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?"

 

Mireille chuckled. "She just had a child, Your Highness. And why do you show more interest in my cousin's wife than my cousin?"

 

"Your cousin's wife was almost my wife," he replied. "'Tis a mere curiosity, that's all. My parents spent years telling me I would marry the Duchess of Orvienne, and I accepted that fate. But when she finally arrives at court, not only is she far more beautiful than I ever imagined, she's already married! And has a child!"

 

Mireille smirked. "What ever will Your Highness do now?"

 

"Now," he sighed, "my parents will have to find me a new stranger, I suppose. And you?" he asked suddenly. "Why isn’t a woman of your age married already?"

 

"Because a woman of my circumstance doesn't have to be," she countered.

 

She could see the wheels begin to turn up there, beneath that golden hair. She could hear the thoughts swirling: How rich is she? How many houses does she own? Is a Vicomtesse too far below my station?

 

Is this the answer to my Wellenish problem?

 

"I like you, my lady," he finally confessed. "Welcome to Saint-Véronne. You and your companion must dine with me this eve."

 

***

 

Once back in the carriage, Edith could hardly contain herself.

 

"Oh, my God! We're actually going to dine with the royal family tonight!"

 

Mireille allowed herself a broad smile. But while Edith's excitement was infectio
us, Mireille's heart was pounding.

 

It wasn't out of the attraction, even though the prince was a perfectly handsome man. He was far too much of a spoiled brat for her taste. No, what bothered her was the reality of her circumstance.

 

Officially, she had some coin, a few ships, and owned a fine ancestral estate by the sea. That said, any number of merchant families in Auremer could make the same claim. The cold hard fact was that by royal standards, Mireille wasn't anything special.

 

Meanwhile, Marguerite and Thibault were now the Duke and Duchess of Orvienne. They owned not one but two palaces of their own. They would soon have nobles—and royalty—lining up to curry their favor. People like that married into royalty, not Mireille.

 

She reached for her pause bracelet. "Computer, I couldn't possibly marry the Prince of Valeronne, could I?"

 

To her shock, the computer replied, "Not only is it possible, it is also likely that King Renaud's death is triggered by his son getting married, regardless of the bride. Theoretically, you could become Queen of Valeronne almost overnight."

 

Mireille's breath stopped. Queen of Valeronne. She would be on equal footing with the King of Avenholt. She'd go back to being on higher footing than Marguerite, Thibault, and Princess Adela of Orsyna.

 

Once again, they would all bow to me.

 

Still, she was skeptical. "But why would His Highness want to wed me? I'm just a viscountess from Auremer."

 

"Throughout Terran history, women have become Queen with far less."

 

Mireille blinked, stunned by the computer's responses. "How would it be possible for me specifically?"

 

"On your own, it would be almost impossible. But your cousin is now a Duke, and a very wealthy one. Marrying you creates access to the Duke's wealth."

 

Mireille hesitated. "You think Thibault would actually support me in this?"

 

"It is likely the reason that he wrote to you," the computer told her. "Having a cousin as a Queen would be a great benefit to him. He would more than happily contribute to your dowry."

 

She could barely breathe. "So that's it then. I can do this. I can have it all."

 

"Is that what you really want?"

 

Mireille flinched, caught off guard. "What?"

 

"This simulation is designed to be fully immersive. Being a monarch comes with enormous responsibility, especially when paired with the likes of Aurélien." Pause. "He's quite immature, you know."

 

Mireille chortled, "I'll take his immaturity over the insolence of my former friends."

 

She'd lost Sir Adrian. She'd given up Roseward. Mireille wasn't really sure why she kept playing this ridiculous game, but she was more than happy to settle for petty revenge.

 

***

 

Marguerite was relieved to hear about the invite. Thibault was intrigued.

 

"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist you," her cousin said smugly, as the family enjoyed the afternoon in the gardens. The hedges went on as far as the eye could see, and there was yet another giant fountain spouting clear water.

 

"Did you really?" she asked. "Is that why you wrote me?"

 

"Of course," Marguerite said, nodding. "Thibault knew you'd capture Aurélien's attention right away."

 

"He asked her why she wasn't married," Edith coyly chimed in. "I take that as a good sign."

 

"A very good sign," Thibault said, nodding. "My spies at court tell me that a Wellenish delegation is due to arrive soon. It hasn't been formally announced, of course. Neither Renaud nor Aurélien favor a Wellenish marriage, but Queen Geneviève is supposedly pushing for it anyway."

 

Mireille was amused. "You have spies at court?"

 

Thibault waved dismissively, taking a sip of wine. "It wasn't difficult. Bribe a few courtiers with a dozen crowns each and they'll tell you just about anything."

 

He was made for this, she realized. Even when he arrived penniless and covered in dust back in Westervale, he still exuded this same level of confidence. His belief in himself and the family never once wavered. He belonged here. He truly was the new Duke of Orvienne.

 

I made this happen, Mireille smiled to herself. I made all of this happen. She breathed deeply, sitting up straight. I can make a royal marriage happen too.

 

***

 

 

They left for court an hour before sunset, this time using the du Maurier carriage from Auremer. When they arrived, Mireille noticed nobles and servants alike looking and whispering about her.

 

"This is good," Edith assured her in a low, subtle voice. "Remember, it's just like when you first arrived in Westervale."

 

"How so?"

 

"You come from one of the richest families in Valeronne, if not the richest one of all. Many of these nobles are in debt, just like in Ravensbridge. They may have the bloodline, but they don't have the bank account to go with it. None of their daughters could ever hope to marry the Prince."

 

"But what if his parents don't like me?" Mireille wondered aloud, more so to herself than Edith.

 

"Royalty hates foreign money," Edith said, shaking her head. "But here, you're not the foreigner. You're a proper Valeronnese noblewoman, and the court will gladly accept you over any Wellenish girl, no matter what the Queen says."

 

Mireille tried to let Edith's words calm her, to still her wildly thudding heart. They entered the great hall with the other guests and tried not to gawk at its splendor. There were numerous marble statues, and giant murals on the walls depicting the history of House d'Aubremont. And there were indoor fountains.

 

Waiting to be summoned to the dining room, they accepted flared glass goblets from the servants. Mireille didn't drink, but Edith took a small sip and winced.

 

"Wintervale mead," she gasped. "Tastes of endless snow and desolation, with hints of juniper."

 

Mireille frowned. "Why would they serve Wintervale mead?"

 

"Have you heard?" a noblewoman was gossiping nearby. "Grand Prince Aleksandr died in his sleep last week."

 

"I heard it from the Comte de Rochemont," another replied. "Explains these dreadful libations. Supposedly, Wintervale mead was the Grand Prince's favorite."

 

"Those poor children of his," a third noblewoman spoke. "Even the oldest is still far too young to rule. Vladimir will have to succeed his brother."

 

Mireille's head snapped toward her. Her hand flew to her pause bracelet.

 

"Computer, what the fuck?"