Previously: The Queen
When she returned to the simulation, Mireille du Maurier was in a much better mood. She'd spent so much time in the chamber she'd forgotten the point of gaming in the first place: impressing other gamers with a distinct and unique playthrough.
That's why even though she was stuck in a carriage with Prince Aurélien, en route to distant Orsyna, she couldn't stop smiling. Most players never got to enjoy the company of royalty in The Barony of Westervale. They could never get past the guards, much less receive an invitation to formal gatherings. But Mireille had accomplished what thousands could not, and now they swarmed to her forum posts, ravenous for updates.
And she intended to keep them fed. Because now, it didn't matter what happened in Orsyna. Even if Adela remained cold and the other ladies spiteful, the mere images of Mireille casually rubbing shoulders with royalty and nobility were more than enough to keep her new fans addicted.
"They're going to make me marry that Wellenish girl."
Mireille turned from the carriage window to Aurélien, her mind elsewhere. "Do you know which one?"
"Not yet," the Crown Prince mumbled, sullen. "But it makes no difference. The Wellenish... are bizarre. Before Ursel, they were savage warriors, driven by their thirst for conquest."
"And now?"
"After Ursel became Empress, they stopped." He shrugged, leaning back against the carriage cushions. "They began to focus more on farming and trade."
"It sounds like they became civilized."
Aurélien snorted. "They've tried to become civilized. Most of them can't read and struggle with speaking more than one language. And they still don't bathe often."
Mireille snickered. "I'm sure their Princesses are different, Your Highness."
He shot her a look. "My lady, have you ever seen one of their princesses?"
As a matter of fact, she had not. Curious, she paused the simulation. "Computer, show me some examples of Wellenish princesses."
A large holographic screen immediately appeared with multiple images. Mireille clutched her chest in shock.
"Computer... what the hell?"
"The Wellenish are inspired by ancient Germanic cultures from Terra Prime," the computer replied. "The programmers based the princesses off an actual historical person, Anne of Cleves, whose appearance was allegedly... underwhelming."
Mireille stared at the screen, appalled. "Valeronnese women are extremely particular about their looks," she said. "Always scrubbing, and plucking, and tweaking, and moisturizing. What the hell happened to Wellenish women?"
"Originally, their ancestors prioritized war," the computer replied. "They respected women with scars, clad in armor, and adorned with war paint."
"And now?"
"Now, they respect women who work hard, with their hands. It is said Empress Ursel personally planted her own orchard of quince trees."
Mireille recoiled. "Quince? Not apples or pears?"
"Years ago, in the Wellenish Isles, the poor couldn't afford to grow apples and pears, so they often resorted to planting quince. When Ursel became Empress, she planted a quince orchard in solidarity, and pledged to live a frugal life until all her people were prosperous."
Mireille blinked. "So... Ursel is a woman of the people?"
"As are all the women in her family," the computer confirmed. "She sent all her daughters and granddaughters to be raised like commoners in convents, on the most remote islands. They cannot return to court until they are old enough to take a consort."
Mireille's body fully relaxed. "That would explain these clothes. In order for all her people to prosper, Ursel had to spend less on herself and her family... unlike these other royal houses."
"Correct. It would also explain why her wealth is still intact, and why Queen Geneviève is pushing for a Wellenish marriage. She knows Aurélien is unfit to rule, and hopes her future daughter-in-law will be a strong leader, like Empress Ursel."
She closed the screen, and looked at the frozen hologram of the Prince. "You don't deserve a Wellenish girl," she chortled, before resuming the game.
***
It was early autumn in Orsyna, but there was already snow, and the air was piercingly cold. Soon, they could see their breath inside the carriage. Mireille gasped as she beheld the great city of Soleyna through the window.
Aurélien smirked. "I told you."
The buildings were stone, and much taller than she expected. The streets were filled with people clad in fur and wool. The air smelled of smoke, meat, juniper, and mead. In the distance, the bells of a cathedral tolled.
Their carriage rolled down a great stone avenue lined with trees, their leaves in shades of red, yellow, and gold.
"That's the royal palace?" Mireille asked, breathless. It looked a lot like Castle Hailmere in Wintervale, with smooth gray stone walls, arched windows, and tall thin towers. The Koryev banners of silver and bluish gray flapped on the wind.
Aurélien nodded. "It was built centuries ago, before the Koryev came to power. Of course, no one remembers who actually built it."
Just like Hailmere, she thought, recalling Edith's words. Likely because the programmers couldn't be bothered to think that far.
They were greeted in the courtyard by courtiers and led into the great hall. Mireille's heart thudded at the thought of seeing Adela again, but she had to remind herself that these were all holograms, and some of this footage could end up in a forum. She had to remain calm, poised.
Gray light streamed into the throne room from overcast skies. Several Orsynian nobles were assembled. It seemed they favored dark clothing in the colder months, mainly black and dark blue. They even wore black and dark gray furs, and almost everyone smelled of some kind variation of juniper perfume.
Grand Princess Adela and Grand Prince Vladimir wore white, however, no doubt in mourning for their fallen sovereign. Adela was aglow with her first pregnancy, her belly swollen, her breasts full, and her beautiful face boasting a proud smile.
Next to her was arguably the most handsome man Mireille had ever seen, so much she paused the game.
"Computer, Vladimir doesn't look like the images I've seen online."
"As with other kingdoms in this simulation, the Orsynians are a highly diverse people," the computer replied. "And as with their fates, character appearances are often randomized for every new playthrough."
Vladimir was tall, black-haired, with dark golden skin, and almond-shaped blue eyes. He reminded her a little of Olga the maid, back in Wintervale. His hair was long, silky and flowing, and he sat the throne like he'd been born to it all along.
"His Highness, Crown Prince Aurélien d’Aubremont of Valeronne," a herald announced, as they drew closer to the royal couple. "Accompanied by the Viscountess Mireille du Maurier."
Mireille watched in perverse pleasure as Adela's proud smile disintegrated. Her eyes flitted to Adela's left, where Alys Hawkridge stood nearby, looking equally shocked.
That's right, bitches! Mireille grinned. You thought you'd seen the last of me!
"Welcome to Solyena, Your Highness," Vladimir greeted in a strong, deep voice. "I hope your journey was not too tiresome."
"It is always an honor to visit this great nation, Your Majesties," Aurélien replied with a polite bow of his head. Vladimir outranked him, so he had to show respect, but only so much. Meanwhile, Mireille was happy to bow low, wisely saying nothing.
"My family extends our sincerest condolences," Aurélien continued.
"My house is your house," Vladimir said with a nod. "I welcome you to all that is mine. Now... enough pleasantries. I'm thirsty."
The Grand Prince stood up, descending from the throne as the bards began to play and the servants entered with trays of goblets. Mireille was happy to mingle; after the dull journey with Aurélien she was eager to meet new people.
While the royals met with each other, Alys went over to whisper to Adela, who remained firmly seated, clutching her belly. Mireille didn't care; she had content to create. She accepted a goblet with no intent to drink, and walked the room, taking note of the nobles with the most exquisite taste in clothing. She was about to speak to a particularly refined noblewoman when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
"Strange seeing you here... my lady."
Mireille turned around, and it was like the whole room hushed. She stared, unable to speak at first. Her heart stopped and her breath caught in her chest. When she finally found her voice, all she could say was his name.
"Sir Adrian." It barely came out a whisper.
The tall knight smiled tightly before offering a low, gallant bow. "Ever your servant, my lady."
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