*December 1, 1680

The golden afternoon light filtered through the ornate windows of the Château de Versailles, casting a warm glow over the opulent surroundings where Augustin Prosper de Belfort, known simply as Belfort, was known to tread with a grace befitting his noble lineage. The court was abuzz with the usual pomp and circumstance, the clinking of glasses and the murmur of high society. Yet, for Belfort, the day held a promise of something far more thrilling than the routine of court life.

Belfort, the royal French Spaniel dog, with his long, silky coat of golden and white, moved with a refined elegance through the halls, his amber eyes scanning the scenery with a mixture of curiosity and caution. His family, particularly his mother Diane and his sisters Tane and Ponne, had long disapproved of his adventurous spirit, especially his friendship with the wolf from the groves and gardens of Versailles. The divide between their worlds was vast, but Belfort's heart knew no such boundaries.

On this particular afternoon, the air was crisp with the promise of winter, the sky a canvas of pale blue. Belfort was engaged in his usual duties, his mind wandering to the mysteries of the gardens when he caught a glimpse of something unexpected. There, in the heart of the court where no wild animal should dare to tread, was his dear friend, his adventure partner.

Belfort's heart leaped with joy at the sight, yet the concern was palpable. Here, in the palace, where every step was governed by etiquette and every whisper could be a dagger, this presence was both a gift and a risk. He approached with an elegance that belied his inner turmoil, his tail giving a slight wag that spoke of his delight.