Her Rightful Place

35: The Surprise

To the lovely Princess of Vyrunia, may this letter find her in good spirits and good health,

I apologize at the brevity of this note and the news it contains, but I am short for time and the Duke is leaving to attend your Sanctification precipitously. Alas, I cannot attend, for circumstances are such here that I cannot be taken away just now. There are many negotiations to be done to arrange trade agreements and the Queen is terrorizing the palace with preparations for the Midsummer's Ball. I hope that it is well worth all the trouble it has been. Also, I thought it proper to request permission of your parents for my attendance and they replied that my presence would violate Vyrunia's ridiculous etiquette. I fail to see the sense in that, as likely you do, as well, but it cannot be helped. I will not be offending them if I can avoid it. But I do send you all my best wishes and hope that the ceremony goes well. I will try to arrange a visit between now and the Ball, but that will depend on the Queen's temperament and your parents' dispositions to the idea.

Yours truly,

Xavier

***~O~***

"Oh, Mireille, you look marvelous!" Christelle gushes as Monique and Babette put the last touches on Mireille's elaborate headdress. Despite this headdress and hairdo, Christelle is not lying. Mireille has, contrary to her mother's edict concerning alterations to clothing by the Princess's hand, made a few changes to her Sanctification gown so as to make it both more modest and more flattering. The whiteness of the gown could not be helped, but her minor changes made the gown fit perfectly, instead of having awkward bunches in a few places and unflattering ornamentation.

"It's white. I would look so much better in virtually any other color...." Mireille mutters, tugging at the gown with dissatisfaction. Her ivory skin, where it is visible, nearly blends in with the snowy fabric and she does look rather like a ghost from a distance, or would were it not for her sharp black eyebrows and the tendrils of black hair left loose around her face.

"Your Highness, it cannot be helped. Sanctification gowns and wedding gowns must be white. You must only wear a dress like this once more in your life," Monique assures her sensibly. "And besides, it fits you well and is in a flattering style. Now, let us be on our way, before the Queen has an aneurysm because you are a few seconds late." The ladies dissolve into titters of laughter as they leave Mireille's chambers. In seconds they are in the proper formation for travelling the halls of the palace, and all move with the same ladylike grace that makes their skirts float over the polished marble floors. The two village girls from Mordalce have learned their lady lessons well. But nothing could prepare them for the black-clad intruder who emerges suddenly from the decorative pillars in the hallway leading to the chapel. Babette screams in fright and promptly swoons; Monique, ever prepared, draws a dagger from her sleeve; Christelle catches Babette and glares ferociously at the figure; and Mireille, calm and poised as ever, simply stands like a statue and permits him to approach her.

"A note to the Princess Mireille of Vyrunia, from His Highness, Prince Xavier of Mordalce," the figure says in a familiar voice as he hands Mireille an unsealed note with a flourish. Monique sheathes her dagger just in time for Christelle to throw Babette's limp body into her arms. The blonde then dashes to the figure's side while Mireille's eyes voraciously devour the words on the scrap of paper she has been given.

"Jerôme?" Christelle inquires, hardly daring to breathe. The figure drops the hood of his cloak to reveal that he is, in fact, Jerôme the Duke of Pelanshire.

"A pleasure to see you, as well, Duchess," he greets her suavely before returning his attention to Mireille. "The Prince sends his regrets, Your Highness. Her Majesty of Mordalce has been running us ragged. I am surprised he saw fit to spare me."