Author's Note: Hello everyone! It's been so long since I posted a chapter. I always worry that the writing after a long hiatus would be subpar compared to previous chapters, so please excuse any sloppiness on my part.
Special note: many thanks to MM for the lovely illustration/manga scene that she did for the fight scene in Chapter 1. Please check out her work, she is very talented! pixiv en/artworks/100117020
Many thanks for the encouragement and I really hope you continue to like the story!
"Absolutely NOT!" Oscar exclaimed as she slammed the heavy door of her office shut behind her, leaving Girodelle barely enough time to nimbly weasel himself in before the door could come crashing right into his pretty nose.
Victor Clement de Girodelle had developed over the years a certain agility, both physical and verbal, that was necessary for his survival under the rigorous and, at times, tempestuous command of Oscar Francois de Jarjayes. Today was no different.
"I will NOT allow an inquest of the servants and the Palace staff!" she reiterated for the umpteenth time, turning her back to him and pretending to fiddle with the stacks of parchments on her desk, hoping that her interlocutor would not notice the panic and disarray that was consuming her. It was impossible that the masked robber was Andre! It simply could not have been! After all, Andre had a very convincing alibi, given that she herself had been with him that night. Although, how on earth would she ever justify that alibi?!
Oh, Andre…
Her chest gave a tight spasm as a lump balled up in her throat. She was simultaneously fearful for the fate of her friend and angry at his insolence. After all, she hadn't yet forgiven him for stealing a kiss from her. However, that had to wait for the time being since everything concerning that matter – which seemed so grave and life-changing just a few hours ago – seemed to pale drastically in front of this dilemma.
She could only imagine what Andre himself must be feeling now. And to think that she had sent him off with Fersen, of all people. So much for her plan of bringing him to Versailles to "keep an eye on him." But she did not want to take any chances after Girodelle's account of the robber, knowing full well how sharp and observant her Lieutenant can be. He would smell out Andre's fear like a wolf hunting traces of its prey. He was already harping incessantly on beginning an inquest into the servants, having spent the most part of their short trek from the corridor to the office attempting to convince her. It was thus difficult not to deduce that he, perhaps, suspected something.
It was now up to her to protect Andre and she was desperate for a solution.
"…but you said yourself that you already questioned every last nobleman at court and your investigation came up empty. Our duty thus behooves us to turn our attention to the servants and Palace staff and..."
"Hold it," she interrupted him, her mind suddenly clear as an important realization materialized unknowingly out of Girodelle's argument.
She turned sharply to face him, arms crossed over her chest. "Why would we turn our attention to the servants when we know that the man who made an appearance at All Hallow's Eve was a foreigner?"
At least Andre had been smart enough to conceal his origins well when he accosted her at the first ball. Who knew all those lessons in Italian would one day save his life!
"Ah, that." Girodelle said, seemingly caught off-guard.
"You said so yourself at the ball: the man was of some Italian origin, n'est-ce pas? So why go after the servants and cause a huge kerfuffle, especially in this delicate climate?" she coolly launched her accusation at him as she congratulated herself silently on derailing him away from her Andre. And, like the good militarist that she was, she was already planning the next stage of her "Rescue Andre" plan, having assured herself that she had conquered this battle once and for all.
Alas, Victor Clement de Girodelle had come to Versailles at dawn with a plan of his own, and he was determined to carry it through to perfection, for Victor knew exactly who the man in the Black Mask was and he intended to unmask him at all costs.
But first, a little fun wouldn't hurt.
"The truth is," he began, carefully measuring his words. "I took the liberty to question some of the ladies who had danced with him and I have it on good authority that he spoke fluent French of a local dialect. In fact, the Countess of Savoy, who was present at the ball, seemed to recall a slight accent in his Italian dialogue."
Having observed the color rise in his superior's cheeks and the blue in her eyes expand as they widened to register this new information – a defeat indeed and oh, by the way, what an endearing sight of his lovely Sylphide – he decided to drop the verdict: "Meaning, he was not, in fact a foreigner, but rather, someone who knew Versailles and its surroundings quite well."
"Goddammit, Andre, you stupid fool!" Oscar cursed under her breath.
"Hm? Did you say something, Commandant?" He pretended not to notice her troubled reaction.
She squinted at him and then, raising her voice, she launched at him again: "But then, why in god's name did you make all that fuss and rude allusions in front of Fersen if you knew that the man was, in fact, French?!"
A sheepish smile crossed Girodelle's face. "Oh, that. Well, you know, I was only trying to instigate a reaction."
He said it so coolly and unapologetically, all Oscar could do was painfully clench her jaw and her fist to stop herself from punching him in the face. Despite his infuriating behaviour, his beautiful visage was did not deserve the wrath of her fist. Instead, she settled on angry daggers launched at him through her eyes, which were only met with a completely unphased attitude that was so charactertistic of Victor de Girodelle.
They stared at each other for some time, each of them carefully measuring the other, not wanting to betray themselves too much or too early.
"That will be all," she finally decided that the sooner she put an end to this conversation, the better. "You are dismissed, Lieutenant."
"So then, your orders?"
Good Lord in Heaven. She turned away and faced her desk once more, gathering some parchments.
"My orders," she snapped at him. "Are for you to leave this matter alone and let me handle it."
"Very well," he replied, and Oscar breathed a sigh of relief.
But, it wouldn't last long, for halfway through to the door, Girodelle stopped and threw in casually: "And…what happens if you fail to find the robber, Commandant?"
His words fell on her like a lightning bolt right in the middle of her spine. And just as with lightning, the thunder of rage and the eruption of the tempest followed not long after.
Her fury propelled her towards him, stopping short barely an inch from his nose.
"Listen, here Victor," she spat in his face. "I have tolerated your insipid remarks and your insubordination with quite a good amount of reserve today and I have HAD it. One other insurrection and I will not hesitate to dismiss you from under my command. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"
It was only when she finished barking at him, did she feel the heat burn in her cheeks, the damp sweat that pooled under her arms and the pounding of her heart, as the untethered emotions – the panic, the anger, the fear of what would happen to Andre, the uncertainty of their relationship, what it meant for her and how her life could change, a life without Andre, a life with Andre - that sat simmering and seething within her erupted in a violent regurgitation.
Victor did not take his eyes off of her, watching every shade of color course through his Lieutenant as she seemed to grapple with the storm within her. An imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, leading one to think that, far from feeling humiliated, he was, in fact, enjoying being chastised by her. And he was.
By now, the only thing that seemed to move was the heaving of her chest between them, rendering to the situation a more… sensual feel. As she became aware of this fact, and of the fact that Victor, too, was conscious of it, Oscar knew she lost her footing. The balance of power between them had shifted in that instant, and it was Girodelle, with his mocking sangfroid and perfect self-possession that commanded the room.
For once, Oscar was captivated by him, unable to look away from him, unable to move, so conscious of the small distance that stood between them, remotely anticipating what could happen next.
Her anticipation heightened as Victor reached a hand in the crevice between them, almost grazing her bosom. He held her gaze, noticing the increased irregularity in her breath and the fact that, rather than move away from him, she seemed planted in place. Satisfied and triumphant with his effect on her, he took a half-step back, pulled out a handkerchief and proceeded to calmly wipe down his uniform where she had inadvertently spat on him.
Embarrassed, Oscar hurriedly returned to her desk, hoping that her momentary lapse, which, in reality lasted only a few seconds even though it felt a lot longer, would go unnoticed by Girodelle. Wishful thinking, for rarely anything ever escaped his attentions. Especially when there a was a woman involved. What she would not have given to trade her body for a man's at this moment.
"A vos orders, Capitaine." He bowed and murmured to her on his way out. Something in the way he said it sent a shiver up her spine.
He quit the room with the same light step as he had entered it, leaving behind him an utterly befuddled Oscar.
She plopped down in her chair and fanned herself.
Surely, this day was not really happening and it was all a nightmare that will soon vanish with the first waves of consciousness?
…
The same sentiment echoed in Andre's mind as he begrudgingly made his way towards the Palace stables with Hans Axel von Fersen.
The Universe was proving to be utterly cruel to him. A robber! Who dressed exactly like him! What were the odds?! This was beginning to feel like a terrible deja-vu from that time when Marie-Antoinette, Dauphine at the time, had had a mishap with the horse he had arranged for her and the King subsequently accused him of treason and sentenced him accordingly. Oscar had stuck out her neck for him and saved his life. But now? Not even the Captain of the Royal Guard could get him out of this one.
Except, it hadn't really been him. Yet knowing how the justice system worked in these parts and given his lowly and insignificant status in life, he knew it was only a matter of time before it was all over for him.
Oscar, oh, Oscar! What had he done!
"…and the white mare over here was having problems with the…Andre? Andre, dear chap, are you well?"
"…eh? What? Oh!"
"Here," Fersen tended him a hand with a handkerchief, seeing as how Andre's forehead was covered in sweat.
"I… thank you," Andre's voice was barely a murmur.
Fersen watched the dark-haired valet nervously dab at his forehead, grateful that the opportunity to speak with Andre seamlessly presented itself to him today. One-on-one time with Andre was exactly what Hans Axel von Fersen had planned for since he settled into his apartments the night before after seeing Oscar to her manor. If he, himself, could not be happy in his own situation, why must other people be cursed? Andre needed a little push and Fersen wanted to provide that. What he did not account for, however, is this unexpected business of the robber.
"You're breaking out quite a sweat for such a cold day," Fersen attempted to draw him out.
Andre laughed nervously and titled his head to one side. "I think I overdid it at breakfast."
Fersen nodded. "Ah."
"Sorry, you were saying, about the horses?"
"Ah yes! Actually, if you don't mind, I need to make a stop to the servants' quarters on the way to the stables. Is that alright?"
Andre nodded and followed absent-mindedly.
He leaned against the wall, head tilted upwards, heart drowning in self-pity as he waited for Fersen, who was exchanging a word with one of his servants.
A few servants rushed by him, pulling him out of his reverie. Andre straightened up and looked around. What was taking so long?
It was then that he noticed that the conversation he had drowned out and dismissed due to its foreign sounds, was in fact, quite loud and charged.
Arms crossed over his chest, he inched towards Fersen and noticed a female servant at the door, speaking animatedly in Swedish while her master attempted to pacify her. Her hands moved up and down in big gestures and Andre moved close enough to finally see what she was holding and gesturing to: a dress. And a wig. Both torn to pieces and dishevelled.
"Th—that dress…" Andre began, unable to continue.
Fersen, catching on to the fact that Andre had seen what Helga was showing him, quickly shoved her back in her room and closed the door.
"The dress…" The dress. The dress that woman wore last night. The wig! Those lustrous brown curls. Andre's hand clapped on his mouth.
"I… know what you're thinking," Fersen began.
And it was all the proof that Andre needed.
"You…You were there, last night!"
"I… yes." Fersen admitted hesitantly.
"So then, the woman…"
When Fersen kept silent, Andre's heart almost exploded. It was her. It had to be her! Fersen had only been there to assist her by offering the services of his maid. But then…
"Wait," Andre said, coming to his senses. "So, then you know…"
Why would Fersen think that Andre would even recognize that dress unless he knew that Andre had, in fact, seen it?
Once again, Fersen kept silent.
Andre's eyes widened in horror. He grabbed his hair with both hands and started turning around his axis. "Oh my God…. Oh my God…"
"Andre, calm down," Fersen approached him.
"Oh my God… This is a catastrophe! If you know, then who else does?"
"Calm down, no one else knows!"
"But then… how did you?" Andre's voice was rising by the minute.
Fersen pulled him by the arm and took him outside for fresh air. He handed him a silver bottle which he pulled out from his inside pocket. Andre drank like a man who had been lost in the dessert.
He felt the burning liquid course through his insides, knocking back some sense into him. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed the bottle back to Fersen.
"I didn't do it." He said to him. "I didn't steal."
"I know," Fersen said, calmly.
"How did you know?"
"I simply… had a hunch. Put two and two together."
Andre nodded. "Was it that obvious?"
Fersen chuckled. "Not to anyone who doesn't know you… or Oscar."
Andre felt tears welling up in his eyes. It was her. The woman of his dreams, the queen of his soul. He had held her. He had kissed her, tasted her, roughed her. Without knowing it was really her. Yet instead of feeling appeased, grateful and joy at the fact that he had the opportunity to be so close to her – something he never even dreamed would happen in his wildest dreams – he felt empty. Cold, and bitter. As though he was robbed of something.
"I… need to go."
He said to Fersen and ran off.