Her Rightful Place

12: The Realization

"Oh...." Mireille gasps, unable to say anything more as Clothilde flings open the door to a suite furnished in pale pink and gold. Christelle lets out a squeak and dashes from room to room, exclaiming over everything she finds. Mireille simply sinks into the nearest chair, completely overwhelmed.

"Can I help you with anything, milady?" Clothilde asks Mireille with a skeptical look. Mireille just stares at the woman and shakes her head, unable to reply. "Well, you may have the King and Queen convinced, but you've not convinced me. Mere street riffraff, that's all you are. You won't last a week in this palace. I'm a more fit pretender as Princess than you, or I would be with your looks." Mireille's face hardens as the rather plain, middle-aged serving-woman speaks; she can somehow understand most of it. Indeed, she has been feeling rather peculiar all night, as flashes of the life she once called her own return to her. She rises to her feet, exhaustion and bewilderment falling from her like an old garment, leaving regal indignation in their place.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I've lived in a village for quite some time, most of my life. For the first time in my memory, I have a family that calls me its own, one that I might feasibly belong to by blood, and I'll not have a jealous tart like you talking me down when I've lived a harder life than you've had here most of my life. It's not all I'd hoped for, and I foresee much struggle here, but you've certainly no right to judge whether or not I'm the flesh and blood of your rulers. They have decided, and I for one intend to respect their decision, no matter what discomfort and change it brings me," Mireille replies firmly in a bizarre mix of Vyrunian and Mordalcean. Christelle, having returned to the room at the insults to her friend, struggles to translate the Mordalcean words, but Clothilde understands quite enough and stands in the doorway with her jaw on the floor.

"It seems I have underestimated you, Your Highness. But I maintain that it will not be easy for you here. I place myself at your service."

"Thank you. I bid you good night."

Clothilde curtseys and leaves, and Mireille collapses back into her chair, completely drained. Christelle rushes to her side with concern written across her features.

"Are you all right, lovely? She had no right to say anything like that to you," Christelle soothes, stroking Mireille's hair tenderly. Mireille just closes her eyes and groans almost inaudibly.

"But she did, and there will be many more like her," she whispers. "They've seen too many pretenders, and I'm too common in speech and deportment to be anything like a princess ought to be. I'm a foreign pretender to their throne as far as they can see." She sighs heavily and drops her face into her hands. "What have I gotten us into, Christelle?" The blonde lifts Mireille's face with a look of fearsome determination.

"You've not gotten us into anything we can't handle, and we will prove everyone who doubts you wrong. You'll see. Everything will work out fine."

"Even if we can convince the servants that I belong here, look at me! And the Queen.... Forgive me, but I cannot call her Mother. She is nothing like me except in looks, and I can barely tolerate her. I don't know how I am to stay here, Christelle. When Xavier comes we must find a way for him to--"

"The only way he can get you out of here is to take you back to Mordalce as his bride. He is plainly enamored of you, but even he would not jeopardize relations between our countries by kidnapping the newly returned Princess of Vyrunia. If you want to get out of here, you must learn to play their game well enough that they will concede to marriage negotiations. Besides, the King seems much more amiable. With any luck, he'll be in charge of your education and you will see far more of him that the Queen. I expect she spends the majority of her life in the chapel, anyway."

"No doubt she expects me to join her, when I'm not studying all those subjects she intends me to learn. The King is indeed wonderful, a better father than I can ever ask for, but as he said, he's the King and he rules things, and I fear he will be too busy to spend overmuch time with me. And as for marriage, have you lost your senses completely? I'm no more ready for marriage than I am to be a princess! I hardly let anyone touch me, let alone...." She shivers. "And the idea of being forever chained to someone I hardly know is absolutely appalling!"

"I know, Mireille, but what choice do you have? We're here now." She sighs. "I could kill that Prince, for suggesting you come here so unprepared, with no idea what to expect... No one should have the right to make you so unhappy." Mireille revitalizes somewhat at Christelle's mention of killing the Prince.

"I'm sure he only meant to help me. At the time it seemed like the best solution, and I did agree to it. I hardly think it's his fault. On the bright side, the accommodations are quite lovely, at least," Mireille remarks, uncharacteristically optimistic. Christelle arches an eyebrow, questioning this turnaround, but chooses not to voice her inquiries. She likes him rather more than she admits, if she will defend him in such a way. But she's crazy, to think of going through with this for his sake. But then, in her place.... I'd probably do the same, for a family and a chance to be with him. I'm sure the family is far from what we hoped for, but that cannot be helped. We will make the best of it, and Mireille is a quick learner. She'll be in the Prince's arms in no time, and I'll be with Jerôme.