With the exception of her parakoimomenos, Queen Pirouette was alone in her bedchamber. It was there in her bed with the curtains drawn that she felt comfortable enough to weep. There were no heart-rendering sobs, or exclamations of sorrow. No, they were quiet, gentle tears that rolled down her cheeks. In many ways, she was still a girl, but the realities of life were squeezing that out of her, leaving behind a woman that might be hard and flinty. Intuitively, she knew this and that added to her sadness. Dear God, she silently prayed. Give me strength.
Outside her door, she heard a commotion. Voices, angry voices, shook her from her revelry. “I must speak to the Queen!” It was GarGar, le comte des Deux Chats. “Get out of my way!” He was yelling at the guards who stood right outside.
Suddenly, the doors flew open. There was GarGar, sword drawn. The Queen’s ladies, at least three of them were clinging to him, trying to pull him away by his jacket, by his hair, even by his leg. Behind them, Pirouette could perceive the crumpled bodies of two palace guards.
“Are you mad!” Shouted Lady Abigail. “What are you doing?”
“Let him go!” Shouted Pirouette. “Let him go, I command you!”
With that, GarGar strode into her bedchamber and threw himself into Pirouette’s arms. The second he touched her, an electrical zap shot through her entire body. It was like being struck with lightening. Gasping for air, she managed to whispers into his ear, “My love! What is it?”
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