Her eyes darkened. “But as time passed, Constantin came to resent his lover’s magic. He grew jealous and fitful with rage that he too did not possess it. He tried to take it from her. When he couldn’t, he took the land instead. His soldiers marched on Belterra and slaughtered her people. But the magic didn’t work for him and his brethren. Try as they might, they could not possess it—not as the witches did. Driven mad with desire, he eventually died by his own hand.”

Her gaze found Coco’s, and she smiled, small and grim. “Angelica wept her sea of tears and followed him into the afterlife. But his brethren lived on. They drove the witches into hiding and claimed the land—and its magic—for their own.

“You know the rest of the story. The blood feud rages to this day. Each side bitter—each side vindicated. Constantin’s descendants continue to control this land, despite renouncing magic for religion years ago. With each new Dame des Sorcières, the witches attempt to marshal their forces, and with each attempt, the witches fail. Aside from being woefully outnumbered, my sisters cannot hope to defeat both the monarchy and the Church in combat—not with your Balisardas. But Morgane is different than those before her. She is more clever. Cunning.”

“Sounds like Lou,” Coco mused.

“Lou is nothing like that woman,” I snarled.

Beau sat forward and glared around the table. “Forgive me, all, but I don’t give a shit about Lou—or Morgane or Angelica or Constantin. Tell me about my father.”

My knuckles turned white on my dagger.

Sighing, Madame Labelle patted my arm in silent warning. When I jerked away from her touch, she rolled her eyes. “I’m getting to him. Anyway—yes, Morgane is different. As a child, she recognized this kingdom’s twofold power.” She glanced to Beau. “When your father was crowned king, an idea took shape—a way to strike at both the crown and the Church. She watched as he married a foreign princess—your mother—and gave birth to you. She rejoiced as he left bastard after bastard in his wake.”

She paused, deflating slightly. Even I watched with rapt attention as her eyes turned inward. “She learned their names, their faces—even those of which Auguste himself had no knowledge.” Her faraway eyes met mine then, and my stomach contracted inexplicably. “With each child, her joyousness—her obsession—only grew, though she waited to reveal her purpose to us.”

“How many?” Beau interrupted, voice sharp. “How many children?”

She hesitated before answering. “No one quite knows. I believe the last count was around twenty-six.”

“Twenty-six?”

She hurried on before he could continue. “Shortly after your birth, Your Highness, Morgane announced to our sisters that she was with child. And not just any child—the Archbishop’s child.”

“Lou,” I said, feeling vaguely sick.

“Yes. Morgane spoke of a pattern to free the witches from persecution, of a baby to end the Lyons’ tyranny. Auguste Lyon would die . . . and so would all his descendants. The child in her womb was the price—a gift, she said—sent by the Goddess. The final strike against the kingdom and the Church.”

“Why did Morgane wait to kill Lou?” I asked bitterly. “Why didn’t she just kill her when she was born?”

“A witch receives her rites on her sixteenth birthday. It is the day she becomes a woman. Though the witches craved deliverance, most were uncomfortable with the thought of slaughtering a child. Morgane was content to wait.”

“So Morgane . . . she only conceived Lou for vengeance.” My heart twisted. I’d once felt sorry for my own miserable entrance into the world, but Lou—hers was a fate much worse. She’d literally been born to die.

“Nature demands balance,” Coco whispered, tracing the cut on her palm. Lost in thought. “In order to end the king’s line, Morgane must also end her own.”

Madame Labelle nodded wearily.

“Jesus,” Beau said. “Hell hath no fury.”

“But . . .” I frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. One life for twenty-six? That’s not balanced.”

Madame Labelle’s brows knitted together. “Perception is a powerful thing. By killing Louise, Morgane will end the line of le Blanc forever. The magic of La Dame des Sorcières will pass on to another line when Morgane dies. Surely ending her own legacy is a worthy sacrifice to end another’s?”

My frown only deepened. “But the numbers still don’t add up.”

“Your perception is too literal, Reid. Magic is nuanced. All of her children will die. All of his children will die.” She picked at a nonexistent speck on her skirt. “Of course, this speculation doesn’t matter. No one else can see the pattern, so we must use Morgane’s interpretation.”

Coco looked up suddenly, eyes narrowed. “What’s your role in all this, madame? You tried to buy Lou.”

“To protect her.” Madame Labelle waved an impatient hand. I frowned at the movement. Gold bands covered her every finger, but there—on her left ring finger—

A mother-of-pearl ring. Nearly identical to the one I’d given Lou.

“I knew Morgane would find her eventually, but I did everything in my power to prevent that from happening. So, yes, I did attempt to buy Lou—as you so crassly phrased it—but only for her protection. Though not ideal, I could’ve watched her at the Bellerose. I could’ve kept her safe until other arrangements were made. Again and again she rebuffed my proposal, however.”

She lifted her chin, meeting Coco’s eyes. “Last year, my spies informed me Angelica’s Ring had been stolen. I approached every known trafficker in the city—all of whom had family recently murdered by the witches.”

I sat forward at this new information. Filippa. Filippa had been murdered by the witches. Which meant . . .

“When I learned Monsieur Tremblay had procured the ring, I finally saw my opportunity.”

I closed my eyes. Shook my head in disbelief. In sorrow. Monsieur Tremblay. All these months, I’d focused on avenging their family, on punishing the witches who’d harmed them. But the witches had been avenging themselves.

My would-be father-in-law. A trafficker of magical objects. He had been the real cause of Filippa’s death—of Célie’s pain. But I forced myself to return to the present. To open my eyes.

There’s a time for mourning, and there’s a time for moving on.

“I knew Lou desperately sought it,” Madame Labelle continued. “I instructed Babette to contact her, to assist her in eavesdropping on me and Tremblay. For her benefit, I even asked him where he had hidden it. And then—when Babette confirmed the two of you planned to steal it—I alerted the Archbishop where his daughter would be that night.”

“You what?” Coco exclaimed.

She shrugged delicately. “It was rumored he’d been searching for her for years—many witches believed she was the reason he became so possessed with hunting us. He wanted to find her. I prefer to think he slaughtered us as some sort of macabre penance for his sin, but it matters not. I took a calculated risk he wouldn’t harm her. He is her father, after all, and he could hardly deny it after seeing her. They’re practically identical. And what better place to hide her than within Chasseur Tower?”

Coco shook her head, incredulous. “A little honesty would’ve gone a long way!”

Madame Labelle knitted her hands together on her knee, smiling in satisfaction. “When she escaped Tremblay’s, I thought all was lost, but the scene at the theater forced the Archbishop’s hand in a permanent way. Not only did she receive his protection, but she also received a husband’s. And not just any husband—a captain of the Chasseurs.” Her smile widened as she gestured to me. “It really worked out better than I could have ever—”

“Why?” I stared at the mother-of-pearl ring on her finger. “Why go to all the trouble? Why do you care if Auguste Lyon dies? You’re a witch. You would only benefit from his death.”

My gaze rose slowly to her face. Her red hair. Her widening blue eyes.

A memory resurfaced. Lou’s voice echoed in my head.

Don’t be ridiculous. Of course witches have sons.

Realization trickled in.

Her smile vanished. “I—I could never stand by and watch innocent people die—”

“The king is hardly innocent.”

“The king will not be the only one affected. Dozens of people will die—”

“Like his children?”

“Yes. His children.” She hesitated, glancing between me and the prince. Damning herself. “There will be no surviving heirs. The aristocracy will divide itself fighting for succession. The Archbishop’s credibility has already suffered—and his authority, if your presence here is any indication. I would be surprised if the king hasn’t already demanded an audience. The Chasseurs will soon be leaderless. In the ensuing chaos, Morgane will strike.”

I barely heard her words. The trickling realization became a flood. It coursed through me, further igniting the fury in my veins. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

Her voice shot up an octave. “Well—dear, it’s a bit more complicated than—” My fist slammed on the tabletop, and she flinched. Shame mingled with my fury as her face fell in defeat. “Yes, I did.”

Silence fell around the table. Her words washed over me. Through me. Beau’s brows flattened in disbelief.

“You didn’t tell him you were a witch.” My words were hard, sharp, but I did nothing to soften them. This woman did not deserve my sympathy.