Chapter 1 - La Belle de Marvous

Chapter 1 – La Belle de Marvous


Perhaps it is time for introductions. My name is…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

That probably sounds like a cheap line an unimaginative edgelord would say before going on a killing spree, but the truth is, it really doesn’t matter.

It could be Kobayashi Yusuke. It could be Andrew Taylor. Or Franz von Karltenburg. Or Vanya Raskolnikov. Or even Olegg the Hairy. Okay, it’s not the last one.

The point being, it doesn’t really matter which of the above it is. All that would do is make it potentially more relevant to certain people instead of others. But in spite of all my blustering at the beginning of this ordeal, this kind of scenario probably isn’t relatable for most people anyway. So it really doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I was a young-ish man, living fairly comfortably in a reasonably stable country some time in the early 21st century of the planet Earth. I’m sure most people reading this can at least relate to that on some level. And for those of you who can't, please don’t invade or destroy our pathetic planet, dear alien overlords. I need it to still be there when I get back.

And then there’s the fact that the aforementioned life was prematurely ended.

How, you may ask? Well, truth be told, I don’t know. It wasn’t suicide, that’s for sure. And I doubt I was murdered. I don’t remember suddenly being hurt or losing consciousness, so it probably wasn’t even when I was awake. Why would I die in my sleep?
It’s pretty troubling, being reincarnated with your old memories but no knowledge as to why you had to restart in the first place. But maybe it’s a mystery for another time…

To get back to the point, the other reason why my name is largely immaterial, is that it is no longer the name by which I am called.

Je m’appele Marie Josephine de Marvous, première fille de Duc Francois de Marvous, et héréditaire présomptif.

By which I mean, I’m Marie Josephine de Marvous, first daugter of Duke Francois de Marvous and heir presumptive.

To tell the truth, my French was never any good. My understanding of isekai pseudo-French was even worse.
Fortunately, I had been given a fresh start with which to learn it. As well as a complete rewrite of my lifestyle.
Though to be fair, said lifestyle is not that bad.

It’s summer, the month of Herairre; in this awkward ten-month calendar, my best guess would be an equivalent to June. It’s my tenth birthday, though in actuality I’d be well into my 30s if you count my previous life.

The callous sun scorches the city below with its relentless summer heat. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand in my previous life, it was overbearing heat, particularly in less-than-clean environments. I’d visited a heavily polluted city near the equator as a child, and I wound up bed-ridden and nearly catatonic from prickly heat for several days.

So to say I was grateful that this world was not identical to 18th century France was an understatement.

Opening my eyes, I gaze up at the charmingly ornate mystical blue orb that spins quietly, floating just below the ceiling, it generating a cool breeze that permeates the room, stabilizing it at a most pleasant temperature.

Sitting up in my quite luxurious four-poster bed, I stretch out from a thoroughly rejuvenating nights sleep.

“Ah~ Gokuraku desu wa!”

What the hell am I saying? Even after ten years and being given an entirely different brain, my mind is still somehow polluted with nonsense from anime.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle! Bon anniversaire!”

Oh. I forgot.

I turn to the small squadron of elite maids at my bedside. I couldn’t tell you exactly when they arrived, but at least they weren’t there the night before. I hope they weren’t there before dawn…

I remember doing catering work in my old world, getting up at 4am to serve breakfast at a hotel. Dearest maids of mine, you have my sympathies…

“B-bonjour…”

Urgh. I’m getting flashbacks of my old school French lessons. I hated those things so much. That being the case, let’s continue with the premise of all language involved being that of the aforementioned pseudo-French, whilst presenting it all in English. For clarity’s sake and ease of reading, of course.

“Milady Marie, your morning bath awaits. Please let us escort you accordingly.”

My personal head maid, Angeline, raises her previously bowed head, and moves to pry me from the bed sheets.

“Yoroshi! Tsurete agemasu wa, Angeriine!”

…I think there might be something wrong with me.

A few maids exchange nervous looks. This could be bad.

Angeline herself doesn’t bat an eyelid. The woman is quite the professional.

“…Milady, please refrain from speaking en Orientisme. It disturbs the other servants, people will think you’re speaking in tongues and will request an exorcism from Father Bernard. Again.”

“…My apologies. It was all in jest, I assure you!”. Really, I don’t know why I do it sometimes. And I really don’t want those priests near me again.

Angeline sighs. As far as I can remember, she’s been at my side since I was born. Of the entire household, she’s probably the one who understands me best, even if she doesn’t know about my secret past life.

That being the case, she strongarms me from the bed and bodily walks me to the bedroom door, out and onwards to the baths.

“Milady, today of all days there is no time for your tomboyish tomfoolery.”

“Tomboyery? Wait, that doesn’t scan in French…”

“Ahem! I trust you are capable of carrying out the ritual at the ceremony today?”

Oh yeah. That thing.

I smile, quite smugly. It’s difficult to be a genuine ojousama and to NOT be smug. I haven’t developed haughty laughter syndrome yet, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time. Probably comes with puberty.

“But of course! My performance will be mag-ni-fique!”

“And…that issue will…”

My smile fades.

“It will not come to light.”, I utter with a grim expression.

That so-called god hadn’t been bluffing. As I stare at my own reflection in the gorgeous crystal mirror of the grand baths, my body lathered in white soaps and scents by Angeline, I remember his words quite well.

My golden hair, though now soaking wet and out of position, would naturally reset to its curled state. Rather than an affected style as it was in the world of my previous life, it seems that ojousama curls are a natural occurrence in the royal bloodline; having a maintainable distinct hairstyle could only really be done by magical interference.

Similarly, my eyes, themselves a dark shade of gold, are a mark of the House of Angene, now Marvous, the oldest noble house of the Augustine Empire. They were also an indicator of magical potency; colours were ascribed to various kinds of magic, and those with this shade of dark gold eyes were naturally possessors of the finest and greatest range of magical ability, mystic polymaths in their own right.

Ordinarily.

But of course, that didn’t apply to me.

It had been a shock, obviously. Firstly, that the Duchess, my mother, would die immediately after childbirth, having born only a single heir, and a girl at that. Secondly, that said daughter, me, would have absolutely zero magical potential whatsoever.
Investigations were made. My heritage was questioned; had my mother been having an affair, was I a bastard child? The progeny of the Angene bloodline could NOT have produced an "incomprable", someone incompatible with magic. But there was no mistake. There was no secret suitor to my mother, the marriage had been happy, and the grimoires cast to check me, as well as my physical characteristics, all clearly indicated and proved my identity was not false.

And yet, I could not cast magic. Not a single spell.

It was a horrifying situation, a disastrous, worst-case scenario. If the heir to the Dukedom of Marvous was magically impotent, it would spell doom to the entire region. There were whispers that I, that the family itself, had been cursed.
I sigh heavily, and turn away from the mirror.

“Milady?”

“It’s nothing, dear Angeline. Please continue.”

I stare blankly into the alabaster foam of the exquisite marble bath. If the French royal family of the world I remembered had been wealthy, I’m fairly sure that its affluence would not have been comparable to this.

Magic, it seemed, had generally improved the standards of living of all peoples on a universal level, and as a result the nobility of the Augustine Empire seemed to have the sort of lifestyle that could only be associated with the likes of gods of various mythologies. The fine bath house of the Palace of Marvous was but one of the many wonders of the estate alone. I glance up at its variably open-air roof of polymorphic crystal, which would open and close at the slightest whim of the occupants; when open, the crystal would seep away like liquid and form a mobile, semi-autonomous dancing statue at the centre of the fountain that overlooks the baths. And of course, the baths themselves could be levitated up and outside of the bath house, overlooking the city below. Supposedly, one of the duchesses of a previous generation had made quite a spectacle of herself with this method; various paintings adorn the hallways depicting the act in irreverent glory.

One of the maids had tried to show me the simple spell to control the bath house features not too long ago, suggesting for me to try it. She had been scolded most severely, though the poor girl probably never understood why.

My magical ineptitude and suspicion about my true nature had been a serious concern. Naturally, it had been kept quiet, but still a select few were kept in the know; when it came time for my introductory tutelage to the mystic arts, suspicions became unavoidable. It was tradition for the heir of any noble family to perform their first spells in front of the entire household; for the House of Angene, said performance was typically extended to have other noble families in attendance, as the spectacle of Profond’or, ‘Deep Golden’, sorcerers’ spells was said to be exquisite, and the first ever casts of their magic in particular were renowned to have a unique quality and hue to them, the kind of spectacle that could not be found anywhere else in the world.

And yet, I was not shown to anyone. My “lessons” took place behind closed, and indeed locked, doors. And so rumour spread. And with no proof to counteract it.

My thoughts are broken as Angeline lifts me gently from the bathwater. The mystic salts, soaps and oils have not only a cleansing and rejuvenating effect, but also possess other unique properties. My skin seems to be ever paler than before, and now shimmers in the morning sunlight.

As Angeline tends to drying it, using an unusual towelling method involving a cloth made of a material both softer and infinitely more absorbent than silk, I catch her eyes in the mirror. And then lose them once she meets my gaze, looking away in shame.

It’s hard not to smirk. So I don’t even fight the urge to.

Her cheeks grow even redder.

“Hooou~”. Again, I can’t fight my bad tendencies.

It should be noted at this point that homosexuality in the empire was not strictly illegal or even frowned upon, so long as it was practised in private. And even someone as young as I am now is still eligible for marriage. So Angeline’s behaviour, whilst perhaps not appropriate for her status or my peace of mind, was not something to be reprimanded. Apart from anything else, we understood each other well, and I needed her more than anyone else. There’s no real point in pressing this particular issue right now.

And for those of you thinking something along the lines of "/ll/ is the best! Do it!", well, it's really not that simple when you're actually one of the people involved. It's complicated. But yes, you may have a point, though it'll have to wait for now...

“…Please excuse me, milady.”

“I do not mind, Angeline. The mesmeric salves are quite potent, aren’t they?”

I try to redirect the issue, blaming her dubious gaze on the mystic properties that had been applied to my body. In all fairness, the effect was not merely visual, but were intended to impart a feeling of awe and adoration to the viewer, whilst also accentuating the subject’s natural beauty. Simply put, it was far more effective than any makeup from the world I remember, to the point of having overt psychological effects. Regardless of sex or sexual orientation, it would be difficult for anyone not to stare.

“…Indeed, milady. Please, let us tend to your dress.”

I nod, giving her an understanding smile, and she escorts me to the ceremonial dressing chambers.

Needless to say, the salves were not a of a standard sort to be applied on a daily basis, or at least not most of them. This was for purely ceremonial occasions, and I had only received the full application once before.

In the dressing chambers, the antiquated dress designated to be worn by every heiress of the Marvous line upon their Coming of Age is carefully prepared for me. Less gaudy than the dresses worn in the Imperial Court, a simple white dress, albeit laced with frills to somewhat extreme lengths.

Despite the simple appearance, the dress too had an innocuously extensive variety of charms placed upon it, enhancing and complimenting the salve properties. This too was common practice for ceremonial occasions and would almost certainly prove the greatest obstacle for me today. Though it wouldn’t be the charms on my own clothing that would be the problem...

“Ahem. The ceremony shall commence in thirty minutes. I trust milady Marie is quite ready?”

The head maid of the household, Louisa Fabiere, stands on ceremony in the doorway. The old crone always did have a nasty habit of appearing unannounced.

Angeline nods in respect to her superior, while I try my hardest not to scowl.

“Milady will be presentable momentarily. Please rest assured that the ceremony may proceed as planned.”

“I should hope so, Angeline. On a day such as this, I am sure even you understand to keep your personal inclinations towards our dear duchess-in-waiting in check.”

The old bag glowers at Angeline, who manages to retain her professional, stoic expression…though I can feel her hands shake through the fabric of my dress as she still clings to it.

“…But of course. There shall be no…complications.”

“Good. You may carry on.”, and so saying, the evil battleaxe leaves, releasing some of the tension from the room.

Angeline turns to me.

“I am sorry, Milady. Because of me…”

Poor Angeline. If it hadn’t been for her station, it’s unlikely anyone would have batted an eyelid at her behaviour. It’s not as if she’d done anything inappropriate, but after catching her looking at me on one occasion, the wicked witch of a maid managed to force the truth out of her. Ever since, Angeline’s position in the household had been considerably shaken. The only reason she had been permitted to remain my personal maid and indeed keep her charge of all my personal needs was due to my insistence and her own ability, being the most qualified of all household staff.

Once again, I try to reassure her with a gentle smile, but then it broadens, exposing my own confidence.

“Don’t worry, Ange. I doubt they’ll be in any position to doubt us once the ceremony is over!”

“Milady…”

Once again, the smugness returns. And it’s not entirely without reason.

But then, there’s no guarantee the plan will go off without a hitch…but there’s no point worrying about it now.

I take Angeline’s hand and pull her into my embrace.

“No matter what happens from now on, know that I treasure everything we’ve shared.”

“M-milady!”

The other maids titter behind us. I turn to them with a grin and a thumbs up.

“You guys too!”

They all curtsy. Except for Madeline, who just rolls her eyes.

“Milady Marie, we wish you all the best!”, they announce in unison.

The old grandfather clock on the wall chimes.

I grin. Time to face the music.

“Let’s knock ‘em dead!”, I declare.

The maids all share slightly concerned looks at my poor language. Ah well.

Fully prepared, we make our way through the hallway, and into the main atrium ahead.

The ceremony awaits.