The Truth About Noussoir
Part 5. The Ball at Chateau Morlay
“Long live the Prince of Morlay-Malinbois!”
The crowd cheered as Malachie du Marais made his entrance. The ballroom was a sea of smiling faces, glasses of champagne raised high, glittering guests in their finest of finery, friends and supporters of the former Baron of Morlay, ecstatic at their dream come true.
“Long live Prince Malachie du Marais!”
The Prince took his place and surveyed the crowd: a colorful motley collection. Though his people were mostly of Sylaire decent, there was definitely an abundance of folk of different race and different color. By their build and appearance, Prince Malachie could point them out: a hulking but kindly gentleman of Flaemish decent, a wild-haired artist from Aalban, a chic yet shifty-eyed Darokinian, a graceful Sindhi woman with a feline elegance, and a menagerie of others.
But all these guests had two things in common. The first was a certain animalism, a certain feralness in their manner and countenance, which Prince Malachie only knew too well. The second was a tangible loyalty and admiration to Malachie du Marais, on this night of his glory.
“I am greatly honored at seeing you all here tonight,” Prince Malachie began, “on this night when we are all become the Principality of Morlay-Malinbois!”
An uncontrollable surge of applause and cheers issued from the audience. Though the name of the newest Principality of Glantri did not roll of the tongue so simply, the guests and Prince Malachie himself, did not tire of repeatedly speaking it or mouthing it in practice.
“You, my people of Morlay-Malinbois, are my fellowmen, my friends, and my family!”
At this, another surge of applause and cheers came from the guests, akin to pack wolves baying in response to the howl of their leader.
“My only regret, dear friends, is that my dearly beloved wife, Vicomtesse Diane de Moriamis, cannot join us here tonight.”
The audience unanimously responded in all too polite sighs and murmurs.
“She has taken ill of late, perhaps from the excitement of the developments these past few days.”
Again, sighs and murmurs erupt from the audience. Prince Malachie could not tell if they responded out of regret or relief, but in his deepest of hearts, he could not care.
“But we are fortunate to be joined by my dear sister—” said Prince Malachie, emphasizing on the words as he gestured for Suzanne to step forward and take her place beside him, “who shall be our hostess for tonight.”
A number of important guests, prominent figures in Morlay, aristocrats and gentry of Glantri, and even a few of the well-chosen paparazzi, exchanged knowing looks, and fully understood the Prince’s meaning. They were to take their cue from Prince Malachie himself, and woe to those who dissented.
The rest of the crowd were simply glad that their hostess had more looks and more charms that Madame La Vicomtesse.
The Prince ordered that the festivities begin, as he gestured for the musicians to strike up the dancing music. At that point, Prince Malachie made his way to greet the most important of his guests, Duchess Margaret Hillsbury of Fenswick (his supporter from his days as Baron), followed by Sire Richard, Dame Isidore and Dame Magdalène d’Ambreville (representatives of Prince Étienne d’Ambreville of Nouvelle Averoigne and his close personal friends).
After complementing Duchess Margaret on her exquisite jewelry (“My wife has nothing like that!”) and sharing a courtesies with Sire Richard and Dame Isidore (which was quite unnecessary, considering how they had worked closely for the enfeoffment of Morlay-Malinbois), Prince Malachie excused himself to be alone with Suzanne.
As they were walking towards the more private areas of the château, Suzanne broke the silence.
“It is those dreams again, n’est-ce pas? I noticed you were blanking out for a moment or two with the Duchess.”
“Oui,” Malachie replied, lost in his own thoughts.
“What do you see now? The forests? The streets?”
“Non, non...” Malachie mused. “It is very different now. It is as if I am here, at the château itself, but looking in from the outside.”
Malachie reached his study. He quickly entered, magically commanded the lights to appear, and plopped into his chair, rubbing his temples.
“You should return to the party and be my hostess, Suzanne.”
“Non, the party will take care of itself. I do not want to leave you like this.”
Suzanne bent forward and gave him a kiss. Malachie responded with a warm embrace.
After a long while, Suzanne motioned to be released from the embrace and stood up straight. She walked towards the side table and poured out a drink from the decanter.
“Would you like a drink, Malachie? Would that make you feel better?”
Malachie was still disconcerted and looking up to Suzanne as she posed with a drink in her hand. He was frowning and Suzanne made a frown back at him, trying to relieve his mood.
“Je ne sais pas, Suzanne,” he said. “It must be my eyes. Here I am looking at you looking at me. And at the same time, somehow, I feel like I’m looking at your back from another direction.”
“Bon, let me look at them,” commanded Suzanne, while speaking the magical words to dim the lights and stepping closer.
Malachie stood up and removed his obsidian spectacles. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, then opened them wide and faced Suzanne.
Suzanne took his face in her hands and shifted his head slightly.
“Don’t look at me directly, Malachie. Look over my shoulder, beyond me... Malachie?!”
She sensed something wrong. She saw the shocked expression in his face as if he had seen a ghost. She turned a gave a startled scream.
Outside, on the balcony, stood a pale naked young man, looking at them through the window.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Epilogue
