Call me Valliere'. Not my real name of course but at the moment my real name is besmirched. So until such time as I can clear it, Valliere du Paix is what I will go by. In order that you may understand how this sad state of affairs came to be, I will tell you my story thus far.

My father, like his father before him, was le Compte' de Fountainbleu, just one of many small and otherwise insignificant titleages that clutter the landscape of the Montaigne "empire" (as our le Emperor would style it). A title that would remain, I am certain, totally obscure were it not for the small act of providence which placed within our holdings various types of natural springs and baths known for their healing and beautifying properties. It was some ancient ancestor who was the first Compte de Fountainbleu. The details are lost in time, but since then a royal estate has been built on that spot and every fall The Sun (his Royal Highness Himself) has come to Fountainbleu to enjoy the refreshment of those springs.

Various monarchs of course have had different habits. Some visiting for just a few days while others stay for a few weeks. The last monarch though, began a tradition upheld by the current, which is to leave the royal estate in Charouse and to stay at Fountainbleu for a month or more. In fact, Emperor Leon du Montaigne is so convinced of the beautification properties of the mud baths that He has lengthened his stay by a day or two every year. The last year he escaped but a week before the arrival of the first winter storm which would surely have trapped him here until spring; the roads become near impassable after that point.

Ah, but where was I? Oh yes, it was this last winter's cold, which finally sapped the strength from my poor father. The Royal estate on the other side of the hill is cozy in the wintertime, kept warm by the heat of the hot spring. But our poor manor house is old and draughty in the winter months. Many are the mornings when I had to break the ice on the chamber pot before I could use it. Were we not in the habit of curling up in our beds spread with furs and accompanied by three or four of our best hunting dogs, would none of us make it I don't think.

I don't know how my mother did it. Then again I never knew my mother at all. She died giving birth to me. My father mourned this for many years and, having no need to create more heirs, never remarried. He loved me greatly though as he did my older brother Henri. Henri had reason to hate me. He could have blamed me for taking the life of our mother. But he did not. Instead he took me under his wing and protected me. I toddled after him all my youth and never gave him a moment's peace. He did not resent me though, as some older brothers resent their younger sibling. Whenever he could take me with him, he did so. When he was married I was but a boy of ten years and he a man of twenty-five yet I stood by his side. Five years later when both his wife and his newborn son died during childbirth we wept together.

When I was 25 years old, I met the woman I wanted to marry. I said to my brother and father that she was for me the veritable proof of the existence of Theus for only a god could create such beauty. Theus, it seems, is not without a sense of irony. My brother was overjoyed for me. My father was joyous but warned me to be careful. I wish I had listened to him.

Her name is Christianna. She is the daughter of our neighbor, the Duc de Lorraine. I say neighbor, but not as you in the cities would think of it. His estate lay over three leagues from my father's.

I wanted nothing more than to marry Christianna and one day, when I began to believe she felt the same way I asked her. She blushed and looked away. "What is wrong", I asked her "Don't you love me?" She was quiet so I asked her again. "Is there another? Do I have a rival?" I could feel my face beginning to flush with jealousy and rage.

"Oh no, Pierre my love!" she answered quickly, "There is only you." She put her hand to my cheek, her touch immediately calming my inner fires. "It is just that my father has foreseen your intent."

"Does he forbid our marriage?" I was incredulous. From the time of our first meeting he had shown me nothing but the highest regard, always asking after the health of my father and brother.

"No, but he has told me that I may not marry you until my older sister Annabelle is married."

"But this is perfect!" I exclaimed. Christianna looked puzzled so I explained. "My brother Henri has been widowed these past ten years. Upon the death of my father he will be the Compte de Fountainbleu and he has no heir. He too needs a wife!" Her face brightened immediately and we were both overjoyed. We set about making plans.

I do not know what Christianna told Annabelle but she was immediately agreeable to the idea. As for my dear brother and myself I simply explained the facts as I saw them. He needed a wife and heir and here was a good woman (this I did not doubt judging from her sister) from a good family who needed a husband and soon so that Christianna and I could also marry. Had I been in my right mind then and no blinded by love as I was, I would have seen that Henri consented to this not of love for Annabelle but for love of me. He wanted only to see me happy and he cared not for himself or and heir; he cared only for me.

They were married in the fall just before the Emperor's arrival and from that point on our lives were never the same. There was no longer any question as to why the Duc du Lorraine had wished to marry this shrew of a daughter off first.

Annabelle was not at all like her sister. She was beautiful, yes, but with temperaments that even her beauty could not balance. She set our house aflame with her demands and her tantrums. The staff grew very anxious and even some that had been with us for years quit rather than continue to be assailed by her. I felt a wretch for bringing this tempest into our placid lives. My only thought was to hang on until spring when Christianna and I would be wed. Perhaps she, with her sweet countenance and quiet ways, could restore some peace to our household.

But winter was long despite my hopes (or perhaps because of them). Trapped within the house for so long, life with that monster of a woman became intolerable. Her complaints and tantrums were the order of the day; to the servants, my brother, and even to me. I had no cause to ever strike a woman before, such recourses being taken only by the baser born, but oh, did that woman tempt me so cruel were her slanders against those whom she perceived had done her ill. As always, however, I took clues from my brother, who bore all insults with dignity and never raised his voice in return.

Then my father took ill. He lay in his bed, breath coming in ragged gasps that stank of putrescence as if his insides were already rotted. His eyes shut tight; his brow furrowed in pain. The fire blazed in his room, higher than ever. He lay under so many quilts and furs that he could scarcely move, his favorite hunting dogs by his side. And yet still he shivered with the cold. I held his hand as he slept. It was cold, so cold that was it not for that gurgling of breath one would think him already gone.

Somewhere within the house Annabelle's shrill voice screeched, muffled by the interceding walls and doors but still loud enough to raise the hackles on the back of my neck. Suddenly my father clenched my hand. So tight was his hold with that frail, bony appendage that I feared he would snap a bone. His eyes flew open and he nearly sat up as he sucked in a huge gasp of air. His eyes were wide as he stared straight ahead as if blind.

"Who is there?" he croaked.

"It is I, Pierre, " I grew frightened. I had never seen my father so agitated.

"Ah, Pierre," my father relaxed a bit. He turned toward me but his eyes did not come to rest on mine. He released my hand and felt along my arm till he reached my face. He touched my face, feeling it's lines and curves as one would a sculpture. "I am dying, Pierre", he said at last.

"No father, it is just the cold", I argued.

"No Pierre, I am dying. Look! There is your mother. She stands behind you now. She is proud of you Pierre, and so am I." I looked where he had indicated with his eyes but of course there was no one there.

"It is a vision, father", I argued still, "Brought to you by your fever. Rest please, and it will trouble you no more."

"No, she comes to take me with her. Look Pierre! She has brought your sisters and brother whom we did not know. Look how they have grown." I made once more to calm him but suddenly his breath came quick and sharp. Between gasps he uttered, "Pierre, beware Lorraine. I do not trust…" But there was no more. He expelled one last rattling breath and lay still.

The house was strangely silent after that. I thought that Annabelle was sharing in our grief. But where upon our faces there were tears, her face bore a sneer. Whereupon our face there was sorrow, her face showed amusement. Where our faces bore the marks of genuine anguish and pain, her face showed only contempt.

Hereafter, my recollection of events is strange. Here after the only thing I can answer to honestly be that I was not in my right mind. For after this time the unthinkable began to happen; my brother and I began to quarrel. We had never argued before, never shared so much as an angry glance at one another. I swear that I have never had cause to raise my voice to anyone (aside from servants, of course) in all my life. But now I would come aware as if waking from a dream and find myself screaming at my brother; he screaming back!

What was happening to us? What could cause two brothers whom loved each other so to scream at each other over such trivial things. Things which when we in our right minds would not even give us cause to raise and eyebrow.

Finally at one of these occasions I came aware to find myself screaming about the way he was poking at the fire in our great room. For some reason it infuriated me. I felt as if I were possessed because even though on the inside I wanted to stop, to call myself a fool, to laugh and share a glass of wine, begging my brother's forgiveness, I could not. I kept yelling and screaming like the lunatics I had heard of, and he yelled back at me with as much fury!

Finally this anger which I felt to the core, but still didn't touch my heart, welled up to the point that I struck out at him. I had struck my brother in anger! I could not believe what I had done and screamed in anguish!

As if taming a rampaging horse, I was once again in control of myself. The cry that I thought I alone had heard my brother heard also. His face softened and alertness returned to his eyes. However, mortified by my actions, I turned from him and ran. He called for me to wait but I would not.

I determined that I would not go near him again while I was gripped by these spells of madness. I was not in control of myself and I feared what I might do. Why, oh why, was this happening? Was it my grief? I had heard that grief caused people to do strange things and the death of my father was indeed unbearable suffering to me. I would remain in my room, I determined, until it was passed.

I stayed in my room for days, venturing out not once. Laurent, my trusted manservant, brought me my meals and kept me entertained during my self-imposed confinement. By and by, I began to feel better. Occasionally my brother would stop by but I dared not even talk to him. Through Laurent I told him that I was not ill but that I was not ready to face him. He, again through Laurent, assured me that he was not angry in the slightest, and that he too felt restored. I still refused to leave my room.

After many days, there was a soft knock on my door. Laurent answered and then announced that Christianna had come to see me! Christianna my love! I nearly flew across the room. It had been weeks since I had seen her last and in my confinement, she was my only ray of sunlight. It seemed that my brother, out of fear for my well being, had sent for her.

I was overjoyed to see her! I was so overjoyed that I immediately ended my self imposed exile and went to thank my brother. He was happy to see me again and I was happy to see him. We hugged and smiled and things seemed as they were before. Even Annabelle seemed happy to have her sister there again. It was just as I had predicted it would be when she was among us. We made plans that night for a feast to celebrate!

I spent the rest of the day with Christianna. We walked outside for the thaw had begun and though snow still covered the ground, the air held only a slight chill, invigorating and fresh. We skated on the pond but gave up that sport, as we were fearful of the thinning ice.

Exhausted but excited by our day, we returned to the house. There we shared some wine and refreshment with Henri and Annabelle. IT was such a change now. It must have been her separation from her sister that caused Annabelle to be so intolerable, for now she was the very paragon of charm and wit.

So much excitement after so many days of inactivity had worn me out and I begged my leave of all that I might take a short rest before the night's celebration. I went to my room and collapsed on my bed. That is the last that I remember.

The scene that confronted me when next I opened my eyes was one so vile I would not wish it upon my worst enemy, had I had one. It seemed as if the clanging of metal awakened me. At my feet, as if dropped there by me, was my father's sword, the one that had hung over the mantle in the greatroom since my father's return from the wars. The point… Blood dripped from the point. Blood, which I can only surmise, was my brother's for he lay there at my feet as well, a terrible bubbling wound in his chest. His shirt was stained a vivid red that I still see in my nightmares. Henri's face was a mask of terror and disbelief. Blood trickled from his nose and from the corner of his mouth. His head lay in the lap of Grendel, his loyal servant who had been so pained by our behavior throughout all of this. Henri spoke something that I did not hear; though I am sure that Grendel heard him for he shushed him and stroked his hair. I knelt beside my brother just as he breathed his last.

I heard a noise behind me and turned. Beside the table whereupon a feast had apparently taken place though I have no memory of one, stood Annabelle, cackling like a crow.

My own love, Christianna, also stood there beside her sister. This next I can never forget nor forgive. For when I looked into Christianna's face for compassion, understanding, and forgiveness, I saw instead an evil wicked, sneering smile. I was weeping then, the tears stung my eyes as I reached for her, not understanding. It was then that she tossed back her head and laughed aloud!

It was as though a knife had been driven into my soul. My own true love betrayed me. All hope and understanding fled from me and I lost consciousness.

I awoke in jail. Chained to the wall like a common prisoner! I yelled and screamed but no one heard but my faithful servant Laurent. He had insisted that he be allowed to wait on my such that he could in the cell. Indeed, faithful Laurent stayed in the cell with me, though he himself was an innocent man. If it had not been for this, my oldest and most trusted servant, I am sure I would have succumbed to madness. We tried to assemble the facts as we knew them, he and I. The next day a lieutenant in the Musketeers came and took me away to be questioned.

The only witnesses to the event were that wicked woman Annabelle and her equally wicked sister, Christianna. I have come to the conclusion that this is somehow their doing. Laurent had been given the night off since Grendel would serve us well enough that night. Poor Grendel has not been seen since so I could not gain his testimony, nor could I even find out what my brother's dying words had been! I pray to Theus that he is alive somewhere and that I can find him.

It was my word against Annabelle. Oddly, Christianna has not been herself since the incident and will not speak of it. Annabelle claims that I accused my brother of bringing Christianna to the estate so that he could seduce have his way with her! She said that I flew into a jealous rage and fought with my brother. She claimed she drew the sword from the mantle and threw it to my brother so that he could defend himself. I caught the sword instead and slew him with a single sword thrust to the chest. She is said to blame herself and grieves most convincingly.

But I saw her laugh! I saw them BOTH laugh…

I am a gentleman and a noble so my word carries certain validity, more so because by the circumstance of my brother's death I am le Compte du Fountainbleu. On my estate I am the dispenser of both high and low forms of justice. But the evidence against me is damning, moreover, I am unable myself to claim innocence. The matter was finally taken to le Emperor Himself. I had the good fortune to have several friends as well as friends of my father to speak for me. I even heard that one of the princesses, with whom I had played once as a child, spoke for me as did Rupert the Seneschal of the Bathhouse estate and a dear family friend for many years. For these reasons alone, and the whim of le Emperor, I am a free man. I paid a huge fine and am now banished from my estate, unable to claim my rights as the Compte du Fountainbleu until such time as I can prove my claims. Annabelle remains at the manor house, since she is my brother's widow, but the care and stewardship of the estate has been given to her father, le Duc de Lorraine.

"Pierre, beware Lorraine, I do not trust…" My fathers words come back to me time and time again.

The name is still mine however, though I will not use it. It rightfully belonged to my brother. All my life he was all I ever wanted to be and now he lies dead, possibly even by my own hands! I do not know for certain, and so I will search for answers. The truth, I am certain, is there to be found. And I, Valliere du Paix (as I now call myself) will find it.

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