The aureate affairs, p.5
The Aureate Affairs, page 5
I had to learn how to walk in everyday slippers, graduating to high heels and, finally, stilettos. Piles of books ranging from etiquette to poetry to academic subjects and popular novels were crammed down my throat at every available moment. I didn’t mind that as much since books were a luxury I had long since missed having at my disposal.
I practiced my curtsy at every turn, at least twenty times a day. I had to learn to walk regally, always be aware of my posture and discovered that there was not a drop of pleasure to be found in being a lady.
The way I saw them all lounging ungracefully at Villeroux?
Deplorable, according to Duval.
The spine had to always be as straight as a column. Prima made it easier to be in heels and refine my stance, but that was the only easy part for me. Duval cradled his chin as he watched me eat four days into training.
He stood over me, fixing my shoulders, lowering my elbow, and critiquing me in some way because I apparently couldn’t sip soup properly to his satisfaction.
“Oh, Mon Dieu…” he sighed exasperatedly, pacing around the small table for two I sat at in the formal dining room used for group meals.
As part of my individual training, being the special fourth, I ate alone to avoid the others ridiculing me for my endless faux pas.
“Pray, how long were you at the quarry, Mina?” Duval asked, and instantly I was on edge.
I set my spoon in the bowl and clenched the napkin in my lap, gazing across at him and his tireless pacing. “Just shy of nine years.” When people asked about my past, something inside me automatically took it as danger.
And for good reason.
If anyone discovered what I was...what I could do…the only magic I had seen in Lambert was the gleams used through the castle instead of candles. An allotment specifically granted for the royal family estates by one of the kings’ decrees some hundreds of years ago when Vérmethia first banned those with powers or were magically inclined.
They greedily kept certain magical elements, like gleam lights, that worked just as candles but never needed to be extinguished or ran out of light. No wax mess either when it was magic that created the flame-like illumination.
I fought back a shiver of anxiousness, keeping my face neutral, impenetrable as my instructor stared at me.
“I’m not asking to ridicule you, my dear,” he said kindly, coming and sitting across from me in his empty seat. “I am merely trying to create a believable backstory for you. You cannot just waltz about court telling the prince, dukes, and lords that you are a slave. You will be ruined, and no man would come near you the instant it should be found out. I fear it will be very difficult, if nigh impossible, for you to learn to be a believable débutante in so little time. Perhaps we can create a pity story to help your case for such poor manners…”
Instantly, my temper was an inferno.
“I will not have a pity story,” I snapped.
“Then do better!” Duval cried, gesturing to me. “You are gorgeous, but you struggle with something as mundane as eating with silverware! You have had a hard life? Good! This life is hard. You must be perfect. Every. Moment.”
He exhaled through his nose, his expression exasperated. “What story do you wish to tell the court of yourself then?”
I was taken aback.
For days, he had only been criticizing me and never asking anything of me, only demanding.
“Um…”
The only image I had before I was six was of this beautiful golden meadow. I didn’t know what it meant or where it was, but it comforted me in times of distress or loneliness.
“Why not continue the portrayal that I am from the countryside? I could be from a small town on the outskirts of Vérmethia, far enough for lords to avoid visiting. I have no family to accompany me to court, so perhaps keeping the truth of my orphancy is best,” I said timidly.
Just don’t ask about my past, I basically prayed.
Duval nodded, glad to see I was putting in effort into the charade. “Very well. Now just a surname that none will have heard of, though still influential sounding…”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. There was nothing influential about me or my past apart from…
“As pretty as a flower…” he muttered to himself in Acelin. I looked over at the instructor, and he smiled. “Fleur. It’s suiting. Fleur…del Fleur. Of the flowers. Mais bien sûr!” Duval kissed his fingers, decreeing, “Mina del Fleur. Ç’est magnifique, just as you are.”
It was a very pretty name, I had to admit.
Better than Noname.
After slightly improving my dining etiquette, Duval dismissed me to join the others for group lessons. I practiced my walk, gliding in my heeled slippers, shoulders back, arms relaxed. I felt ridiculous. I passed an arched window showcasing a view of the sprawling grounds of the castle and paused to admire it.
Oh, how I missed being outdoors.
I placed my hands on the fine stone frame and took a deep breath, letting my mind clear even when the glass panes denied me the fresh air beyond. I discovered I couldn’t. It was the most difficult task I had ever tried when I needed to empty my head. No matter the effort, all my lessons flooded my thoughts, the definition of incessant, and perhaps it was for the best.
But seeing the vast grounds, a few gnomes notably running through the grass, only fed my forlorn, the longing in my heart to run from this absurdity.
These notions were surely for naught. I would never win the hand of a lord, nor royalty. I hardly believed that if I did immerse myself in this societal praxis, I knew I could not pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Certainly not like those who I had come to loathe so inexorably.
Except…I bowed my head and took a deep breath, quieting those sorts of considerations. I was already pretending to be someone, something else entirely…why was this to be so different by comparison?
The lads’ voices rang in my head, of all the times they fretted over my secret being revealed. “Don’t ever tell anyone. Don’t let a soul see, or you’re done for, you are.”
I groaned in irritation, pushing my hands off the stone and returning my trek to the group lesson in the parlor at the end of the hall.
Two girls came out of the room, arm in arm, gossiping and giggling amongst themselves. I paused the moment they both noticed me. Fuck. Their sweet and pretty faces instantly turned foul, wry, cruel smiles growing on their pink lips.
“Well, if it is not Monsieur Duval’s favorite, his coveted girl…” one of the girls with corkscrew blonde curls cooed as they approached.
The other, a stick-like brunette, huffed. “As if there should be but a crumb to covet from such a dandiprat…” She eyed my body, the baby blue silk gown I wore, my dark hair twisted out of my face and tied back with a matching ribbon.
“This must all be a dream come true for you, is it not? We’ve heard you are just a poor little country girl…”
I almost rolled my eyes.
“Let me pass,” I grated tensely. I was in no mood to put up with their jabs.
“Look, Tabitha, she believes herself better than us,” the brunette joked behind her hand.
The pretty blonde laughed. “Us? Us, Harriett? Why, I should not have ever heard of such an unsightly Canterbury tale in all my life!” Her mean blue eyes glared at me as she threatened, “Do yourself a favor and run into the night, peasant. Go back to the slops where you belong.”
Just as I was about to step forward and easily break her nose, Duval appeared around the corner, and I caught his eye as he realized the scene unfolding.
“Les filles!” he barked, his voice offended. “To your lessons at once.”
Harriett and Tabitha both curtsied and scurried back to the parlor. I let out an angry, exasperated scoff and strode away from him, hands clenched at my sides.
“I meant you as well, Mina,” Duval called while he followed me.
“I will not sit among those snakes any longer,” I stated furiously, my slippers loudly clicking on the smooth hardwood floor.
“So, are you to walk all the way back to where you so desperately wish to return?” he goaded.
My footsteps slowed.
Fuck.
Duval came around and stood in front of me, his eyes regretful, but his mouth was set in a disappointed line. “If you of all people cannot tolerate the jeers of childish girls, how do you expect to best them?”
“I don’t,” I answered honestly, meeting his gaze and venting my stress. “I cannot defeat those who stoop to such indecent and foolish blows for the mere enjoyment of pummeling whom they see as beneath them with their expensive slippers. I shall never be able to conform to the manner with which they accustom themselves and this affluent world they all take for granted! Their fortunes, the very fabrics they wear, and the jewels they toss around their chambers could free all those who claw to survive every day, and by and by, it never crosses their minds to help the less fortunate. There is no victory or sweet justice that could ever fuel me to purposely obey such revolting ways of existence.”
Duval cracked a smile.
It startled me so much that I actually listened to his response; my temper abated in the shock of his reaction.
“Mon Dieu, the harmony you could bring as queen with such powerful and just words for the lower classes,” he complimented quietly.
I felt like I had been punched in the chest.
Me, a queen?
The very idea had me paralyzed. I had been so focused on the rigorous training; I supposed my subconscious hadn’t been ready to comprehend the true meaning of what I was striving for. Not that I was intending to actually marry the prince. The likelihood that he would choose me out of forty girls was entirely laughable.
But to even consider the possibility of me being a queen…I was startled by it.
Duval chuckled to himself. “I am not training you to match the spoiled styles of the other girls, Mina. I am training you to walk, talk, and appear every inch like a noble courtier—someone who is respected and admired. You cannot believe these girls behave so outwardly in front of gentlemen they are seeking a proposal from! They are as deceitful in character as they are with their wishes to scare you away from winning more proposals than all of them pray to receive this season. Bagging the hand of the prince is all that matters to them so they may ensure their own futures. None wish to become a spinster.”
His queen comment was still haunting me. To be in a position of authority like that, when I needed to get away from the kingdom city as soon as possible, flooded me with terror. My hands felt numb with how hard I gripped them shut.
“I wish for my old station, nothing more,” I whispered tightly.
My instructor looked irritated, but he moved aside, gesturing for me to leave.
“Go then. See how far you should make it before you starve, fall ill, or are arrested for being a beggar. Even bartering your dress will only get you to the next town, and what then? You will be indecent, and men are not all kind or distinguished. Do you really wish to be ruined and forced to defend yourself against the dominant sex of men?”
I set my mouth in a tense line, my fear shattering into rage in an instant, and glared. “I can defend myself.”
The instructor scoffed. “Against a group of men, not just one? Why would you want to risk such difficulties when you are being offered protection and a very comfortable life?”
I met his exasperated expression, the fire in my veins burning like an ice storm.
“You have no idea what I have been through, monsieur…” I said darkly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Fuck, don’t break now.
He pursed his lips. “I do not doubt it, Mina. But did we not agree that you would participate in the season? Return when you have a small fortune and create whatever life you wish for yourself then. Destitution does not become one so fair…”
How could I make him understand? It had nothing to do with comfort. The notion was indeed ideal, but every fiber of my being was telling me I was in danger, that at any moment, my secret could be discovered, and I needed to run. A life of wealth and status was the last thing I ever wanted when it would cost me so much more.
But I also knew that I was trapped.
Laroy had penned me hundreds of miles from the quarry, and there was not any hope of leaving Saintirél without simply being dragged back to play the season out. I realized in that moment that the very heart of me, my nonconformity and self-preservation, was what I needed to forget while I was here.
I had to change tactics or fail. And failure was never an option for me. Competing was the only recourse I had now to truly find peace and hopefully start a better, simpler life with the lads one way or the other by the end of it.
I had endured all these years of torturous treatment. What was one social season?
So, I would hide away my secret as I always had, but every other manner of defying obedience and allowing my temper to govern my actions had to be retired. At least until I learned of a way to travel back to Magnen safely and run away with my only friends.
Though, after the comforts of a palace, suffering the lifestyle of a slave again was one I already could hardly resign to without complete and utter dread. Particularly if I made no sponsors, as I feared I would. Not to mention how cross the lads would be once they knew I had left luxury for slavery, should I have no other choice.
I raised my head, pressing my shoulders back, and saw my instructor’s eyes glow with pride.
“Our original bargain stands,” I told him and curtsied to the floor to show him its improvement.
Duval grinned handsomely. “Très bon, Mina, très bon.” He took my hand as I stood up and patted it. “You will be the diamond I know is buried under all that coal soon enough.”
He guided me back towards the parlor. “Now, go in there and never let the other girls see you crack. Heed my advice, Mina. If they tease you, try to harm you, let them. Always give them the opportunity to be found the villain and you the victim. This is the tradition of damsels, after all.”
Those words became the backbone of my training, of my transformation away from Mina Noname into Mina del Fleur.
I had spent over a decade building up the ability not to be a victim, and now I was thrust into a place where all of it was to be entirely unemployed. I needed to be chaste and innocent, and while I had not lost my virtue to any of the boys at the quarry, my tough regard towards the cruelty of others had to be stripped away, along with every other piece of my character, if I was to be a believable lady of the Beau Monde.
I hadn’t given much thought to the type of person I was or wanted to be, really… ever, in my life. For as long as I could remember, it was just about surviving and hiding my true self. Now, for the first time, surrounded by opulence and offered every opportunity to never struggle for anything again, I knew who I was.
I was grateful for my hardships because I would never be able to live with myself if I was as jealous, unkind, and petty as the girls I joined in the parlor for the daily court etiquette lesson. I would rather have nothing than be so black of heart and downright selfish.
For I was glad that I never took for granted the food I was given, the clothing on my body to keep me warm and presentable, and the safety of stone walls and soft bedding to allow me a reprieve from how much I fucking hated those who had been born to privilege. How they couldn’t see just how wonderful and easy their lives were compared to mine and the other slaves.
I vowed to push myself to the utmost limit so I could offer a sliver of richness to those who truly deserved it—in the end.
Chapter 4
The Arrival
D
ays blurred into weeks of endless hours of practice.
I was a stone block carved into a masterpiece sculpture of refinement. After all forms of etiquette were thrust upon me–in the way of mountains of books on how to be a lady, writing lessons, table manners, walking in heels, learning how to address various ranks of courtiers, and above all, sharpening my dance skills–there was no denying Mina del Fleur had blossomed in just two months time.
Dancing had been the largest portion of my training, oddly enough. By carrying the grace of a lady and the allure of my body in the most elegant and ostentatious way–without being labeled a hussy, of course–this skill was how I would snap up all the eligible bachelors, according to Duval.
Balls were the only time suitors could touch us and be close and have society find it acceptable. Any other setting without a chaperone and a woman was ruined. It made absolutely no sense, but the idiosyncratic manner that governed aristocrats was beyond me. Just musing about it in such peculiar vernacular proved to me that I was someone reborn entirely.
I pushed myself every day with the desire to shove all of those socialite bitches’ high noses up their asses for mocking me, bullying me, until I made them eat their own cruel words. I had earned my competitive and borderline reckless behavior thanks to my quarry brothers. And I knew they would want me to do the same.
Everything was a competition to them, but bullying was never permitted by our lot. It was the memory of the only people I loved that I endured sleepless nights, blistered feet, aching muscles, and pounding headaches during my training at Château Lambert. I wanted to make them proud, even if we never crossed paths again.
I had to believe they would feel it, some way through the heavens or by some wayward spirit or other. I secretly hoped to find them one day, but my abysmal luck always reminded me never to earnestly hope for the things I desired most. I learned long ago that the world was not merciful towards me and my aspirations.
Besides, competitions were the only thing we could do as slaves that kept us from jumping off the ravines after suffering years of slavery and grueling work. All other children ranked above peasants were able to play, receive a basic education, enter apprenticeships, and be looked after by a family.
We had nothing, so we made what we could out of that nothing to find even the smallest bit of entertainment. That is how I was able to absorb every word I read, every piece of guidance and daily tutorials Monsieur Duval taught me, and I worked myself night and day to hone the “craft,” the art of becoming a member of high society.
