How the Axe Falls

Chapter 3

Vincent Du Puis brought the gilded goblet once more to his lips, a second sip twisting his mouth as unpleasantly as the first had.

The wine was unspeakably vile, though, he supposed it shouldn't have come as a surprise by now. This land, Borne, they called it, reeked of the Devil's filth, and magic was only the tip of the iceberg. Had he known the King's gift of the office of Viscount would have come at such a price as this, he would have outright refused it.

The Viscount grimaced at the sight of two women ascending the hill beyond the houses, their drab, grey dresses pulled up to their knees.

Oh how he missed the women of Pari, oh yes, the pale jewels of Clovaine; the everlasting fragrance of freshly baked goods wafting from every street corner; but most of all, he missed the wine. Borne wine didn't even look right.

The Viscount sighed pejoratively. At the very least he had the executions to entertain him, and he'd already caught that girl who had set one of the peasant's cattle on fire. Vincent snorted into the goblet. He'd barely managed to utter the execution order in between fits of laughter when the guards had informed him. There hadn't been any opportunities afterwards to exact the King's justice, not that it stopped him from having his fun.

The curled points of his oiled moustache twitched as he observed the returning throng of villagers. Who had it been this time? Wait... who had he sent to the executioner? He faintly recalled a woman with a sheen of black hair... and striking blue eyes. Ah yes! His fellow countrywoman. Only a Clovainey could have had eyes as strikingly blue as hers. He ran a finger along the thin scar crossing his cheek. He was certain the woman would have killed him, had the guards not caught her in the act.

Absently, he took a third sip from the goblet and ended up spitting out the contents on the window. The goblet made a thud on the carpeted floor as he choked back the rest of the wine.

The girl behind him, lounging across a dozen or so cushions, watched the Viscount with mild interest as he stumbled about, gagging theatrically. With her tanned, olive skin and startlingly green eyes, it was clear that she too was not of Borne, nor Clovaine for that matter.

She had proclaimed herself another gift from his eminence, King Ducard, no doubt to make up for his Grace's last 'present.' Looking at her now, white gown clinging tightly to her curved form, he knew she was not to his taste – too dark and too wide hips by far. He supposed she was young enough for his liking but annoyingly opinionated. Still, she was a more pleasurable alternative to the hideous rabble below.

'Is my Lord well?' the girl touched her lips concernedly.

'Yes, yes, I'm fine!' Vincent spat out a reply. 'GASCARD!'

A patter of footsteps, to rival the sudden increased ferocity of rain outside, followed the Viscount's cries.

A small man, half bald, with the rest of his hair greased against the back of his head, suddenly appeared. His back was already hunched over into a low bow before he'd even reached the chamber's archway.

'My lord, how may I serve?' Gascard said, his head almost hanging between his knees.

'How may I serve,' the Viscount mimicked the man's high-pitched voice. 'Fool! Do you not see the wine? Clean it up!'

The man squeaked an apology before bolting back down the stairs.

Dabbing at his mouth with a white handkerchief, the Viscount returned to the wine spattered window.

'How much longer will I have to preside over this cesspool?' he muttered to himself. The title of Viscount was more than deserved for his role in Ducard's court but here in Borne it was a gift without worth. In Clovaine he had held the King's ear in one hand and the delicate teat of status in the other. Over the Narrow Seas he had influence, here he had nothing.

'Does my lord worry?'

Vincent rolled his eyes. There the girl went running her foolish mouth again, asking questions, always asking questions! He shot her a dark look over his shoulder, which did nothing to dispel the arrogant pout of her lips. Vincent had half a mind to beat it out of her.

'Pick one!' Vincent swept his hand grandly across the stumpy dwellings that lined the mud path.

'I-I would never presume, my lord!'

Gascard had returned with cloths and a bowl of water. He blushed and uttered a nervous laugh when he noticed the scantily clad girl laying on the couch behind him.

The Viscount struck the man with a back-hand that sent him sprawling across the carpets, crying out a hundred different apologies.

Vincent gave a satisfied grunt. That would have to do for the time being.

'Leave us!' he commanded of the servant.

Gascard bowed and bowed again, fleeing as the Viscount raised his hand once more.

'Pick!'

The girl tilted her chin toward the window and arched an eyebrow. 'Planning another execution, my lord?'

Smart too, the Viscount noted with a shake of his head, too smart for her own good.

'The King's justice waits for no man,' Vincent puffed his chest out dramatically.

'Or woman,' the girl added dryly.

Vincent's hand twitched against his side. She was treading a very thin line with his patience.

As his eyes danced past the spatter of red trickling down the window, the Viscount spotted a young boy kneeling in one of the peasant's gardens. As he peered closer at the boy's sodden form, the child suddenly leapt over the fence and disappeared.

Another foolish boy who would amount to nothing no doubt.

******

I have to dedicate this chapter to @LeeannMor4, who encouraged me to share the Viscount's perspective!

If you enjoyed this chapter, don't hesitate to vote and tell me what you think in the comments!

TO BE CONTINUED.