Epilogue: Letters from an Echo

Previously: Letting Go

 

She thought her online followers would be disappointed, but instead they were ecstatic.

 

Players who hadn't run the simulation in years returned, this time taking on characters they'd ignored before or didn't even know existed—Simon Rosemere the drunken exile, Edith the maid, Marguerite Mercier, even Thibault du Maurier. Someone even created an "Heirs" mod allowing players to become the Crown Princes or Princesses of the various kingdoms.

 

The Barony of Westervale experienced a new wave of popularity, prompting the programmers to revisit the game. They promised to incorporate existing mods and create new expansions. With every new release, the gamer was inundated with requests for new playthroughs, but she never ran the simulation again. So her followers began responding to her old posts with excerpts from their own adventures.

 

They were entertaining; she watched many players seize thrones, whether by blood or marriage, and establish new dynasties. Some took on the roles of nobles, preferring to be the power behind the throne.

 

But for the gamer, the best posts came in the form of letters from her own Echo.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Letting Go

Previously: Hard Women

 

Sis, the little makeover sesh was cute and all, but can we wrap this up? Don't nobody care about Aurélien anyway. Boy gives me the ick.

 

The gamer laughed aloud. It was the first time she'd caught up on comments while still in the simulation. After that excruciating midday meal, she needed the diversion.

 

Seriously, tho... what is with those Wellenish bitches? another dismayed commenter asked. Granted, I personally never bothered to visit the islands, but DAMN.

 

You should've downloaded a mod, sis, yet another suggested. That right there needed waaaaay more than milk and salt.

 

Still laughing, the gamer closed out the screen and switched over to spy on Queen Geneviève in her chambers, talking to Princess Margrete.

 

So, Mireille blinked. That's who she went with.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Hard Women

Previously: Veritas

 

The Queen granted the Princesses a lavish suite of rooms and eight maids in addition to their own. Aurélien also sent Mireille and Edith to attend them, while he and Thibault retired to his private sitting room for drinks.

 

"I can't do it," the Crown Prince said, head hanging down.

 

"Of course you can," Thibault assured him, pouring them both goblets of wine and filling them to the brim. "They're just convent girls. I know. My wife was a convent girl."

 

Aurélien shot him a look. "Your wife is a great beauty." 

Chapter Twenty-Four: Veritas

Previously: Volition

 

The morning of the coronation, a servant delivered a note from Sir Adrian.

 

My gracious lady, it said, it appears I have no taste for pomp. I am bound for Auremer, and hope to see you before long.

 

Mireille stopped, gasping for breath. She'd been looking forward to the coronation, to the grand ceremony, the feast, and the dances. But if Adrian wasn't staying, then she wasn't either.

 

His sudden return had gifted her clarity, pulling everything sharply into focus. One moment, she couldn't wait to be seen with Aurélien, to spark rumors of her royal ascension. Now she couldn't even abide the sight of the blond Prince, and longed to end their acquaintance.

 

That said, she was going to miss this castle. The Orsynians possessed a truly elegant culture, despite their brutal climate. There was a haunting beauty in the ghostly gray autumn light. Despite its melancholy, she found it as comforting as the coast of Auremer.

 

With an aching heart, she reached for her pause bracelet.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Volition

Previously: Ghosts of Holograms Past

 

Mireille struggled to speak. "Why... I mean... what are you—"

 

"Doing in Orsyna?" Adrian smirked at her, dark eyes twinkling. "I heard you would be here, with him." He glanced over her shoulder at the Valeronnese Prince.

 

"But your mother," she protested awkwardly. "Y-Your sister—"

 

"They are both safe and sound in Wintervale, where my sister governs as Duchess in Adela's absence. I came to the coronation in her stead." He shot a grim look at the royal couple. "Rowena is quite happy, and though my mother constantly complains about the cold, she's happy too."

 

Mireille blinked, staring at him uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. "Do you live there?"

 

"I do now," he said, nodding. "'Twas the strangest thing. I came home from war, committed to resuming my duties to a certain lady, only to find she'd been replaced by her own seneschal."

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."