Chapter Twenty-Two: Ghosts of Holograms Past

Previously: The Queen

 

When she returned to the simulation, Mireille du Maurier was in a much better mood. She'd spent so much time in the chamber she'd forgotten the point of gaming in the first place: impressing other gamers with a distinct and unique playthrough.

 

That's why even though she was stuck in a carriage with Prince Aurélien, en route to distant Orsyna, she couldn't stop smiling. Most players never got to enjoy the company of royalty in The Barony of Westervale. They could never get past the guards, much less receive an invitation to formal gatherings. But Mireille had accomplished what thousands could not, and now they swarmed to her forum posts, ravenous for updates.

 

And she intended to keep them fed. Because now, it didn't matter what happened in Orsyna. Even if Adela remained cold and the other ladies spiteful, the mere images of Mireille casually rubbing shoulders with royalty and nobility were more than enough to keep her new fans addicted.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Queen

Previously: Random

 

She moved through the sea of frozen holograms, heart pounding, nostrils flaring, eyes shooting daggers at a computer she couldn't see.

 

"Fifth in line," she hissed. "I chose Vladimir for Adela because you told me he was fifth in line to the throne. Computer, what the hell happened to fifth in line?"

 

"I also advised you that the fates of these characters are largely randomized," came that annoying voice from the void.

 

Her eyes bulged as her voice bordered on shrill. "How can Vladimir just take over Orsyna when there are four whole people ahead of him!"

 

"Aleksandr's children are very young, whereas Vladimir is an adult and battle-tested," the computer reminded her.

Chapter Twenty: Random

Previously: La Vicomtesse

 

Prince Aurélien looked the newcomer up and down. "You're a bit overdressed for a hunt, don't you think, my lady?"

 

Mireille glanced down at herself. "I suppose that depends upon the prey, my Prince."

 

He paused, as though surprised by her response, and then laughed. "And which prey does my lady seek?"

 

She shrugged. "The prey of amusement and adventure, I suppose. Auremer may be the home of my heart, but she can get a bit dull sometimes.."

 

Aurélien looked past her at Edith. "And you are?"

 

Edith bowed low. "Edith of Ravensbridge, Your Highness. I am companion to la Vicomtesse."

 

The tall Prince snorted softly. "Avenish. Enough said." He turned back to Mireille. "What ails your kinswoman, my lady?"

Chapter Nineteen: La Vicomtesse

Previously: The Capital

 

It was a late summer morning when they arrived at the de Montverre ducal palace in Saint-Véronne. The courtyard was enormous, with a large fountain at its center. Beyond it rose the sprawling ducal palace, surrounded by perfectly manicured hedges.

 

The walls still bore the crest of the de Montverre family, a silver stag with golden antlers standing above three silver peaks on a dark emerald field, with a small gold coronet overhead. But there were new banners now, bearing the crest of du Maurier. Mireille smiled to see the familiar golden ship sailing across three silver waves beneath an eight-pointed golden star, all against an aubergine field.

 

Edith stared out the window of their carriage, awestruck. "I grew up hearing stories about the splendor of the Valeronnese capital," she gasped, "but this is far beyond anything I could have imagined." She shook her head in disbelief. "No wonder Thibault hasn't been back to Auremer."

 

Mireille was speechless. She stared uncertainly, wondering if leaving Westervale had been a mistake.

 

These are the big leagues, she told herself, and we haven't even reached the royal court.

Chapter Eighteen: The Capital

Previously: Auremer

 

Mireille and Thibault had rehearsed this moment for months. Now that it was here, Mireille did everything not to mess it up.

 

"There is a letter attached," Marguerite continued, visibly baffled. "Ma chère Marguerite, if you are reading this, I am no longer here. I am sorry you did not have a proper family, but know that your mother and I loved you, and valued your safety above all."

 

She stared at the scroll for a time in shocked silence, then looked up at Mireille. "Did you know?"

 

Mireille smoothly rose to her feet, shaking her head. "I knew your father was noble. I specifically requested that when I wrote to St. Osric's. But I didn't know your father was a Duke, and most certainly not that Duke." 

 

"He has left me his entire estate!" Marguerite exclaimed. "His palaces in Laurenne and Saint-Véronne, farmlands in Valleroy and Montrevain—all mine!"

 

Mireille couldn't resist smiling. "Well, well... ma chère Marguerite. I do believe this makes you the richest woman in Valeronne."

Chapter Seventeen: Auremer

Previously: Roseward

 

By the time they arrived in Auremer, the city was already healing. The walls were being rebuilt and ships were slowly returning to the harbor.

 

It was early spring in Valeronne when their carriages finally rolled into town. The air was chilly, but the skies and waters were blue. Mireille du Maurier could hear seagulls and smell the fresh, salty air. Despite being a simulation, it all felt very real.

 

The strangest part of it all was how familiar everything felt. Which was ridiculous, seeing as she'd never actually been here before. But then, Mireille quickly realized just how much she wanted to be here. 

 

The architecture of Valeronne was stunning, vastly more sophisticated than that of Avenholt. To Mireille, the Avenish were like the newly ennobled, proudly decked in garish fashions and surrounded by tasteless decor. But the Valeronnese were like an old-money family with ties to royalty, quietly dressed in understated refinement.

 

Auremer was a wounded city. The streets were filled with rubble, and countless buildings had burned in the war. Yet even as the people went about their day in tattered clothes, seeking food and firewood, they still had a calm air of dignity about them. 

 

Mireille touched her pause bracelet. "Computer, why the hell did my character leave this place?"

 

"After stealing her family fortune, she likely feared reprisal from her stepmother," the computer replied.

 

"Oh." Mireille blinked, remembering. "Right."

Chapter Sixteen: Roseward

Previously: Les du Maurier

 

It was a crisp, cool morning in Ravensbridge. The sun was out, the skies were clear, the colorful leaves were falling.

 

The wedding was held at the cathedral of Ravensbridge. The walls and pews were decorated with colorful autumn flowers. All the nobles in Ravensbridge attended, including the Foxmeres, the Hawkridges, and the Stoneleighs. The Baron and Baroness of Westervale were the last to arrive, and to Mireille's shock, Matilda was visibly pregnant.

 

"Congratulations," she sputtered, staring at the young blond Baroness. Arou
nd them, guests were taking their seats in the pews. 

 

"Thank you, my lady," Matilda replied, grinning as she rubbed her belly. "Everyone thinks it's a boy. Can you imagine? My first child will be the heir of Westervale."

 

"Girls can be heirs too," Mireille reminded her, slightly gesturing at herself.

 

"Perhaps in Valeronne," Matilda chuckled. "Here, they want boys."

Chapter Fifteen: Les du Maurier

Previously: Knives 

 

"All I'm saying is, she's changed," Godwin insisted. He was in the kitchen with Edith, sampling some fruit compote while Edith warily watched him, hands folded across her chest. As always, Mireille du Maurier watched them on a holographic screen upstairs.

 

The redhead pushed back. "She's still herself. She ordered entirely new wardrobes for herself, her cousin, and Marguerite—that's a very Mireille thing to do, if you ask me."

 

"And did you notice the colors of their pretty new clothes?" he asked, wiping his hands on a cloth and heading out of the kitchen. Edith followed. "Do those look like Roseward colors to you?"

 

Edith shrugged. "What's she supposed to do? Wear rose for the rest of her life? It's a spring color, Godwin, and winter is coming... when autumn ends, of course."

Chapter Fourteen: Knives

Previously: Consequences

 

"How was midday meal?" Edith asked, as soon as Mireille returned to her chambers.

 

"Enough to make me want to skip supper," the Viscountess grumbled, shedding her furs.

 

Edith's blue eyes widened. "Was it that bad?" she asked, taking the furs and placing them in a wardrobe.

 

Exasperated, Mireille tossed her hands in the air. "Apparently, my former ladies all resent me for some reason or other, and have since the beginning."

 

Her maid smiled knowingly and nodded. Mireille stared at her. "You knew?"

 

The redhead chuckled. "Servants have a saying: the lords and ladies who smile to your face are sharpening knives behind your back."

Chapter Thirteen: Consequences

Previously: Wintervale

 

Before either woman could speak again, they were interrupted.

 

Alys Hawkridge confidently strode into the dining room, followed by Rowena Thornmere. They were barely recognizable, having fully adopted the Orsynian-flavored fashions of the North. They wore their hair in milkmaid braids, with long bangs cradling their faces. Alys wore a purplish gray gown while Rowena's was very dark blue. Both women adorned themselves with silver jewelry and colorful gems.

"Are we late?" Alys asked, skin and hair still moist. "My maids bathed and dressed me as fast as they could."

 

"The meal is about to be served," Adela replied, and Mireille noted a slight scolding tone in her voice.

 

"Apologies, Highness," Rowena said, her voice stronger and more carefree than Mireille remembered. "It was a clear day and we didn't want to waste it. Zdravstvuyte, Mireille," she greeted suddenly, cheerily. 

 

Her former ward called her by her first name and no one was bowing to her anymore. Mireille worked hard not to flinch.

 

"Hello, my ladies," Mireille said, forcing herself to smile. "You are both looking well."

 

"And you are rosy as ever," Alys giggled, looking the Vicomtesse up and down. "How is Ravensbridge?"

 

You fucking bitch. In a room full of cooler shades, she felt out of place in her rose and golden tones. 

 

"Gloomy," Mireille told her honestly. "The young men have gone to war."

Chapter Twelve: Wintervale

Previously: The Girl from Brambleford

Breakfast was not as bad as she expected.

 

Marguerite was quiet. She had manners befitting a lady as she ate with both knife and fork. For breakfast she'd ordered eggs with cheese and herbs. She drank only spring water and politely asked the serving girl for some fresh fruit.

 

Thibault, on the other hand, had requested bacon and quail eggs. Despite the morning still being young, he'd ordered the most expensive ale in Brambleford. Mireille was half-amused, seeing as he wasn't paying for it (or anything else) with his own money.

 

The couple-to-be did not speak. Marguerite kept her eyes down while Thibault occasionally tossed her a disdainful glance.