  She spun around. He’d come for her. He stood across the balcony in simple servant’s clothes, looking confused and alarmed and tragically, hopelessly in love.

  “Daniel.” She dashed toward him. He moved toward her, too, his violet eyes lighting up; he threw open his arms, beaming. When they finally connected and Luce was wrapped up in his arms, she thought she might explode from happiness.

  But she didn’t.

  She just stayed there, her head buried against his wonderful, broad chest. She was home. His arms were wrapped around her back, resting on her waist, and he pulled her as close to him as possible. She felt him breathe, and smelled the husky scent of straw on his neck. Luce kissed just below his left ear, then underneath his jaw. Soft, gentle kisses until she reached his lips, which parted against her own. Then the kisses became longer, filled with a love that seemed to pour out from the very depths of her soul.

  After a moment, Luce broke away and stared into Daniel’s eyes. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Daniel chuckled. “I’ve missed you, too, these past … three hours. Are—are you all right?”

  Luce ran her fingers through Daniel’s silky blond hair. “I just needed to get some air, to find you.” She squeezed him tightly.

  Daniel narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think we should be out here, Lys. They must be expecting you back in the receiving room.”

  “I don’t care. I won’t go back in there. And I would never marry that pig. I will never marry anyone but you.”

  “Shhh.” Daniel winced, stroking her cheek. “Someone might hear you. They’ve cut off heads for less than that.”

  “Someone already did hear you,” a voice called from the open doorway. The Duc de Bourbon stood with his arms crossed over his chest, smirking at the sight of Lys in the arms of a common servant. “I believe the king should hear of this.” And then he was gone, disappearing inside the palace.

  Luce’s heart raced, driven by Lys’s fear and her own: Had she altered history? Was Lys’s life supposed to proceed differently?

  But Luce couldn’t know, could she? That was what Roland had told her: Whatever changes she made in time, they would immediately be part of what had happened. Yet Luce was still here, so if she’d changed history by ditching the king—well, it didn’t seem to matter to Lucinda Price in the twenty-first century.

  When she spoke to Daniel, her voice was steady. “I don’t care if that vile duke kills me. I’d sooner die than give you up.”

  A wave of heat swept over her, causing her to sway where she stood. “Oh,” she said, clasping a hand to her head. She recognized it distantly, like something she’d seen a thousand times before but had never paid attention to.

  “Lys,” he whispered. “Do you know what’s coming?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And you know that I’ll be with you until the end?” Daniel’s eyes bored into her, full of tenderness and worry. He wasn’t lying to her. He’d never lied to her. He never would. She knew that now, could see it. He revealed just enough to keep her alive a few moments longer, to suggest everything Luce was already beginning to learn on her own.

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “But there’s so much I still don’t understand. I don’t know how to stop this from happening. I don’t know how to break this curse.”

  Daniel smiled, but there were tears brimming in his eyes.

  Luce wasn’t afraid. She felt free. Freer than she’d ever felt before.

  A strange, deep understanding was unfurling in her memory. Something becoming visible in the fog of her head. One kiss from Daniel would open a door, releasing her from a loveless marriage to a bratty child, from the cage of this body. This body wasn’t who she really was. It was just a shell, part of a punishment. And so this body’s death wasn’t a tragedy at all—it was simply the end of a chapter. A beautiful, necessary release.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them. The duke returning with his men. Daniel gripped her shoulders.

  “Lys, listen to me—”

  “Kiss me,” she begged. Daniel’s face changed, as if he needed to hear nothing else. He lifted her off the ground and crushed her against his chest. Tingling heat coursed through her body as she kissed him harder and deeper, letting herself go completely. She arched her back and tilted her head toward the sky and kissed him until she was dizzy with bliss. Until dark traces of shadows swirled and blackened the stars overhead. An obsidian symphony. But behind it: There was light. For the first time, Luce could feel the light shining through.

  It was absolutely glorious.

  It was time for her to go.

  Get out while the getting’s good, Bill had warned her. While she was still alive.

  But she couldn’t leave yet. Not while everything was so warm and lovely. Not with Daniel still kissing her, wild with passion. She opened her eyes and the colors of his hair and his face and the night itself burned brighter and more beautiful, lit up by an intense radiance.

  That radiance was coming from deep inside Luce herself.

  With every kiss, her whole body edged closer to the light. This was the only true way back to Daniel. Out of one mundane life and into another. Luce would happily die a thousand times just as long as she could be with him again on the other side.

  “Stay with me,” Daniel pleaded even as she felt herself incandesce.

  She moaned. Tears streamed down her face. The softest smile parted her lips.

  “What is it?” Daniel asked. He would not stop kissing her. “Lys?”

  “It’s … so much love,” she said, opening her eyes just as the fire bloomed through her chest. A great column of light exploded in the night, rocketing heat and flames high in the sky, knocking Daniel off his feet, knocking Luce clear out of Lys’s death and into darkness, where she was ice-cold and could see nothing. A shuddering wave of vertigo overtook her.

  Then: the smallest flash of light.

  Bill’s face came into view, hovering over Luce with a worried look. She was lying prone on a flat surface. She touched the smooth stone beneath her, heard the water trickling nearby, sniffed at the cool musty air. She’d come out inside an Announcer.

  “You scared me,” Bill said. “I didn’t know … I mean, when she died, I didn’t know how … didn’t know whether maybe you might get stuck somehow.… But I wasn’t sure.” He shook his head as if to banish the thought.

  She tried to stand, but her legs were wobbly and everything about her felt incredibly cold. She sat cross-legged against the stone wall. She was back in the black gown with the emerald-green trim. The emerald-green slippers stood side by side in the corner. Bill must have slipped them off her feet and laid her down after she’d … after Lys … Luce still could not believe it.

  “I could see things, Bill. Things I never knew before.”

  “Like?”

  “Like she was happy when she died. I was happy. Ecstatic. The whole thing was just so beautiful.” Her mind raced. “Knowing he’d be there for me on the other side, knowing that all I was doing was escaping something wrong and oppressive. That the beauty of our love endures death, endures everything. It was incredible.”

  “Incredibly dangerous,” Bill said shortly. “Let’s not do that again, okay?”

  “Don’t you get it? Ever since I left Daniel in the present, this is the best thing that’s happened to me. And—”

  But Bill had disappeared into the darkness again. She heard the trickle of the waterfall. A moment later, the sound of water boiling. When Bill reappeared, he’d made tea. He carried the pot on a thin metal tray and handed Luce a steaming mug.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  “I said, let’s not do that again, okay?”

  But Luce was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to really hear him. This was the closest she’d come to any kind of clarity. She would go 3-D—what had he called it? cleaving?—again. She would see her lives through to their ends, one after another until in one of those lives, she found out exactly why it happened.