Author's note: I named this chapter "My Fairy Godmothers". I don't know why, but it sounds like a name for a K-drama haha! I love K-dramas, by the way, anyone else? Of course, every Cinderella has to have a fairy godmother (or two), can you guess who they are?
Before I get to the chapter, the lovely MM recently did an astounding work of art of Victor Clement de Girodelle. I warmly invite you to please go check it out and show some love, because it's really extraordinary!
Of course FFN doesn't allow me to post links, so just type in pixiv dot net slash en slash tags slash 101607333
en/tags / artworks/101607333
Two hooded figures walked side by side at a regular step in one of the deserted corridors at the Palace. It was well past midnight and all the courtiers were at some ball or a card game organized by the Queen of France.
Except for Hans Axel von Fersen.
This evening, it was said that Count Fersen had made his excuses to the Queen because of another engagement, the nature of which remained a mystery. And mystery was never a good thing in a place like Versailles, for it did nothing but spark rumors and leave room for whispers.
And so, it was rumored that the handsome Swede had a rendez-vous with a secret lover whose identity was unknown, and everyone made it a point to closely watch Marie Antoinette for any slight indication of disappointment and heartbreak. This whole affair pained Fersen. But it seemed that everything he said and did will always end up hurting the woman he loved.
Admittedly, Fersen did have a rendez-vous tonight, just not the kind he liked. Unfortunately, these illicit meetings had become a recurring part of his life since the night of the servants' ball.
"Well?" began his companion.
"Well, what?" replied Fersen. He really did not want to be there. Least of all in the company of Victor Clement de Girodelle.
"Well, how did it go with the servant?"
Fersen exhaled in frustration. "I really wish you wouldn't call him that."
"Isn't that what he is?" Victor waved his hand.
"He is not a servant. He is a valet," retorted Fersen.
"Oh! What a step-up, forgive me!" Victor put his arms up mockingly.
Fersen stopped and turned to him. "He has a name, you know," he snapped at him.
"Fine, fine. How did it go with Andre, then?" Victor seemed unphased.
"Are you not going to tell me why you harbor so much hate against Andre Grandier?"
"I never said I hated him."
"Then why are you doing all of this?" Fersen hissed, careful not to make much noise.
Victor stared at him for a moment. He looked like he was about to say something but then changed his mind. Finally, he said:
"You see, Hans, the wonderful thing about blackmailing someone is that you don't really have to explain yourself to the one you are blackmailing."
Fersen clenched his jaw, pausing for a few seconds to recollect himself. Victor's haughtiness and condescension was unbearably infuriating.
"I told you, you have it all wrong. I didn't…" Fersen paused, glanced around him to make sure he was out of ear shot. "I did not kiss Oscar."
Victor chuckled. "My dear fellow, do you really want me to believe that that woman I saw you with outside of the Jarjayes mansion that night was a servant in the household? Come, come. Even you wouldn't stoop that low. And, pray, since when do servants use the front door?"
It took all of Fersen's might not to deliver a fist to Victor's face. Was he never to catch a break? What ill chance and bad luck! The one time he had decided to allow himself an indiscretion…Who would have thought that they would be seen that night? They had been careful and well-concealed; he had made sure of that. But apparently not enough. His efforts always fell short, it seemed, whether it was with Oscar or Marie Antoinette.
"Now," he said in a cool tone. "Unless you want it to get out that Hans Axel von Fersen was romancing the Commandant of the Royal Guard, I suggest we drop this and get to the point."
Fersen shut his eyes momentarily. This was certainly not the first time Victor had threatened him. That night, when he had returned home after seeing off Oscar at Jarjayes, he had been surprised to find Victor Clement de Girodelle waiting for him. In exchange for his silence, Victor had proposed a plan to Fersen that was both ridiculous and without much sense. He did not explain himself, but demanded that Fersen follow his instructions and report every interaction he had with Andre Grandier and Oscar Francois de Jarjayes in detail. Fersen had no choice but to comply. Even a hint of a rumor about him and Oscar would ruin both of their lives, not to mention how terribly it would hurt Marie-Antoinette.
He exhaled. "I did what you asked. I led him to the servants' hall and he saw the dress."
"Excellent. So, now Andre knows that it had been Oscar at the ball?"
"Yes… at least, I think so. Although, I do not think he was too happy about it."
Victor raised a brow. "Oh? Well, that is surprising."
"I think there is more to this affair than you think and I honestly do not think it our business to toy with other people's feelings, Victor!" Fersen hissed in reproach.
"Let us reconvene soon, and don't forget to update me if either of them comes to you," Victor said, dismissing his companion. He then turned on his heels and left.
…
The large doors of the Jarjayes mansion closed with minimal noise as Oscar made her way home following her night shift. She rested her back against the door. Her heart was racing. It hadn't stopped racing since that incident with Victor. She touched her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes, but shook off the recollection very quickly.
It had been…fervent. Unexpectedly pleasurable. Intoxicating, even. In the moment, that is.
Alas, it was the kind of pleasure that was frail and fleeting. The moment she had disengaged from him, she felt hollow and confused. Then she did the one thing that seemed appropriate in that moment. She gathered what dignity she had left as a superior officer, politely excused herself and ran out of the room.
She then spent the entire evening lamenting and reproaching herself for being solely responsible for turning her life into a nightmare of tangled romantic webs. There was no longer anything to differentiate her from any other courtier at Versailles whose life revolved around who they were courting at the moment and what they wore while they were doing it. Was this to be her punishment for all the years she had spent mocking these people?
To add to her misery, the night had been a total disappointment: the Black Knight never showed up. In the end, the Commandant quit her shift and spent an hour galloping aimlessly on her horse before making her way back to the manor. The more time she delayed, the better, anyway. Andre will surely be asleep. Even if he had gone out, he would be back by now and in his bed and there would be no chance of running into him. God knows, she still could not face him.
Her heart almost stopped when she heard a bustle coming from the servants' quarters. She froze in her steps.
Andre…
He was awake.
The noise was moved closer and closer. She should run, go into her room, shut the door and possibly never come out.
And yet, why did she feel as though she needed to see him? As if one look at Andre would set her right, would ease her mind and take away her cares.
"A-andre?" she whispered, inching closer towards the door that led from the main hall to the servant's quarters.
"Andre," she called out more loudly when no response came.
But the noise only got louder and… BANG! The door opened abruptly and slammed into her face and Oscar could have sworn she saw stars.
"Oh, my goodness!" a shrill voice called. "Lady Oscar!"
"Oh, my lady, my lady! Do forgive me, we were not expecting you, least of all here!" Grandmere magically produced a handkerchief and dabbed at Oscar's nose, which was now bleeding. A couple of maids were hovering about.
"What… what are you doing up so late?" Oscar uttered, tasting blood in her mouth, her voice sounding terribly nasal.
"Oh, my lady, I am so sorry!" Grandmere repeated.
"It's alright, really," Oscar adjusted her tone. "Grandmere, what is going on?"
"Oh, Lady Oscar, it isn't anything to trouble you with."
Oscar took the handkerchief from her nanny and attended to herself. She watched as two maids brought towels and several buckets of water up the stairs.
"Grandmere?" her tone was firmer.
"It's… just…"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Oscar snapped and followed the maids, and that nagging hunch in her gut, to their destination.
She skipped every other step on the long stairs and marched in long strides, until she arrived at a familiar room, almost out of breath.
The door was wide open, light from within illuminating the dark couloir.
She slowed down to a halt and peeked in, her heart pounding.
There was a figure lying motionless on the bed, almost entirely nude save for a thin sheet that covered him from the waist down.
Oscar's breath caught as she took in the sight before her: a man as beautiful and spectacular as the olden statues of Ancient Greece. His chest broad and welcoming, strong, perfectly proportioned square shoulders akin to those of Hercules, arms lean and sculpted. His right arm was lifted above his head, accentuating the appeal of his figure by highlighting the flexed muscles of his triceps and hips, the dark hair populating his underarm emphasizing his masculinity. His skin, a few shades darker than hers, glistened in the soft light.
Grandmere's voice, shrill and commanding, wafted from the hallway and disappeared into Andre's room, startling Oscar from her contemplation along its way. It dawned on her that she must have stood there, idiotic and gawking, for quite a long period of time since it usually took the elderly housekeeper several minutes to make her way to her grandson's room from the main hall. After all, Oscar knew exactly how many minutes it took because she and Andre used to run to his room after stealing some freshly made jam and hastily hide it under the boards before Grandmere could see them.
"Out, out!" Grandmere was saying. "Out, please and thank you. Back to bed, thank you."
The maids scurried past Oscar, giggling and whispering behind their hands, as they exchanged sly glances. They made sure to look back repeatedly and make eyes at the one man lying in the room. It didn't seem to matter whether he was unconscious or not, to Oscar's horror. Not that she herself was doing any different, standing there, staring. But she really should speak to her father about employing more male servants.
She crossed the threshold into the room and an obtrusive warmth enveloped her. There was a fire lit in the room, which explained the amount of light and heat emanating from it.
"What is…?" she stopped abruptly. Grandmere had soaked a towelette in an ice-filled bucket, wrung it out and placed it on Andre's chest. While it was not easy to distract one's self from the sensual half-nudity before her, she could not help but remark that Andre did not even wince when the ice-cold towelette made contact with his skin.
She approached the bed and for the first time since she arrived, she contemplated his face. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth half-open. His eyes, slightly ajar, had a hint of yellow in them.
Oscar's heart sank to the floor, her eyes widened in disbelief.
"How long has he been like this?" she inquired.
"Oh, my lady, it is nothing to worry about, just a fever," Grandmere replied. But the worry in her voice was not masked well.
Unable to bear the ballooning anxiety within her, Oscar did the only thing she knew how to do: she grabbed hold of Andre's shoulders and shook him violently.
"Andre!" she called out. "Andre! Can you hear me? Andre!"
"Oscar!" Grandmere gently grabbed her wrists and moved her away. "It's no use, my lady."
"It's can't be!" Oscar cried, her voice shrill. "He's not waking up. Why isn't he waking up?"
"It is a fever," Grandmere, surprised at her charge's overreaction, attempted to calm her. "It is just a fever, my lady. It will pass."
"No," Oscar shook her head. "H-he doesn't look right…"
"It needs to take its course," Grandmere replied, wisely. "It's as though his body is trying to rid itself of something."
Oscar felt her soul shattering into a million pieces like a broken mirror, as a voice in her heart cried: Yes, yes, Me. Me. He is trying to get rid of me…
"Have you called for the doctor?"
Grandmere replaced the cold cloth onto Andre's chest. "I…"
"Grandmere!" Oscar goaded her.
"Really, my lady, there is no need for such an expense and inconvenience!"
"Expense and inconven-" Oscar cut herself off, overcome by utter disbelief and suddenly uncomfortably conscious of the difference in privilege accorded to Andre in comparison to her.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Grandmere started as Oscar headed for the door.
"I'm going for the Doctor."
"No!" Grandmere caught her by the arm. "Please, my lady. You are only just returned from a long day and…"
"Do you want Andre to die?" Oscar snapped and immediately regretted it.
Grandmere immediately let go of her arm and took to sobbing.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Oscar cursed under her breath, as she took her nanny in her arms and consoled her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it, but, please, let me go for the doctor."
Grandmere dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Please stay, my lady. I will wake the groom and have him go in your stead."
She looked up at Oscar, who could now see how puffy her eyes were. In this light, she could also see how wrinkly and weary her nanny's face was, marking the long passage of time since the golden days of her and Andre's childhood, the nostalgia producing a pang in her heart.
Holding her hands in hers, Oscar nodded to the elderly woman her agreement to this arrangement, and before Grandmere exited the room, Oscar said: "I want you to go and rest after you send for Doctor Lassone."
"But, my lady…"
"Go. This is not a suggestion," Oscar said decidedly as she removed her doublet and swung it onto the chair. "I will take care of Andre."
…
The red liquid sloshed around in the round-bottomed glass as Victor Clement de Girodelle swirled it in alternating directions.
A timid knock resounded at the door. He almost did not hear it, and so was slightly startled when his valet materialized out of nowhere to announce to him that Madame de Blason had arrived for the evening.
Victor blinked several times as a momentary lapse in memory made him forget the name of his latest mistress.
"Tell her I am not at home," he told his valet.
"But… she said you promised her that you will be at home tonight and she made arrangements..." His valet shifted uncomfortably at the prospect of having to lie. He was new at his position and not yet fully accustomed to his master's moods.
"Then tell her I am ill… or make something up," Victor responded, slightly frustrated. "Send for some flowers immediately after she leaves."
"Very good, sir," the valet bowed and exited the room.
This evening, Victor Clement de Girodelle was in no mood for company. Besides, how could he sully the divine gift that had been bestowed upon him just a few hours ago? Resting his index finger on his lips, he inhaled deeply and continued his mindful exercise of engraving that heavenly memory in his mind.
He hadn't expected it to happen so soon, but his Sylphide, it would seem, had finally awoken to herself.
He took a long sip from his glass and reclined back in his velvet-green armchair, one elbow on each armrest, his hands cradling the glass, eyes lazily gazing at the fire dancing in the hearth.
Of course, it all started with him. He had watched her fall in love with that insipid Swede, along with every other woman at Versailles.
He would never understand what the appeal of Hans Axel von Fersen was. The man was handsome, granted, had pleasing manners, but he had no intellect and his character was as bland as a hard-boiled egg. He understood why some women would prefer him, but Oscar?
He took another sip, the bitter undertones lingering in his mouth as he asked himself that question for the umpteenth time.
Fortunately, he had enough experience in the world to know that the infatuation would soon fade. And then, he, Victor, will be there to catch her when she fell from her high tower of illusion and fantasy.
He could never pinpoint exactly when he had fallen in love with his superior officer. Certainly, the attraction was there from the very beginning, since they duelled each other for the position of the Captain of the Royal Guard. But love? It came to him very quietly and very gradually. Perhaps, too, the older he grew, the more he valued certain things over others in his life. And her presence, he had come to learn, was absolutely vital to him.
Alas, being the military man he was, Victor also knew he wasn't the only one on the battlefield. There was always one man Victor was truly wary of: Andre Grandier, the chosen valet and companion by the General to "protect and accompany" his daughter as she took on this cruel world of men.
He had chosen well, the General, Victor had to admit. Yet despite the privileges given to said valet to attend court with his superior, he was mostly invisible to those above him in rank – a fly on the wall.
But never to Victor. No, Victor had seen it all: the secretive looks, the spark in his eyes, the way he moved as her shadow.
As for his Sylphide… Whether it was a direct result of her upbringing or reinforced by her own personality, Oscar Francois de Jarjayes was an impenetrable fortress. And just like every fortress, there was always a hidden access. But whether anyone realized it or not, this so-called friend and companion was already deep within the castle walls. And he had been there since the beginning. He had never needed to fight his way in or to play a game, because the plain simple fact was that Andre Grandier had always had the key. This fact made Victor grow less and less confident of his chances.
The last straw was the All Hallow's ball at Versailles. Yes, he had been inebriated that night, but even in that state, he could detect a certain… familiarity to that dashing stranger in the black mask and cape. It was something in the eyes, in that toothful boyish grin. Although Oscar loved to pride herself on her astute sense of detection, Victor was far superior to her when it came to people.
And was it his imagination or did the man also disappear the moment the Commandant had stepped off onto the balcony?
And then, how to explain her tempestuous mood the next day, or the amount of energy she had expended tracking down that man? She had been besides herself. Something must have surely happened, and if one were to put two and two together, it was not hard to surmise that that man was no one other than Andre Grandier and that his rival had finally made a move that night. Disguised and cowardly, but Victor couldn't blame him because a declaration could mean the end for him.
So what great chance it was when he had happened upon Fersen and his Sylphide the night of the servant's ball!
Victor had been there before them. He had come to alert his Commandant of an illustrious robbery that had just occurred by a masked man. Of course, he could have sent a messenger, but he especially wanted to see her. But when he saw an unrecognized carriage make its way to the front door and glimpsed Oscar in the window, he had skillfully hidden behind a tree nearby and simply… watched.
And what a treat it had been to see her looking so… feminine!
But then, bleurgh! They had kissed, her and Fersen, and Victor almost felt like vomiting. Thankfully, though, it seemed as though the kiss had the desired effect: his Princess had finally awoken from the spell and was about to fall from her tower.
Pleased with his findings, Victor decided to go home for the night and give deliver news of the robbery the day after instead. He also wanted to seize this golden opportunity to concoct a plan to declare his love to to her and offer her his hand.
But then… as he was about to leave, he saw a figure in the distance, cape flying and mask covering his face, make his way behind the estate.
Of course, he knew that the robber and Andre were not the same person. Victor had spent a lifetime observing the latter to detect some stark differences in their appearance and countenance.
Thus, the only explanation was that Andre, it would seem, had attended the servants' ball. And it was easy from there to deduce that that is precisely where Oscar and Fersen had just come from. Knowing his superior, she had probably gone there in search of the man in the Black Mask. He grimaced: could something have transpired at the servants' ball?
This presented a dent in his plans that needed to be ironed out. And so, he made his way to Hans Axel von Fersen's dwelling.
Extracting information from Fersen to confirm his suspicions was as easy as putting a knife through melted butter. And since Fersen enjoyed a certain level of confidence and complicity with both the valet and his Sylphide, Victor had the brilliant idea to use it to his advantage.
It had started off as a plot to overthrow his opponent, but the more he met with Fersen and learned more, the more he sharpened his own observation of his Sylphide, the more Victor realized that he did not, in fact, want to beat his opponent. No, he had already lost to him. Oscar's true noble heart blinded her to ranks and titles and made her only see the essence of others. And isn't that one of the reasons why he loved her so?
And so, Victor resolved to do what any man who loves truly would do for their beloved: he would make her happy. With, or without him.
Yes, she had kissed him today. And yes, he will cherish it for as long as he lived. But he knew full well why she acted that way. She was fishing for the same thing she was struggling with when she kissed Fersen that night: information and confirmation.
He knew the second that her lips left hers that he had lost her forever. Oscar's heart had made its choice.
…
The room became quiet following the kerfuffle with Grandmere. The only sounds that could be heard were the comforting crackle of the fire and the rhythmic trickling of water droplets as Oscar wrung another towelette and placed it on Andre's arm. It worried her that he still was not responsive. His chest periodically heaved up and down as he seemed to grapple for a deep breath.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead. The room was warm and the heat from Andre's body, while not unpleasant by any means, combined with the water vapor emanating from the buckets, was creating a tropical atmosphere for her.
"Andre?" Oscar called softly as she dabbed a cloth onto his jaw. "Andre, can you hear me?"
He did not respond.
She passed the cloth onto his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his neck.
"Is it me your body is trying to get rid of, Andre?" She lowered her eyes as she spoke, bitterness and sadness mingling in her voice. "All those years that you suffered in silence…"
And to think that I thought you were faking it this morning. How much lower could I possibly sink?
She closed her eyes and exhaled into a long sigh, her eyes fixated on the limp cloth in her hand, taking a pause before she repeated the same movement of dipping it into the ice-bucket as Grandmere had done.
She placed this cloth on his clavicle, her fingers lightly lingering on his warm skin. Encouraged by the way his skin felt under her touch, she placed the back of her hand on his forehead. It was extraordinarily hot.
She movied her fingers gently across his face, "Andre, you must hold on. I… I need you, Andre. You must hold on."
Feeling her throat swell, she hurriedly wiped any impending tears and took a deep breath.
"I… uh… I think I made a mess of things lately, haven't I? I think I hurt you. I wish… I wish we had been more honest with each other…" I want to say I wish that Fersen never happened but then, that wouldn't be truthful, but still, "I wish there wasn't such a divide between us but now I understand why. I just wish… things were different. I wish I wasn't…" she paused and glanced at her uniform hanging majestically on the wooden chair in Andre's room, I am grateful for my freedom but you have taught me that there is a different kind of freedom out there. "I don't know yet if I can claim to return your feelings, if I can claim to love you, Andre but I… I want to give myself time to find out, do you know? I think… I think you deserve better and I think you deserve more than what I can give you now, but I…" her voice became more animated. "I want to know… Andre, I want to know… Would it be alright with you if I did that Andre? Can you give me this? I know you have already given me everything and it might be too much to ask… Would it be alright if I…?"
The words came out as naturally as water that flows when the logs and debris are removed from a river. And it felt just as natural and just as right when she leaned on top of him and took his lips in hers.**
** I'm sorry readers, I know this technically qualifies as a non-consensual act but I wanted to model it after the scene in the manga when Andre kisses an unconscious Oscar after the bar fight. I like writing out these scenes while reversing the roles.