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Lionel was munching on a slice of pie when everything went wrong. The hall went abruptly quiet just as he had it down to the thick crust.
The end of semester celebrations were officially in honor of those graduating, but younger students were encouraged to attend. It was a last chance for the lordly students in their final year to pass on wisdom to their juniors... and to meddle in the pecking order.
Not caring much for the games of privilege, Lionel was only there for the food.
Students outside of the nobility were not invited to the exclusive gathering inside the hall. Younger sons or the heirs to unentailed estates would have their own uncatered celebration outside in the quad, which would quickly split to more private gatherings by cliques within the small town outside the College of Saint Clair.
For the most part, Lionel would have been content to join them, but he knew there would be bills for food eaten, for drinks consumed (or wastefully quaffed), and then likely property damage. The usual problems when the young gentlemen celebrated without the fairer sex.
There was little enough money left in Lionel's purse as the year drew to a close. He had enough left for a coach back to his uncle's house in Bordeaux, and little more than that would cost. And since the regular meals were canceled today in favor of the parties (it would be hard to feed the entire student body in the same hall where an admittedly informal ball was taking place), his only option for a free meal was to take advantage of technicality and join his betters.
Now the heirs to titles and the women who wanted to wed them had fallen silent and Lionel wondered why.
When he looked around, a surprising number of heads had turned towards him. He swallowed. "I'm allowed to be here, I'm a Seigneur in my own right," he mumbled defensively. it might be very lowest rank of entitlement, but it was his since his parents' untimely death.
"It's not true, that's not true!" a woman exclaimed from the front of the hall.
Lionel stared in the direction of the voice - the stairs that led up from the hall to the balcony level and the rooms off from it. All he saw was a blur, unsurprisingly. Reaching into his pocket, the young man unfolded his spectacles and hooked them carefully into place.
Now in focus, he saw the student body's most distinguished member upon the stair. Prince Armel de Occitan et Aquitaine et Gascony, Comte de Limoges was the bearer of many names and titles that amounted to his being the only legitimate son of the king. He was flanked today by three others: Florian de Auch, the prince's aide and one of Lionel's fellow second year students on his right and Lady Blanche d'Poitiers on the prince's right arm. Another girl was behind Blanche, a redheaded first year.
That was wrong, wasn't it? Shouldn't it be Florian's sister, Lady Cassandre d'Auch, that was at the prince's side? Lionel would be the first to admit he probably didn't pay as much attention as he should to the affairs of the upper nobility, but could he have gotten it wrong who the prince was betrothed to?
Lionel thought he'd seen the redhead around the library, noting her mostly as someone who - like himself - needed spectacles to read. Although... yes, she'd been in contention to be Cassandre's lady-in-waiting? He'd been around for that announcement - and Blanche was the one chosen for that honor. Which must mean that he was right about Cassandre being the prince's future bride and...
"What's going on?" he asked one upperclassman.
Being told to shut up wouldn't have surprised him, but instead the graduating student stared at him in horror as if Lionel had suddenly developed some deadly contagious disease and backed away so sharply that he walked into a table.
This drew even more attention to Lionel and he looked around in confusion as other people drew back. Mutterings of "It's him!" and "How could he?" were quite audible to Lionel - there was nothing wrong with his ears!
"Lionel de Berry!"
He looked up at his name, seeing the crown prince pointing right at him, red faced in anger. "Uhm... yes?"
"You dare still stand here?"
Lionel blinked. Looked around. Yes, this was still the great hall of the college. "Uh, I am a student here? So attending the hall is generally encouraged? I even have an invitation to this party?" He probably shouldn't be presenting those statements as if they were questions, should he?
People pulled aside, not wanting to stand between the angry prince and Lionel. Fair enough, Lionel wasn't enthused about being here either. However, this did reveal the location of Lady Cassandre.
The prince's fiancée was knelt on the floor at the foot of the stairs, tears flowing down her face. Lionel had never seen the dignified and beautiful Cassandre lose her composure in such a way. Honestly, he'd never seen many girls crying... that was more of a private thing.
Surely there was something that ought to be done... He thought back to books on decorum and etiquette. Yes, a gentleman should offer his handkerchief and aid to a lady in distress. Looking at the prince and Florian, neither seemed about to do so. And the other male students were also not being forward about it.
Oh. That... left him, Lionel thought.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, the student stepped forwards through the path now open to him. Fumbling in his pockets, he found a handkerchief - even a clean one! - and dropped to one knee before the blonde. “Are you… uh, no stupid question. Here,” he proffered the handkerchief. “You can… uh…” He paused in miming wiping his face. “Yes, you’d know that, obviously.”
“Aha!” the prince declared, pointing at Lionel. (The last time Lionel had pointed at someone else, he’d had the hand smacked with a ruler to remind him it was rude to point at people). “You see! Evidence that the two of them are lovers!”
What?
Lionel was beginning to wonder if Prince Armel was quite himself. Had he been drugged? Ensorcelled by dark magic? Surely he had security to protect him from such things. “Uh, offering a handkerchief to a lady in need is… more or less the least a gentleman should do?” he pointed out tentatively. “You, uh, you quite publicly offered your own handkerchief to Lady Blanche when she was crying, uh… in happiness, you understand, Lady Cassandre. Lady Blanche was so happy to be your lady-in-waiting that she cried and the prince offered his handkerchief. That, uh, didn’t mean they were lovers.” He paused. “I think? No, I don’t recall anyone saying that.”
He’d thought it was quiet before. The utter lack of whispers now told him that he’d been wrong. He wasn’t sure that anyone save himself was breathing. Even Cassandre’s sobs had broken off as she stared up at him, holding his handkerchief against her face.
Armel’s face was no longer red, he was literally pale with rage. “You vile blackguard!”
That was a bit much. Actually it was a lot much. Duels had been fought…
“You, Seigneur de Berry, are the instrument of Lady d’Auch’s infidelity! And you dare to lecture me on propriety!” Armel drew out a wad of papers, several pages, all marked by a formal looking seal. “We have a witness and her testimony to your obscene activities!”
Lionel’s blood went cold and everything in the room seemed to come into a tighter focus than even his spectacles could manage.
That wasn’t a lot. It wasn’t even something worthy of a duel. People got executed for infidelity with royal wives. Or daughters. Or mistresses. Or, he supposed, in this case a fiancée.
What in every hell was going on?
Was someone trying to kill him? Why? He was the most inoffensive of men! He was, to be brutally honest, a bit surprised that the prince even knew that he existed.
Lionel scratched his head, trying to pretend that he wasn’t about to faint with terror. “T-that’s quite a… um, quite a weighty sta… er, accusation?” he bumbled. “Could you…” He raked his hair back from his face and took a deep breath. “Your highness, I cannot read those papers when you’re waving them around. Please hold them still.” Right, he thought. Father Hugues should be his model. The old monk who taught law and logic, acerbic and always razor precise.
“Yes, yes,” he continued as Armel, apparently disconcerted by being lectured, complied. “And your witness?”
Armel gestured to the redhead. “Lady Felicite has testified to your debaucheries, de Berry.”
Ah, that was her name.
“Felicite d’Bayonne,” Cassandre murmured, sounding horrified and disbelieving. “How could…”
“Ah yes, the other girl who was crying over the lady-in-waiting position,” Lionel confirmed. Could he split the group up? “The one you didn’t give your handkerchief to, Prince Armel. I assume that means that no one has accused you of having an a-affair with her.”
Probably a good job he’d not approached her in the library, he thought privately. Bayonne’s lord was a comte, well above Lionel’s own station. The town was a trading port south of Bordeaux, his memory prompted him. Something of a neighbor to the lands of Duc de Auch.
“I am not having an affair with anyone!” Armel shouted furiously.
“You are the one who took my offering of a handkerchief as evidence of extramarital relations, your highness.” Lionel folded his arms. “And if I might say, Lord Florian, as the cousin of Lady Cassandre, I really would expect you to offer a kinsman’s arm at the least… since handkerchiefs are apparently now confused with ‘hanky-panky’.” He pronounced the last two words with as much derision as he could manage.
Armel leapt down the stairs, standing right over Lionel and making - in the older student’s view - quite shameless use of his greater height. “Stop blabbering about handkerchiefs, you’re trying to cover for our real evidence!”
Lionel sighed and then snatched the papers out of the prince’s hand. Ha, as if someone being taller than him was intimidating. Practically every young gentleman here was taller than him. “Right, let’s have a look at this.”
There were several pages, written in a neat and tight script. What they detailed would - under less serious circumstances - have sent Lionel fleeing from the room. He wasn’t entirely sure what all of the described acts even were, but the very idea of himself engaging in those he did recognise with someone as beautiful with Lady Cassandre was… well, fantastical. Titillating, but under the circumstances…
“My goodness,” he conceded. “I must say that I feel very disappointed. Quite angry, in fact.” He raised his voice and tried to project the image of a man on the brink of losing his temper.
Florian stepped down to stand by the prince. “You are angry? You?!”
“Quite so!” Lionel barked, voice sharp. “Why do I remember none of this? I feel very cheated! To share such intimate activities with a woman of such beauty, intelligence and charm would be a matter of pride for any gentlemen.” He flipped through the papers and realized there was more on the back of them. Wait, that could work.
“Lady d’Bayonne,” he asked suddenly. “These all took place on one occasion? I assume as much - no doubt you would have reported something like this to his highness at the earliest opportunity!”
“Er, yes?” the redhead admitted nervously. “That’s right.”
“Lady Cassandre and I did all of this…” Lionel leafed through the papers, letting everyone see just how much was written on all of them. “On just one occasion?”
“No, that never happened!” Cassandre came to her feet and caught Lionel’s elbow, reaching for the papers.
“Of course it happened! You dare accuse me of falsehood…?!” Armel shouted and tried to slap her.
Lionel backstepped, almost tripping as he drew Cassandre with him. He handed her the papers as Armel tried to regain his dignity. “I would never accuse Lady Felicite of lying,” he declared. “And the word of the prince must be taken to be honest and infallible. But to do all of this…”
There was an eep from Cassandre, the young lady’s face crimson in embarrassment as she read the lurid description of what they were accused of her in black and white on the page.
“Why,” Lionel declared. “That must have taken us hours. And many hours at that. I find it hard to believe that any man and woman could accomplish so much in the span of less than an entire night.”
There was a “My goodness” from the crowd and Lady Giselle - Florian’s own betrothed - began to fan herself furiously.
Lionel thought frantically. He had a hook, now what to do with it… Aha!
He turned again to Felicite. “I feel, I say again, deeply cheated that I have by some unknown means - some dark magic, perhaps? - been deprived of the memory. Surely to spend a night in such sweet lovemaking would be the most treasured memory of any man.”
“You fucking…” Florian hissed.
“Yes, exactly,” Lionel said, waving off the way that the lordling’s fist was drawn back. If he punched him, he punched him - it was out of Lionel’s hands. He spoke more quickly. “And you had a direct view of this, Lady Felicite? You watched as Lady Cassandre and I carried out what would appear to be a veritable marathon of carnality?”
The redhead’s pale skin meant that her blush was plainly visible. It went all the way to her ears. “Y-yes,” she squeaked nervously.
Lionel did not claim to be a master of reading people’s expressions, but he was fairly sure that - quite aside from all the other evidence - that he was being lied to. And he was confident that people in the hall far better at reading faces than he would have a similar opinion.
“It, uh, did not occur to you at any point to interrupt us?” he asked gently.
Felicite looked around nervously. “I… I…”
“Or,” Lionel added thoughtfully, “To go and fetch someone to stop the matter? It would appear that you had enough time…”
The girl cringed. “I was shocked! And too embarrassed!” she exclaimed loudly.
“Shocked and embarrassed!” Cassandre exclaimed loudly. She threw the papers of evidence aside (there was a discreet rush of hands to gather them up) and glared vengefully at Felicite. “You were either taking detailed notes or you memorized everything. If I did every l-lewd thing on those papers, what does it say about you who claims to have watched t-the Seigneur and I for hours and hours?”
Felicite virtually wobbled on the stair and no one, not even Blanche who was nearest, seemed inclined to steady her.
And if all that he wanted was to drag Felicite down for her lies, Lionel thought, this would do it well. Whatever else had been said, she would now carry the reputation of a girl so perverse as to spy on others' bedroom activities. That was not something that most husbands would enjoy, and the girl had essentially done it to herself.
But it wasn’t enough get Lionel’s head out of a noose. No, he needed to turn this into even more of a farce.
“Now, m-my lady,” he told Cassandre, “That, I believe, is entirely reasonable once we look at this logically.”
“Logically?!” she exclaimed angrily.
“Of course she was fascinated,” Lionel exclaimed quickly, recalling the advice of one helpful senior: the wrath of a woman is far more dangerous than that of any man. “One might even say that she was enthralled. For are you not the most beautiful of ladies in the academy, reputed widely for your kindness and wit?”
“Seigneur, you will make me blush.” (She was already blushing, if only from what she’d read. It did not detract from her looks.)
“I may have no recollection of the event she describes, and I believe entirely that you are similarly without memory of it,” Lionel said. He and Cassandre were almost exactly of a height, he noted. He had not previously ever come close enough to the lady to discover this, though what significance it might ever have he could not imagine. “Yet I have no problem believing that such an amazing woman could inspire me to the heights of love-making described by Lady Felicite. You deserve no less.”
Then he turned around. “And consider this. I must have somehow been similarly inspirational. This was not a one-sided event, by what I read. Heed me, all of you. A lady of peerless virtue, a woman with absolutely everything to lose - her family’s pride, the respect of her peers, the royal marriage promised to her - for that woman to throw everything aside, how seductive must I be?”
Armel choked.
Lionel spun and pointed at him. “You sir, are widely acclaimed. Everyone in the kingdom knows of your beauty, your charm. You are, while only in your first year, considered a rival to the finest of our graduates in your intellect, your sword arm and your grasp of magic. More than once, I have heard it said that not only are you a peerless prince within fair Occitan, but that no other kingdom known to man could boast a better heir. And yet, I was able to inspire your own future bride to scorn you for me?”
The short student raised both hands. “I must be a veritable god of the bedroom!” he shouted.
There was a choke from Lady Giselle, the brunette lady having to lean upon Lady Therese for mutual support as the two ladies tried desperately not to laugh out loud. Therese’s brother Thierry looked at the pair in bemusement.
“And now,” Lionel continued, indicating Felicite with a wave of his hand. “Imagine this poor lady. We were all there when she was not chosen as your lady-in-waiting, Cassandre. She was in tears! It is plain that she adores you, and rightly so. And there she was, in close company to the lady she admires most, whose affection and attention she desires…”
Felicite seemed quite uncomfortable with this description, looking aside and away from everyone.
“And she finds herself witnessing that same amazing lady being loved and making love to, a man whose charisma is so titanic that even the woman least likely to abandon her fiance yields to temptation?” Lionel asked. He looked around the room at the other ladies present. “My fair damsels, I can only apologize. I had no idea until the Prince declared it to be so that my very presence was such a sweet torture to you. Yet he has himself declared that I am such a paragon of manly virtues that even the inestimable Lady Cassandre found herself so impassioned as to throw everything aside for my love. Prince Armel himself has declared that I am so virile that I can bring a woman to the heights of pleasure time and again through all the hours of night.”
“I did not…”
Lionel indicated the papers, which were now circulating the room. “Your highness has attested to the validity of the papers.” Fans were waving all around the room as women examined the documents. Men trying to get hold of them were uniformly unsuccessful. “The mere fact that this party has not degenerated into an o-orgy can only be the result of near superhuman self-control on your parts. Fair ladies, I salute you.”
And then Lionel raised his finger.
“Since my own memory has apparently been erased, as has that of Lady Cassandre, it must follow that any other lady here might have similarly been deprived of recall when it comes to intimate encounters.”
All eyes snapped to Lionel.
“I must truly regret that this may impact upon the reputations of those here,” Lionel said with honest regret. “But his highness’ testimony raises the very real possibility that any lady here may have enjoyed my company without either of us now remembering it.”
“Are you suggesting that any woman here would sink to spend time with you?!” shouted Florian irately. He was about to strike Lionel, but a plate flew across the room - propelled by the arm of his fiancée.
“You cretin,” Giselle declared ringingly. “Seigneur de Berry is not suggesting that. It’s you and the prince who has implied it.”
“I make no accusation myself, of course,” Lionel said soothingly. “But the fact is this: no matter how great the restraint of any woman here, I can see no incentive stronger for resisting my unsuspected charms than a royal marriage to the most desired gentleman of the college. And yet, since Lady Cassandre apparently did not resist that impulse… could anyone?”
“T-th-that’s a matter of her low morals!” Blanche exclaimed from the stair, where she had been watching in apparent disbelief.
There was a resounding slap and the braided girl was left clutching her cheek, staring in disbelief at a fuming Felicite. “Lady Cassandre does not have low morals!” the redhead shouted angrily.
“...why did you choose Blanche over Felicite?” Lionel asked Cassandre, curiosity overwhelming him.
Her eyes were hard. “His highness insisted.” Cassandre’s voice was clipped and clear, carrying across the room. “And I believe we all now know why.”
Lionel scratched his chin thoughtfully. “So giving a handkerchief does mean…” Something about Cassandre’s expression told him he was on dangerous ground. “Ah, no that’s when a lady gives a favor. I thought it didn’t sound right.”
“You,” Armel declared angrily, “Are a disgusting lothario who is trying to drag everyone else in his wake.” He pointed at Lionel once more. “Your lies and glib excuses count for nothing. The truth will out.”
“I believe I stated quite clearly that I would never dare dispute your total honesty, your highness,” Lionel told him politely. “I do regret that your testimony makes it rather implausible that any lady currently a student here, including Lady Blanche, can be considered as a bride for you. I, er, do regret that rather more for some ladies than others.”
“You laid hands on Blanche?!”
Lionel was beginning to suspect that claims of prince Armel’s intelligence were overstated. “How would I know?”
“What about my sister?” Lord Thierry exclaimed, seizing hold of Therese protectively. “If you have laid one finger on my sweet and innocent sister, I will…”
He was cut off when the sweet and innocent sister stamped on his foot. “Stop being a fool, Thierry.”
Meanwhile, Felicite had descended the stairs and was now sitting on the lowest step, head in her hands. Lionel studied her and then realized that she was crying. And he’d given his handkerchief to Cassandre… a study of his pockets determined that he didn’t have any more.
“What are you looking for?” the crown prince’s (presumably now former) fiancée asked him in a low voice.
“Uh, checking for another handkerchief,” he confessed, indicating the distraught redhead.
Cassandre gave him a perplexed look. “You do know that she just accused you of… um… well, you read that.”
“I know,” Lionel admitted. “But she’s still a lady in distress.”
“And you are apparently a rare gentleman,” she told him, sounding unsure what to make of that. “Well, here.” She passed him his handkerchief.
Lionel crossed to Felicite and offered it. “Here, you… uh, you look like you need this?”
She looked up, eyes already red-rimmed. “You’re… I’m so sorry.”
Well that was good. “Alright.” He waved the handkerchief in front of her. “It’s a little used but…”
“Lady Cassandre used it?” Felicite almost snatched it from his hand. “Oh what have I done!”
“I’d like to know that as well,” Cassandre told her. “I think I’m owed an explanation.”
“It all… seemed to make sense at the time,” Felicite said weakly. “I was… I was just so angry when you turned me down for Blanche.”
Lionel didn’t think being a lady-in-waiting was such a cutthroat business.
“I would have been wiser to ignore Armel,” Cassandre told her. “But -”
“How are you construing any of this as my fault,” the prince protested. “All these accusations don’t change the fact that you betrayed our engagement, Cassandre. Our betrothal is over!”
“Our betrothal will be over,” she said forbiddingly, “Once my father hears of this. And doubly over when your father does. Given King Armand’s reputation I suspect he will be more angry at you over any claims of being cuckolded than he will be with any alleged cuckold. However, until then I can at least do one more thing.”
Everyone looked over at her.
“Lady Blanche d’Poitiers,” Cassandre declared, “Given your unfaithfulness to myself and reasonable doubts regarding your chastity, I am dismissing you from your service as my lady-in-waiting.”
“You can’t do that!” protested Florian.
“I just did.” The duke’s daughter turned to her cousin with contempt in her eyes. “And I’ll further remind you that this debacle does your chances of marrying ‘sweet Blanche’ no favors either. Bear in mind that as soon as I’m no longer engaged to the crown prince, the contract removing my future husband as an heir to father’s duchy is now void - unless father produces a son, the next Duc de Auch will be by right of marriage to me!”
Florian’s eyes went wide in horror.
“I have heard enough of this!” Armel snapped. “My father will assuredly hear of this and these ridiculous claims of dark magic will not stand up to examination! You are both fully aware of what you have done.”
“Everyone in this room is aware by now,” Lionel said with false cheer. “For hours and hours apparently. My thanks, your highness. Without your efforts I wouldn’t know that I am apparently the kingdom’s greatest lover.”
Cassandre jabbed Lionel below the ribs with her elbow, but not very hard so he didn’t think she was displeased.
“I owe you an apology,” she told him as they watched Armel and Blanche leave. “This was all aimed at me, but you’ve been dragged into it.”
Lionel felt tension flow out of him with the prince’s departure. “Er, there’s nothing for you to say sorry for,” he managed. “I mean, you didn’t come up with any of this.”
“But still…”
“And honestly, I really meant it: if I really had been so charming as to win your heart then I would be so proud I think I’d die.” He fumbled off his glasses, it was really easier to talk to a beautiful lady when he couldn’t quite see how lovely they were.
For a moment there was no reply from Cassandre and then she turned slightly, facing Felicite. “And what will I do with you?”
“W-whatever you want,” the Comte’s daughter said. “I-I just wanted your attention, I don’t know why I did all this now.”
“Maybe there is something to this dark magic idea,” Giselle declared, joining them.
“What!” Florian shouted. “Are you saying that you did dally with this bastard son of a -”
“My late father was a chevalier,” Lionel snapped sharply, “and he was properly wed to my mother. Are you sure you can say the same?”
“How dare you accuse me of bastardy!”
“W-well you’re hardly acting like true kin to Lady Cassandre!”
“Ha,” Giselle laughed sharply. “He has you there, Florian. Now go chase after your sweet Blanche.”
The boy shook his head vigorously. “I can’t leave you here with this lothario!”
“You’ve been leaving me behind since you met the prince’s favorite,” the brunette accused him flatly. “And you have no further obligations to me. Daddy will be quite annoyed about your behavior so our betrothal will be over just as fast as Cassandre’s.”
“This is all your fault, de Berry!”
“I w-wish I could take the credit,” Lionel stammered, “But you did most of it.”
“We’ll see what your father says when I tell him about this,” Florian threatened Giselle.
The girl tilted her head and then shrugged. “Tell him about this as well then.” And then she stepped right up to Lionel and -
Oh my goodness.
So this is what kissing was about. He could feel his ears go red - fortunately Giselle had her hands either side of his head so no one could see. The young man was also rather conscious of two soft pressures against his chest.
After long enough that Lionel wasn’t sure he could have survived without breathing much longer, Giselle drew back, licking her lips. “Well now.”
“Giselle!” Therese exclaimed. “So bold!”
“Well if I’m going to be accused of it anyway, I may as well be guilty,” the brunette declared breezily. “Go away Florian. You’re still Armel’s aide, you’re supposed to be keeping him out of trouble. Although given that you’re so bad at it you might lose that as well.”
Looking around, Lionel could see that others were leaving the hall. Apparently the party was over. He couldn’t blame them. The entire confrontation had done nothing for his appetite.
Cassandre grabbed hold of Giselle’s wrist. “He saved me, Giselle. I’m the one who should be kissing him.”
“Allegedly you’ve had more than your fair share already,” she said unrepentantly. “Why don’t you kiss Felicite instead? She obviously has a crush on you.”
Both Cassandre and Felicite squeaked nervously.
“You hadn’t noticed?” Therese asked, somewhat incredulously. “If that…” she gestured around the room, “document wasn’t a genuine account then she’s spent an awful lot of time coming up with ideas about what she’d like someone to do with you. And I doubt anyone actually has that many fantasies without wanting to be involved.” There was absolutely no sign of the papers and Lionel had no idea where - or with whom - they’d ended up.
Lionel was fairly sure he wasn’t supposed to be listening to ladies talk about this, but he was still feeling lightheaded after the kiss so he decided to fall back on saying nothing and hoping they’d forget he was there. That usually worked.
“So,” Therese asked Giselle. “More importantly, how does Seigneur Lionel rate on the ‘world’s greatest lover’ scale?”
“Urk.” His ultimate defense had failed him.
“Better than Florian, that’s for sure,” came the reply.
“Therese, don’t ask about that sort of thing!” Thierry protested. “Now come away, we should write home about this.” The senior glared at Lionel. “You’ve made powerful enemies tonight, seigneur. Stay away from my family.”
Therese sighed. “Thierry, did you ever read that a man is measured by his enemies. The good seigneur is clearly not only a legendary lover, but also powerful and confident. You can write back to father whatever you like, but I’m fairly sure he’s not going to be upset I’m making a connection with the kingdom’s young hero.”
Uh, what young hero?
“You’ll drag your reputation into the dirt!” hissed Thierry.
“The idiot prince already did that to every lady at the college,” the girl said. She brushed her curly hair back. “So, this orgy you mentioned, Seigneur Lionel. Where do we begin?”
There was a crash as Thierry hit the floor.
“...what happened?” Lionel asked. Had someone struck the young lord?
“My brother has a nervous disposition,” Therese told him, taking hold of Lionel’s arm. “He fainted.”
“Oh.” Lionel frowned. “Should we…”
“Just leave him, the staff will take care of it.” She reached up and touched his face. “My goodness, you do rely on your spectacles, don’t you?”
“I can’t see very well without them,” he confessed.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to get closer,” Cassandre said decisively. “We can continue this in my chamber. As Giselle says, there’s no point worrying about my reputation at this point.”
Did she mean this conversation or Therese’s o-orgy idea? Lionel wondered nervously. Conversation, he was sure. And with Giselle and Therese on either side of him, he didn’t really have a choice.
There was surprised squeak from Felicite as she was pulled to her feet. “You’re coming too,” the duke’s daughter added. “If you’re involved then you’re involved but no more writing up your fantasies and showing them to other people.”
The party had gone wrong, but that wasn’t his fault. And as he was hustled away by four very attractive young ladies, Lionel had a definite suspicion that if this was wrong then he didn’t want things to go right.