fil de la mer

Ch. 5

Les murmures des flots

The sky never stopped crying since that man left his manor, as the heavens themselves were apparently mourning the loss of the gentle figure appeared out of nowhere.

Duke Wriothesley, unable to shake off the strange encounter, found himself wandering the hallowed halls of his estate, his mind adrift. The light that filtred through danced on the long walls, casting flickering shadows that seemed to whisper secrets about the elusive guest. The grand clock in the foyer chimed solemnly, counting the hours that stretched into an eternity of contemplation.

He sighed deeply.

He recalled the scent of brine that had clung to Neuvillette's cloak, a peculiar yet familiar fragrance that reminded him of the sea.

Determined to unravel the mystery, Duke Wriothesley opted to visit the Court of Fontaine, the epicenter of social intrigue where whispers of the stranger might have surfaced.

The journey was a blur of cobblestone streets and the chaos of city life, yet the duke's thoughts remained steadfastly on Neuvillette. Upon arriving at the grandiose court, the crunch of his boots on the gravel driveway echoing through the afternoon air. The grandeur of the building loomed before him, a testament to the opulence of the aristocracy.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of the sea that seemed to follow him like a specter.

The court buzzed with the electric energy of gossip and political maneuvering. Ladies in their finest silks and lords adorned with gleaming jewels swarmed around him, their faces a masquerade of feigned interest and veiled ambition.

Wriothesley navigated through the throng, his eyes searching for a glimpse of the stranger's piercing gaze. The multitude of voices grew louder as he approached the heart of the assembly, yet the words remained indistinct, a blur of sounds that only heightened his anticipation.

He did not have a plan to stick to, nor a title to ask for. The only lead he had was the sound of his name. He approached a small group of courtiers, hoping to catch a whiff of something familiar.

The air was thick with the aroma of perfumes and candles, but the briny scent was nowhere to be found.

Duke Wriothesley felt a growing sense of urgency as the hours ticked by. He knew that in this game of whispers and nods, time was a luxury that could not be squandered.

He spotted a lady in a bordeaux attire, her eyes a bright turquoise, standing by the grand windows that overlooked the garden. She looked lost in thought, a stark contrast to the flurry of activity around her. He approached her, his curiosity piqued by the color of her salmon hair.

"Pardon me, Lady," he said with a courteous bow, "have you by any chance encountered a gentleman by the name of Neuvillette?"

Her eyes flickered with surprise before she composed herself. "Ah, the mysterious guest," she murmured with a big knowing smile. "You must be Duke Wriothesley. I've heard whispers of your search: people do nothing but talk about you and, the man dressed in blue."

Wriothesley's heart skipped a beat. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately not, but I do know of his presence," the lady replied, her smile hinting at the intrigue that danced on her lips. "He is quite the enigma here in Fontaine, a subject of both fascination and speculation."

Her words only fueled Wriothesley's determination. "What can you tell me?"

The lady leaned in, her voice a hushed secret. "They say he moves like a shadow, attending only the most exclusive gatherings, yet never truly participating. He seems to be a lonely man, leaving us all to wonder who is he really? And why he came here."