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.
Mireille was about to break the excruciating silence when a courier suddenly arrived with a letter for her. She chuckled as she slowly unsealed and unfolded it. For over a thousand years, letters, notes, and journals had remained a staple in gaming. At least these days, the handwriting was individualized.
"My dearest lady," she murmured, then abruptly stopped when she realized it was from Sir Adrian. She rose from the table quickly, eyes glued to the paper as she wandered to the window where the light was better.
By the time you read this, it said, I will have left Ravensbridge for war. I am traveling with the Baron, and I do not know when I shall return. Or if I shall return at all.
"Letter from a lover?" Thibault slyly inquired, dabbing the corners of his mouth.
"No," Mireille said absently, shaking her head slowly. "It's from Sir Adrian Thornmere, the captain of my guards."
"He has left for war?"
"He has. He seems uncertain that he'll return."
"Good," her cousin replied, nodding confidently. "A Vicomtesse cannot wed an untitled knight."
Mireille shot him a sharp look. "I told you, it's not like that."
"Perhaps not now," Thibault said, "but left unchecked it could have become a problem. You are a du Maurier, and while I am sure this Sir Adrian is a good man, he is not worthy of you."
Finally, Marguerite spoke. "Doesn't his goodness make him worthy?"
The du Mauriers both looked at her, and Mireille smiled. Like Thibault, there wasn't much lore on Marguerite, so she wasn't sure if this was the canon programming or a result of her meddling.
"His heart may be worthy," Thibault said, "but his status is not. You were raised in a convent. You will not understand the complexity of these things."
"I was raised in a convent for children discarded by nobles," Marguerite replied. Despite the softness of her voice, Mireille could still hear the power. "I myself was sired by a noble, as were all the girls at St. Osric's. I never got to know my mother," she added, looking down as though lost in thought. "But I'd like to believe she was worthy person, even if her status not."
Thibault obviously had no idea how to respond, while Mireille was visibly amused.
"Change of plans," she announced. "The two of you will ride back together. Get to know each other a little better. I will ride with my maids."
***
Godwin met her at the door. Her seneschal seemed to have gotten older in her absence; there was a haunted look in his eyes now and a new tension in his shoulders.
"My lady, my lord," he greeted the du Maurier cousins. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was not too taxing?"
"It was a charming excursion," Thibault replied coolly. Mirielle noticed that despite being both a commoner and technically penniless, her cousin never failed to sound like a proper lord.
"I need to rest, Godwin," she said wearily. "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."
"By now, Miss Adela is Princess Adela and she will not be pleased by my absence," the Viscountess replied. "Besides, my cousin and his new fiancée need time to get acquainted with me hovering over them."
Godwin turned to the towering convent maiden and blinked repeatedly. "I am honored to meet you, Miss...?"
"Marguerite," she politely replied, with a slight bow of her head. "Marguerite Mercier."
"Welcome to Roseward, my lady," the seneschal told her. "I have shall have a room prepared for you."
"She'll also require the services of a lady's maid," Thibault added.
Mireille resisted the urge to snicker. Again... which you won't be paying for.
***
Before beginning the Wintervale chapter, the computer bundled Mireille heavily in furs and leather boots. When the simulation loaded, she found herself in a bitterly cold realm. They were in her carriage, riding up a rocky hill. At the top stood a giant castle backed by vast forests and flanked by a long winding river on the left.
"What is that monstrosity?" Mireille gasped.
"Castle Hailmere," Edith said gravely, equally as bundled as her mistress. "It was originally a fortress, and is said to be centuries old. There's some debate about who built it though." Mireille had noticed that whenever Edith switched into "guide mode", her voice changed very subtly.
Hailmere was like something out of a horror story. The castle itself was smooth, made from light gray stone, with sharp arches and tall, thin towers. There seemed to be a shadow in every window.
Mireille gave her heavy woolen coat a hitch, irritated by the realism of the simulation. Despite it still being summer's end, there was neither sun nor warmth here, just endless, unforgiving gray skies.
Yeah, she blinked. I fucked up.
***
With a royal in residence, there were guards everywhere. There were guards in the courtyard, and guards walking the walls. A well-dressed elderly man with an Orsynian accent greeted Mireille as she stepped out of her carriage.
"Madame Vicomtesse?" he greeted.
Mireille nodded. "I am she."
"I am Yuri. Her Highness has been expecting you. Please," he said, gesturing her to follow him. "Follow me."
Castle Hailmere was a shadowed place. Its halls were poorly lit and its ceilings were so high, all one could see was darkness... and guards.
They were like sentinels, their polished armor gleaming in the candlelight. They all wore the Orsynian royal house colors, which appeared to be shades of silver, blue, and gray.
Yuri 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. 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 meal 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. The house colors 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, 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 as 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 in what little time I had." 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. "They've been gone all day."
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 duke or 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 family 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 very much alive. If you recall, my hometown is in Orvienne. The Duke of Orvienne seized our estate, our ships, and drove my cousin and his family abroad. As with everyone else, this war has made my life somewhat 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. Her head slowly rose and fell. "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," she rasped.
Mireille laughed before she could stop herself. "How? Tell me, how could I have stopped your family?"
"You had 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, bewildered. "You wanted a prince, Adela. Your whole life, you longed to marry a prince. And then fate stepped in and just 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 would 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 humble lord, a knight, a baron deeply in debt—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, trying to hold back her tears.
Mireille winced. Yeah... I fucked up.
Next: Consequences
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