Ambrose and Enjolras Thomolyes were beautiful boys, beautiful princes, and with their mesmerizing looks and manners, they radiated to France a glimpse of a new world about to dawn, like a flower facing towards the rising sun. A new world full of erudite enthusiasts of language and philosophy, insightful poets of platonic, romantic and erotic love, and alluring hedonists, and brave martyrs, and heroes indulged in logic and bloodshed, architecture and mathematics. France deeply relied on physical appearance and the demeanors of the prince or princess left in line to the throne of warriors. Nobody, not even the most cynical and egotistical of citizens could deny that, and there are many, especially in the heart of Paris - so much more than Happily Ever After's in fairytales would be constrained to tell, and the same state of mind applies to King Felix and Queen Aurora, the princes' parents.
Felix is a very fickle man with a very fickle heart, armed with his gallant sword and handful - no, armful - of mistresses - as a myriad of kings from History tend to have; and was intense, has a flaw of being terribly self-centered to the core of his passions, and is extremely seductive and beauteous as a golden lion. Of course, if any woman tends to have the same characteristics as Felix, they would be shamed and insulted, been made into an outcast of society, because how dare a woman can be audacious, an ambition triggered by death-or-glory, and makes absolutely no secret to the knowledge of her lionhearted beauty and choice of dressing? No, she definitely must be an instrument of the devil, a temptress, and a dirty whore! It's a man's world, as it was till the dawn of time, and will be for many more sunrises and nightfalls.
And thus, I am melancholy yet angered to say that this is true, but what makes an exciting story if there's no problem? Aurora's life is, understandably, full of luxury and wealth, thickening love and childhood opportunities that her sister Serena often ventured herself into, with bad results from their mother. She was one out of five daughters and one out of eight children: Nicolas, Ronaldo, Desmond, her big sister Serena, her, Cassandra, Sophie, and finally, Mary. Their parents were Countess Minerva and Count Douglas de Ravenspur; they will always partially remember their mother as the judgmental, aristocratic, and horribly stoic lady with a slim complexion, glaring appearance that is capable of intimidation, her rules, her laws rule their lives as much as they can, and her overwrought emotions. Sometimes, though rarely, they would catch a glimpse at her soft side - and no matter how many spiteful things Serena and Minerva shouted at each other, they don't question their mother's love to them or their eldest sister.
Douglas de Ravenspur is a man who occupied himself with his investments, and therefore the children barely caught sight of him. While Minerva spent a fair deal of her time at court, playing cards and discussing music and dancing and fraternizing with an enviable aura of socialness, Douglas took care not to go to court as much as he can. Minerva would throw parties where the majority of the court were invited, with maids and footmen rushing about the estate, preparing the foods and the wine. She loved spending time with her children too; taking Nicolas to a horse-riding competition, accompanying Ronaldo to the piano concert, finally craving in and took Desmond to the cinema (which she found boring), and taking the girls out to shop their dresses and dollies at the mall, which Serena found tedious.
Minerva would often complain about her husband's lack of social skills when it comes to rich and sophisticated people, but she would also often indulge in a discussion about the investments from Asia with her husband. Needless to say, she found the latter far more enjoyable, though she wished Douglas would be more open to friends and acquaintances! She was also possessive; she was mainly the person who branched off the ideas of future betrothed marriages. Nicolas to Countess Marsha Calder, Ronaldo to Helene Roosevelt of Dashwood Hall, Desmond to Duchess Arianna Tomlinson, Serena to Sir John Carey, Aurora to Prince Felix himself (by prying King Harrold and Queen Lavinia), Cassandra to Jude Ashton, Sophie to Emmanuel Lewis, and even little Mary to David Rudolf, the son of a baron.
There was reason Aurora was the girl who she'd chosen to betroth the prince: she was the most beautiful one of all, and though that statement might have come off as unfairly biased, but she was the best one in terms of their expectations. Long golden hair, fair and serene and it would catch the light when she swung them over her shoulder, and green eyes that shine like emeralds, and emeralds were too precious. Her lips were literally perfect: full and pouted, coloured with redness. Since she was born, she kind of knew that she was special, and pretty, and therefore was significant in... something, but she wasn't sure what.
She could remember the days where she and her sisters were forced to knit on Sundays. She genuinely enjoyed knitting, and had taught Mary the basic ways because Mary was her favourite sister. Cassandra and Sophie were the closest, and their idle conversations were the most often heard. Serena would mostly sit alone, humming some showtunes under her breath, mainly tunes from Wicked or RENT or Phantom of the Opera, which surprised them, for boyish Serena didn't seem like the type to be into showtunes, much less Phantom of the Opera. Their auntie, pompous Emilie, would frequently study the girls with fascinated eyes, making sneering comments now and again, never to Aurora, rarely to Cassie, Sophie, and Mary, but chiefly to an irritated Serena, remaking how unruly her lines are.
Out of all the siblings, Serena was the closest to Desmond, who was stocky and worldly, and had adapted a knack of annoying their mother. Those two were the troublemakers, riding out to the glen when they were supposed to do homework and forgetting to give the servants their muddy boots to clean off before stepping into the estates. Serena wasn't optionally close to her sisters either, but with an exception of Aurora, for they used to be the only girls in a family of males but their mum, and since when was their mum a choice in a hearty friend? The two sisters used to discuss everything from the cute shoes at a shop to their deepest fears and
dreams.
But favouritism and personal problems drove them apart. Serena drove Aurora up the wall by her stubbornness, and Aurora pissed Serena off by her good and demure façade, which the latter found most annoying of all. Prince Felix will sometimes visit the Ravenspur estate with his mother, Queen Lavinia, a woman of aged good looks. However, he barely gave Aurora any mind, mostly spending boyish time adventuring into the woods with her brothers. Aurora was miserable, for she loved the Prince, because he was gallant and utterly handsome and intelligent, and thought he would never love her back.
The four years after University proved her wrong. She came back home, as fresh and exuberant with raging majestic looks as ever. She was even prettier than when she left home for University! And thus, that was when Prince Felix began showing physical and emotional interest, taking her out to dine, sending her amazing gifts of jewellery and poetry, asking her about herself and her hobbies and interests of people, filling the emptiness of the past years where he spent on indulging with her brothers. Aurora never felt so happy, and not just because the Prince was the handsomest man she ever set her interest on, though he was muscular from sports and riding, all radiant, bright, golden hair and sapphire orbs. His face was naturally expressive, brimming with emotions that took Aurora in a whirlwind, and his smirk always seductive and his manly voice exciting. But he talked of ambitious things too, of his travels, his studies, his idols of politicians and writers, and the wars he's going to win. There are two things that she was intoxicated to when she was with Felix: talking to him about anything, whether it's the weather, the books, the pictures, the music, the sports, or just talking at anything of random, and making love. Everything is falling into place.
Until the night Serena disappeared with her lover, the farmer, Charlie Bolton.
Aurora sighed. She wasn't intent on letting the old memories coming back to her. Felix has worriedly said she was daydreaming too much these past few days, and he was saying that whilst breaking her out of her reverie. Felix was always capable of breaking her out of whichever reverie she was sinking into. At her feet, her cocker spaniel Gemma was looking at her with knowing eyes. Gemma shocked Aurora sometimes, by her cleverness of her owner's pattern of emotions. Gemma was a gift from Felix, who secretly was a lover of animals and pets, which Aurora found endearing. She didn't thought much of pets, for her mum was fed up of looking after one, and therefore she didn't have experience in owning an animal. Surprisingly, Gemma wasn't hard to take care of, she expected pets were, well, pests.
She looked at the cot next to her, Ambrose's cot. He was deep in sleep, loudly snoring, and she brushed some of his brown hair off his eyes. It has grown quite long, half as long as Enjolras', though Enjolras' hair grows too fast and too lengthy that everyone became quite exasperated by the sheer amount of blonde hair - the same shade of blonde as Aurora's hair. Enjolras took after Aurora in regards of looks, and Felix in regards of eyes, with his curly golden hair and blue pools of orbs, full lips and angelic nature, and the stoicism might be taken after Minerva, who payed visits with Douglas to her grandsons. Sometimes, at a certain angle, Enjolras could be too easily mistook for a baby girl. Ambrose certainly took after Minerva's hair colour - a brunette, with Aurora's green eyes, creamy face soft as silk, and loud nature that demands attention. Enjolras was silent most of the time, observing this new world he was in with eager curiosity, questions imprinted on his face. The nurses have always favored Enjolras, the younger brother, because he was easier to take care of, though they were fond of Ambrose as well.
Aurora was two weeks pregnant again, and this time she hoped it was a girl. Behind her, she heard the sound of the door creaked open and felt the presence of her husband behind her. He massaged her shoulders, smiling, his hair was windblown from riding the horse around the fields with a few gentlemen that came to stay from court, and he was wearing a sword as well. He told the maids to leave the room, and after they did, he turned towards Aurora, staring at her reflection drawn on the mirror opposite them, an undefinable expression on his face. ''Aurora - what do you think of going outside for a walk with me?'' He offered, and now he was looking at her with mild concern. ''I could call Gloria to look after Ambrose and Enjolras, you know that very well as I do.''
''I like looking after my babies,'' says Aurora, shrugging. ''But oh, all right, I'll accompany you to the gardens, it's been quite a time since we've been down there since we were teenagers...'''
She stood up, and consented to the offered arm Felix gave her. ''You're absolutely right,'' Felix acknowledged, closing the door behind them. He smirked. ''And the last time we were at the gardens was when we made love.''
''Felix!'' Aurora exclaimed, but she was smiling too at the olden memory that was at the bottom of the pile, thickened by new ones. Flashes of images of love-making on the dewy grass, the world was painted by moonlight on that night of little stars, and golden liquid slithered down their throats, the sensation of their breaths embracing as their lips pressed against the other's. Felix made Aurora feel sexy and naughty, and for once, she didn't react to the elements of lust as if it was a sin and that she should be shamed by it - quite the opposite, and opposition never felt so fitting. ''Oh, have you no shame? I thought a king was supposed to be more mature in terms of these situations.'' She giggled. ''Ambrose is beginning to mutter his first few words, might I tell you. Gods, it makes me so joyous.''
''Monsieur Valjean and his niece, Cosette, are arriving,'' Felix declared. ''They should be here some hours after midnight, Thomas and the guardsmen are escorting them back to the castle.'' They were close relatives of Felix; Fantine Valjean, a now dead woman who was once in love with Felix at University before the latter became interested in Aurora, bared Felix's daughter, Cosette, who was born a year and a half after Ambrose and Enjolras' births. She died after birthing Cosette, but didn't expire without a ghost of a smile on her face. It wasn't until the secrecy became too much to bare that Felix confessed his affair to Aurora, who was, needless to say, angry. She considered divorcing him, and to hell with her parents' expectations and whatever cut would be to Felix's heart. She felt betrayed; since Serena disappeared, she found it quite hard to trust anyone, well, anyone except Felix or her siblings, and to have the truth presented to her so forthrightly... how many other secrets have Felix kept from her? Her curiosity led her path once more.
They spent a night together; but for a change, didn't engage in the pleasures of love-making, but instead talked of the situation. Felix dismissed Fantine as merely a pretty girl with blonde locks and blue eyes with a shy and naive personality, explaining his choice of a girlfriend because she was so similar to Aurora, and being an impulsive young man back then, didn't realise that he was infatuated and in love with Aurora, even then. He even let her see a picture of Fantine, and he was right, she could've been her sister. He said that a small part of him genuinely did love her, but she didn't cause that big of an intoxication to his senses of romance. Aurora responded that he is still an impulsive man, and it was a naturally difficult task to intoxicate his senses of romance. The feeling of adoration came rushing back to her, and she can't find it in her heart to leave him. Plus, where would she go? Her mother would be so mortified by her daughter's attitude.
Jean Valjean, Fantine's older brother, decided to adopt Euphrasie, which was the name that Felix had given her, but because of the fact that she was so small and tiny, and probably wouldn't survive through winter (though obviously, she did), everyone called her Cosette, which means little one. Since then, Felix decided to ignore Cosette's relation to him, which spoke volumes about Fantine, and said it would be far unlikely that she would ever be queen. It was always, whenever Valjean and his niece were brought up in a conversation, ''Valjean and his niece Cosette'', ''Cosette and her uncle'', ''Monsieur Valjean and little Mademoiselle Cosette'', ''Jean Valjean and his adopted baby, Cosette'', etcetera.
Felix was saying something, with an air of great importance, of a duke who tried to persuade him on the subject matter of calling off the war against Portugal, but Aurora disregarded this without any useful interest. She had small patience with politics, for things like those are dreary and far too serious for her liking. This disregard is what differs her from her mother, who could have chatter on and on about politics for hours on end. Politics is, after all, her mother and father's most famous conversation topic. But it was bitter that Felix expected her to be in awe of his news, when her head was really spinning with confusion.
''For Pete's sake!'' She exclaimed, ''this talk of politics is enough to make my head awhirl. One man tells me this and another man tells me that, and am I supposed to be picking sides? What a fine queen I am,'' she added, her voice bitter with sarcasm, ''popular, but knew next to nothing about politics! If your fellow men knew how much disinterest I have on this topic, they wouldn't look at me the same way again.''
Felix was watching her; with adoring eyes clashed with a vibrant range of love and lust and adoration all crammed into those silky orbs. He thought she was the fairest woman he had ever seen; outshining all of his mistresses, even the most sultry ones, and how lucky he was to be betrothed to Aurora, and not to Serena. ''Good of you not to listen to that noise,'' he told her, ''I'd rather you'd be more invested in your painting, writing, music, and novels than with politics. I love it how you regard love more than your petition, milady.'' He kissed her graceful hand, aware of the ruby ring twinkling in the light.
''Anyways,'' she said as they reached the gold staircase, ''My mother sent me a message last night, asking on our sons' marriages. What do you think? She said she found two newborn daughters from Lords in England they could wed to; Celine and Carolynne of Almsbury Manor.''
A look of recognition became of Felix. ''You are aware of the ball tonight, right? Well, I have invited the Almsbury's to the festivity, me and Lord Raphael Almsbury are good friends, and I think you'd come around with his wife, her lady Georgia; the whole list is written, I'd assumed, and I left the customers to your choices, so you can cross which names you'd be comply to dismiss.''
The idea of a party compelled Aurora; she loves massive, loud, exuberant social gatherings in which she could flirt and socialize to whichever extent she fancies. She was accustomed to getting things she wants. Most of the men at court are awfully besotted by her, and thinking of flirting with them brings a form of excitement, an excitement in which she didn't feel when she was with Felix. It was the idea of flirting with a mere man who didn't mean anything to her, to have fun, to play a game of fondling and flirtations, and nothing more. But it's always everything MORE when it comes to Felix. More special, more royal, more romantic, more erotic, more beautiful, and more precious, and more of everything else.
That night, Aurora was sitting in front of her mirror, assessing over the features of her face. Ambrose and Enjolras were being taken care of in their nursery, by the homely nan Gloria Parker. She was lovely and beautiful; there was no doubt of that. Her figure was aurorial light in womanly form, her hair was lustrous, and along with it, brought splendor that emphasizes her shocking green eyes. She acknowledges and flaunts her beauty everywhere she goes; and so others notice it as clearly and as vibrantly as she does. Women began talking about her prettiness and the form of the deity in her person, and a lot of times she would catch her chief lady-in-waiting, Marietta Howard, staring at her figure with unconcealed envy. Gloria Parker frequently complimented her, and even though her mother wasn't a woman to be gushy, she can tell by her accepting smile and the respect in her expression that she accepted her daughter's looks.
Her room was mildly gilded, like the sun's rays empowering it, and the colour blends to the sheen of her blonde hair and creamy skin. She crouched before the list of visitors, her critical eyes reading through each name of each guest. Lord and Lady Combeferre; check, Duke and Duchess de Courfeyrac; check, Lord and Lady Feuilly; check, Baron and Lady Pontmercy; check, Master and Madame Pettigrew; check, and finally, after a myriad of names, Lord and Lady Almsbury; definitely check. She turned to face her interpreter. ''Tell His Grace that I shall return the list by tomorrow morning.'' The interpreter nodded, and left.
Half an hour passed by, and Felix visited her chambers, eyed the list on her little writing-table but said nothing of it, and when she turned to give him an inviting smile he sauntered over, took the lady in his arms, and planted a ferocious kiss to her mouth. They talked of the play they saw last night, ''Bartholomew Fair'', which was delivered by the King's Company. Delightedly, when tiredness gave way, they belied on Aurora's lush bed, with Felix cradling Aurora, in her nightgown of white silk, and with her putting her hands on his abdomen. She could feel his strong muscles under the golden skin - muscular and well built. They enjoyed each other's company, even when no words were passed between them. When Aurora was new to the palace and the priorities that the queen must attend to, she was more than amazed by this whole new world. But for her love for him, she concealed her awe and intimidation, but he'd sensed it anyway, and so would console her through comforting words and touches.
The women of the court were wanton and bold, and the men were intellectual and lionhearted.
''You're going to be the death of me,'' he whispered against the nape of her exposed neck, and she shivered at the breathy friction of his words. She wanted to smash his lips against hers again, biting his lower one, licking her pointy tongue over it, making him want more and more of her. But she didn't like rushing things. ''Who didn't you invite?''
''Hmm,'' she purred, ''Well, not a big amount of people... except that one mistress of yours, Iris Sanders. I find her wholly displeasing,'' she said nonchalantly, and then slowly grinded her hips against his. The bold motion delighted Felix, who pressed even closer. ''I agree,'' he gasped. ''Too ugly and hopefully unwilling for my taste, as if she's a superior.'' Aurora smiled, and drawled: ''That's what I want to hear.'' Her voice was throaty, thick with desire, thick with affection.
Aurora thought back to the early stages of their physical relationship; fleeting but passionate snogs beneath the staircase, their adjoined hands under the table or in darkness, clothed by secrecy. They haven't spend excessive time together; and she regretted nearly every moment that is not spent with him. Their teenage selves were of Felix not pushing too far for Aurora, though their kisses were always heavy with tongue and sexual biting.
By sheer laziness, his hands started wandering over her voluptuous body; her waist, her ass, her hips, her breasts, the tips of fingernails gliding through hair, the naughty nightgown that overrode her thighs, and one of them was thrown over his hip. Before she knew it, he pinned her against her bed and crushed his lips against her own. Aurora's hands tangle themselves into his hair, pulling his head closer to get more of him. They moaned, their tongues fighting for dominance, until at last Aurora won. Their lips moved together like a dance, eliciting more moans and groans of pleasure.
Breaking out of the kiss, Felix inched her nightgown up until it overrode her thighs. He squeezed her thighs, making invisible patterns along the skin as he nibbled her earlobe. Aurora shut her eyes in enjoyment, letting his advances consume her senses. Slowly, she began undressing him as well, each garment littering the floor below them, as if hiding the world from their sanctuary. He pulled her nightgown over her head, and discarded it onto the floor. Thus, Felix proceeded to nibble along her earlobe, collarbone, stroked her cheeks, alternated between biting and sucking. Aurora let out a little whine, which he responded with a cheeky grin that Aurora wants to slap off his stupidly so handsome face. He lay her down with gentleness, and Aurora appreciated the mattress below her, for she would have fell when Felix enclosed his lips around her nipple.
She dug her fingers deeper into his hair, unintentionally grinding her body against his, which he complied. She was putty in his hands, and he obviously knew it. Of course, they have done this dozens of times before, but this time is beyond words. This time, she loosely permits her husband to be the only one dominating this. When Felix pulled away, Aurora felt her nipples were hard and wet as they met air. She was also aware of the rigidness of Felix under his stomach. Felix then grabbed her ass cheeks, and squeezed them, mightily. She loses whatever is left of her eloquence and rational thought. More, she thought, more, more, more. She didn't care if she sounded vulgar, all that narrowed in her world at the heat of the moment was Felix and those sultry eyes looking down upon her, as if she was a slutty mistress in need of scolding. She never felt this aroused before, or perhaps that's just contradiction.
''What would you desire from me, Your Grace?'' He hissed, his eyes dancing in the dimmed lighting. He smirked, a sly smirk of sexy devilishness.
''I desire you,'' she gasped, ''You, all of you and all from you. You made me the Pylades to your Orestes, the Eve to your Adam, the Jane to your Rochester, a woman attracted to a man, a comrade attracted to her leader, a set of barricades to your revolution... I want you because you are an instrument of war, I love you because you are a memoranda of pure perfection and a string of imperfections, a dream that I can finally have. You are beautiful; no, more than beautiful - you can have anything or anyone you want, but instead you alternated to me, thank you,'' By then, her words were poorly constructed, and more like rambles of a daydream, of a reverie.
By the essence of his shocked expression, Aurora could tell that he didn't expect that. A short moment pass - and then, he said, ''I guess I have to permit it.'' He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Then he lowered his mouth, and his lips trailed from her chin to her neck, to the spot between her breasts, to her tummy, and to the beginnings of her pubic hair. Every second sailed by agonizingly slowly. Aurora began to relax, until Felix suddenly enclose around her crotch with his mouth, reducing her to a moaning mess.
''My fucking God, Felix!'' Aurora exclaimed, losing all magniloquence and gasping for breath, her chest heaving from bliss and exhaustion. The sensation of his mouth around her was beyond any extravagance; he sucked deeply, taking her every passionate cry to his confidence and benefit. Aurora's head thudded against the pillow, and whimpered when the heat of his lips extricate themselves, though they graze over her pubic hair, cradling her with his tongue flicking between her slit.
Felix changed his angle and took her all the way, kneading her ass as he did so. She screamed in exotic pleasure, seeing stars as the planet rock between them. She gasped for air as she collapsed against the bed, Felix beside her. He kissed her cheek swiftly, brushing her hair from her sweaty face. She curled up to him, seeking warmth in which he willingly gives.
''I love you so much,'' she whispered.
She thought he might be asleep by then, for he didn't say anything minutes after with his eyes closed, but then, a: ''I know, and I love you too, much more than I ever show or give to you.''
Euphrasie ''Cosette'' Fauchelevent, sixteen years old, lived in a convent mainly in all her young life, frequently visited the palace, and has now reached the age where she was expected to wed. Her life was full of females, save for her dear Papa and two best friends, that she was as ignorant to a man her age group as if they were from another planet. Her stuttering and awkward blushing and her monotonous expressions when a man was boasting about his money or career, expecting her to be utterly marveled, but found that she was rather bewildered, could greatly annoy the gentlemen.
The truth was, she has grown into a fine, lovely woman - she has grown to look like her mother, Fantine - her hair tumbled like Rapunzel's, though not as long, over her shoulders - beautifully golden and expressive. Her height, though she was not tall nor willowy, was lithe and lissom with a narrow waist. Her smile was radiant, her eyes childish and playful, and her skin rosy white. Safe to say, if she weren't a relative of theirs, Felix and Aurora would immediately assign for her to wed with one of their sons and become their daughter Vanessa's lady-in-waiting, which they were thinking of doing the latter. Cosette, for all her endearing, though infuriating, curiosity and her looks that caress aesthetic pleasures, was the next biggest gossip in court, which she was terrified about.
For one, she was anxious to please the men, and the failure that might come along with it terrified her to her wit's end, that part was evident enough. But the man she was the most anxious to please was the baron, Marius Pontmercy, Georges and Frances Pontmercy's only son and child. Since she was old enough to attend court as a grown lady, Marius Pontmercy was the only person who she could relate with - he was nervous, jumpy, blushingly shy, but surprisingly sweet with his respectful manners, especially to women and the elderly. It looked as if he felt the same way she felt - they were both inexperienced with social gatherings, they were sensitive souls of introversion, and have been schooled separately from the other boys and girls their whole lives. It was so good, she had thought, to find somebody in the same position as her! She didn't feel like such a misfit much after she had met Marius. He had brought her some confidence, which she was careful not to take for granted.
''All these court activities,'' he had told her, with an impulsive snort of laughter, ''are made for the partiers, and therefore not for me. You must remember, Madame Euphrasie, that some women, a lot of women, feed off the discomfort of other ladies who are better-looking than they are,'' his gaze translated to Carolynne Almsbury, who was locked in a game of cards with Madame Eponine Thenardier, ''especially you, since you're so beau...'' He blushed, trailing off the word indirectly.
''Can you repeat that, Monsieur Marius?'' Her voice was breathy and giddy, for she knows what he was going to say next, and it made her insides tingle warmly. ''I didn't quite hear you.''
''I said you're beautiful,'' he said, coughing. A shy smile tugged at his lips, and Cosette admits it, he looks the most endearing. ''But that's too clichéd. Vivacious. Extraordinary. Dashing. Voluptuous. Remarkable. Astonishing. You name it, milady.''
''Monsieur!'' Cosette laughed, ''Don't be ridiculous, come on now. You're making me blush. Come on, Marius, you must have been used to compliments more than me - see that group of ladies over there? I swear they were eyeing you with admiration and eyed me with jealousy. Why don't you give it a try and go up to them, my handsome gentleman?''
The truth was that she was scared that Marius would leave her and talk to them; more fabulous women who knew how to flirt, how to play the game, how to ''change'' Marius from the naïve young man to a sultry philander. Marius was such good and comforting company that the people laughing, dancing and talking around them became invisible. Cosette can tell why those women were envious of her; Marius is a pretty, possibly striking, man, there was no denying that - curly but combed ginger-brown hair, doe and innocent pale green eyes, and he was precisely a year older than Cosette, two heads taller than her too and with considerable fashion sense, though it was obvious to her he was quite insecure of wearing his best clothes (he jokingly said he once ran away from a group of girls trying to talk to him, in fear of them making fun of his clothes). Freckles scattered his skin to the tips of his nose to the ends of his fingers, and he was fair-skinned, gentle and unbelievably kind, yet rigorous, to the point of oblivion.
Marius shook his head. ''Not now, not tonight, though I might pluck up the nerve tomorrow night. However, I am engrossed in our conversation, and with you, no less.'' He glanced at the ladies, who were giggling and winking at him, with their fans out. ''They're not my type, if you can call it that.''
''Then pray tell; what is your type?''
His eyes turned sad as he said, ''If you ask me, I really don't know. You see, I'm rather ignorant to the outside world for a very long time, not someone any sophisticated lady such as them or you would prefer to have as a husband, or a lover. My grandfather, Theodule Gillenormand, was my mentor in my education all through my life, so I spent a lot of time at his mansion, reading the books he assigned me to. Of course, he assigned a governess of my spelling and reading, but that's about it. He left the rest in his own hands, and I am grateful of the patience in his teaching, but I'm not grateful when he caged the outside world from me, leaving me ignorant and reckless.
Up until I was ten, I had thought that all children were forced to be homeschooled, but then I made friends with this boy, Gaston Courfeyrac, at the public park one day -and I've discovered that his world is completely different from mine, with schools and friends and all that. Sometimes Grandfather would allow me to write to my dad, and sometimes he would take me to the Pontmercy apartments on some weekends, but yes, I don't know my father as much as I would love to, and same goes to my mother. I have been indoctrinated by the general beliefs my grandfather told me; and now, at least I know he's wrong in some prospects.''
Cosette reached forward, and took Marius' hand in her own - it was cold and it fits perfectly in hers. ''At least, you have the world at your feet now - you can do whatever you want to, Marius. You can go out to clubs and party with your friends, you can go to University and have a girlfriend, you can buy a car and drive it with the windows down and blare music as loud as possible. You can have it all, Marius. I believe in you.'' She paused. ''But why did your dad let your grandfather own you? Did he adopt you or something?''
''He listens to his father a lot, that's all.'' Marius's tone was strangely wry. ''Grandfather used to say that a woman's place is only the kitchen, and they're good for nothing except being devils and birthing babies.'' He rolled his eyes. ''Of course now I don't believe him, why, that Eponine Thenardier nearly knock my teeth out when I wrongly assume so, and Lady Musichetta and Prince Enjolras himself gave me a long lecture. It's very embarrassing.''
''Your grandfather seems like a vulgar man.''
''Not completely vulgar; he has his generous moments. Though he is bigoted and thinks that life is a long punishment.'' He glanced at his feet. ''Is it strange that I still want to impress him?''
''Not strange at all,'' Cosette told him firmly. ''After all, he's family. Look at how many citizens wanted to impress the king and queen; and they don't even know their majesties personally.''
Marius smiled, though Cosette could see he didn't believe her in entirety. ''What about you, what's your story?''
''I was educated in a convent, and so I am religious. However, I am very close to my Papa and the princes and princess are my friends; and in deciding that I should at last live my life, he took me out, and here I am.''
''How lucky,'' his tone grew wistful, but in apparently deciding that he was sullen way too much, he said abruptly, as if to escape humiliation, ''Well, it was scintillating to talk to you mademoiselle, I do find you the most fascinating character.'' Cosette was, admittedly, quite disappointed that he didn't ask for more information about herself, her likes and dislikes, but her patience is long, and it does seem that Monsieur Marius is genuinely interested in the teenage blonde.
Plus, she knew this wouldn't be the last time she would encounter the baron, and next time will be more... jovial, with proper flirtation. A blush arose when she thought back to when Marius had called her voluptuous, amongst other compliments, but that one was sexually exciting. Was she really? Her stomach had went in instead of out, her breast size has increased, her baby fat was gone, and she actually has hips now.
When, at last, Cosette and Valjean went home, she was feeling a strange rose of happiness blooming in her chest. Jean Valjean, beside her, looked as if in an undefinable trance of thinking. He had been contemplating the rise of beauty that shone upon Cosette's face, and the teenager's list of beauties and the chances and challenges that tags along with it, and as each possible occurrence was listened to, it wounded his old heart and eye of fate. She was going to marry a rich and sophisticated man of acceptable title, and one day, she was going to birth that man's babe. Will she still love her dear papa by then? Will she visit him, or ignore him as if he were a fleck of dirt? Maybe he was going senile. He was a maker of his own destiny, and he was happy after Fantine's death at last - Cosette was his main source of joy, everything about her, to her silly quirks to her most loved books and music, he had welcomed with fatherly arms. The old man accepted her, taught her, cherished her, and amongst his plethora of questions that was produced by the wounds of his fate, he asked of God, of the law, of society, of argot, of the world, but amongst them was the most important thing; that Cosette will continue on loving her guardian!
By God's name, he had saw her with that timid, handsome man - Marius Pontmercy. While conversing with the man, Valjean saw a sunny glow to his daughter. One part of him was satisfied; Cosette was such a lonely child, and it was a refreshing sight to see her opening up to someone besides Toussaint the housemaid, Ambrose and Enjolras, occasionally Vanessa, and him. While Marius and Cosette were deep in discussion, like lovers discovering themselves for the first time ever, he had saw that some ladies were giggling and gossiping at the sight, and the gentlemen were looking at them with some curiosity. Cosette was the next biggest enchantment in the court, and nearly everyone was interested in her activities and how she's doing. Valjean was seated near the king and queen at that time, talking of politics with Felix, while Aurora was discussing art with Helene Roosevelt Ravenspur.
''Look at those two twittering lovebirds.'' He had heard that actress, Mademoiselle Eponine Thenardier, said, with a secretive smile and one raised eyebrow, as if the sight amused her very much. ''Don't you think she's a bit out of his league, though? Marius is an idiot,'' she rolled her sweet brown eyes, ''You would have expected a baron with better manners.''
The young actress of Eponine Thenardier is a desired figure by many men, and a figure that triggered much of jealousy from many women. She is a household name, for her performances at the theatre were extravagant and outstanding; but not just because of that; it was the astonishing fact that she was born into a peasant family by the countryside, but with her exquisite looks she seduced many men to get her way, and, she had charmed the king to place her as lady of the bedchamber. She has sly, salacious eyes that offended most women, for her eyes were very striking, and they promised a distrust of sensuous sexiness and her smile, or more likely, smirk, is alluring, plump, and red, and most certainly kissable. Her hair was lucent and glossy, a rare dark brunette, soft and bonny and very long, beautifully sleek that reached her slim waist. She has the audacity to wear the most revealing and tightest of clothes, usually emphasizing her breasts or showing her full legs, and even without makeup, she was a tearing beauty. Dark and articulate eyebrows that made her all the more prettier, and she carried a natural aura of coquettish confidence, with her height just enough to make a man feel proud.
''What's the fuss about his manners, Madame?'' Felix regarded her with curious eyes. ''What do you suggest?''
''Apart from the obvious that he's new,'' Eponine waved dismissively. ''I find him unappetizing, thank you very much - he is reckless and too impulsive, and needed how to be taught of how to act in public. I don't care that his grandpapa brought him up secretively, but I do care when he offends the opposite gender by his callous disregard of women. He's as dull as a glass of water, I'll warrant you. He has no sense of life, knew nothing of duels or the opera, and is unprofessional like a teenage schoolboy, not a near young adult! Goodness knows when he'll fit in at court.''
''Then what do you find within a man of value?'' The king was testing her, she knew, and apparently, so does everyone else by the glances they were exchanging.
But she didn't let her guard down, in fact, she gave him a daring smile. ''Bravery is an element I value, Sire. Bravery is what makes a successful human, and bravery mixed with the consistency of it is dead gorgeous. I love a man who fights for me, Sire, a man who is not afraid of the sight of blood and gore to win my heart and body and soul. I find it the most heroic and admirable. With bravery, I want a sense of intelligence - not the kind of intelligence in which the man locked himself away with his books, facts, and figures all day long; he could do that, but for a limited amount of time. A respectable amount of it will have to be with me. A man with a sense of direction, Sire; I want a man who has confidence, in himself and in others, but also of his ambitious. I want a man of morality, and not one of vulgarity. I want a man with a feeling of humility when the moment was given, knows his place and my place, and of course, I want a man who is also incredibly smitten with me.''
''And why do you think this is the kind of man you want to be with?'' Felix challenged.
''You should know I've been with a decent amount of men, Sire,'' Eponine batted her eyelashes. ''All of them either good, bad, or decent. An acceptable amount that I have enough experience, heard enough talk of gossip and news, and have been used to the nature of men, and you Sire, though for all your remarkable looks and vast talents'' - she smirked, thinking of the so-called vast talents - ''are nothing I haven't seen before.''
The queen threw a furious glare at the younger woman. ''That's enough,'' she said indignantly. ''If you are going to act callous, I want you to stop blathering.''
''Blathering?'' Eponine faked innocence. ''I thought I was making myself clear? As I recall, his Grace here requested for me to confess my interests in a man, and after I did so, he proceeded to challenge me with a question, and I was, frankly, answering. That's proper manners, Your Grace.''
Felix held his hand up for a signal to stop when Aurora was all set to retort. ''You've got a good sense for an eighteen-year-old,'' he told Eponine, respect battling on his face. ''So why aren't you married, if you are so popular with men?''
She smiled sweetly. ''I have my whole life ahead of me, at my feet, at my call - who would desire to be intervening with boring things such as marriage and husbands? No, I want to have affairs or flings and have my heart broken in a thousand more ways, I want to explore new, foreign countries and do different things. Marriage would prevent that kind of freedom, and you know it as well as I do, as well as any woman do. I dislike babies, and I never wish to have one myself, and sitting in a rocking chair feeding it is not my ideal of adventure, thank you very much. Plus, the idea of marriage is stupid.''
''Oh, is it now?'' Felix raised an eyebrow in question. ''How is it stupid?''
Eponine laughed. ''Are questions going to be the only responses I hear from you tonight? Well, Sire, I was born to be independent, to thrive through the world alone. I value myself above all others in my life, and in my life I am singular, I live and survive at the same time, and I have no time to commit myself into marriage, for another person - not that kind of relationship, at least. I'm a mistress, and even when I'm a mistress I'm mostly my own person, not a wife or bride. You must know that.''
''But doesn't it get awfully lonely, though?'' Carolynne Almsbury broke in, sounding and looking indignant.
Attending court gave Valjean the experience of meeting Lady Carolynne Almsbury, or one of the two Lady Almsburies, to be truthful. Celine and Carolynne are equal in terms of beauty; as pretty as the next rich lady, though Celine is far more quiet than her little twin sister, Carolynne - who pales the most talkative of talkers in comparison. They both have glossy honey blonde hair, the same petite figures, and the same grace of an aristocrat. While Celine is demurely sipping her tea, Carolynne was expressing all of her thoughts on the occasion of this winter and Christmas. Her bright curls were elaborately braided and curled, like Celine's was, but while Celine's was quite plain for a lady of her social circle, Carolynne's was added by pearls and feathers, and her make-up was a bit too much than necessary.
''I mean,'' Carolynne continued, in a tone that implies that she knew exactly what she's talking about, ''You won't get any younger throughout the years, and I think at this age, it's more fitting than ever to get wedded. Men are an important part of us, as women we should be perfect and be perfect wives.''
Eponine chuckled, the sound sounding cynical. ''Easy to say when you're betrothed to Prince Enjolras himself, eh? With his luscious hair, his marble skin, his eyelashes of pure perfection, his blue eyes! Blue as the crystalline and translucent sky!''
Of course, it was general knowledge that Eponine disliked the younger prince; she had found his speeches of equality and stoicism to be too tiring for liking, and adding to that, he didn't exactly succumb to her seduction and charms. He did quite the opposite: he ignored her, and just gave scarce responses when necessary. Eponine was still bitter over that, and had spent a little more enjoyment with seducing Prince Ambrose, who, as everyone could see, is half-intrigued. Half and nothing else. Are the brothers immune to the most beautiful of women? Everyone seem to think.
''Don't lament over it, Eponine,'' Carolynne sent her a pitied look, ''Your time will come,'' she giggled. ''You'll understand how amazing it feels to love when you have a betroth to wed, 'Ponine!''
The corner of the king's mouth twitches; the queen looked slightly irritated; Celine blushed; Helene didn't let any reaction show upon her face; Valjean decided to turn his gaze, and Eponine raised an eyebrow. ''I find myself to be uninterested,'' Eponine said. ''Believe me, that is the nicest thing I can come up with to that response and message.'' Her eyes glittered, ''You sound the most confident of His Grace's affections, milady, for a man who seems to be as infallible as marble.''
''Even marble can crack under pressure,'' Carolynne reminded her, and just then, at that very moment, the two princes decide to attend the grand table at that instant.
Enjolras and Ambrose had grown up with Cosette, through infancy, through childhood memories and games, and through teenage life. They treated the blonde like their little sister, along with their own sister, Vanessa. They both held brotherly affection for her; and Cosette has built too many memories with the brothers; thriving through snow in the forest at winter, many horse riding contests, her first taste of wine and champagne has been with them, picnics underneath the blanket of cerulean sky, lessons of alphabets and simple math in infancy, their own tree house, swimming in the river, building sandcastles amongst the empty beach. And with those experiences, Cosette has wheedled her way into Felix and Aurora's hearts, and Enjolras and Ambrose to Valjean's.
Enjolras' skin was kissed by the sun, softly golden, and he was remarkably tall. Remarkably tall could be passed for an understatement, he towered most of the courtiers, which gave him the impression of godliness and overawe. He could easily be mistaken for Cosette's brother; he looked just every bit as beautiful; with a mane of tantalizing blond hair, his eyes as blue as Cosette's, though it was way more intense and passionate, and though he hardly smiled, which would rather give others the wrong impression, but when he did - it transformed his whole stoic face. A complexion of a slim waist as prove of effeminacy as well as his feminine face structure, with sharp and immaculate cheekbones. In fact, he was so slim that he has adapted a touch of skinniness. He looked like a Roman or Greek sculpture from the museums coming to life. Every line, every indentation, every curve, every fragment of his person could be carved from marble. Muscular and intense. A fallen angel heaven sent.
Ambrose, the older brother, was less fortunate in looks. A short scar was marked on the side of his face from a horse accident, though it didn't make him ugly, instead, it gave him an interesting touch to add to his appearance, especially when he was often overshadowed by his brother and sister. He has a long face, dark mahogany hair, periwinkle eyes, and a wiry stature. His temper runs as short as Enjolras', but to be fair, by being the eldest, he knew more of aristocracy, knows exactly what to say, it's just a matter if he wants to say it or not. He was used to people preferring Enjolras to him, because the other was, well, everything he's not. Pure. Invincible. Passionate. Infallible. That's all the main words to describe Enjolras - and what would the words be to describe Ambrose? Outwitting, one could say. He takes pride in his knack of studying and reading and solving problems that he so loves to debate with other men and women about, in which he usually won. But it's the problem of his life that he can't solve, and the crazy thing is, he's not even certain what the problem is!
The two brothers were discussing about this and that as they made their way to the table; their cheeks were exuberantly flushed from wine, though Ambrose was more flushed than Enjolras, who wasn't much of a drinker anyway. They flopped themselves into chairs, and Ambrose, upon hearing what Carolynne said, joked, ''Oh, are we discussing marble now? I never find them a big source of fascination.''
Carolynne gave a breezy laugh, and in the light of seeing Enjolras, she invited him into the conversation immediately. ''Enjolras, how are you tonight? I wanted to talk to you all evening.''
''Grand,'' Enjolras muttered against his glass. ''How about you?'' It couldn't be more obvious that he didn't want to see her.
''I'm grand as well,'' said Carolynne, smiling flirtatiously.
''I'm glad you are, then,'' Enjolras has the politeness to at least nod and fake a smile, then turned his regard towards Jean Valjean, his face brightening. The prospect of seeing your love interest showing more regard to an old man than of your feminine, flirtatious company is not a situation that grants you self-confidence. ''Greetings Monsieur, how are you and Cosette finding it here? I say this with the greatest affection, you two are a sparkling addition to the court.'' His tone was light, gentle, conversational. A tone reserved for people he built a high opinion of. Carolynne's jaw was in a stubborn set, her profile now stiff. Eponine's smirk increased.
''Don't worry about me,'' said Valjean jovially. ''To be truthful here, court life was never my setting. Too many people, though it is a privilege to see you and your family again. Cosette, however, seems to be enjoying herself.'' He gestured towards his daughter. ''She's shining her light at last.''
''So it seems,'' Enjolras' face held a rare trace of adoration. ''It's marvelous to see her again, it's been quite a long time. She seems prettier; a pulchritudinous girl.''
''Pulchritudinous?'' Ambrose rolled his eyes, grinning. He poked Enjolras's arm. ''Stop using complex vocabulary in the simplest forms of complimenting someone. I'm starting to think you're not normal.''
''It's not a fault of mine,'' Enjolras glared, ''that my vocabulary is something I put my mind on. A king needs to be an eloquent speaker.''
''Well, you're not a king yet, and you might not be one. You put your mind on everything, except enjoying yourself. You're only human, you know. Stop pretending you're Apollo disguised.''
Enjolras' eyebrow twitched, his mouth opening to say something in response, but then closed it again, thinking it rash. Finally, he decided, ''This is not the time to be discussing this concept with a room full of people, Ambrose.''
Ambrose scowled. "Nice to know you've got your existence outside the world of your own."
"I have no idea what you mean," Enjolras replied stubbornly, raising a golden eyebrow.
"I have the world's stupidest brother."
''I'm the slightly smarter one, then.''
Enjolras turned towards the other guests, an indication that the discussion is over once and for all. At least for the night, anyway. Though Ambrose might be the senior, Enjolras is the center of attention; but he didn't glorify the attention that pompous men do, instead, he didn't say a comment that would suggest such arrogance. But he knew he had the attention, and he needed to use it as well as he can, for such things are limited. Even for a handsome prince. Ambrose pleased royalty by his indoctrinated viewpoint, but Enjolras pleased The People, and though some of the court detested the younger prince, they were interested in him. There was something, something intriguing and compelling about the way he profess his opinions and notions. He was the hurricane, storming and powerful, though destructive as well. Destructive in the sense of severing others, and severing himself, but hurricanes capture attentions, and so does Enjolras; a cluster of Monsieurs and Mademoiselles, ladies and lords, sirs and barons and baronesses arrived to the table.
Even Celine's eyes filled with interest as she gazed at him, as opposed to ladies who fluttered their eyelashes and give coy giggles, both to Ambrose and Enjolras. The superior ones to Ambrose; the hopeful - though that hope will never be reckoned - to Enjolras. ''Patria is my only mistress'', was Enjolras' motto when asked why he isn't besotted with Carolynne. Patria, of course, is his motherland - France. He never feels the lovesick sensation of his soul on fire, or the beauty of nature that enraptures the soul and the mind unlike what it does to a dear friend of his, Jean Prouvaire, his mind was never at rest, not really. Not unless he wants it to, and he doesn't want to. Life is too short to notice the sun's rays spilling from clouds, to notice the dove fluttering its wings against the pale sky, and to pay attention to the melodies of a piano. What a melancholic instrument.
After more meals were served to the rest of the men and women who joined, conversations rang throughout the table. Ambrose soon was amusing a couple of his friends and acquaintances, doing a good job at it too. He was more carefree than Enjolras, laughing and teasing like good old friends. Enjolras was chatting with one of his closest confidants, Duke L'Aigle de Meaux, whom Felix had made a duke for having assisted him to enter a coach on the day when he emigrated. He, by fact, was called Lesgueules, but by contract Lesgle, and by corruption L'aigle, but his abbreviated name was the simple Bossuet, which he honestly preferred to his other pseudonyms. He was a happy, but terribly unlucky, person, so it was by a shred of luck that he still kept his position as the duke. At the age of nineteen he was bald, and now at twenty-two, he still was. Though through his unluckiness, he remained joyous, likeable, witty, and intelligent, and was Enjolras' special friend. A misfortune pursues him at every simple occasion; he cuts his pinky by cutting wood, and his mistresses were always out of his reach. Except one: Musichetta.
When Valjean looks at Eponine, who continued to be the life and soul of her conversation with Lady Isabella and Lady Cynthia. With the look in her eyes of superiority and arrogance, the curve of her lips that lift whenever she finds whatever seemingly stupid comment she heard from either one of them, and the unconcealed consciousness that she is above their level, Valjean's understanding of why this woman is so fancied by many is still lost on him. He pitied Carolynne, and respected Celine, for her intellectual level and studies were well-known facts throughout the kingdom. She was always a respectful young girl, and never prejudiced a person in any way at all. She drank very little, said very little, and when she was lured into a conversation, like the one she is having with Lord Harry right now, her responses were logical and thought-provoking. Ambrose didn't pay much of attention to her, but when he did, it was more conviction than Enjolras had ever gave to Carolynne.
Madame Helene, who was wedded to Ronaldo de Ravenspur, though for all her beautiful flaxen hair, neat complexion, and sky-coloured eyes, didn't seem a figure of diligence. Though if she had an intellectual opinion, she was doing a swelling job of hiding it by her lower discussions, like, ''England's new king is awfully ugly, isn't he? No wonder he wanted war with the French; he must have envied our king's sensational appearance.''
Out of all these ladies, Eponine, however, seemed to be directing her steps to be the most refreshing one. She didn't care to conceal her fatal dislike for Enjolras; though they have more in common than they seem to see, and some of these mutual qualities existed in the branches of their stubbornness to comply to what society differs from their beliefs, their ambitious minds, their challenges that strikes to the other's stare, and the notion to make something worthwhile in their lives. Cosette was like Eponine's juxtaposition, for she was like the serene waters of calmness and patience, and Eponine was the clashing waves that lapsed the poor shore endlessly. Enjolras' parallel will be the one who intrigues him, and the fascination may be the deepest one in Enjolras' life, but maybe, in another life where circumstances were more fortunate, Eponine and Enjolras would have built their relationship to be close friends, but now, it was a competition between these youthful souls, and youthful souls never rest until they were satisfied, until they were the one to expand the sky upon the mountain peak.