Last Life

Book 3: Interlude 2

Herouxville

The Royal Palace

Carl III’s personal chambers

THE HEAVY DOOR into the king’s office flew open and Carl III’s youngest son Prince Louis appeared in the doorway.

“Father!” he said with a showy yawn to the king, seated at a big carved yew desk. “You called?”

“Yes, my son,” Carl replied with a slight frown and nodded at the seat next to the fireplace. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. This will be a lengthy conversation.”

Carl III, accustomed since childhood to early mornings, did not hide his scorn for all those who allowed themselves to sleep in until noon as well as anyone who led a jovial lifestyle. But alas, his own son Louis was just such a man. Lively balls, raucous binge drinking, large expenses on fine fabrics, wines, and valuables as well as all kinds of luxury items — those were the young prince’s main interests.

And now, Louis had come to his father’s office most likely shortly after climbing out of bed. And the sun was far past midday. He was also wearing a new style of clothing that had become fashionable at court for some reason Carl found absolutely incomprehensible.

“His grandmother’s blood,” the king thought with a condensed sigh. And yet again, he reminded himself that Louis was the only one of his sons who bore no resemblance to himself.

Ah, he was no match for Bastien. Upon recalling his favorite younger son, who had perished in battle with pirates, and who he was planning to put in charge of the country, Carl again winced.

Louis then, long since accustomed to his father’s scornful grimaces when he saw him, calmly sat down in his chair and got ready to listen. The prince was perfectly aware of how his father thought of him and repaid him in kind. Still though, when he was a child, little Louis recalled loving his father sincerely despite his always being cold. With time, that love grew into hate, then aversion.

Prince Louis was a creative soul with a deep attraction to the finer things in life. His father meanwhile didn’t understand a whit of either art or science. To put it plainly, he was a brutish, uncultured bumpkin.

As a child, Louis was very hurt by how dissimilar he was from his father and brothers. Now though, he was happy and very proud of the fact.

The prince cast a languid gaze around his father’s office. He had a hard time not wincing. His lack of taste and primitive nature shined through in every element of the interior. The ancient suits of armor, animal horns, pelts, tusks and teeth, the dark, heavy drapes... This hideous, hefty table... Portraits of ugly people hunting or competing in tournaments. Wherever his eye landed it saw ugliness. As a child, Louis was always afraid of this room. Every item in the office wafted with an air of ghoulishness, blood, and moldering antiquity.

Finally, the prince’s gaze landed on the jester. Loyal dog that he was, he was seated at the king’s feet and, with a sidelong smirk, scrutinizing Louis’ new outfit.

The prince noticed Kiko’s wry look, tensed up and got ready for the hunchback to loose another of his barbs. The only man Louis hated more than his father was this malicious and filthy dwarf with his constant chuckling and chortling.

As if able to sense his son’s mood, Carl decided to have a little fun with him as always.

“Kiko,” he smiled to the hunchback. “What do you think of Louis’ new clothes?”

“Oh!” The jester exclaimed with delight, the little bells on his toxic-red floppy hat jingling abhorrently. “Looks like I’m going to need a new wardrobe very soon. His Highness’ clothing makes mine look dull and gray by comparison.”

Essentially, Louis had just been called a jester. And in theory, an insult such as that would have caused anyone else to lose their tongue, but the royal jester was outside these laws. He said whatever entered his head without fear of punishment.

And why? Because first of all, jesters typically were not punished. And second, the wise jester never said that which the king did not wish to hear.

The king with a loud chuckle patted his big hand on the thick tabletop. Louis also had to smile and look promisingly at Kiko. While the prince looked on with anger, he hid behind the king’s broad leg, then peeked out from behind it as if it was a column and stuck out his tongue.

Once finished laughing, the king wiped his thick lips with a kerchief which Louis noted with horror was pocked with dried light green spots, and asked his son seriously:

“Are you aware that the Duke de Gondy came to the capital today with his daughter and son?”

It was hard for Louis to maintain composure. As if he didn’t know! The Marchioness de Gondy was the most sought-after bride in Vestonia! Rich, pretty and, supposedly, very clever. But that wasn’t even the biggest part…

The Marchioness de Gondy had been corresponding with him for the last eight months. It all started a year prior at a ball in the palace of her grandmother, the Duchess de Gondy, attended by Louis and his elder brother Philippe.

His older brother, being a mild-mannered pushover, preferred to live in his uncle’s shadow and took practically no part in the festivities. Louis on the other hand didn’t miss a single dance. At the ball, he was entranced by the young marchioness. Her refined taste, sharp intellect and sense of refinement.

Also, the Princess of the South, as she was popularly known, possessed an astonishing collection of paintings and sculptures. And it was precisely on the grounds of Louis’ artistic output that his relationship with Blanca de Gondy sprouted.

For the previous eight months, they had been corresponding, discussing everything related to art. In one of those letters, Blanca told him her father was planning a trip to Herouxville, and that she and her brother would be accompanying the duke. She also said why. Her brother Éric was most likely going to be getting engaged to Adèle, granddaughter of the king and niece of Louis.

Since that day, Louis had not known calm or sleep. His Blanca was traveling to the capital! He summoned all his best tailors and together they invented a new fashion of clothing, which the vile dwarf had just been mocking.

Oh! Blanca de Gondy would be delighted by this new style and the new combinations of colors and fabrics! Not his father, and certainly not his vile jester — neither of these barbarians could sully Louis’ triumph!

“That serpent de Gondy wants to marry his son to my dear Adèle,” Carl gave a sidelong smirk and exchanged wicked glances with the jester. “He doesn’t stand a single chance... He-he...”

Louis’ father’s words forced him to emerge from his revery. The prince perked up his ears and strained his body. Why was he here? For what reason was his father discussing such important issues with him? After all, nothing of the sort had happened before. Louis was the last person the king wanted to discuss important matters with.

There! An epiphany! It finally hit Louis. Even the biggest fool in the land could have seen it. Blanca’s brother would not become the king’s father-in-law, but Carl needed a friendly South, particularly now after the renewal of hostilities with Atalia.

The Duke de Gondy or, as he was also popularly known, the King of Aquitaine, required a guarantee of loyalty from the king. The Prince of Vestonia and “princess of the South” getting engaged would be a perfect solution. It would put an end to the stand-off between the princes. Blanca’s husband would surely become dauphin of Vestonia with the South’s support. And then, one day, king.

And if Louis was here, that meant... A happy smile blossomed on the prince’s face.

“He won’t get little Adèle!” Carl barked. “She will be...”

The king wanted to say more but, with a brief glance at the prince’s attentively listening face, bit his tongue.

“But the duke will have to give something in return,” Kiko hurried to his aid.

“Yes,” Carl agreed, now calmer. “He can have a son... Let him think it all worked out for him...”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the jester nodded and rubbed his hands together. “You’ll win some time...”

Louis couldn’t understand what exactly the pair were saying and didn’t particularly think about it. The only thing he yet again noted was how much influence Kiko had on the king. The pitiful, vile hunchback could read the ruler of Vestonia like an open book and manipulated him with artful ease.

“Yes,” the king agreed. “While they nip at each other’s heels and weave intrigues, we will be able to... ghm...”

The king again fell silent and cast a suspicious gaze at the prince. Louis tensed up.

“It’s decided!” Carl slammed a palm down on the table. “We will announce Phillipe’s engagement to the Marchioness de Gondy!”

“Excellent idea, Your Majesty!” the jester called back. “Let de Gondy and the de Bauffremonts tear out one another’s hair deciding who has more influence on His Highness Prince Philippe.”

They said something else, but Louis wasn’t listening. The tension made his jaws lock, and blood seeped out of his bit lip. But the prince didn’t notice. He was having a tough time keeping himself from fainting.

His Blanca was to be wed to the cretin Philippe! Oh gods, no! That could not be! That... That... Why did they summon him here? Another epiphany! They knew about his correspondence with Blanca! What did that mean then? Did they only call him here to mock him?!

Tears welled up in Louis’ eyes. The brutes! What brutes they were!

“Louis! Louiiiiis!”

His father’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.

“Can you hear me?”

“Uh... What...?”

The prince shuddered and sense returned to his eyes. He turned his head and looked again at his sullen father.

“Drifting through your fantasies again?” the king muttered. “Thinking about what color underwear you’ll wear tomorrow?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Louis got up from his seat and bowed respectfully. “Would you remind repeating what you just said to me?”

“Surely,” the king nodded. “I said that I found you a bride.”

Louis shuddered. And looked at his father with hope. In that moment, he was ready to forgive the king all his insults and humiliation. Could it really be that Blanca and Philippe’s engagement was the fruit of his imagination? Or had his father perhaps changed his mind? Bring it on!

“As you know, my son, we are currently at a state of war with Atalia,” the king began, for some reason from an odd angle. “In order for Vestonia to prevail, we need unity between the North, South, West, and East. And to achieve that unity, I will have to make many sacrifices.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I understand,” Louis nodded, though he wasn’t even close to appreciating what was being said.

“I recently received word from the North,” the king continued. “The news is that Konung Bjørn Sharptooth took advantage of the conflict between Harold Graywolf and the council of five jarls to raid our northern provinces. A number of northern counts and barons who sent their retinues to war expressed a desire to return home and defend their lands against these incursions. They will not go to war with Atalia with Konung Bjørn Sharptooth’s hordes harrying their lands.”

“Other northerners might follow their lead,” the jester added. “And that would be a quarter of our troops.”

“If the holders of the northern provinces recall their warriors, we will be in a tight spot,” the king said. “The Atalians are sure to seize on that. And so, we need to stop the collapse of the army I have already gone to such incredible lengths to gather.”

“Father, I cannot see what part I am to play here...”

“You will be assigned a most important role,” the king replied. “You are to be wed to the daughter of Bjørn Sharptooth. It is the only way to pacify the North.”

Done. That was it. Louis felt the floor fall out from under him. His Blanca would be wed to another... While he would be forced to marry the daughter of some northern barbarian.

“But that’s only half the trouble,” the king said, as if in ridicule. “It isn’t so easy to marry the daughter of a konung. They live by a set of ancient local customs. Claimants to the hand of a konung’s daughter are required to undergo a series of tests.”

“Claimants?” Louis asked mechanically. He didn’t actually care, but he asked the question with intent. His father couldn’t be allowed to notice his downtrodden state.

“Ghm,” the king stroked his chin. “That brings us to another problem... There are many that wish to bind themselves to Bjørn Sharptooth by marriage. He is one of the most influential rulers in Northland. There are many claimants to his daughter’s hand. We have reason to believe several of them are gifted.”

Louis perked up. He saw a glimmer of hope.

“Father,” he came. “I am prepared to do whatever it takes to reinforce our influence in the northern borderlands... But willingness is not all it will take. I am no warrior. As much as I might want to, I will fail that test. As a matter of fact, if some of the claimants are truly gifted then, alas, few in Vestonia would stand a chance of prevailing.”

“You are right, son,” the king came sullenly and slammed his fist on the table: “What unfortunate timing for Zoé de Namur to leave with her combatants!”

Trying in vain to hide his delight, Louis asked:

“What about our other strykers?”

“I need them for the war,” the king shot out. “But it seems I will have no choice but to send Lord Gray with you.”

All his hopes were shattered... Louis breathed a fated sigh. Lord Gray was the king’s most powerful stryker. He could be trusted to take on any task.

“Alright, my son,” the king waved. “That is my concern. Yours is to be prepared to depart for the North at a moment’s notice. You may go.”

Louis bowed and, shivering in spite and malice, made his way to the front door. If the king could read his son’s thoughts, he’d have been horrified at how cruelly he was imagining executing his own father.