Chapter Four
Eleonore had not been wrong in her assessment of the situation. Leaving it all to father and mother was for the best. As the rest of the nobles gathered, and one after the other presented themselves to the royals, taking glances at the newly born princess while remarking in the utmost polite tone how beautiful and radiant she was, and how fortunate the crown of Tristain was for having such a boon. There was no Cardinal Mazarin yet, but an old and polished to the tip of his shining bald head man wearing somber priest clothes, perhaps the Archcardinal, or perhaps a cardinal of sorts.
Definitely not the pope though -the current one couldn't come with such a short notice, and actually the royals would be the ones moving to Romalia to have young Henrietta 'baptized' by the Pope. Such was the way of royalty apparently -the Pope had to be the one to do the act of baptism.
Henrietta was nothing more than a newborn babe, her eyes were closed and she seemed to be peacefully asleep. Whether it was because she had a really heavy sleep, or because she had been magically put to sleep in order to prevent unneeded cries, baby-Henrietta was surprisingly quiet. After 'meeting' the baby, and bowing to the Queen and King, Eleonore and I were gently told with enough formalism to make a bureaucrat stammer in shame that there would be 'refreshments' adequate for children in a nearby room, and since that was the cue to accept and leave the 'big boys room', I mimicked word by word Eleonore's behavior.
The servant that led us to the nearby room had enough silk and satin on him that he probably could outweigh in gold any minor noble present at court. As we stepped inside the assigned room, my eyes immediately zeroed in on the buffet. There were servants standing at attention near the walls, quietly looking at a non-specified point ahead of them, and that common courtesy dictated I should politely ignore in their existence.
Even saying something trifling like 'thank you' was out of question. They were the ones who should thank us nobles for the mere act of our existence, or so it went. If it weren't for Eleonore and how sure I was she'd tattle, I'd be thanking them all the same. So, as I found myself a nice corner to make my own, I waited. Common courtesy dictated that the higher ranking noble would be the 'center' of the circle, and the rest of them would 'flock' first to him, and then engage in polite conversation until such a time where they'd be excused, and allowed to go speak to someone else.
This, of course, only applied to the grown up, but the toned down version for kids was basically the same, if with less pomp, and more 'try to be polite even to those below you'.
There was a certain sense of foreboding doom as the first of the children stepped in. He wasn't immediately 'below' in terms of nobility, since it wasn't like everyone had children, but this one was a Count's son, and he presented himself as such. He also was visibly older than Eleonore. He must have been perhaps twelve, or thirteen. Old enough to be nearly an adult, but not yet old enough to get into the 'big kids' room.
He had blond, curly hair and light blue eyes, and the way he smiled made him look like one of those bucolic angels that churches really liked to commission and put on display. His skin was so fair, he could pass off as a lady if he wore makeup, or put on a dress.
"I am the eldest daughter of the Duke de La Valliere, Eleonore Albertine," Eleonore said crisply, her hands twitching slightly as she did a really tiny curtsy. "This is my younger brother, Henry Philippe," she said next, giving me a look that told me it was my cue to make a little bow. I would have clapped his hand and gone 'Yo, bro! How's it going.' But I didn't, because I wasn't stupid, and I didn't want to get a Heavy Wind treatment any time soon.
"It is a honor to make your acquaintance and that of your brother, young Miss, I am Guy Armand de Gramont, second born son of Count Anthoine The Third de Gramont. You do not have to worry about formalities, as long as you are not rude-" he spoke kindly, which, while not a mistake in any other circumstance, was one in front of Eleonore. Unfortunately, 'show no emotion' was the pretty big 'Do or don't'. He had perhaps thought she'd be nervous, and had tried to be gentle.
He shouldn't have, for Eleonore was one of those 'Pinscher' breeds, the kind that even when small, still believes itself to be a dangerous and bigger dog than they truly are. "Formalities are what make us nobles, Lord Guy de Gramont," she replied flatly, "Without formalities, nobility would descend into chaos."
I winced and gave a tiny, imperceptible shrug towards Guy by staying right behind Eleonore -as if to say I had nothing to do with this harshness, but couldn't really do anything against it either.
Guy kept his smile up, even though his lips twitched in a sort of 'for once, my Bishounen charms aren't working?! Heresy! Heresy!' -or at least, that was what I thought he had to be thinking. Considering how Eleonore was looking at him with narrowed eyes, he was perhaps expecting to be sent off to cradle his broken pride in a corner of the room, but he had been 'playing' the game far longer than my sister, if such a 'game' it could be called.
"You are right, young Miss Valliere," he said with a small smile. "His grace the Duke must have taught you well."
I hoped Eleonore would play nice, but she simply replied with a monotone and hollow voice that made her feel similar to mother, if without any of the sharpness associated with it. It was no wonders 'hysteria' was a key sickness in the young women of the time period. They were so tightly wound-up, cutting a single string would make them explode. The arrival of more sons and daughters of nobility allowed Guy the chance to make a run for the hills, as Eleonore graciously allowed him to 'present' her to the others.
The reason the Count de Gramont had gone before a lot of other nobles was because he was also the 'Marshal' of Tristain, and he was the son of a Duke. The Duke de Gramont, to be more precise, hadn't yet croaked but was no longer capable of attending courts. He'd live a good decade or so more, but definitely wouldn't be present for the following years. So, until he died, the 'Comte' de Gramont remained just that, a Count. Not that anyone had something to say about it, or dared to.
The man was the General of the entire Tristainian army, and his sons -even the second born- were prime marriage material.
It was a good thing that Guy de Gramont was there, because as I soon found out, he was the perfect bonfire to keep me in the shadows. The young ladies were every bit as 'teenager' as I would have expected, while still keeping up with a sort of larping convention and enough dazzling jewels -some of them, at least- to show off their wealth and thus, the size of their dowries.
At the same time, something was wrong with the situation, but I couldn't put my finger on it. My eyes once more moved to the buffet. I had been following Eleonore around, but it remained there, largely untouched. If we had to wait for everyone to enter before starting to eat, then it was obvious that would be the case, but no new children had come in since the youngest daughter of a certain Baronet 'Something-Something-Can't-Remember'.
It was as I kept my sight on the buffet for a bit longer that Eleonore was swept away, leaving me alone in the corner of the room. It was long enough for a young grey-haired boy to draw near. I glanced at him with the corner of my eyes, and then smiled. I could do this.
"I am-" "I am-"
We both stopped. I raised an eyebrow, and then furrowed my brows. I looked around, ensuring Eleonore wasn't looking, or hearing, and then said, "Second born son of a Duke here," I whispered. "Shouldn't I go first?"
"Uh...I'm actually the Viscount-should real nobility go before courtesy titles?" the other kid asked in turn, thoughtfully.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "How about we shrug it off and go with our surnames? Valliere."
"Seems fine by me," the other kid smiled brightly, "Wardes."
Of course you are, Wardes. Of course you are. Now forgive me while I waste ten seconds thinking on how to best murder you and make it look like an accident, you bastard. No, no, let's be polite. This is kid-Wardes, he's what, ten? Nine? He can't have the soul of an evil bastard already.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Wardes," I said softly.
"The same can be said for me, your Grace," Wardes replied. "I am honestly happy I have found you so quickly. I apologize for being so bold, but..."
And here it was, the start of a great plan to worm his way into the Valliere's family good grace, and then-
"Could you please eat or drink something?" he whispered, "I'm famished-and unless you start...nobody else is going to."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. So, you wish for me to be a hero?
"My elder sister should-"
"She is refusing offers for drinks," Wardes whispered, "If the Gramont failed, then-well, we have been looking for the younger brother to substitute for her."
Wardes, you are somehow managing to get on my good side even without trying to get on my good side. You are telling me that I should aid these nobles' children? Betray my own family for the succulent turkey and gloriously fruity wine that-
All right Wardes, all right, I think I like child-you.
"I shall make this sacrifice," I said most humorously, "Noblesse Oblige."
And with that, I neared the buffet and walked away with a glass of watered down wine, and a set of tiny 'appropriate for a noble' pieces of food.
The next moment, the charge of the Valkyrie could be heard as the most ruthless, famished and utterly uncaring about norms went first, starting to order the servants around who began to flawlessly hand off plates filled with roast and tiny golden forks and glasses filled with wines.
Quite calmly, I neared Wardes once more, and handed him off a plate.
"Your Grace-you shouldn't have-"
"Wardes," I said quite calmly, interrupting him, "if anybody asks, I have eaten with decorum and noble grace. Now, do me the favor of being my shield and eat something, you're scrawny."
"Uh?" Wardes asked, but then understood implicitly as I began to eat using him to cover myself from Eleonore's inquisitorial gaze. She had understood what had gone on-how could she not? But she couldn't say anything without first finding me. And if I had to face my sister, then I would do so on a full stomach.
The wise man chooses his battles.
The wiser one does not fight to begin with.
