[Vox]

Characters:

Gustave Evrard Evariste Gautier Florinus de Soudreé, a prince
Henceforth referred to as "Prince Gustave" or just "Gustave"

Nicolas Hermes, a young monk

Chantal Prevot, noblewoman

Setting:

Anduvert, an imaginary region in the south of France, rich in natural resources

[Vox]

The royal palace of Anduvert occupied five square acres on top of a hill. Designed as an ecclesiastical building in Gothic times, it had passed back and forth between different ruling families and different papacies, and each had left their mark somehow, whether by building an addition, or bringing in new treasures, or by despoiling it. Currently over two thousand people called it home.

The harsh ruler of Anduvert had recently passed away, having lost to syphilis. Most privately thought it was his just reward. He left behind a nephew, Prince Gustave, and some question as to whether Gustave would inherit the kingdom, or if it would revert to the church. To work this out, Bishop Donato is visiting at the palace with his retinue, among which is Father Nicolas.

[Vox]

Nicolas woke up just before dawn to say his morning prayers, even before the duty monk tapped on his door. The Bishop was lenient and didn't require you say them, as long as you were awake. But Nicolas said his anyway, and then sat on the windowsill to watch the sun rise. The predawn chill was wearing off and a warm wind was already blowing. Brilliant pinks and magentas streaked the sky, giving way to gold and then to blue as the sun rose. It was going to be a glorious day.

"This is the day that the LORD hath made: let us rejoice and be glad in it," he quoted to himself. He was a broad-shouldered, rangy lad, just entering his twenties, with black hair falling over blue-gray eyes. His smile had made more than one girl curse his decision to enter the clergy, but he knew none of that. He had been raised by a viscount as if he were his own son, and companion to his daughters. He missed his adoptive family, but was glad to have started in this new life.

((I had more but lost it when I accidentally hit the back button...dern.))

[Vox]

Gustave woke up around the same time, but in a far different frame of mind. His companion of the night, an amiable guardsman, had already slipped out to be about his duties, and Gustave had a lingering hangover. Blast it. The lands were to be his, of that he was certain, but the title, less so. Apparently the lord Duke, his uncle, did not have that title properly, and so his heir could not inherit it. He might remain a prince only, duke in all but name. His most loyal counselors advised him not to fight this, but the more Gustave thought about it, the more rankling it was. Why should he not be Duke?

He was a far better ruler than his uncle had been, and a better man, too. He listened to his counselors and commanded as they advised, so commerce and public health and safety were as high as any place could be in France - no, in all of Christendom. He invited men and women of culture to the palace, and treated troubadors well. None had any reason to sing ill of him. He didn't abuse peasants or force himself on lesser-ranked noblemen's daughters. Sex with him was always consensual, and he worked hard to make sure his breath was always fresh and his person groomed.

It isn't fair. I have worked so hard.Gustave watched the sunrise without really seeing it. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. An unwitting victim of red-green colorblindness, he saw the vivid pinks as dull, washed-out yellows. He often wondered what the hell people were talking about when they gushed over purple irises or crimson robes, and concluded they must be lackwits.

He quoted bitterly to himself, "A son can bear with equanimity the loss of his father, but the loss of his inheritance may drive him to despair." Well. All was not lost. He would surround himself with the wisest counselors, treat the Bishop and his retinue with the utmost courtesy, and keep a well-armed guard around him at all times - just in case. A discreet show of force could do wonders.

His morning ablutions were simple: his servants bathed him in water from a fresh mountain spring, shaved him with the finest Spanish steel and dressed him in a rich dark blue doublet and hose, spangled with silver. A soft cap with an ostrich feather topped his red-gold curls. During his breakfast, a pair of castrati from Italy sang beautifully in harmony, and his mood lightened considerably.

[Blitzkrieg]

Chantal Prevot was a young woman wise beyond her years. With a keen eye and a good sense of people, the femme was likely all too practical for her age of nineteen. Having a tendency to come off quite brashly to those who do not know her well, her good looks are a blessing, as the beauty oftentimes distracts from her blunt and opinionated manner.

From the time when her father had only just taken in Nicolas as his own, she had been at the male's side to guide him. Of course he was a kind soul, forgiving, and had a big enough heart, but his naivety would have more than likely taken its toll by now if it hadn't been for Chantal.

Even on this day she knew of Nicolas' duties, and was getting ready quite promptly to meet him and provide herself as a sort of escort to keep an eye on the monk. He no longer lived in their manner, but that of course wouldn't keep the femme away. Too preoccupied pinning up her many golden locks into a bun, Chantal paid little mind to the sunrise nor anything else for that matter.

Upon dressing herself in a tightly clinching corset and rather simple blue dress which complimented her icy eyes, she was on her way, properly saying goodbye to her father before hurrying out of the house to meet with Nicolas. As stubborn as she was, there was no deterring her from his side. And despite the femme being younger than her foster brother, one might not be able to tell with her usual demeanor.

[Guh, trying to get a feel for it. If you need more to work with just let me know where she could meet Nicolas.]

[Vox]

((I think I got it. (; Also, I feel I should point out that Nicolas is like a nerd of today in that they can be very smart, but often don't see what is under their noses. So anything involving himself, he'll be oblivious to.)

Nicolas caught up with Brother Milos, who was on his way to inspect the palace herb gardens. "Brother! How is your health, on this glorious day?"

The old man grunted, "As well as can be expected," and continued down the hallway. Nicolas grinned, knowing that his friend and mentor was at his grumpiest in the morning, and decided to tease him.

"Do you admire the Saracen tapestry that lines this wall? They are as great in artistry as they are fierce in war."

"Heathen nonsense," muttered Brother Milos. "Serving only to point out your poor taste."

"The topiary of these citrus trees is quite delightful." Nicolas indicated the potted plants spaced out along the wall.

"Waste of food. I'll bet no one ever eats this fruit and it drops, rots and attracts bugs."

"This likeness of beautiful ladies captured in marble is most amazing, I believe the sculptor to have been gifted the same talent as the carvers of ancient Greece and Rome. Are they not fitting guardians for the end of this staircase, serving to point out the door?"

"They serve to distract the eyes of young fools like you so that you may trip and break your neck on these stairs. Now stop your chatter and help me."

Nicolas laughed and did so, supporting Milos with a strong arm flung around his shoulders. They entered the herb garden, which featured floral beds laid out in decorative stars, circles and crosses. Milos was pointing out the many varieties of thyme when a servant ran up to tell them Lady Chantal had arrived.

Nicolas turned eagerly to his friend. "My brother, may I have your leave to meet with my sister?"

Milos grunted and waved him on. "Take care of her. Don't let the lady go unescorted around here. There's a lot of wolves looking out for wandering lambs."

The young man smiled. The "lamb" in question had already sent wolves fleeing with their tails tucked between their legs. It was they, likely, who needed to be protected from her. He plucked a few sprigs of lavender, knowing she loved their sweet scent.

She was waiting in the lobby reserved for nobles, a magnificent room with a high ceiling and polished marble floor, checkered in white and dark red stone. She looked so elegant that Nicolas felt out of place, like an awkward black crow approaching a peacock. But the look she gave him reminded him of times when they were both learning archery, or arguing over the same pony, or struggling through Latin together. This is the Lady Chantal Prevot, but this is also my family. He caught her small hands in his own and kissed her on both cheeks, his dark blue eyes aglow.

"Chantal! I'm so happy to see you. This is for you," he said, drawing the nosegay of lavender out of his sleeve. "Is Lord Prevot well?"

He thought he knew exactly why she'd come - bored of her father's castle, she used her foster brother as an excuse to escape to the exciting outside world. "Your timing is excellent: the Prince is hosting a banquet tonight, to which the Bishop, his retinue, and neighboring lords and ladies have all been invited." He paused for her reaction.

[Blitzkrieg]

Despite the circumstance, Chantal was always the sort of woman to dress her best. The femme wouldn’t dare to leave the house in a lesser state and risk her reputation. Only those who cared not for themselves, were careless all together, or just plain slobs would dare to present themselves in public in any sort of a compromising state. This young woman was none of those, and all too sure to keep up her status in such a way. Though the fair lady was quite the rebellious type, she did have certain standards for herself, would never want to humiliate her father and their family name. As such, despite refusing the hands of a good few men who had proposed to her themselves, going off on her own into town, and speaking her mind all too openly, she did always present herself well and act as lady like as she could bare for her Father’s sake and to set a good enough example for her younger sister Paulette.

The gown she wore while awaiting Nicolas’ company was tailored specifically to her measurements, as were all others in her closet. Her father had seen to it that she be presented with only the finest he could offer after all, and the effort shone through in the none too flashy garment that complimented her every curve, the bodice topped with pure white lace that also traced the hem of the skirt, reaching just above her fair ankles. She stood with perfect posture, glancing here and there about the lobby to admire the various paintings and the fine marble statues that stood upon either side of the room looking down upon all those who entered.

Only upon hearing footsteps did she pull her thoughts back, turning to see Nicolas approaching. In an instant, her eyes softened, entire countenance taking on a more approachable appearance at the sight of the familiar male. Her usual guard dropped only for him as of late, but her soft spot for her foster brother had never seemed to change no matter how stubborn she became.

Gloved hands were pulled into his own, and she couldn’t help but to smile at the kisses of greeting. “I’ve missed you Nicolas.” she spoke in a light tone, blinking then at the mention of him having something for her. Taking the lavender carefully between her hands then, she gave a brief, bright smile. “You still remember my favorite. I am glad to see you haven’t yet pushed aside your sister.” she teased.

“Ah, father is as well as can be expected in his old age now with two still unwed daughters.” Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Chantal gave a light huff then. “What a troublesome man he is, really. I’m sure Paulette will find herself a fine suitor soon, the sweet young thing she is.”

Reaching her free hand up to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the femme perked up a bit. “Oh? The food at events of that sort is always so divine.” Licking her lips, she took a moment to imagine just what they might serve. If there was one thing Chantal could appreciate, it was food. Some found her appetite unbecoming and unladylike, but that still hadn’t stopped her yet.

Giving a light cough and composing herself once more, she glanced to Nicolas. “Besides, it’s really no good if you’re left with those sorts of people..” she added to save face. “Would you escort me Nicolas? I would love so much to go, but you know how Father is.”

[Vox]

Nicolas laughed. He grasped the fingertips of her right hand, swept a low bow and said in a nasally falsetto mimicking one of Vicomte Prevot's more flamboyant courtiers, "Why my lady, I'd be so honored!" He straightened and in his own baritone he added, "Naturally, I will. The cassock does not un-burden me of brotherhood to you. That is, if you don't mind being seen with a man with a gown almost as long as yours." He swirled the skirts of his brown robe like a coquette, an incongrous act for such a broad-shouldered man.


For the afternoon, Prince Gustave wore lavender hose, violet breeches, a dark blue doublet with lavender slashes, and a chain of magenta tourmalines set in silver hung around his neck. He was wearing dark blue, soft-soled shoes rather than boots as he knew he'd not be riding today, and he had a blister on his right heel. This did not put him in any better mood. One of his spies said he had something to tell him and it was of the utmost importance. This was one of the few spies he trusted not to lie to him. It had better be good information.


He was walking on an upper floor when he heard laughter and voices coming from the great hallway. He paused, irritated. It sounded like they were having fun. He wasn't having fun. How dare people be having fun, in his own home, if he wasn't. He was sure it was a couple of servants and he intended to make them sorry they ever raised their voices.

He crept out to a series of pillars on the stair landing through which he had a good overview of the room below. There was a strange man and a woman down there, evidently enjoying each other's company, and definitely not his servants. The man wore the dark brown cassock of a monk, no doubt one of the visiting bishop's retinue. Gustave's mouth twisted in a sneer. Trust the Church to have corrupt monks under its very nose. He intended to let the Bishop know of this mishap if he didn't already know, or if he did, perhaps a little blackmail could be extorted. The woman was very pretty, with hair a rare shade of yellow. Some princess or other. He racked his brains as to who she could be until he remembered a neighboring viscount whose ward had chosen the Church over a military life. This must be him, as he was so familiar with the lady, who must be the vicomte's hellcat elder daughter.


Gustave's lips thinned. The monk probably thought he was better than everybody else, choosing God over a life of valor in the military. What a fool. Were it he in the boy's place, he would have unhesitatingly taken whatever the vicomte had to offer and used that to further his ambition. Especially since the boy, by all accounts, was a decent enough rider and fighter. The clergy was the place to go for the weak of body, for they could find employment nowhere else.

He determined to see if he could take the woman, for no other reason that it would underscore to the monk what a real man was - one who took power and exercised it because he could. The spy could wait. He began to descend the grand staircase, a page following him close behind.

[Blitzkrieg]

At the sound of the all too accurate falsetto, Chantal couldn't help but to give a light laugh, rolling her eyes to the sky. The men at the manor who spoke in such a way were nearly unbearable, and so she was grateful to hear his deep velvety voice once more. "Oh how could I possibly protest when you look just so lovely in a gown Nicolas?" she spoke playfully, giving a light smile. "I'll have to pick out my finest gown.." she spoke aloud to herself then, thoughts pulling her away from reality long enough for her not to notice Gustave until he was nearly all the way down the stairs.

Once more those defensive walls raised up, posture stiffening, countenance growing cold as she glanced over to the male and took in the sight of him. The Prince reminded her of a peacock in all those shades of purple and blue, and she couldn't quite take him so seriously with the attire of royalty adorning his form, yet offered a curtsy all the same, as slight as she could manage it of course, her own way of being rude, by giving just a little less than expected.

After all, they were in his home were they not? She couldn't very well just ignore him entirely. Still, once giving the silent acknowledgment, she was sure to avert her eyes from the man, glancing to Nicolas then, twirling the sprigs of lavender between her pointer finger and her thumb. "When shall we leave tonight then?" she questioned to her brother curiously, wanting to be sure she didn't take too long to get ready, nor expect him all too soon.

[Vox]

((Sorry for long wait, got tangled up in school matters and other things.))

Prince Gustav noted the woman's subtle dismissal of him. His expression did not change, although he would have ground his teeth if he could. Had they been talking about him? A normal lord would have considered that the lady was modest, or, that she simply did not know who he was. But his overlarge, sensitive ego, always ready to be wounded, told him otherwise. It was on purpose. Very well, he would play it humble. For now.

Even those who knew him well would have had trouble discerning his mood. His expression was open and earnest, the very picture of a ruler who only desired the best for his people, and sufficient wisdom to care for them.

He inclined his head graciously to the monk and bowed to the lady. "Lady Chantal. Father- no, Brother Nicolas. I crave your pardon," he laughed. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Naturally, I had heard you were visiting and have been so looking forward to meeting you. Won't you join me in the pavilion?" He indicated the way, courteously offering Chantal his arm. They set off, Nicolas trailing a little behind.

[Blitzkrieg]

Chantal had sincerely hoped that Gustave would have taken her hint and been on his way. Of course, you can't always get everything you want, especially so with a man of his status. Once more, her attention was begrudgingly pulled back from her brother and over to the Prince. So he was going to ignore how rude she'd been after all? Somehow, the femme was surprised.

The young woman sincerely considered declining the Prince's offer to join him in the pavilion, being the sort of woman she was, but in the end gave in and simply took the taller man's arm with a bit of reluctance, keeping her gaze straight ahead, lips turned down into what seemed nearly like a pout, though truly Chantal's lips took such a shape naturally were she not attempting to smile or scowl.

"I surely did not think that our visit would be so anticipated by a man of such importance as you Prince Gustave." she spoke aloud as they walked along. "I see nothing so appealing about a monk and a mere lady of no real lineage. How gracious of you to spare such time, for I am sure you're busy." Playing polite was all she could manage at this point, half wondering what interest it was that he'd taken in them. It was the sort of thing she was bound to get skeptical about.

[No worries at all. ^^ I more than understand being busy.]