"But you see the situation you've placed us in, yes?"
Lady Bourgeois smiled as she spoke. Lady Alya of House Césaire would have thought it pretty, had it not so clearly been a threat. The blond woman was baring her teeth, not placating her.
"Esparia has not placed you in any situation," Alya responded coolly. "As our diplomats have repeatedly made clear, we had nothing to do with Prince Adrien's disappearance. Queen Penelope even scoured our lands for signs of his whereabouts."
The fair-skinned noble woman tapped her chin. "And yet you missed him being held so very close to your border."
"On the Franeaux side."
"Which not so long ago still belonged to Esparia. Truly a bold statement, that." Blue eyes glittered with unspoken hostility. "And of course, one of your own is in line for the throne."
"Debatable."
Very much so. Lady Emalia was the closest relation to King Gabriel, a cousin twice removed, and Esparia allowed the inheritance of power through the female line. But Franeaux did not, which had sparked a fierce conflict with the closest male relative. As foolish as Alya thought the restriction, it seemed a rather open and shut case to her – the Crown of Franeaux ought to pass as the laws of Franeaux dictated. But not everyone agreed, and thus the threat of a war of succession loomed not far ahead, should King Gabriel succumb to grief.
But now the prince was back. Better start making heirs, Your Grace.
Alya dropped another sugar cube in her tea and leaned back, regarding the woman in front of her. "Do you often accost your guests with baseless accusations?"
"No. Just keeping our dearest neighbors up-to-date on the latest gossip." Lady Bourgeois tittered. "Forgive me, I know talk of politics is ever so boring and best left to the men. It's a side effect of being the steward's daughter, I suppose, I can never quite keep my mind on more appropriate topics. Like fashions. Goodness, necklines just keep wandering lower each year, don't they? We're practically on the threshold of immodesty."
Ugh. This was why Alya was not fond of visiting the northern lands. If one were to judge by the natives' treatment of her, the toll for crossing the border was half her wits, for she was suddenly spoken to as a simpleton.
Alya would rather spend her days in lands where girls were not discouraged from reading for fear of taxing their brittle brains. But come to the northern lands she had, for something foul was gathering here.
And her guts told her the woman sitting in front of her had something to do with it.
Lady Césaire smiled prettily, adjusting her own neckline which dipped lower still than the Franeaux nobles wore it. "Well, it does get ever so hot and humid in Esparia, so I for one appreciate the disappearance of neck ruffs. Those were dreadful."
"Oh yes. And so cumbersome, too, I always felt like I was choking."
Alya's smile grew wider and she coyly twirled one finger around one of the red locks artfully framing her face. "Speaking of fashions, have you opened my gift for you yet? I know it takes a while for these things to travel north, but I've brought you the latest trend of our capital."
"Hm." Lady Bourgeois smiled thinly. "Fashion travels south, not north. Why, it's downright pitiful how desperately other realms try to emulate our style. Not that Esparia is one of them, you always have such… unique… taste."
"Oh, I believe you'll like this one. I for one love how shiny it is."
To demonstrate, Alya touched the thin choker around her neck. At its center sat a glittering butterfly pin.
Interest stirred in Lady Chloe's expression.
Alya smiled and sauntered to pick up the parcel that she'd handed over upon her reception in the dining room. It lay forgotten on a window sill.
"Close your eyes for the surprise, Lady Bourgeois?"
A contemptuous roll of blue eyes heavenward, immediately tempered with a smile. "Of course."
Alya tugged at the ribbon, undoing the loose bow to let it flutter away from the little jewelry box. Walking behind the Lady still seated on the sofa, she brushed away a stray blond curl from her nape as if preparing to fasten a necklace around it.
"You know," Alya whispered in the woman's ear. "Neck ruffs went out of style years before Chloe Bourgeois was born."
A thin chain of iron constricted around the Changeling's neck and it let out an unholy shriek, its Glamor breaking.
Marinette winced as the needle pricked her finger and accusingly scowled down at the fine silk in her lap, as if it was at fault. But of course the fabric was innocent, Marinette a victim of her own churning thoughts.
What was it about aristocrats that made them slowly turn to ice as they aged? She'd known three nobles when they'd been young, and they had struck Marinette as warm, friendly and playful, no better nor worse than any other child. But as adults they were another story entirely.
Lord Lahiffe, by all accounts, had turned into a rotten scoundrel, stealing maiden's virtues with false promises and luring the prince into reckless debauchery.
Lady Bourgeois had turned into a broken-hearted harpy. Chloe had always been so considerate of giving Marinette time off, but now it appeared she'd forgotten that servants were still human enough to need sleep. Her gaze raked over Marinette like she was nothing but some vaguely human-shaped blob one assigned chores to.
Which was almost preferable to the way Prince Adrien had looked at her. 'Good maid'? Like she was a dog! A dog he couldn't even tell apart from the others nipping at his feet. Never had she felt lower than in that humiliating moment.
Stupid. So stupid to expect the crown prince to remember her just because he'd liked to sneak into her father's kitchen and steal some of his pastries on his visits to the Bourgeois household. Marinette had been happy to facilitate the theft and thought they'd shared a secret bond over it. Evidently the prince had only been aiming for the sweets, not her company.
Marinette Dupain, Lady's maid and less memorable than a good croissant.
An inhuman shriek rang out, echoing through the room.
Defend your Mistress!
The voice nearly brought Marinette to her knees, echoing in her mind until it was an unbearable cacophony. Needle and thread clattered to the ground along with the torn dress as it slipped off her lap. Her fingertips dug into her temple, her nails' sharp bite providing relief. That pain was real and the one in her head was not.
No.
The thought was a bulwark against whatever was ramming against the inside of her skull, dulling and muting it until the furious screams were no more than a soft whisper.
Marinette opened her eyes and found herself lying on the floor.
What.
What was that?
There were footsteps in the hall, people running past her room, and she pushed herself to stand on shaky legs. Inching toward the open door, she saw Rose run past, and Mylène not far behind. What were they running from?
Her eyes widened in horror.
Mother. Father.
The kitchens were farthest from any exits, located in the basement near the cold storage. Would they make it out in time? Marinette broke into a sprint, running against the direction of the other fleeing servants.
Was the Esparian delegate to blame? There were whispers that they were responsible for hiring the men who had kept Prince Adrien captive. Would they be so bold as to attack the household of the king's steward in retaliation? Did they want their hostage back? But the prince had left three days ago, headed for the capital.
Marinette gasped when she spotted her mother running toward her and all but crashed into her, grabbing her by the shoulder.
"Mother, where is father?"
But Sabine was gripped by terror, intent to writhe out of Marinette's hold and flee.
"Mother, please, I'll get him, just tell me where you last saw–"
Her mother's eyes met hers, her pupils contracted so they were no more than a pinpoint. "We must defend our Mistress, Marinette. Let go."
What?
Stunned, Marinette's hold slipped and her mother took the opportunity to keep running.
What in the seven hells was going on?
That had not been her mother's voice. Sabine still bore the traces of her homeland in her speech and had imparted some of them even on Marinette, her voice subtly lilting with a foreign cadence. But just now, Sabine had spoken in the perfectly clipped accent of the upper class.
Another inhuman screech almost split her eardrums and Marinette cried out in pain.
Come. Come to me. Defeat the intruder.
But this time, it was easier to shake off. Marinette did not fall to the floor, regaining use of her limbs before she so much as kneeled. Around her, more servants ran. Although… not just servants. The entire household, even Lord Bourgoise.
For but a moment, Marinette was tempted to flee before it ensnared her, too.
But it had her mother. Perhaps even her father.
Seeing no other choice but to take the measure of whatever the source of the voice in her head was, she followed the rest of the household. It did not take her long to realize that they were converging on the dining room.
A weapon.
She needed a weapon.
Swallowing heavily, Marinette slowed her steps and desperately cast her gaze around the foyer. There! Mounted on the wall behind the Bourgeois's sigil were two crossed twin swords. Standing on her tiptoes to reach that high, her hand closed around the hilt, dragging it from its sheath.
It made an ugly sound when it slipped out, more rust than weapon at this point. It had been designed for decoration, not battle, but it would have to do.
That was when a monster crashed into the dining table across from her and she squeaked. Its limbs were long and far too many, like an insect's, but it was huge, with patches of blond hair on its bug head. The pincers around its mouth clicked, and again the call rang out in Marinette's head.
Thralls, come aid your Lady.
That was when a woman wielding a shining blade stepped into the room. Her skin was dark, contrasting with her wild mane of silver hair flowing behind her. Her long, flowing dress was a pale purple, shaped like butterfly wings which fluttered with her every graceful movement.
Marinette could do nothing but stare at the Goddess – just as behind her two manservants grabbed the woman by the shoulders, holding her in place.
Alya yelped as more of the Changeling's thralls closed in on her. Before conscious thought caught up, reflex had her jerking back her elbow, and bone shattered. But the mindless servant was unmoved, so thoroughly enslaved that he did not even loosen his hold.
Gods, the Changeling must have infiltrated months ago to have dug its claws into the household staff this deep. Alya's analytical mind quickly assessed the situation – Changeling in front, snarling at her, two servants behind her, and many more pouring in through the doors. The butterfly pin passed down for generations gave her the strength many times that of an ordinary woman, but she was fighting innocents. She could not afford to hurt them.
And the damn fae knew it, an inhuman cackle rising from its burned throat. Alya was grateful that she had led with the neck chain – it had, at the very least, spared her from a villainous monologue.
Although a monologue would have bought her some time right about now. Alya grew still, panting, and considered her options while the Changeling stalked closer, more and more of Chloe Bourgeois's beauty falling away. It was a thing of nightmare, this creature, with its impossibly long torso and spindly limbs, rotten insect wings uselessly beating behind her.
The thralls closed in, too, eyes glazed over and empty, forming a ring around her to cut off any possible escape path.
She should have waited. Should have lured the Changeling somewhere it was alone and cut off from its reinforcements. Well done, Alya, disappointing the family legacy in your very first solo mission. Her mother had warned her that her recklessness would be the death of her.
A black-haired servant girl carrying a sword was trailing behind the Changeling. The sword in her hands was rusty, likely dull, and would deliver a slow, excruciating death. Alya swallowed heavily. No clean cut for her. Being a fae hunter meant making peace with the possibility of dying in battle, but she'd still prayed for a swift and painless end.
The fae chittered and it sounded like mocking laughter. Which was probably exactly what it was.
That was when the servant girl drove the iron sword through the creature's neck.
Three things happened in rapid succession.
The Changeling screeched, blackened veins spreading like wildfire over its exoskeleton.
Behind Alya, the thralls let go and fell into a deep sleep, the fae's enchantment broken.
And the servant girl laughed hysterically before she, too, fainted.
Marinette stirred from sleep when the ground beneath her shook. Movement, accompanied by the faint rhythm of hooves. She blinked, then gasped, jerking up in horror. Contorting her limbs into her best approximation of a battle stance, she wildly looked around for the horrible insect monster.
A beautiful noblewoman arched an eyebrow at her, flicking open an intricate fan to supply Marinette with some cool air.
"Shhh. You're safe. It's gone."
Living so close to the disputed border, Marinette recognized the accent of an Esparian noble at once, and suspiciously narrowed her eyes.
The redhaired woman smiled pleasantly. "I am Lady Alya of House Césaire. Might I ask your name?"
Marinette's gaze darted all around her. Rich red silk, fluffy benches, and unsteady movement making her whole body jerk. She was in a carriage. "Where are you taking me?"
"Ideally? To the capital. You saved my life and I am indebted to you."
"So… do you often express your gratitude by kidnapping people?"
The woman's lips twitched. "Think of it more as a very forceful invitation to a quest."
"A quest?" Marinette echoed.
"Yes. To save both your country and mine from disaster. You resisted that Changeling's call. That is a rare ability and I am in dire need of allies."
Changeling? Call? Marinette shuddered. "You – you mean that thing. With the wings." It had been in her head.
"Yes. And I'm afraid that there are many more like it, gathering to overrun our realms. They need to be stopped." The noblewoman raised her gloved fist and turned it over so the palm faced upwards. "I offer you the power to fight them."
Her fingers unfurled to reveal a glowing white butterfly.
Author's Note:
Thank you to everyone who's commented so far, your feedback means so much to me. I adore all your speculation.
I'll be going on a two-week vacation tomorrow and it's uncertain whether I'll have access to internet, so I'm going on a short hiatus. Don't worry, I've got ten more chapters pre-written, and I'm hoping to use my vacation to write at least ten more :D I'll see you all soon!