[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.