“Why, my dear, that is Athénaïs herself.”
Jeanne"s mouth formed a small but perfect circle, surprised and delighted to finally see the woman. Athénaïs, the Marquise de Montespan, was the King"s powerful, titular mistress, famous for her beauty and sophistication. In the full sun of midmorning, Athénaïs glowed. Her radiant and abundant blond hair, the shimmering cerulean eyes, and the perfect pink mouth, like the opening of a rose, sat supremely above the slim but curvaceous figure.
“She looks so young,” Jeanne whispered for her friends" ears only. At forty-one, the marquise was only three years younger than the King.
“Evil never ages.” Olympe smiled, staring at Athénaïs.
“Evil?” Jeanne"s brows rose high on her forehead, creasing the soft, pliable skin.
“Not now,” Lynette hissed to her
