Chapter Two: Lady of Roses

Previously: Roseward Manor

 

The rose silk felt cool upon her skin. She decided she preferred to wear lighter colors moving forward. After all, as Edith said, it was about to be summer soon.

 

It was evening now; the servants had lit candles and fireplaces throughout the manor. Mireille was excited, then suddenly nervous. As she wandered through her home she asked herself if it was wise to skip ahead. She had never met her guests. She had no idea what to expect.

 

In previous games, she hadn't gotten to host a party, not like this. Medieval RPGs typically centered on adventure. Before now, Mireille usually found herself covered in mud and carrying a crossbow on some repetitive quest in the wilds. Until now, programmers insisted on forcing players to earn their way to the cities, and then still live poorly once they got there. Plenty of gamers complained about this trope, and now it seemed that with Westervale, someone had finally listened.

 

She made her way back up to her rooms. She shooed her servants away, seeking solitude. When Mireille was certain she was alone, she pressed her bracelet. 

 

"Computer, fast forward to five minutes after all the guests have arrived and are drinking wine."

 

The simulation darkened briefly, then restored.

 

"Show me what they're saying."

 

A holographic screen appeared before her, displaying the events from downstairs. The display skipped from conversation to conversation.

 

"What do we know of this Vicomtesse?" an older lady was asking. "Has anyone actually seen her?"

 

"Not since she arrived," a lord answered her. "I see she has improved upon Rosemere's horrendous decor. I also hear she's young, quite beautiful... rich."

 

"Oh," another lady scoffed, "she'll never go for an old man like you, Bertram."

 

Bertram sounded miffed. "She may go for one of my sons."

 

The scene flipped to a flock of young noblewomen.

 

"I heard she lived in a coastal city in Valeronne, and that her father owned a fleet of ships," one woman said.

 

One of her friends looked appalled. "Why in the name of God would she come to Westervale of all places?"

 

"Probably fleeing an engagement," a third woman laughed. "If I had her money, I wouldn't want to get married either."

 

The scene flipped again, this time landing on a portly older man in dusty furs and worn velvet. He was guzzling the wine, drinking two full goblets before finally speaking.

 

"You think they'll serve pork?" he asked, holding out his glass goblet for a refill. He had a very deep voice. "It's been ages since I had a properly roasted pig."

 

"I heard the servants saying something about a peacock, sir," another man replied.

 

Mireille's eyes widened. The new speaker was taller, younger, with olive skin and jet black hair. He wore immaculate silver armor, and a blue cloak lined with fur.

 

"Fuck a peacock," the older man said, scowling. "Valeronnese nonsense. All this money and she can't serve a decent—"

 

"Computer, pause." Mireille touched the screen, dragging it back to the younger man. "Who is this?"

 

"Sir Adrian Thornmere, First Knight of the Baron of Westervale."

 

"So does that mean the grouchy old beggar is the Baron?"

 

"Correct." 

 

"End visual," Mireille said. The screen disappeared, leaving her alone with her growing anxiety. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, determined to calm herself.

 

I'm the player, she reminded herself. Whatever goes wrong, I can fix it.

 

She opened her eyes, took one last deep breath, and then headed downstairs. As she approached the main dining room, she spied Godwin standing by the door. As soon as he saw her, he cleared his throat and announced, "La Vicomtesse Mireille du Maurier."

 

Mireille's stomach clenched as she entered the room. She hadn't wanted him to do that but then remembered it was how things were done here. She also recalled that she wanted to make an entrance, and she wanted all eyes on her.

 

Now they were.

 

The room erupted into whispers, gasps, and murmurs. Mireille forced a smile, remembering her role as a frivolous party girl.

 

"I hope you haven't been waiting long," she greeted her guests. "Let our revelry begin."

 

The bards began to play as she took a turn about the room. It was generic medieval music—lute, flute, occasional beat of a small drum—and yet the guests applauded when the musicians began to play. Godwin introduced Mireille to each noble present, though he might as well not have bothered. There were far too many names and faces for her to memorize.

 

Besides... tonight, she was only really interested in one.

 

"Last but not least," Godwin said finally, "the Baron of Westervale, Lord Corwin Ravenshaw."

 

Mireille almost bowed until she remembered a viscountess outranked a baron. Apparently, Corwin didn't care, however, because he most certainly wasn't about to bow to a foreigner in his own realm.

 

"Will there at least be mutton?" he mumbled.

 

"For my first feast, I thought it would be nice to share food from my homeland, my lord," Mireille told him. "But for my next, I shall serve whatever you desire."

 

"I love roasted pigs," he told her.

 

Yes, I know, she didn't say. Instead, she turned to his towering companion. "And who might this be, Lord...?"

 

"Sir Adrian," the Baron quickly corrected. "He commands the guards of my household."

 

"Sir Adrian," Mireille greeted, smiling broadly. "I bid you welcome to my humble abode."

 

He raised his glass goblet. "My compliments on the wine, my lady."

 

"You like Calderran?" she asked.

 

"He is Calderran," Corwin said.

 

Adrian gave a slight nod. "On my mother's side."

 

"Yes, yes, all very fascinating," Corwin grumbled. "Adrian, Godwin...please excuse me and the viscountess for a moment."

 

The knight and the seneschal bowed their heads and left. Mireille immediately pressed her pause bracelet.

 

"Computer, what the fuck? Can he actually do that?"

 

“Sir Adrian serves the Baron, and Godwin will not publicly defy Westervale’s ruler without your instruction.”

“So I can tell Godwin to stay?”

“Correct. However, doing so would be interpreted as a deliberate rebuke of the Baron.”

 

"But why would he dismiss them?"

 

"He doesn't want to share your attention with a younger man. The Baron is widowed and you are a wealthy, unmarried noblewoman of child-bearing age." 

 

"I don't want the old man with the questionable fashion taste," Mireille snapped. "I want the handsome knight!"

 

"If you insult the Baron of Westervale while living in Westervale, it will make progressing in the game rather difficult," the computer warned.

 

"How the fuck do I get out of this?" Mireille growled.

 

"You can fast forward again, of course, but every time you do, you lose context and opportunity for connection. This will not leave the Baron with a positive first impression."

 

"What can he even do to me?" Mireille asked, dismayed.

 

"Raise your taxes, seize your assets, prohibit the other nobles from associating with you, have you imprisoned on trumped-up charges. Warning: attempting to override social consequences will result in system errors."

 

Mireille rolled her eyes. "So what you're saying is, the Baron is an unavoidable element of this shit show?"

 

"Correct."

 

"What if I want to speak with Adrian alone? Is he even single?" 

 

"The character is currently unattached. Your staff can arrange a private meeting for you, if he is willing. Note: for an unmarried viscountess to consort privately with an untitled knight would cause considerable scandal."

 

"Fuck me!" Mireille roared.

 

"Suggestion: your character is a socialite. Learn to navigate society."

 

She sighed, willing herself into composure. "Resume game," she bit out.

 

"How do you find Westervale, my lady?" the Baron asked. "House Ravenshaw settled these lands over two hundred years ago. My ancestors built Ravensbridge."

 

"You have a lovely realm, my lord," she replied, forcing herself to sound pleasant. "I'm used to living by the sea, but these lush green hills are most charming."

 

"Indeed," the Baron said, nodding wearily. "'Tis a shame our fair kingdom may soon be at war."

 

Mireille blinked, then leaned in slightly. "Soon be at what?"

 

"The king's cousin is a Valeronnese noble, the Duke of Orvienne," Corwin sighed. "The Duke’s mother was the late King’s eldest daughter. He claims the crown should have passed through her to him. And he's rich enough to mount ten thousand horses for the cause." The older man glanced around the dining room. "Soon, the young men of Westervale will receive the summons."

 

Mireille glanced over to Adrian. The tall knight was still enjoying wine with Godwin.

 

She pressed her pause bracelet. "Computer, how do I stop the war with Orvienne?"

 

The response was immediate. "You do not."

 

Next: Family