Henry let out a hearty laugh while he thought about the details of the
wager. The warmth of the summertime sun beamed down on him, and its
humor could barely match his own. He glanced at the smiling diplomat
who walked alongside him, and a broad smile appeared on his face. He
could almost picture it in his mind. The ardent paramour riding out to
the castle to meet his love. Henry chuckled. The novelty of the
situation humored him more than the gamble.
He gave a close look at Monsieur Jorge de Trayes. He was decidedly
handsome, although several inches shorter than the king. Monsieur de
Trayes had an elven face that could not quite hide his puckish
mischievousness, a quality which totally obscured his chronological
age. Henry looked at him and wondered with restrained amazement if this
diplomat could in fact be one of the magical fae.
"Well, Monsieur de Trayes, it seems like we have a bet," Henry told him.
"Indeed, Your Majesty," said the spritely man. He strode confidently
beside the monarch like they were childhood friends. De Trayes
continued, "Now the only thing left would be the manner of payment."
"Yes, of course. It wouldn't be a wager without the reward," Henry
said, smiling. He knew exactly what he wanted from de Trayes. He had
wanted an object like that since he first layed eyes on it at de Trayes'
estate. In itself it was probably worth no more than anything he had in
his castle, but the lure of it had magnetized him from his first viewing
of it.
"If I win, Monsieur de Trayes, you have to give me the ring."
"What ring, Your Majesty?"
"The jade ring. The one you got from the Cathayan emporer."
"Oh, that ring," the diplomat said, his voice a little gloomier than
before. He quickly answered, "Naturally, you must give me something of
equal value for it."
Henry laughed, "Of course, Monsieur de Trayes," he paused then said, "If
you succeed, I shall make you a duke."
Had the gentleman been drinking, he surely would have choked on the
wine. Instead, his eyes bulged. He quickly regained his composure
before he turned to the monarch.
"Does this wager mean so much to you, Your Majesty?" he asked.
Henry grinned, "Let's just say I have been waiting for this
opportunity."
The diplomat nodded his head and breathed deeply. "It doesn't seem
fair, Your Majesty, that you should be so generous with your prize and I
don't have anything to match it. Let me add in one hundred gold
pieces."
Henry said, "If that is what suits you, Monsieur."
"Does this mean that we have reached an agreement, Your Majesty?"
Henry turned to Monsieur de Trayes. He smiled warmly as he said, "Yes,
it does Monsieur de Trayes."
De Trayes was the one to grin this time, "Alright, Your Majesty, it is
agreed. We have a bet. If I get her to fall in love with me, I become
Duke. If I fail, I lose my prized ring and one hundred gold pieces.
But I do say, Your Majesty, it will be a most amusing sport."
Henry managed to supress a giggle, "Yes, and you will definitely have
your hands full with that quarry."
De Trayes laughed, "Perhaps, Your Majesty, but once I have collected my
reward, I shall be even busier. By the way, Your Majesty, what will you
consider proof of my success? A kiss? A declaration of her undying
love? Her proposing to marry me?"
Henry waved his hand, "No, Monsieur de Trayes. I will not make it that
easy for you. You must give me tangible proof of her passion for you."
"What kind do you mean, Your Majesty? The love of two youths? The love
of a man and wife? Or-"
Henry smiled again, but this time with a mischievousness that could
match the elven man walking alongside him.
The elf gasped in pretend shock, "Oh, Your Majesty. You cannot mean-"
Henry nodded, his grin broadening until it reached both his ears.
De Trayes continued, "Oh dear. But what would the Queen think?"
Henry said, "Believe me, Monsieur de Trayes, if she found out she would
never stop laughing."
De Trayes smiled and paused. "Well, Your Majesty, it seems like we have
a wager."
"Yes, we do."
"So, how long will you give me?"
"The same time it took me to find my love. Five days."
"Agreed. All I need to do now is to find her and begin my courtship,"
de Trayes said, his face barely suppressing the wholehearted laugh
erupting inside his slender body. De Trayes continued, "By your leave,
Your Majesty."
Henry waved his hand and responded, "Of course, Monsieur, you can have
all the leave you wish for the next five days. You'll need it."
Monsieur de Trayes bowed and promptly left the garden. Henry watched as
the man mounted his bay stallion and trotted off toward the Manor de
Barbarac. His smile broke into boyish laughter. He couldn't wait until
Danielle could hear about this. Monsieur de Trayes? Get the love of
the shrew? Even the slightest thought of it made him chuckle. He
thought about what he would do with those coins. There were some things
he wanted to get Danielle for their upcoming anniversary. There was
this bracelet, a pearl necklace, and a dress that is only fit for a
queen. One hundred gold pieces can cover that easily. There might even
be enough left over for Danielle's birthday some months from that day.
The jade ring he'd keep for himself.
He was in this mode of thought when he heard his name called. He
swiftly turned around. It was Danielle. He smiled.
She looked at him and smiled when she saw that he was not brooding under
the frustrations of monarchy. She walked towards him. He was smiling
about something, but it was more than her presence that did it. She
licked her lips and reached out to touch his face.
"What is it, darling?" she asked.
Henry could not suppress his laughter, "I have a wager with Monsieur de
Trayes."
"Really?" she asked again. "What kind of wager?"
Henry kept smiling, "Just a gentleman's bet. One that will get you the
best anniversary gift you ever had."
"Oh, Henry," she said, slapping him on the arm, "Don't beat around the
bush. Tell me. I promise it'll be our secret."
"Ow! Alright, but you mustn't tell this to anyone."
Henry felt like a kid again. He looked around the garden and around the
courtyard. Nobody was there. Still, he felt like he should whisper.
He spoke in hushed tones, giggling every once in a while. "Well, my
lady, if you must know, Monsieur de Trayes and I have a wager of the
human heart. If he manages to capture the love of one of the
unattatched ladies in the province, I will make him a duke."
"A duke?" Danielle asked, "Who is he courting? The Devil's mother?"
Henry giggled, "Almost. It's-"
Danielle's face began to beam with a smile so broad it could show all
her teeth from front to back. She giggled along with Henry.
"Darling, isn't that a bit mean? I admit that I am not fond of her but
she's still-"
"But think about what this could do for you. For us. Besides, it might
teach the hellcat a few things."
Danielle resigned, but she chuckled lightly, "Alright, Henry. I do not
agree with the spirit behind this charade, but I am going along with it
only for its educational merit."
Henry smiled, "Sure you are. Come on, let's go back inside."
Danielle walked beside her husband and held his hand. It was a strong,
warm hand. She shook her head. This was a unique situation indeed.
She almost hoped that Monsieur de Trayes would be successful, if only
out of curiosity. The Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent, in love? The idea
was fascinating. A modest baritone echoed through the throne room, "Monsieur Jorge de
Trayes is here to see you, Your Majesty."
Henry watched with a placid smile as he saw the would-be paramour
storming towards him. De Trayes stopped in front of the monarch and
bowed.
"Your Majesty," he said, with a hint of irritation.
Henry suppressed the gale of laughter that was rumbling inside him. He
greeted the man, "How goes it, Monsieur de Trayes?"
De Trayes angrily rose to his feet. He hastily crossed his arms and
began to tap his feet. His face had undergone a surprising change since
the last time he and the monarch had met. Instead of his trademark
smile, he put on an insulted pout. Henry looked at the man, almost
amuzed at the display of wounded pride. The man swallowed his
irritation and began to speak.
"She slapped me," de Trayes replied.
"What?" Henry gasped, in mock surprise.
"She slapped me. Look, Your Majesty," de Trayes said, turning towards
Henry the fresh red mark on his left cheek. Henry walked closer to de
Trayes and inspected the injury.
"What an interesting birthmark, Monsieur," Henry said. De Trayes only
licked his lips to keep from saying something sarcastic. He rolled his
eyes as the king inspected the fruits of his pursuit. Inside he felt
like calling that- woman- a few choice words from the commoner
vernacular, but he let his thoughts out in heavy, angered sighs.
Henry stopped grinning long enough to ask, "How did you get it?"
De Trayes swallowed his obvious mood and answered the question, "Your
Majesty, I went over to her manor this morning. For the past three
days, I had been writing her several anonymous letters d'amor, which a
friend of mine always delivered to her estate during the night, to be
picked up in the morning by her servants. This friend had given me a
report that she was particularly intrigued by the letters, and that she
wished to know who the author was. He told me that she actually looked
forward to further correspondence. Naturally feeling confident about my
success, I went to her manor yesterday to fulfil the lady's request.
And then she slapped me."
Henry's brow wrinkled with suspicion, "I think, Monsieur, you are
leaving something out."
De Trayes retorted, "Oh, nothing that needs bother you, Your Majesty."
Henry persisted, "Nevertheless, de Trayes, I want to know what
transpired at the manor."
De Trayes paused momentarily and slowly began, "Your Majesty, I had gone
under the guise of a traveller looking for somewhere to rest for the
night. Her servants let me inside the manor house and led me to my
room. I was invited to dinner, and I accepted. I expected to be joined
by this decrepit old crone, but to my surprise, the woman was simply
exquisite. She was like- she was like the autumn, Your Majesty."
Henry looked at de Trayes' expression suddenly change from anger to
elation, confused, "The autumn, Monsieur?"
De Trayes continued, "Yes, the autumn Your Majesty. A little cold and
foggy, but so mysterious and colorful. She's not young and pretty like
Her Majesty the Queen, but more like a lioness or an eagle. Beautiful
and powerful in a way that you can't rationalize. I can't really
explain it. I guess at my age, I look for that kind of thing."
Henry paused to reflect on what de Trayes said. It was true that the
Baroness was a handsome woman for her age, but he could not understand
the merchant's metaphor between her and the autumn. He decided to ask
de Trayes about it later. For the moment, he wanted to know how more
about the events that transpired at the manor. "How was dinner?" he
asked.
"The meal was splendid. We engaged in delightful conversation. We
talked about a lot of things: money, politics, and the like. She was
articulately well-versed on the subjects. She even quoted Machiavelli a
few times. For once in my life, I gave sincere flattery for her mastery
of Italian and Latin. I asked her if she was also familiar with Dante's
Commedia. She told me had read a few cantos, but she knew more than
enough to outwit me on the matter. Then, we started talking about
poetry and the arts. From there, we progressed to love."
"Ah, love," Henry mused, "I wonder what she said about that topic."
De Trayes shrugged, "It's hard to remember, but from her inferences, she
has, like many women, been betrayed by her love."
Henry's expression became stony, "Well, like begets like I always say.
What happened after that?"
De Trayes began again, "Your Majesty, I told her ever so delicately of a
particular woman I was pursuing. She was naturally curious, and I said
this of the 'mystery woman': She is as beautiful as the nocturnal sky
and as regal as a queen. I knew she would pick up on it, for I quoted
that almost verbatim from one of the letters I'd written to her. She
didn't say anything about that, but soon we said our goodnights and
prepared for bed. I couldn't stop thinking about how I would reveal
myself to her. Eventually, I just decided to visit her room."
"You went to her room?" Henry asked, shocked. De Trayes nodded. "In
the middle of the night?" Henry continued, and de Trayes nodded again.
Henry scratched his head in bemusement, "Well, what happened there?"
"Your Majesty, I crept up to her bed and just watched her sleeping.
There was a fire, so I had a good view. She looked so peaceful I didn't
want to disturb her. For a while, I just stood there, looking at her
lie there, breathing. I was overcome by the sudden urge to kiss her.
So I leaned over and kissed her, just a gentle peck on the cheek. Just
light enough not to wake her up. I knew I had to get back to my room,
but I didn't want to leave her. I know this sounds crazy, Your Majesty,
but I had to stay with her. So, I eased onto the mattress and under the
covers, careful not to wake her. I kissed her again, thankful she did
not awaken.
"When I awoke this morning, she was still asleep. I decided that it was
best for me to head back to my room before she rose. I slid out of the
bed but before I could pass the mattress, she had awakened. For some
reason, I was at a loss for words, but before I could speak she walked
up to me and slapped me. Then she told me, in so many words, to get out
of her house and to never return. So here I am, disgraced and
insulted."
Henry pitied the man, if only for the fact that it was Baroness Rodmilla
de Ghent who smacked him and not some honorable young lady. He smiled
when he thought about the look Monsieur de Trayes would give him when
handing over those one hundred gold francs. Henry thought about what he
would tell Danielle. Most certainly that de Trayes had suffered the
Baroness' wrath.
Henry collected his thoughts and turned to Monsieur de Trayes, "I hope
that you have already counted out my winnings, Monsieur."
De Trayes' childlike pouting transformed into manly confidence and
determination, "Ha! Your Majesty. I still have this day and the next.
I will make that woman mine yet!"
Henry laughed at the elf-man's unshakable faith, "I only wish that
confidence were the sole necessity when pursuing a lady."
De Trayes responded, "So do I, Your Majesty, but I have other tricks up
my silken sleeve. By your leave-" He tipped his hat and bowed
graciously, exiting the bui lding with a wave of the king's hand.
Henry laughed at the thought. She slapped him. His mother always said
that nobody is all bad. Jorge sat down in front of the desk and focused on the pages
illuminated by the mid-day sun. He held the quill in his hand, not yet
wet with ink. He looked at the blank parchment, his mind boiling with
phrases and ideas. He nodded and dipped the quill into the ink. He
started to write on one of the sheets:
Mon Cheri Rodmilla,
I am writing not to impress you, but to show how deeply sorry I am-
He scratched through the words before he even finished the sentence,
muttering to himself. He placed his delicate hand on his lips, rubbing
them repeatedly as his practiced tongue silently uttered silvery words
of love. He nodded to himself a few times and then dipped the quill
into the ink again. He paused before he put the pen down onto the
paper. He whispered a few of the phrases then began to write:
Mon Cheri Dame Rodmilla,
I write to you not because I wish to impress You with my eloquence, but
because I am too ashamed to dare speak to Your person. I know You are
displeased with me, and You have every right to do so. Any honorable
woman, such as Mon Cheri Dame, would hate the very thought of me. I
hold only myself responsible for being in your ill favor. If there was
something, anything I could to regain Your affections, Mon Dame, I would
do so. If crawling naked through burning coals would make You loathe me
less, I would do so without hesitation. If bringing to You the Holy
Grail would make You smile in my presence, I shall begin my journey
immediately. Ask what You will of me, for my life and my soul are
Yours.
I bemoan each moment I exist without the tenderness of Your words and
letters. My heart stops when I hear the doorbell, thinking it would be
further correspondence from Mon Dame. Each jingle only reminds me of
the Happiness I had known while I was with Mon Cheri Dame. I loathe the
rising Sun, for he only reminds me of Mon Dame's Beauty. I despise the
Night, for she is only a ghost of Mon Dame's Mystery. The Moon mocks me
as she shines, an apprarition of Mon Dame's Grace. I am like the
accursed Lucifer, banished forever from the Eternal Light and Joy to be
found in Heaven and God's Grace. I must turn myself towards Darkness
out of shame. I can only hope that the Mercy of Christ can bring me
Redemption so I may once again be joined with Mon Dame in the Ecstasy to
be found in her favor.
I know You wish an explanation for my unflattering actions. To give You
anything less would be an insult to Mon Dame's Honor and keen
Intelligence. But Mon Dame must know first and foremost that I, your
humble and eternal servant, meant no dishonorable intentions when I
offended You so. I came unto You not to seduce, but to witness. As we
spoke and dined, I became enchanted with You, and the power of this
spell bound me to You, made me eager to be near You. I wanted to see
the subtleties of Your appearance, to smell the fragrance of Your skin
and hair, to hear the music of Your breath as you slept, to taste the
the sweetness of Your lips. I was restless as I lay in my bed, alone,
thinking about being with You, about beholding Your beauteous Face,
inhaling Your intoxicating aroma, listening to Your heartbeats, grazing
Your skin with my fingertips, tasting the honeysuckle flavor of Your
lips. For just one moment, I wanted to have You, to caress and be full
of the Ecstasy of You. However, I had not exercised discipline, and
that moment turned to minutes, and the minutes to hours, and before long
I had falled asleep. I had pleasant dreams about Mon Dame, visions of
the Life in Heaven, and I do not look forward to it. Without Mon Dame,
Heaven is only a Sheol above the clouds. When I had awakened, I wished
to conceal my presence from Mon Dame. It was dishonorable, I know, and
I fully regret that I had attempted it, but being merely mortal and born
in Sin, I could not resist Temptation. I know I shall be punished for
attempting to sully an Angel of the Lord, but I would gladly suffer
eternal Damnation before surrendering the loveliness of the memory I
have of Mon Cheri Dame.
If you have read this much, Mon Dame must add unending Patience to her
Virtues, of which there are enough to make sinful even the holy saints.
I beseech you, Mon Cheri Dame, to find it in Your merciful Heart to
forgive me, Your lowly servant, my tresspass. I shall be forever in
Your debt if You do so, and I am starkly unworthy of this gesture of
Love and Godly Generosity. Yet I still beg of You, please forgive me.
If my love and vow never to treat Mon Cheri Dame dishonorably again are
enough, please let me pay that price. To do so would be like receiving
a holy sacrament directly from the seraphim. I only wish You were here
before me so I could bow before You and kiss Your hands and feet.
Please show me Your Generosity and allow me to show how sincerely I mean
this. It is the least Your humble servant can do after the grievous sin
I have done You.
Your faithful servant,
Jorge
He looked over his work and smiled as he read the pages. He dumped
half the can of ink-dust onto the papers and snatched the parchment from
underneath the sooty pile. He ran to the stables and mounted his horse,
letter in hand. He took the horse to a full gallop before the gates
were even open, and as he passed the boundaries of his estate, he read
the words, his elven smile gradually changing to a cherubic laugh. His
heart raced along with his horse while he rode toward the Manor de
Barbarac. When he reached the house, he didn't bother to dismount to
ring the doorbell, instead pulling on the string as he sat atop the
horse. He licked his lips as he waited, and when he heard the door
unlock and begin to open, he felt his lips extend from ear to ear in a
huge smile. Rodmilla twisted Jorge's hair around her finger, whispering things into
his ear that made him tingle all over with excitement. He stroked her
face as delicately as a feather falls on snow. He kissed her on her
forehead, her cheek, all the way down her neck, her shoulder, and then
her lips. He closed his eyes as she pressed her mouth against his and
massaged it with skillful oral caresses. Jorge slid his arm around her
waist and ran his digits through her abundant ebony hair. He eased her
onto the bed, careful not to slip and let her fall, his lips still
attatched to her. His mouth slid down her cheek and onto her throat,
and then to her- the doorbell rang. Jorge ignored it as he advanced to
her collar bone. The doorbell rang again, louder, more persistent.
"Go answer it, Jorge, I'll be here when you get back," she said in a
velvety voice. She smiled at him and winked. Jorge's face melted into
a blushing grin.
His eyes opened, and he lay on his bed. The covers were scattered
across the floor on top of the pillows, and as Jorge looked around, he
saw the bedstead to his left. A plush pillow lay next to him in what
used to be Rodmilla's place. He sighed when the doorbell rang again.
With a slight groan, he rolled himself out of bed and staggered to the
front door. He yelled an "ouch" when he knocked his fingers on the iron
knob as he opened it.
A dwarven, blond-haired page looked up at him through beady blue eyes.
He smiled at Jorge as he held out a piece of white parchment. He said,
"From the Baroness, Sire."
Jorge eagerly took the letter and unfolded it. The page disappeared,
leaving Jorge standing in the door reading the paper. He bit his lip in
anticipation as he read the smooth, elaborate handwriting of the
Baroness. Her character was remarkably easy to read, considering the
secrecy she had shown him in person.
He stood there, relaxed, as he read her letter.
Monsieur de Trayes,
There are some things we should discuss. Please come to the manor so we
may speak.
R.
Jorge closed the letter and rushed to his room to change his clothes.
He quickly dressed and rushed down to the stables. He hopped on his
horse and galloped toward the manor. When he arrived, he dismounted and
rang the doorbell. A red-haired servant woman answered the door. Jorge
smiled at her, "Good afternoon, madame. I am here to see the Dame
Rodmilla de Ghent."
The servant-woman nodded, "Shortly, Sire," and disappeared. Jorge bit
his lip as he waited for Rodmilla to come down the stairs. The servant
woman came back. She looked at him congenially and waved him inside,
"The Baroness will be with you shortly, Sire."
Jorge nodded to the woman and went inside. He looked about the
semi-familiar surroundings, seeing them in a whole new light as they
were now illuminated by the sun. He remembered the hallway leading up
to the bedrooms, the entrance leading to the dining room and the
kitchen. He looked in awe as he saw Rodmilla emerge from the hallway
leading to the bedrooms. He rushed to her, kneeling before her and
reaching to kiss her hand.
She snatched her hand away. Jorge stared up at her, his eyes confused
and pleading. Before he could speak, she parted her own lips.
"Of all the silly, insiduous jokes! A worthless cad making himself out
to be a duke. Why, it's almost as absurd as a lecherous goat who writes
annonymous love letters to a noblewoman with the hopes of gaining her
intimacies," she coldly said to him.
Jorge gulped. He was, in this rare moment, at a loss for words. He
licked his dryed lips and swallowed again. He blinked hard, and but he
remained on his knee, gawking.
"Madame, I told you before. I needed somewhere to stay for the night.
Your manor was the last one for another half a day's travel," he lied.
He gently bit his tongue as he waited for her reply. She stood
silently, her gaze burrowing into his heart. "What do you think I came
for, Mon Cheri Dame?"
Rodmilla was decidedly quick to answer, "Why did you come here, de
Trayes?"
Jorge felt like he could just die at that moment. If there were a time
in his life when he wished he was dead, this was it. He wanted the
earth beneath his feet to open up and swallow him whole. This moment
was just unbearable. He had been found out before, but this was the
first time that he felt deeply sorrowful for his failure. It was more
than being discovered that unsettled him, but the fact that the words he
wrote, the loving gestures he displayed for her, the things he'd said to
her, were all real.
"Mon Dame, let me explain, I did not want to-" he started.
"Get off your knee!" she snapped at him. Jorge stood up and looked at
her. She turned her face away from him, and his heart fell into his
stomach. He averted his eyes away from her.
"Did you think I was stupid?! That I was one of those young girls who
couldn't tell a nobleman from a well-read knave?!" she said to him.
Jorge remained silent, unsure of exactly what he thought. He admitted
to himself that part of her accusations were right. He did think he was
too smart for her, and he cursed his foolish masculine pride for not
taking a hint while they shared supper. He remembered then how he had
come into her room and kissed her as she slept. He remembered the
longing he felt to be with her that night. He remembered how he hoped,
for a brief instant, that the bet would be over and he'd be free to
pursue Rodmilla without obligation. But those hopes were dashed with
the words that stabbed them with their sharpness.
His confident smile was worn off, replaced with an expressionless
sadness.
"No, Rodmilla, I don't think you were stupid," he said weakly, more
surrendering to truth than abiding by it.
"Then what in God's name did you think?"
Jorge sighed, "I don't know. I can't remember what made me think about
it in the first place."
Silence. It was the kind of silence that would scream if there was a
sound to express the tensions that were building in the room.
Jorge looked at her and tried to grasp her hand, but she snatched it
away before he could do so. He had to swallow hard to keep from crying
and imploring her forgiveness. "I thought," he paused, "I thought,
madame, that if I were skillful enough, I could, for just one moment,
know you without the burden of falling in love. But, as it turns out, I
was wrong."
He quietly stepped away from her and walked towards the door. He let
himself out, and mounted his horse. It was a long, slow ride back to
the inn. Jorge had to use all his willpower simply to climb the stairs
leading to his room. He searched his room for the purse he brought with
him from his travels. He found it and then plumped it on the desk next
to his bed, and he pulled out the chair and dumped his weight into the
seat. He opened the purse. He counted out one hundred gold francs. He
reached to the back end of the desk and pulled out a small wooden box.
He flipped it open, revealing a brilliant oval stone attatched to an
elegantly decorated gold ring. He reached into his breast pocket and
drew forth another purse, almost empty. He pulled it open and shoved
the coins inside, topping it off with the ring. He put the velvet pouch
back into his pocket. Sighing deeply, he pushed himself up from the
chair and trudged back out the room. He stammered down the stairs and
headed back outside. He remounted his horse and trotted along the dirt
road leading to the castle. Henry looked up from the piles of incoherent Spanish jibberish when he
heard the servant call out, "Monsieur de Trayes is here to see you,
Sire."
A smirk appeared upon his lips when he thought about the prize he was
going to receive. "Send him in," he said him.
Light footsteps echoed through the throne room. Henry almost startled
as his eyes glimpsed the form of de Trayes dragging himself across the
stone floor. He could barely recognize the sullen man walking towards
him. De Trayes was obviously bothered. His hair, which he normally
kept neat, just sat upon his head, wild and dissheveled. He didn't
bother to button his doublet completely, and he looked at the creases
and wrinkles in de Trayes' pants with apparent concern. De Trayes
looked as if he had worn the outfit all day and slept in it all night.
He silently watched as Jorge gave a slight bow and merely murmered,
"Your Majesty."
Henry felt like he would jump when he looked into the man's eyes. He
did not see the clear, bright, brown orbs he was accustomed to.
Instead, he saw these pink, puffy things. Black marks rested underneath
his lids. Henry looked on as de Trayes put a tired, disspirited hand
into his doublet and brought out a small bag. The sound of metal
clattering on stone snatched his gaze away from de Trayes and pulled it
towards the table which supported the documents. He looked at the brown
leather bag, completely aware of its contents.
When Henry looked back up to de Trayes, he was faced with the man's
back. Henry called out to him, "Monsieur de Trayes."
De Trayes slowly turned around. Henry watched as the exhausted,
defeated man stood there, barely looking at him. What had happened to
the jovial, mercurial fellow he had met less than a week before? How
had this man with such a joi-de-voivre sink to such a pitiful, almost
dead state? Henry guessed it could just be his mood. One hundred gold
pieces is a lot for any man to lose. Henry picked up the bag of coins
and held it out to de Trayes.
"Here, Monsieur. You need not give me anything. You play this sport
like a true gentleman, and that in itself deserves a reward."
De Trayes smiled weakly and shook his head, "No, Your Majesty. I only
need two gold francs to drink myself into unconscious oblivion.
Besides, Your Majesty, it is not the financial loss which I mourn."
"What do you mean, Monsieur?" Henry asked.
"Nothing, Your Majesty. Nothing that time and wine cannot answer."
"You will be alright, then, de Trayes?"
"I will, Your Majesty," de Trayes answered. The man bowed slightly,
saying, "By your leave, Your Majesty."
Henry nodded, and his gaze followed the man as he exited the room. His
brow furrowed when he thought about what strange malady had overcome his
cheerful acquaintance. Only days before, he was almost fae in his
dreamy confidence and romanticism. This day, he was more banal than the
table which held his documents. He remembered the elven youthfulness
which literally took twenty years from his apparent age. Now, he seemed
so- old. He missed the cocky, gallant man he had met. Henry wondered
what Jorge could have lost besides a jade ring and one hundred gold
pieces.
His mind searched the many words they shared for anything which could
tell him what happened. He snapped his fingers when he thought back to
the third day of their little wager. He remembered how Jorge spoke so
fondly of the Baroness. He described her as the essence of autumn. He
mused on how he had felt when he kissed her, the longing he felt just to
be near her. Henry began to laugh aloud when he reached the final
conclusion. It was so obvious now. Henry wondered why he had not
figured it out at first. Jorge de Trayes was in love! His laughing
rose in volume until it became a hysterical roar. Love works in
mysterious ways, he mused.
He felt a pang of guilt as he thought about de Trayes' predicament. He
thought about what would have happened had they not made the wager.
Granted, the Baroness and de Trayes would probably have never met, but
Henry still felt like there was something he should do. Yet, he also
thought that perhaps this situation would be for the better. After the
storms of deceit and misunderstanding clear, there could be room for an
entirely new possibility. Henry bit his lip as his brow wrinkled in
deep thought. For now, he will stay uninvolved.
He returned to the piles of parchment sitting on the table. Running to
the table, he seized his quill and shoved the used papers away from him
and plied his fingers under many sheets until he found a single piece of
paper. His lips curled into a boyish grin as the point of the quill
scratched across the surface of the paper. He dipped his quill into
more ink and scribbled some more. He chuckled to himself as he signed
his name at the end of the message. He looked up on the table and
sifted through the papers until he felt something hard and round. He
peeled the paper off the object and threw it to the side. He scooped up
the royal signet and a bar of wax. He set the wax to the candle flame
and quickly stamped it onto the parchment. Henry set the royal signet
against the molten wax and nodded slightly when he saw how clearly it
printed this time. He dropped both the signet and the wax onto the
table as he snatched the paper, jogging toward the door of the throne
room. He ran down the hallway, looking around frantically. He nearly
fell on his face when he saw Captain Laurent.
"Hello, Henry," he said. Henry smiled and quickly folded the letter.
"Ah, Captain Laurent, just the man I was looking for," Henry responded.
Laurent glanced at the letter and then looked at Henry, "There something
I can do?"
Henry nodded, "Yes. Take this to Monsieur de Trayes."
"Sure, Henry, but where do I find him?"
"I believe he's staying at an inn near the Chateau."
"Consider it done. Is there a time when you want me to do this?"
"Yes! Do not deliver it until tomorrow morning," Henry eagerly replied.
Laurent nodded, "Of course. May I ask why?"
Henry shook his head, "No. I shall tell you later, when prospects look
more promising."
Laurent nodded again, "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Henry handed the letter to Laurent and looked as the man's short, gloved
hand took the letter and slid it into his doublet. "Thank you," Henry
said, touching Laurent on the shoulder as he disappeared into the throne
room. He sighed when he looked onto the table and saw the piles he had
left earlier still sitting there. He slowly strided towards the papers
and sighed when he picked up a sheet and saw line after line of Spanish
chickenscratch scribbled all over the page. He looked at another page.
More Spanish. He found the chair and slumped in it as he read each
line, slowly, trying to decipher what the words meant. He wondered if
Danielle could read Spanish, for she took much more easily to learning
foreign languages than he did. He wanted to call upon her, but the
awkwardness of the situation closed his mouth before he opened it. He
looked at the page again, and he felt utterly ridiculous. He looked
around, and, realizing he was alone, began to mouth the words aloud.
"The Spanish Kingdom...agrees...to...bestow to- upon- the Kingdom of
France the," Henry's forehead wrinkled as he read the next word, "the
following things in- in exchange for France's agreement to...cease
all...military...preparations...on the...western, no- eastern border of
the Spanish Empire."
Henry rubbed his forehead and said, "What damned preparations are they
talking about!"
He tried to read further, but a headache soon crept up to his temples
and then spread across his cranium. He sighed deeply and called for a
page to fetch Danielle. Jorge hauled himself over the window ledge to Rodmilla's room. He
rolled onto the floor, slowly getting up and then wiping his brow free
of the sweat that had accumulated there. The bitter taste of the rose's
stem finally reached him, and he quickly snatched it out of his mouth.
He sighed with relief when he realized that she had not yet retired to
bed. The heat of his exertion suffocated him underneath his
over-shirt. He stripped it off, and stood there letting his skin
breathe the fresh air circulating through his pores. His feet ached
from the amount of walking he had to do from the inn, knowing that he
would be noticed on his horse. These he took off as well. He looked at
the mattress where he had kissed Rodmilla, and his body ached for rest.
He felt like jumping from his spot at the window to the mattress only a
few yards away. Then he looked at the door near which Rodmilla smacked
the daylights out of him, and was content to sit on the floor.
Night had fallen by the time he heard footsteps approaching the door.
The moon's pale white light crept into the bedroom, illuminating the
area by the window. The knob rattled a little, and the door creaked.
Jorge slipped into a dark corner, and he waited. He saw something slip
into the room, but it was too dark to distinguish what. Then, he
glimpsed a soft orange glow as the figure lighted a few candles. When
he licked his lips in anticipation as the orange glow grew, until he
could see her. She was so beautiful.
He sat there, watching her light the candles in her
bedroom. From his vantage point, he could see only a sliver of her
face, the contours almost dancing with the light coming from behind it.
She turned in his direction, and she gasped. She looked like she was
about to scream.
"Shh!" he said, "I'm not here to harm you."
She relaxed some, clutching her chest, but obviously very shaken.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I'm here to see you," he said.
She rolled her eyes and walked to her bed, sitting down on the side
closest to the hearth. She, with mechanical efficiency, started to take
out the many pins and braids that held her hair in the style she wore.
She did it almost blindly, and Jorge watched in amazement. He often
wondered how women undid the styles they wore, and to witness it was
something like a small miracle for him. She shook her ebony mane
gracefully and ran her fingers through it as if to make sure all the
additions were gone. He got up and walked toward her, wringing his
hands nervously like a bashful teenager. He handed her the rose; she
snatched it from him and tossed it beside the night table. He frowned a
little, but he hid his disappointment with a question.
"How do you do that?" he asked
"What?" she said.
"Take it apart so- effortlessly."
"Practice."
Jorge paused. He sat next to her, looking at her hair, free from the
weight of braids and pins. He wondered how it would feel to comb
through it with his fingers. "Can I touch it?"
Rodmilla scowled at him, "Touch it? Like I'm some kind of horse?"
"No," Jorge protested, "I just want to feel it."
Rodmilla paused as if she were thinking about Jorge's question. The
light from the candles bobbed along her hair, making a dazzling display
of highlights upon it. The luminescence flowed like raindrops upon her
cornea. He sat next to her, waiting for her reply.
"Alright, go ahead," she told him.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. Very softly, he raised his hand to touch the hair by her
temples, gliding it down past her shoulder and then down her back. He
watched the stark contrast formed when his peach hand moved down the
black volume of her hair. It was so soft, like a fawn's fur. He
reached up again, this time spreading his fingers so he can run his hand
through it. He was surprised at the ease with which his hands slid
through her hair. Instead of feeling a near-solid mass, it felt like
powerdered snow. He let his fingers slide through the ebony strands
until his arm was fully extended. He touched a lock of it to his nose,
where he took in the subtle scent of leaves, earth, and snow- the scent
of autumn. Then, he let the hair fall out of his hand. He started
again, slowly moving his hand from her temple to the nape of her neck.
Instead of allowing his hand to fall, he curled his fingers around the
top of Rodmilla's neck and gently guided her to the mattress, whereupon
he placed his lips onto hers and kissed her. The taste was unlike
anything he had put to his mouth before. It was sweet, but it had an
age to it, like wine, that made each taste unique. He opened his eyes,
and looking down at her, quiet, he could feel his heart banging against
the prison of his ribs. He watched her, lying there so still and
quiet. The gentle wind of her breath, so warm and soothing, like the
caress of a blanket during winter. He closed his eyes and leaned
forward again, parting his lips before just before touching hers. To
his surprise, her mouth had already prepared for him, and with the
quickness of a striking serpent, she slipped her tongue into his mouth,
and it slithered around with expert proficiency, tickling him in certain
places, darting in others, constantly moving in different directions and
angles. Before she took her mouth away, she flicked her tongue across
his lips, which made him eager to reciprocate the favor. He lay her on
her back and gently guided the other half of his body on top of her.
His hands glided along her arms, and his fingers wrapped themselves
between her digits. He brought their clasped hands closer together,
until they rested almost side by side against her head.
He lay there, looking into her deep, dark eyes. They seemed so distant
while so close to him. There seemed to be a part of her that she still
kept hidden in the depths of those eyes, eyes which were so powerful, so
knowing, but also sad. Jorge would have given anything to make those
eyes seem happy, even if it meant selling his soul. He kissed her hands
as he stared into her eyes. They suddenly looked so helpless, like they
were pleading for someone to protect their owner. Jorge freed one of
his hands and traced a single finger along her mouth, so gently that it
did not even stir the skin.
He wanted to say something, and he knew what, but every time he tried,
the words would stick in his throat, choked down by the feelings behind
them. It had always been so easy for him to say it before, when he
didn't mean it, but now, when it means so much, deadly silence took over
his lips. He had to say it, for she needed him to say it; he knew that
now.
"Rodmilla, I- Rodmilla," he stammered out. He struggled to force the
rest of the sentence out of his stubborn throat, but failed.
He tried again, "Rodmilla, what I'm trying to say is- I mean, it's
obvious that I, um-"
Rodmilla looked at him, her eyes suddenly growing cold, "I understand."
Jorge shook his head, "No, no you don't. It's not like that anymore."
"No? Why?"
Jorge tried to say it again, "It's because I- I-" he sighed, "I already
paid the King his hundred gold francs. I'm here because I-"
Rodmilla pushed Jorge off of her and sat up on the bed. He lay there,
suddenly chilly without her next to him. Her back was still to him as
she said, "Will you stop at nothing to get next to me?"
"If it will make you forgive me, nothing short of anything will do," he
said, sliding up next to her.
Rodmilla remained silent for a long while. Jorge watched her,
anticipating her answer. Finally, she relented, "I can't forgive you.
I'm sorry Monsier de Trayes, but I can't."
Jorge felt like he would die on the spot. He had to concentrate to
start breathing again.
"Alright," he said, standing up from the mattress. She didn't really
mean it, he thought. He stepped to the window. Jorge knew she didn't
mean it, or else why would she have waited until after he kissed her?
She has to be just saying that, he thought. It's impossible for what
she said to be true, I know it, he imagined. He pushed the windows
further open, looking up at the desolate moon.
"Say you don't love me, and I'll be gone from you forever, " he said.
He hoped it wasn't true, but if it was, he knew he wouldn't want to
live. He looked down at the earth below. It was a long jump; if he was
lucky, he might be crippled. He looked to Rodmilla, who still refused
to face him. He sighed and tried to say it again before he leapt into
oblivion.
"I-I-I love you," he said, and then he jumped.
The last thing he remembered before feeling excruciating pain was
Rodmilla screaming "No!" as he plummeted to the ground. The servants
had to help him inside the house, but he was still surprised at how
relatively free of injury he was. His ankle was badly swollen, and
already it had turned purple with the bruise, yet it was better than
what would have happened had he landed on some other body part. The
servants placed him in Rodmilla's room, per her request. After giving
Jorge some rudimentary doctoring, they left him alone with her. She
nervously shut the door and hurried toward him.
Jorge felt a tingling pain in his right cheek when Rodmilla gave him a
hard slap across the face. She looked at him, cross, "What were you
thinking? You could have been killed! How can you DO that?"
She slapped him again. Ordinarily, he'd be smiling out of the sheer joy
at knowing that the woman he loved loved him in return. However, he
just felt the heat of his blood rushing against his cheek. He just lay
there, dumbstruck. She slapped him again. And again. And again.
Before she could slapp him a sixth time, he put his hand up to stop her.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry I frightened you," he said, surrendering
before he could sustain further injury. She didn't slap him again; she
just sat there next to him, looking at him with her sad eyes.
He looked at her. Monogamy was not something he had considered before,
but with this woman, he felt like he should at least try. It was the
one challenge he had not met and conquered yet, and he swore to himself
that he would, or else die in the attempt. He thought about his odds,
and then he looked at Rodmilla again. It might not be that bad, he
thought. He knew that at his age, playing the field either made him the
stuff of legends or the laughingstock of the kingdom. He guessed that
his record was pretty legendary by now, and that it is best to have such
an odd lifestyle as marriage be his personal choice rather than one
thrust upon him by circumstance.
He couldn't remember when he fell asleep, but when he awoke, Rodmilla
was still there, watching over him like a raptor does her chicks. In
his half-asleep state, he felt like asking her if she stayed up all
night beside him, but he forgot the question after he rubbed his eyes.
He snapped awake when a servant wrapped at the door. Rodmilla turned to
it and bid the servant to come in.
"Milady," said the gray-haired woman, "from the Captain Laurent for
Monsieur."
Rodmilla got up from the bed and went to the servant, taking from her
the white piece of paper with the King's seal upon it. She gave him an
odd look as she handed it over to him. Jorge took the paper and opened
it, quickly reading over the short note, barely legible and apparently
written in haste. He smiled as he closed it again.
"What is it?" Rodmilla asked.
"Nothing," said Jorge.
"The King himself writes to you for nothing?" she retorted.
Jorge sighed and then looked at her curiously, "You have to answer a
question first."
Rodmilla looked suspicious, "Such as?"
Jorge smiled and bit his lip. He stayed silent until he saw Rodmilla
almost leaning toward him in anticipation. Then, he asked, "Will you
marry me?"
He looked into her eyes as she nodded, eyes which now seemed so happy
and filled with joy. Inside, he felt his body glow with warmth to know
it was he who put that happiness there. "Is that a yes?" he asked. She
nodded again and smiled, "Yes."
He smiled as he handed over the parchment, and he watched her expression
as she deciphered the king's handwriting. She could barely contain
herself as she tossed the paper aside and leaned forward to embrace him,
getting up to kiss him repeatedly on the lips and face. He tried to
return a few of the kisses, but her pace was too frantic for him. He
held her as she slid over his side, wincing a little when her foot
grazed his ankle.
"So, Your Grace, when shall we be wed?" she asked him, pretending to be
coy with her flirtatious smile.
"When do you want it to be, mon amor?" he responded.
"After you have healed. I would be so embarrased to have my husband
limp down the aisle."
"As you wish," he told her, looking into her eyes. They were so happy,
those eyes, and since that moment, he vowed to keep that bliss in her
eyes until the end of his days. He blinked hard when she stradled him
and kissed him again. He rested his hands on her thighs, and he rubbed
them, gently.
He looked at her again, and then he lazily said, "My first act as duke
shall be-" He kissed Rodmilla on the lips and continued, "To make
passionate love to my future wife all day long." He kissed her again
and said, "And all night long." He kissed her a few more times before
saying, "And then all day and all night again."
Rodmilla kissed him on the lips, "Won't it hurt your ankle?"
Jorge smiled mischievously, "We can work around that."
Rodmilla leaned forward and caressed Jorge's lips with her own. They
kissed and kissed until they could no longer put off the inevitable.