Book 9: Chapter 17
Herouxville
Palace of the Duchess du Bellay
THE DUCHESS DU BELLAY’S BALL was particularly crowded that evening. Especially compared with her previous receptions, where the number of guests had been significantly smaller than the list of invitees might have led one to expect.
Everyone, however, understood the reasons for the dramatic ups and downs in high society’s attitude as of late. It all had to do with the various (and sometimes totally contradictory) rumors about the young Margrave de Valier that had been floating through the capital for the last year.
The initial news of her nephew’s victories in Bergonia brought his reputation to undreamt-of heights, but the return to Herouxville of Prince Philippe and the Marquis de Gondy put a gradual stop to the flow of praise for the young Margrave. The capital’s nobles had found new heroes. As such, it was only logical that the Duke de Gondy’s palace then became the most popular place in the capital — a place where his incomparable daughter Blanca could shine and bask in her future status as wife of the King’s eldest son.
But the situation in Herouxville had changed quite a bit, in the space of only a single week. And once again, it had to do with new rumors about the young Margrave de Valier. First came the news that his soldiers had started attacking peaceful travelers; this had roiled society against him, but then came a group of comedians whose impromptu performance on Moneychangers’ Square had sown doubts in the hearts of the capital’s citizenry. Could it be, they wondered, that the news they’d be getting from Bergonia was as dubious as the story of the man in the Square?
It was against the backdrop of this new round of noise about her nephew that the Duchess du Bellay had decided to announce a new reception. There were many influential nobles on the list of invitees this time, and almost all of them had opted to accept the Duchess’ invitation.
Jeanne du Bellay narrowed her eyes with satisfaction as she cast a triumphant glance around the ballroom. It felt like time had swirled backward several years. Back then, her house had been one of the centers of court life in the capital.
And today, once again, her orchestra’s music set the tune for dancers as they twirled and jumped across her polished marble floors. The amount of gold, gemstones, and bright dresses was enough to make one’s eyes water. Almost the whole world of high society was present for the reception. The Duchess walked over to a group of young noblemen who were standing around a beaming Prince Heinrich. Jeanne was aware that, as of late, Carl III’s middle son had little interest in anything other than wine and women. Owing to Prince Heinrich’s behavior, everyone considered the “blue” party to be on the verge of total collapse. Further proof of this was provided by the absence at the Duchess’ ball of both sons of the Duke de Hangest, who were normally inseparable from the Prince.
On the other hand, of course, the conflict between Max and Louis de Hangest (which Jeanne had heard about through numerous trustworthy sources) made the two Marquis’ refusal to visit her palace a little bit more understandable.
Nevertheless, waggish tongues had it that there was yet another reason for their absence as well — a reason that Jeanne du Bellay considered quite a bit more plausible. It had to do with the fact that the Duke de Hangest, who was an inveterate opponent of the Duke de Bauffremont, had entered into negotiations with the Duke de Gondy. In other words, everyone was waiting impatiently for the Duke de Hangest to place an order with his personal tailor for a whole new wardrobe. He would need clothing for himself and his entire family — and this time, it would need to be red.
“Your Highness,” the Duchess bowed to Heinrich. “I wanted to inquire whether you’ve found everything to your satisfaction.”
“Oh, my dear Duchess.” Heinrich’s dull, glassy eyes merely flitted across Jeanne’s face before turning back to focus on a group of young aristocratic women at the other end of the hall. “Compared to the other balls I’ve been to in the capital as of late, your reception is truly a breath of fresh air!”
The smarmy smiles on the faces of the Prince’s companions made it pretty clear exactly what he meant by his choice of words. Pretending that she had taken the Prince’s words literally, Jeanne simply smiled and replied:
“I thank you, Your Highness. I’m flattered to hear that you have such a high opinion of my modest organizational skills.”
She followed Heinrich’s gaze, and a faint smile appeared on her face. A figure in a bright dancing dress stood out sharply amid the group of aristocratic women. Verena’s beauty had attracted not only the Prince’s attention, but also that of every other man in attendance at the ball.
“And who is that beautiful stranger, my dear Duchess?” Heinrich asked with a nod in Verena’s direction.
“That’s Verena Marchand, cousin of my nephew the Margrave de Valier,” replied Jeanne.
“Oh!” The Prince’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he exchanged some meaningful glances with his companions. “The very same?!”
Still smiling obsequiously, the young men in his party all nodded in response. All of them, that is, except for Gaspard Craonne. The heir to the Craonne banking empire was frankly bored out of his mind. For just a moment, the Duchess could have sworn that the young man had shot a derisive glance at the Prince while the latter wasn’t looking.
Even in a more general sense, however, Jeanne was surprised by Gaspard’s behavior. Especially his bizarre loyalty to the “blue” Prince. After all, Damien Craonne’s heir was the only person left in Prince Heinrich’s entourage who actually carried any real weight in society — the only big fish left in what had become quite a small pond. This despite the fact that, like most other influential aristocrats who had once supported Carl III’s middle son, Gaspard was obviously disappointed in his “friend’s” behavior. And yet he was obviously still supporting the frivolous young Prince with gold. It didn’t take a genius, after all, to figure out whose money was funding the Prince’s cavalier lifestyle.
All that aside, Jeanne seemed to be one of the very few people who had correctly guessed the reason for Prince Heinrich’s melancholy. As a veteran lioness of the court, she had long ago noticed the way that Prince Heinrich kept looking at Blanca de Gondy.
Bribed footmen inside the Duke de Gondy’s palace had already confirmed Jeanne’s deductions. Until quite recently, Blanca and Heinrich had actually been lovers, but apparently something had caused a rift between them, the pain of which Prince Heinrich was now trying to drown in a sea of wine and other excesses.
“Madame.” Heinrich turned around, walked over to the Duchess, took her by the arm, and led her off to the side of the room. “My surprise knows no bounds. Why, I ask myself, have I not been introduced to this woman yet? And who is that greasy-looking gentleman who’s hovering around Mademoiselle Marchand?”
“That’s the Baron de Mercadier,” replied the Duchess. “And I assure you, his intentions are quite serious. The Baron intends to take Verena as his wife. It would be difficult to find a better match for a poor girl who’s lost her entire family. Mercadier may not be as well-known as some other gentlemen at this reception, and he’s never distinguished himself on the field of battle, but his wealth would be the envy of many Counts — probably even many Dukes.”
With a melodramatic sigh, Prince Heinrich replied:
“Poor girl. Madame... You simply must introduce me to her.”
Jeanne smiled and nodded. Such an undisputed Casanova as the Prince would obviously try to pluck that particular flower before the Baron de Mercadier could wed her.
The Duchess had to laugh to herself. They were all too late. Her nephew had beaten them all. Jeanne gave absolutely no credence whatsoever to the idea that there had never been a romantic connection between Verena and Max.
Recalling her nephew, the Duchess let out an imperceptible sigh. He obviously didn’t care for the leeway she took in managing his affairs while he was away, but remembering his cool-headed, rational personality, Jeanne felt certain that Max would eventually agree with her conclusions. Especially since she also had something with which to sweeten the pill. The Duchess du Bellay had already been in negotiations for several months, and was still in communication with three powerful, wealthy comtal houses who had expressed a willingness to wed their daughters to the Margrave. All that remained was to wait for Max’s final decision on which of the candidates he wished to wed.
After her nephew’s wedding, Jeanne could focus on finding a suitable match for his sister as well. Oh, the hours she had spent in her office, tracing out the possible ways she might create a powerful coalition between several strong houses!
Jeanne summoned a footman and ordered him to escort Verena to her. A few minutes later, the young woman was frozen in a graceful curtsey opposite the Prince. As for Heinrich... Well, he seemed to have finally awakened from a long dream. He was staring at Verena in amazement. For her part, the young woman’s impeccable manners set her head and shoulders above the vast majority of the women in the room.
“Your Highness,” the Duchess began. She was quite satisfied with the Prince’s reaction. “Allow me to introduce Verena Marchand, cousin to my nephew the Margrave de Valier.”
As she said this, Jeanne shot a quick glance at the Baron de Mercadier, who was standing at the far wall and watching every move the young woman made with visible jealousy. The self-satisfied smile stayed right where it was on the Duchess’ face.
Let the man stew, she thought. It’ll do him some good. Perhaps he’ll be more receptive during the betrothal negotiations and stop pissing and moaning whenever the subject of money comes up.
As she watched the reddening face and clenched fists of the Baron de Mercadier, Jeanne felt certain that the old miser would be knocking down her door first thing the next morning in a rush to sign the betrothal contract. Heh... All that, just by introducing Verena to the Prince, who was practically drooling as he looked at the girl.
Once all the required pleasantries and courtesies had been exchanged, Prince Heinrich addressed Verena (whose cheeks had reddened ever so slightly, making her look even more attractive):
“I hope, Mademoiselle, that you’ll be willing to grant me a few dances?”
“Of course, Your Highness,” the young woman replied with a partly-white smile. “I would never turn down the Prince himself.”
With that, she made a little show of taking a small notebook out of her gold-embroidered handbag. She had been keeping a list of the men to whom she had promised dances, in the order in which she had promised them, and now she took a small charcoal pencil and drew several thin lines across one particular name.
Unlike the Prince and his hangers-on, Jeanne managed to spot the name of the Baron de Mercadier before the charcoal covered it. As she looked up to meet the Duchess’ gaze, Verena raised her chin into the air in defiance.
Jeanne du Bellay could hardly hold back a smirk. The naïve little girl truly thought she could annoy the Duchess with this little stunt. The little fool had no idea that she had just accelerated the marriage-negotiation process more effectively than the Duchess herself ever could have.
Jeanne could already see the look on the Baron de Mercadier’s face when he found out that all his dances at this reception had just been ceded to Prince Heinrich. Jeanne knew it was unlikely that the cowardly Baron would try to dispute Verena’s decision.
And then suddenly, it was time for the long-awaited spectacle. The master of ceremonies announced the next dance, and the Baron (who was about to rush to Verena’s side) had to stop in mid-step. As he watched, the girl whom he already considered his personal property began to whirl rapidly around the dance floor with the son of the King.
“Bravo, girl,” the Duchess mouthed silently to herself. Catching the pleading expression on the Baron de Mercadier’s face, she responded with an indecisive shrug.
That simple gesture said it all — something like “it’s not my fault — take your complaints to His Highness.” Quite predictably, the gloomy Baron took a step backward and leaned up against a column, watching as the couple danced their way across the floor. The coward had no intention of taking any decisive action.
“I see you’ve put on quite a party here, Your Grace.”
The quiet, mirthful voice speaking from behind her back made Jeanne jump. She turned around.
“Oh, please, forgive me, Madame,” said a hunchbacked man with a big smile on his face. “I seem to have frightened you, though I assure you it was quite by accident.”
The eyes of the King’s jester (for that, of course, is who the man was) flashed with giddy anticipation. He wasn’t wearing his jester’s outfit.
The smile on the Duchess’ face began to fade, but she quickly regained her composure. Narrowing her eyes a little bit, she replied to Kiko in a tone of mock admonishment:
“Come now, my dear Baron... One can’t sneak up on an old lady like that.”
“Oh heavens, Madame!” The jester exclaimed, throwing his long arms up into the air. “You do yourself a disservice! For months now, I’ve been hearing of how wonderfully youthful you look these days! I beg you — reveal the secret to me. I promise you, I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”
“Monsieur,” Jeanne replied with a magnanimous nod as she put a friendly smile on her face. “There is no secret. Only a proper diet and frequent walks in the fresh air. All in accordance with my dear nephew’s recommendations.”
“I see,” the jester nodded, before adding: “The range of His Lordship’s talents never ceases to amaze. Nor does he ever seem to tire of surprising us.”
“I hope you aren’t referring to the dirty rumors about my boy that all these common lowlifes have been spreading around the capital?” The Duchess frowned. “I’m sure His Majesty knows that before all else, my Maximillian is a dedicated vassal of his King.”
“Indubitably, Madame,” replied the jester with a corrosive smile. “And I have no doubt that as soon as the Margrave de Valier returns to the capital, the King will reward him appropriately for his services.”
The Duchess shuddered inside. By inviting the jester to her reception, she had hoped to get him talking in order to find out how Carl was feeling in regard to her nephew. And based on Kiko’s tone, it seemed that Max wouldn’t be coming home to the warmest possible welcome from the court.
After willing her worries away for the time being, the Duchess du Bellay stated proudly:
“We would expect nothing else from His Majesty. After all, everyone knows that our land is ruled by the most just and magnanimous King in the world.”
The jester replied with a silent bow. The orchestra stopped playing, and the master of ceremonies announced a short break. The gentlemen on the floor began to escort their partners away, holding them gently by the arm as they brought them back to wherever their parents or guardians were waiting for them.
Prince Heinrich and Verena were chatting adorably about something, however, and they lingered in the center of the hall for a little while.
“If memory serves, she’s your nephew’s cousin, isn’t she?” Kiko nodded toward the tarrying couple.
“Indeed, Monsieur,” replied the Duchess. “I think this will be the girl’s last ball before her wedding.”
“Oh?” The jester sounded surprised. “And who’s the lucky fellow?”
“The Baron de Mercadier,” replied Jeanne, sounding tense.
“Are you serious?” Such was Kiko’s surprise at the news that his tone suddenly grew more genuine and less formal.
“Yes,” said the Duchess. A frown began to spread across her face. “What’s wrong with that? The girl may not be from a noble family, but my nephew is willing to provide a handsome dowry for her.”
“Oh, Madame,” the jester grunted in response. “I’m afraid you may have misinterpreted my reaction. The problem has nothing to do with your nephew’s ward — it’s the Baron. My intuition tells me, Madame, that your choice of bridegroom will meet with your nephew’s unequivocal disapproval. Please believe me when I say that the Baron de Mercadier is not a match for this young woman.”
To say that the Duchess was surprised and discouraged by the jester’s words would have been a tremendous understatement. She was about to ask Kiko to explain himself when the Prince’s happy voice rang into her ears.
“I’m ecstatic, ladies and gentlemen!” And indeed, Heinrich’s lively face was positively glowing. He even seemed to have recovered his sobriety.
The Prince’s companions stared at him in confusion, as though a totally new person had suddenly appeared in his place. One dance with that girl, it seemed, had brought the old Heinrich back to them.
“What’s the reason for Your Highness’ excitement?” The jester asked loudly. “Share it with us, I beg you!”
Small groups of aristocrats standing nearby started drifting into the Prince’s orbit.
Heinrich shot the jester a squeamish glance, then turned to the nobles around him and said:
“Gentlemen — my surprise and excitement know no bounds! Today, for the first time ever, I’ve truly been put to shame. I had considered myself an expert on my favorite breed — Württemberg Mistrals — but I’ve just found out that I don’t even know the half of what there is to learn about these horses. And it’s all thanks to this enchanting young woman. Her knowledge is quite simply awe-inspiring. She’s just told me so many new things about these wonderful animals. In fact, I surmise that Mademoiselle Marchand knows even more about mistrals than my father’s head groom.”
The noblemen flashed their servile smiles at the Prince and turned to stare with renewed interest at the young woman, who had turned beet-red from all the praise and attention. At the very back of the crowd, in the rear ranks of the assembled nobles, the sweaty face of the Baron de Mercadier could be seen flitting about angrily. He was trying, without particular success, to get a closer look at what was going on.
“Your Highness.” The jester’s loud voice suddenly made everyone present fall silent and turn to stare at him. “In actual fact, there’s nothing surprising about that at all.”
“What do you mean by that?” Prince Heinrich frowned.
“I mean that if anyone would know everything there is to know about those horses, it would be someone who’s directly descended from the man who first bred them.” A deathly silence followed.
Shooting a quick smile at Verena, who had gone pale with horror, Kiko continued:
“I’m not mistaken, am I, Your Highness?”
Several dozen anxious faces turned to stare at the young woman, who was now afraid to move a muscle. Jeanne du Bellay’s eyes were wide with shock. It felt like her heart might burst out of her chest.
“What are you talking about, you fool?!” Prince Heinrich was the first to respond. “That’s...”
But Kiko interrupted the sputtering Prince:
“The Duchess of Württemberg, the youngest daughter of the late King of Astland Conrad V. Her Highness Princess Sophia-Verena.”
With that, Kiko bowed to the poor young woman (who had lost the power of speech by that point). The assembled nobles let out a collective gasp.
The Duchess du Bellay’s pallid face was a truly horrible sight. She exchanged a horrified glance with Valerie, who was standing a little farther off. Her niece’s eyes were like two big gold imperials. This... THIS was what her brother had meant with his cryptic warning?
“Your Highness,” the jester continued, still addressing Verena. “His Majesty only learned of your presence in the capital earlier this very day. He wishes to meet with you personally. I’ve come here especially to escort you to the palace.”
“Baron.” The Duchess du Bellay’s voice was dry as a bone; this single word was all she could say.
The jester turned and looked at Jeanne. There was no longer any trace of mirth in his eyes whatsoever. The man staring back at her was a vicious, dangerous predator.
“Your Grace,” he replied in a dry tone of voice. “I suspect that His Majesty wishes the Princess to reside in his palace for the time being. Needless to say, she will be housed in that wing of the Royal Palace which is kept ready for the Queen herself. I trust you have no objections to releasing your guest into my charge?”
The stunned Duchess could only shake her head silently in response.
“Excellent,” the jester smiled. Artfully ducking in front of Prince Heinrich (who was about to take a step toward the girl), he took Verena gently by the arm and led her insistently toward the doors of the hall.
Verena followed, looking as if she were sleepwalking. Only when she was actually outside the palace, standing on the steps in front of its main entrance, did she stop for a moment. Verena had noticed that four of the Margrave de Valier’s retainers were headed her way, with his sigil emblazoned on their chests. The soldiers were frowning; their hands were already on the hilts of their swords.
Within a second, they were surrounded by another group of soldiers — these ones wearing stryker armor. Verena could see it coming: one more second, and a battle would erupt that would claim the lives of all her protectors.
“Stop!” She commanded loudly as she turned to Max’s men and the strykers in their dark armor. “Hands off your swords! I’m leaving of my own free will! Go home.”
The Margrave’s men glanced at one another, but they didn’t take their hands off their swords. They knew full well who was surrounding them. These strykers were the notorious King’s Shadows. And yet Max’s men were still prepared to do their duty.
“That’s an order!” Verena shouted as a menacing flash lit up her eyes. “I’m leaving for an audience with His Majesty!”
It was no longer a frightened little girl standing before them: it was the heir to the Astlandic Throne, with the blood of a once-mighty royal dynasty flowing through her veins.
Reluctantly, the retainers complied and stepped glumly away to the sides.
Verena nodded; then, before continuing, she turned around. There was a crowd of noblemen thronging the exit. She could see the Duchess du Bellay and Valerie among them. Both of them were staring at her in shock. As were Prince Heinrich and his entourage. Also, off to the side, she could see the sweaty red face of the Baron de Mercadier.
Verena scoffed derisively and turned away. As if diving into a dark, roaring whirlpool, she stepped grimly down onto the lowest step of the staircase. A carriage was waiting for her below.
“A good decision, Your Highness,” said the jester in a happy tone of voice as he personally swung open the door of the carriage for her. “Your good sense does you great credit. It’s thanks exclusively to you that nobody will die today.”