Previously: The Dream
"I'm afraid it's all true, my lady," Godwin said, after Thibault explained the situation in Auremer. "The Duke of Orvienne has invoked his right to seize property in service of war, effectively cutting off all trade with Valeronne."
"What right?" Mireille barked. "And why hasn't the King of Valeronne intervened in this unlawful war?"
"Perhaps because he's half a kingdom in debt to the Duke," the seneschal sagely replied. They were in his study, with a large map of the continent displayed before them.
Mireille was beyond appalled. "Was my father the only noble in all of Asterra who knew how to manage money?" she bellowed.
"It would appear so, ma cousine," Thibault said, shrugging. "Thankfully, you moved the bulk of the family wealth out of Orvienne months ago."
Mireille's hand flew to her pause bracelet. "Computer, I already know I can't stop the war. But let's say the war begins, and within a few days the Duke's own men turn on him, and kill him in his sleep or something. What then?"
"That is actually a popular mod," the computer replied. "By inconveniencing the people of Orvienne, the Duke has made several new enemies at home. It would be easy to turn his own soldiers against him, thereby drastically shortening the war quest by several days."
"Do it," Mireille ordered. "And fast forward to supper. I need a private word with my cousin."
The scene skipped to her private dining room. There was a small dinner table by the fire. Mireille took a seat opposite her cousin, who was already helping himself to a pheasant breast while a servant poured wine.
"Leave the pitcher and go," Mireille bluntly ordered. The servant, a young man, looked stunned. The Viscountess wasn't known for using such a tone. He wordlessly obeyed nonetheless.
"You remembered my favorite," Thibault smiled, taking a large bite, savoring the juices and spices. "It's been days since I had a proper meal."
"I can imagine," she replied grimly. After a beat, she asked, "Were things at least getting better? Before the Duke, I mean."
Thibault stared at her. "Better? You stole the family fortune and your stepmother stole the family estate. I was cast out into the cold."
"Isabeau is dead and I sent you money," Mireille protested.
"Yes." He calmly laid down his fork. "Your stepmother is dead. And how did that happen, cousine? Not in over a hundred years did so much as a thief enter that house, and then months after you flee, the property is raided by bandits who kill everyone in sight."
Mireille's throat tightened as she lowered her eyes. He wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to have to deal with this now, not after all these weeks.
"Mireille, did you really—"
"No, I didn't pay people to kill the whore who bewitched my father," she hissed. And it was technically true. She simply had the computer reroute the bandits. "You should know better than to think that, Thibault."
He leaned in, eyes glinting in the firelight. "Everyone in Auremer thinks that, cousine. They are calling you 'La Vicomtesse Sanglante'."
Mireille's eyes widened. "The Bloody Viscountess?"
He nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact. "They're afraid of you. When that bank account appeared under in my name, I soon learned that money in the magistrate's name as well, among others."
Her hand tightened on the fork she wasn't even using. Fucking computer.
"I paid to clean up the mess," she conceded. "But I didn't make the mess, Thibault. I was trying to make things better."
"Before this war, I would have said that 'better' would've been to not clean out the family accounts in the first place. Instead," he sighed, leaning back, "your impulsiveness may have ultimately saved us all."
He ate for a time in silence, before finally saying, "You've changed."
She was surprised. "Have I?"
"All the way here, people kept talking about the great Vicomtesse who rescued them from poverty. You bought land and employed many workers. It seems you are famous for being kind."
Mireille smiled weakly. There was some consolation in that at least.
"Foolish, of course," he warned. "You cannot buy these people's love, much less their loyalty. Once they get what they want, they'll leave. And if they don't get what they want, they'll take it. Look no further than that warmongering Duke, for example. He is distant kin of ours. Even ate at your father's table a few times when we were small. But he didn't hesitate to seize all we own the moment he decided to declare war."
Thibault's words were like a slap to the face. Her heart stopped in her chest, even as he calmly kept on eating.
"You're welcome to remain at Roseward until the war's end," Mireille said flatly, laying down her fork. "I have to leave for Wintervale soon."
"What's in Wintervale?"
"One of my ladies is about to marry Prince Vladimir of Orsyna. As such, the King is making her Duchess of Wintervale."
Her cousin nodded, refreshing his wine goblet. "I heard about the treaty. Of course, I didn't realize you knew the bride. But then again, you always had an eye for up and coming talent." He suddenly drilled his eyes into hers. "This wasn't your doing, was it?"
She stared at him. "You actually think I could negotiate a treaty between two sovereigns I've never even met?"
"I half-expected you to own all the nobles in Avenholt by now," Thibault confessed.
She scowled. "Just the one."
Thibault smiled. "Yes... acquiring the Baron was a shrewd move, worthy of your father." After a pause, he asked, "How would you like to acquire another?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Who else?"
"The Duke of Orvienne is going to lose this war," her cousin said, shrugging. "Whether by an Avenish sword or by one of his own, he will die." He took a sip of wine. "That will create a vacancy."
Mireille's eyes widened. "You want to be the next Duke? How is that even possible?"
"He has a daughter," Thibault answered, smirking. "Marguerite, aged nineteen and stuck in a convent in Brambleford."
"Brambleford? But that's..." Mireille shook her head as though to clear it. "That's here, in Avenholt, in the duchy of Valemont." She looked at him. "Why would the Duke send his daughter behind enemy lines?"
"She's a bastard," her cousin chuckled, dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "A mistake he made many years ago and worked very hard to forget. But since he never bothered to have legitimate children, her value is about to go through the roof."
Mireille struggled to breathe. "How has the King of Avenholt not seized her?"
Thibault flashed a wicked grin. "Because no one else knows she exists, much less that she's here."
The Viscountess was visibly baffled. "How can they not know?"
"The only reason I know is that the Duke once told your father, back when we were small. They were both terribly drunk and confessing the crimes of their youth." Thibault chuckled. "Even at the age of eight, I knew that was valuable information."
Mireille immediately paused the game. "Computer, is there evidence that this girl is really the Duke's daughter?"
"The Duke's Daughter is a hidden quest players rarely notice," the computer replied. "The Duke has evidence at his estate in Orvienne in the form of letters to his late mistress and diary entries from several years ago."
Mireille practically giggled. "See to it the good Duke develops a conscience and files an updated will with the local magistrate."
"That has already been done, as it is part of the original quest," the computer replied. "Not only that, before he declared war, the Duke had the King secretly legitimize Marguerite. When the Duke inevitably dies, his daughter inherits his duchy and marries the King's eldest son. Shortly after their wedding, the King of Valeronne dies, and Marguerite becomes Queen."
Mireille held her breath. "But if she marries Thibault first?"
"Not only will he become the next Duke of Orvienne, their marriage could prevent the War of Thorns, in which Marguerite unwisely seeks to avenge her father."
Mireille's whole body stilled. "How could this marriage prevent that war?"
"Marguerite is doomed to die giving birth to her firstborn son," the computer explained. "After which, her grief-stricken husband will continue the war, whereas Thibault would not allow the war to begin in the first place."
"Computer, remind me to have a talk with you about all these shitty endings the female characters are stuck with."
"The Barony of Westervale may be fiction, but it is inspired by real eras in Ancient Terran history."
Mireille was dismayed. "Then why do people play this trash?"
To her surprise, the computer asked, "Why do you?"
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