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Castle Roussillon sat high atop a hill looking over the grand capital city of Rhone in the country of Guyon. It had expanded from a modest mining community to one of the largest exporters of fine minerals on the continent, gaining the respect of its neighbors through clever trading tactics and an occasional show of force from their Grand Army. The city of Rhone remained the heart of the kingdom as it had for nearly three generation, built from the very stone the country made its name from. The architecture ranged from slate one-room homes in the old city to the polished mansions of marble nearest to the castle with Castle Roussillon as the crown jewel. The fortress had been refined throughout the years, gaining new wings and towers as each monarch sought to leave their mark on the kingdom. "The stone remembers," or so the saying went.
The current monarch began his legacy project as soon as he gained the crown; a grand one even by the kingdom's standards. He planned to gild the king's tower as a promise of the wealth to come in his new dynasty, a wealth that they could only dreamed of. Such riches had not appeared yet nor should any have expected such after only nineteen years. The king spoke of the future, a generation or so down his line when his reforms would mature at long last. The kingdom lived on as it always had with most people paying little attention to the grandiose promises of their betters. What would come would come regardless of the king's words. If he chose to live in his future before it could arrive, the people could do nothing to prevent him.
So it came as no surprise to them that the gala planned for that night had become a pageant full of spectacle. On the first night of autumn, King Marcellin Camille Theophile Richelieu had called for a lavish party for the nobility of the land to celebrate his betrothal to the daughter of the neighboring kingdom. It was to be a masquerade as was tradition among the nobility in Guyon, done primarily to impress and to celebrate the bride and bride-groom. King Richelieu set out to create the ideal party, sparing no expense to bring in the best of everything. The servants spent the week before acquiring a seemingly endless bundle of exotic foodstuff and late blooming flowers. They created flawless décor to enhance the already impressive interior of the castle until it resembled the places spoken of in fairy stories while the kitchen staff worked day and night to prepare a feast unlike any the kingdom had seen before.
When the day finally came, the castle staff could have collapsed in relief and perhaps would have had they not been needed to wait upon the masses of nobility. They ushered finely dressed men and women from across the surrounding kingdoms into the feasting hall done up in white and gold. There the king greeted the people as they entered dressed in his finest surcoat colored chocolate brown and embroidered with gold bearing his coat of arms, a shield emblazoned with a stock of grain and a sword. The crown jewels accompanied his choice clothing along with a feathered hat and a mask made from pure gold. The nobility whittled away the evening dining on the twelve course meal and conversing with one another. Each course surpassed the previous in decadency until it culminated with a local delicacy known as snowdrop cakes, small pillows of spun sugar formed into elaborate shapes.
This marked only the halfway point of the evening. The doors to the ballroom opened to begin the dance shortly after the servants cleared away the last of the food. The musicians began to play a quiet string piece while the guests made their way into the room, allowing a time for mingling before the first dance was called.
Deeper within the castle away from the brilliant collection of colored silks and perfumed air one uninvited guest completed his preparations for the ball. A trio of visiting servants in the employ of Duke Richelieu, the king's brother, had crept away from the unending parade of tasks to a quiet corner near the back of the servants' quarters.
The woman with them, somewhere in her mid-twenties, stepped out of the small patch of candlelight while the older man with greying hair smiled at their dripping friend. "Close yer eyes, Ash."
"I'd rather put some clothes on." Ash shivered where he stood, rubbing her hands over his bare arms to create some body heat. They'd already scrubbed the dirt off him, a seemingly impossible task but the nobles' dinner had given them ample time.
Eleanor clicked her tongue at him. "Armand worked hard on this, Ash. Do as he says."
"Aye, ma'am." Ash closed his eyes. The first frost of the cold season had come that night, impossible to ignore on these lower floors of the castle. Ash swore he could feel his damp hair stiffening as he stood waiting for his friends.
"Right, Ash." The young man flinched as a hand fell on his shoulder. Armand squeezed his shoulder gently to steady him. "Open yer eyes."
Ash obeyed, his eyes widening when he saw Eleanor standing before him with a suit as fine as any he'd ever seen the duke himself wearing. A pair of trousers made from cotton the same color as nickel with a matching pair of boots trimmed with white fur. A grey-blue vest accompanied that with silver clasps up the front and trimmed with fur, along with a long-sleeved, linen undershirt. "Sanctified gods," he breathed, glancing back at Armand. "That must've cost ye a fortune."
Armand grinned. "Not a mite. Nobles're always buying too much cloth fer their clothes. Between my wife 'n me, we've got enough fer near twenty suits."
"It's too much," Ash said. "I can't possibly—"
"Ye can and ye will," Armand encouraged him. "I've got no other use for 'em."
"Come on then." Eleanor tossed the trousers at him. "Get into 'em before ye catch yer death of cold."
Ash smiled and hurried to dress. Eleanor helped him with the clasping while Armand pulled his ashen hair back into a ponytail. They stepped away after a few minutes of tugging everything into place. Ash moved his arms and legs to examine himself in the clothing. It felt almost too fine to be wearing, though nothing special by the standards of nobility. Just enough for him to blend into the crowd. For him though he'd never worn softer cloth. He looked back to his friends. "Do I look right?"
Armand laughed. "More than right, lad. Ye look like a proper young lord. Try not to steal too many hearts tonight." He looked him over, frowning a moment before snapping his fingers. "Ack, One thing." He retrieved the handkerchief from Ash's clothes and handed it to him. "Never leave 'ome without one as me grandmum always said."
Ash nodded and tucked the kerchief into a pocket in his trousers. The praise brightened his eyes as he continued to admire the clothes. He had dreamed of a chance like this, to experience the life he might have had had his mother been a lady rather than a washerwoman, but to think tonight he would actually be a part of it. He stopped when his eyes fell on his hand. He looked back up and gestured toward the large scar there. "What about me hand? If the duke saw it…"
"That'd be where I come in," Eleanor declared, returning to the dark corner. She turned and came forward with a pair of white gloves and a mask of silver. "They were me father's. Wore it once to attend a minor lord's feast. Mask's not real silver, but looks the part. Wear them well." She handed them over, her eyes lost in a far-off memory.
Ash smiled as he took them. "I promise to keep 'em safe for ye." He tugged on the gloves while Eleanor helped him to tie on the mask.
After Eleanor embraced him. "Enjoy yerself, Ash. I best get back to the kitchens to help."
"Let's go then," Armand said as she pulled back. With a brief wave to Eleanor, the pair started off out of the servants' quarters. "Remember to keep up straight. Yer noble and yer meant to be there. Use yer proper name if anyone asks. The duke won't know, so don't worry bout 'im. Keep yer nose outa trouble and talk proper like the duke likes with company around."
"Aye, da," Ash replied as they rounded the corner, nearing the halls of the castle proper. Armand gave a sidelong glance. Ash cleared his throat. "I meant, Aye, serah."
Armand smirked. "Better. Keep a mind on the time. Don't want to be around when the unveiling ceremony begins at midnight. It'll be once the final dance is called with three rings of the bells. Hear them and get out."
"Three rings and get out," Ash repeated, anticipation and nerves twisting his stomach into knots.
"Otherwise, 'ave fun, get some wine if they're servin' and dance with a few ladies. Ye must've learned somethin' bein' the young missy's dance partner." They arrived on the upper level a short walk from the ballroom. Armand gave Ash a push toward the door. "Go on, lad."
Ash stumbled forward, starring at the room like a den of bears rather than a party. He could hear the playful whistling of a flute over the rumble of multiple conversations within. He wanted to know what it was like, to be a part of the unfamiliar world, but so much could go wrong. If the duke knew or found out… He glanced back at Armand who gave him a smile and gestured for him to go on. His friends had done so much for him. He swallowed and nodded his thanks. He couldn't turn back, not now.
He strode forward, managing to walk with his head held high and a smooth gait even as he entered the room. One or two eyes strayed to him but few lingered long. His clothing marked him as lower ranked, hardly worth the time to notice. Some of the ladies took notice and giggled to their companions, but no one approached him to speak. He wandered through the crowd, remaining near the walls until he found a good place to watch the proceedings. Perhaps after he'd seen a few dances he would join in, but for now he only wanted to see.
The current monarch began his legacy project as soon as he gained the crown; a grand one even by the kingdom's standards. He planned to gild the king's tower as a promise of the wealth to come in his new dynasty, a wealth that they could only dreamed of. Such riches had not appeared yet nor should any have expected such after only nineteen years. The king spoke of the future, a generation or so down his line when his reforms would mature at long last. The kingdom lived on as it always had with most people paying little attention to the grandiose promises of their betters. What would come would come regardless of the king's words. If he chose to live in his future before it could arrive, the people could do nothing to prevent him.
So it came as no surprise to them that the gala planned for that night had become a pageant full of spectacle. On the first night of autumn, King Marcellin Camille Theophile Richelieu had called for a lavish party for the nobility of the land to celebrate his betrothal to the daughter of the neighboring kingdom. It was to be a masquerade as was tradition among the nobility in Guyon, done primarily to impress and to celebrate the bride and bride-groom. King Richelieu set out to create the ideal party, sparing no expense to bring in the best of everything. The servants spent the week before acquiring a seemingly endless bundle of exotic foodstuff and late blooming flowers. They created flawless décor to enhance the already impressive interior of the castle until it resembled the places spoken of in fairy stories while the kitchen staff worked day and night to prepare a feast unlike any the kingdom had seen before.
When the day finally came, the castle staff could have collapsed in relief and perhaps would have had they not been needed to wait upon the masses of nobility. They ushered finely dressed men and women from across the surrounding kingdoms into the feasting hall done up in white and gold. There the king greeted the people as they entered dressed in his finest surcoat colored chocolate brown and embroidered with gold bearing his coat of arms, a shield emblazoned with a stock of grain and a sword. The crown jewels accompanied his choice clothing along with a feathered hat and a mask made from pure gold. The nobility whittled away the evening dining on the twelve course meal and conversing with one another. Each course surpassed the previous in decadency until it culminated with a local delicacy known as snowdrop cakes, small pillows of spun sugar formed into elaborate shapes.
This marked only the halfway point of the evening. The doors to the ballroom opened to begin the dance shortly after the servants cleared away the last of the food. The musicians began to play a quiet string piece while the guests made their way into the room, allowing a time for mingling before the first dance was called.
Deeper within the castle away from the brilliant collection of colored silks and perfumed air one uninvited guest completed his preparations for the ball. A trio of visiting servants in the employ of Duke Richelieu, the king's brother, had crept away from the unending parade of tasks to a quiet corner near the back of the servants' quarters.
The woman with them, somewhere in her mid-twenties, stepped out of the small patch of candlelight while the older man with greying hair smiled at their dripping friend. "Close yer eyes, Ash."
"I'd rather put some clothes on." Ash shivered where he stood, rubbing her hands over his bare arms to create some body heat. They'd already scrubbed the dirt off him, a seemingly impossible task but the nobles' dinner had given them ample time.
Eleanor clicked her tongue at him. "Armand worked hard on this, Ash. Do as he says."
"Aye, ma'am." Ash closed his eyes. The first frost of the cold season had come that night, impossible to ignore on these lower floors of the castle. Ash swore he could feel his damp hair stiffening as he stood waiting for his friends.
"Right, Ash." The young man flinched as a hand fell on his shoulder. Armand squeezed his shoulder gently to steady him. "Open yer eyes."
Ash obeyed, his eyes widening when he saw Eleanor standing before him with a suit as fine as any he'd ever seen the duke himself wearing. A pair of trousers made from cotton the same color as nickel with a matching pair of boots trimmed with white fur. A grey-blue vest accompanied that with silver clasps up the front and trimmed with fur, along with a long-sleeved, linen undershirt. "Sanctified gods," he breathed, glancing back at Armand. "That must've cost ye a fortune."
Armand grinned. "Not a mite. Nobles're always buying too much cloth fer their clothes. Between my wife 'n me, we've got enough fer near twenty suits."
"It's too much," Ash said. "I can't possibly—"
"Ye can and ye will," Armand encouraged him. "I've got no other use for 'em."
"Come on then." Eleanor tossed the trousers at him. "Get into 'em before ye catch yer death of cold."
Ash smiled and hurried to dress. Eleanor helped him with the clasping while Armand pulled his ashen hair back into a ponytail. They stepped away after a few minutes of tugging everything into place. Ash moved his arms and legs to examine himself in the clothing. It felt almost too fine to be wearing, though nothing special by the standards of nobility. Just enough for him to blend into the crowd. For him though he'd never worn softer cloth. He looked back to his friends. "Do I look right?"
Armand laughed. "More than right, lad. Ye look like a proper young lord. Try not to steal too many hearts tonight." He looked him over, frowning a moment before snapping his fingers. "Ack, One thing." He retrieved the handkerchief from Ash's clothes and handed it to him. "Never leave 'ome without one as me grandmum always said."
Ash nodded and tucked the kerchief into a pocket in his trousers. The praise brightened his eyes as he continued to admire the clothes. He had dreamed of a chance like this, to experience the life he might have had had his mother been a lady rather than a washerwoman, but to think tonight he would actually be a part of it. He stopped when his eyes fell on his hand. He looked back up and gestured toward the large scar there. "What about me hand? If the duke saw it…"
"That'd be where I come in," Eleanor declared, returning to the dark corner. She turned and came forward with a pair of white gloves and a mask of silver. "They were me father's. Wore it once to attend a minor lord's feast. Mask's not real silver, but looks the part. Wear them well." She handed them over, her eyes lost in a far-off memory.
Ash smiled as he took them. "I promise to keep 'em safe for ye." He tugged on the gloves while Eleanor helped him to tie on the mask.
After Eleanor embraced him. "Enjoy yerself, Ash. I best get back to the kitchens to help."
"Let's go then," Armand said as she pulled back. With a brief wave to Eleanor, the pair started off out of the servants' quarters. "Remember to keep up straight. Yer noble and yer meant to be there. Use yer proper name if anyone asks. The duke won't know, so don't worry bout 'im. Keep yer nose outa trouble and talk proper like the duke likes with company around."
"Aye, da," Ash replied as they rounded the corner, nearing the halls of the castle proper. Armand gave a sidelong glance. Ash cleared his throat. "I meant, Aye, serah."
Armand smirked. "Better. Keep a mind on the time. Don't want to be around when the unveiling ceremony begins at midnight. It'll be once the final dance is called with three rings of the bells. Hear them and get out."
"Three rings and get out," Ash repeated, anticipation and nerves twisting his stomach into knots.
"Otherwise, 'ave fun, get some wine if they're servin' and dance with a few ladies. Ye must've learned somethin' bein' the young missy's dance partner." They arrived on the upper level a short walk from the ballroom. Armand gave Ash a push toward the door. "Go on, lad."
Ash stumbled forward, starring at the room like a den of bears rather than a party. He could hear the playful whistling of a flute over the rumble of multiple conversations within. He wanted to know what it was like, to be a part of the unfamiliar world, but so much could go wrong. If the duke knew or found out… He glanced back at Armand who gave him a smile and gestured for him to go on. His friends had done so much for him. He swallowed and nodded his thanks. He couldn't turn back, not now.
He strode forward, managing to walk with his head held high and a smooth gait even as he entered the room. One or two eyes strayed to him but few lingered long. His clothing marked him as lower ranked, hardly worth the time to notice. Some of the ladies took notice and giggled to their companions, but no one approached him to speak. He wandered through the crowd, remaining near the walls until he found a good place to watch the proceedings. Perhaps after he'd seen a few dances he would join in, but for now he only wanted to see.
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