Chapter Twelve: Wintervale

Previously: The Girl from Brambleford

 

When they returned to Roseward Manor, almost ten days had passed in the simulation. Summer was slowly fading, and a dark cloud seemed to hang over the town of Ravensbridge. Mireille immediately noticed that all the young men seemed to have vanished.

 

It was no surprise when Godwin greeted her at the door, apologizing, "I am afraid Sir Adrian and a few of the other guards were called to war, my lady."

 

Mireille nodded mutely, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach. "I need to rest, Godwin. But not for long, of course. Wintervale is far away."

 

"Will you not wait until next summer, my lady?" Godwin suggested, his eyes hopeful. "If you leave now, you could be trapped there for months. There's no telling when the war will end."

 

Mireille paused the simulation. "Computer, when will the war end?"

 

"Because you have decided to make the Duke's soldiers betray him, it will be shorter than usual," the computer told her. “The war ordinarily occupies three weeks of player time, representing approximately eighteen months within the simulation. Your intervention has reduced that to two weeks, representing slightly more than one year.”

"So now that the war has begun...?"

 

"From the characters' perspective, a whole year is about to pass. It will be early autumn of next year before it completely ends, but they don't know that."

 

Mireille nodded. "Fast-forward to... the end of next summer, and save game. When I next resume,  Edith and I will be exiting a carriage just outside Adela's castle in Wintervale."

 

"Understood."

 

When she next entered the simulation, she was both anxious and excited. She was getting bored with Roseward Manor and even her cousin's unsettling presence. The visit to Brambleford reminded her this was an open-world game with dozens and dozens of places to visit. Even if Wintervale wasn't ideal, she liked the idea of simply visiting somewhere new.

 

That said, over a year had passed in-game. She had no idea what to expect from her former ladies, one of which was now a princess.

 

Before loading, the computer bundled her heavily in furs and leather boots. When the simulation loaded, Mireille found herself in a bitterly cold realm. They were on a rocky hill, facing a giant castle backed by vast forests and flanked by a long winding river on the left.

 

"What is this monstrosity?" Edith gasped, equally as bundled as her mistress.

 

"Castle Hailmere," Mireille said gravely, gazing upward. It was like something out of a horror story. The castle was smooth, light gray stone, with sharp arches and thin towers. There seemed to be a shadow in every window.

 

She gave her heavy woolen coat a hitch. Despite being summer's end, there was neither sun or warmth, just endless, unforgiving gray skies.

 

Yeah... I fucked up, Mireille blinked.

 

***

Castle Hailmere was a shadowed place. Its halls were poorly lit and its ceilings were so high, all one could see was darkness.

 

They were led by an elderly manservant who spoke with an Orsynian inflection. He led Mireille and Edith down a hall that seemed to have no end, until they finally reached a suite. There were two maids lighting candles when they arrived. When the maids saw them enter, they immediately bowed to Mireille.

 

"Welcome, my lady," one maid said. She sounded Avenish. "I am Vera, and this is Olga."

 

Mireille raised an eyebrow. "Orsynian girls?"

 

The girls laughed softly. "Half," Vera said. "It's quite common in Wintervale, seeing as we are neighbors."

 

Mireille suddenly noticed that even though they were in a frozen waste, everything about this castle was rather fine. The floors and walls were clean, with dark blue rugs and tapestries. There was a hearth was burning beneath an ornately sculpted mantle.

 

There was something oddly elegant and beautiful about this place. Mireille just couldn't put her finger on it. 

 

The maids themselves wore nice clothes in the shades of blue and gray, their milkmaid braids adorned with silver. They even wore silver necklaces. Vera had dark brown hair and light brown skin, with big brown eyes. Olga was pale, lightly freckled, with jet black hair and almond-shaped blue eyes.

 

"We've drawn you a bath," Vera told her. "And we can help your maids unpack. Midday will be served soon. Today, the kitchens are preparing roasted swan."

 

"May I take your coats?" Olga offered. Mireille noticed that she spoke with an Orsynian inflection.

 

She and Edith wordlessly exchanged looks before complying. After bathing, Mireille dressed in a thick woolen gown of dusty rose pink, and draped her shoulders in brown furs. When she was ready, the manservant returned to escort her to midday meal.

 

The private dining room was anything but intimate. The high arched windows let pale light stream in. A large hearth burned near the tables, and candles in silver candlesticks dotted the room. Mireille had noticed that the house colors were silver and royal blue. It made her miss Sir Adrian's calm, quiet presence.

 

A woman was standing by the hearth. She wore an elaborate gown of light blue, with light gray furs upon her shoulders. Her burgundy tinged braids tumbled down her back. She was gazing into the fire, and sipping from a silver goblet.

 

"Zdravstvuyte (Hello), Mireille," she greeted softly, without turning around.

 

The Viscountess raised an eyebrow. "You recognize my footsteps?"

 

"I recognize your perfume," Adela replied emotionlessly. "It always entered the room before you did."

 

Mireille's mouth fell open. Adela finally turned around. She was wearing a silver circlet set with diamonds. It took Mireille a minute to remember her rank, and bow.

 

"Your Highness," she greeted, bowing low. "Thank you for welcoming me into your beautiful home."

 

"Is it?" Adela asked, looking around herself. "I suppose I've done what I can." She raised her goblet. "Shall I have them bring wine for you?"

 

"No, thank you," Mireille said, shaking her head. "Pray tell... where are Alys and Rowena?"

 

"The Countess of Sleetford and the Viscountess of Deepfrost enjoy hunting, as you may recall," Adela stated coolly. 

 

Mireille's eyes widened. "So you... ennobled them?" Giving them equal or higher ranks than mine, she didn't add.

 

"The charter of Wintervale permits its duchess to create lesser titles,” Adela stated coolly. "It was the least I could do to reward them for their loyalty. They left their homes and their families behind, while my own still refuses to come to Wintervale." She paused, looking Mireille up and down. "The week I left for the capital, I heard you went to Valemont. What was in Valemont?"

 

Mireille's jaw tightened. "Family business."

 

Adela snorted. "Your family's dead."

 

Mireille's tone was leaden. "Unfortunately, Your Highness, some of them are still alive. If you recall, my hometown is in Orvienne. The Duke seized our estate, our ships, and drove my cousin and his family abroad. As with everyone else, this war has made my life so very complicated."

 

Adela's grip tightened on her goblet. There was a flicker in her eyes.

 

"But that's not what you want to hear," Mireille said, realizing. "You want to hear that my life has been a bed of roses... why? So you can blame me for all of this?" she asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

 

Adela's eyes shot daggers. "You could have stopped this."

 

Mireille laughed before she could stop herself. "How? Tell me, how could I have stopped your family?"

 

"You got Matilda's parents eating out of your hand!" the Princess snapped. "You could have done the same with mine!"

 

"Matilda wanted a baron," Mireille reminded her, visibly bewildered. "You wanted a prince, Adela! Your whole life, you longed to marry a prince! And then fate stepped in and handed you one!" She chuckled humorlessly, cocking her head to the side. "Did no one tell you how that worked? Did they not explain the reality of royal marriage? Did you really believe you'd get to choose your own husband or where you'd live?"

 

The anger in Adela's eyes broke. Her bottom lip quivered slightly as her eyes threatened to tear.

 

 "I have a cousin," Mireille said. "You could have had him. Sir Adrian Thornmere has been in love with you since you were children. You could have had him as well. A knight, a humble lord, a simple baron—yes, I can make that happen. That is something I can control. But this?" She pointed to the castle. "This is beyond me. This has changed the course of nations. If you still believe that I could manage something of this magnitude, you have no business being a Princess!"

 

And just like that... she was back to the old Adela. Her shoulders slumped. She was breathing faster now, likely trying to hold back her tears. A whole year later, she was still out of her depth.

 

I fucked up, Mireille admitted to herself. I'll do what I can to fix it, but this...is fucked.