What was he even doing here?
The thought bounced around in his head amidst the blurred congregation of marching directives and notes of conduct implanted within him by the council. He questioned not his role as duke— unfitting of it though he felt— but his presence at this 'prestigious festival', as it were. Valen wasn't particularly attuned to the idea of flaunting nobility— he viewed his role as someone who served the people, not someone who the people serve... yet here he sat before an audience, not for the sake of country, but traditional grandstanding.
A 'display of authority', the council said. 'A show of strength in these uncertain times', they said. He felt neither. He hadn't for some time.
And someone— an unfamiliar face amidst the crowds— thought to take full advantage of it.
"Your grace. How lovely it is to meet you in-person." A voice matched a slow, almost languid saunter of heeled footsteps as a lone figure approached the duke's throne. Clearly the courageous sort— the other guests had already become so self absorbed in their own agendas, or content in their musings and rumormongering that none had thought to even speak with the young man. Yet before Valen and his aides now stood a woman of enchanting beauty— with long, scarlet hair highlighted with streaks of scarlet, supple skin and piercing crimson eyes. Her ballroom dress, a flowing series of shades of red and gold, was so expertly tailored to her body that it almost seemed to float with each step she took, never too long, never too short. It was like magic... but surely not. That'd be an unthinkable, frivolous application... even for her.
The council aides traced their eyes from the young woman, who could only have been a few years older than Valen himself, back to the duke; In that time, she made good her respect to the lord and council alike with a deep and heartfelt curtesy. Her crimson gaze slowly peeked back up at Valen as she did so— quite intrigued in whether or not she had done enough now to garner his attention, and to her great pleasure, she found that she had; The Duke, who'd been otherwise preoccupied in his own thoughts, had now focused his gaze to meet her own, a somewhat inquisitive look in his eyes. And why wouldn't he? Of the many nobles he'd commonly been made to convene with, she was not one whom he was familiar with. Nor had he ever seen her at prior gatherings— and Valen had an eye for faces, so as he studied hers he became certain of that.
"...I'm sorry, have we..."
Silence. The world around him suddenly became absolute silence. It was alarming, to say the least— and yet, as Valen attempted to react in confusion, he realized... he couldn't. His mouth wouldn't open. His eyes wouldn't widen. His breathing wouldn't race. Even his heart stilled, as if nothing were wrong at all. He felt... trapped, in his own skin. And yet, the most horrifying thing was not that his body would not answer his will... it was that it answered another's.
"...Ah, I remember now. Madam LaCroix, was it? It has been some time; I'm so very pleased you could make it to this event. I'd not expected such a pleasant surprise!"
"You flatter me, your grace; I am honored that you would remember my name."
"Perish the thought. An astronomer will naturally always remember the brightest of stars he sees; A duke, the most promising of his subjects."
The conversation, like shattered glass, caught nearly the entirety of the room by surprise. The duke, so openly and vibrantly speaking with this woman...? Just who was she? What relationship did she have with their lord?
Valen smiled warmly at her blushed face in response to his praise... but inside, he was screaming. Begging. Pleading that anyone could explain what was happening to him... yet no one answered. Not swiftly, at least. Yet as the conversation between his body and the woman before him continued on without him, a voice echoed into his mind. A familiar one... the same one that stood humbly before him.
'Enjoying the farce, Lord Nox?'
A simple question, and yet the cold, demeaning edge that lie in the tone of the voice in his mind shook the young man to his core. He suddenly felt very exposed; as if all that he was and would be was laid bare to the eyes of someone.. or something, that held nothing but malice for him. 'It seems you can be quite the charmer, when you don't choose to be... or perhaps you'd rather play the role of a lustful king, using the power of your name to take any woman you so desire... or a tyrant, that declares open war upon your neighboring duchies in hapless pursuit of power. My, my, so many possibilities...'
If Valen could cry, he would've broken down by now; if he could truly fall to his own knees and beg whatever madness had taken hold of him to leave him be, he would've. Yet he was helpless to the voice that had claimed him for its purposes— and could do nothing but watch through his soul's eyes as the world played out around him, without him.
'Worry not, your grace. I have already picked out the perfect role for you, and I shall ensure you play it to perfection. The charismatic and bright young leader of Ardal, who, at the front of his budding rule, falls victim to a terrible accident— an ill-begotten assassination. Oh, how the citizens will mourn their young Duke, as Madam Amelia LaCroix tells them the dreadful tale of how Lord Nox, while accompanying her on a lonely walk, was attacked by men wearing the colors and crests of the neighboring Duchies... how deeply their hatred will run, as Amelia warns the council of the assailants' threats of an active declaration of war against Ardal. Poetic... beautiful.'
Fear. Panic. Rage. Despair. Self-loathing for his own weakness. Valen could feel all of this, deep down in his soul as he listened to the voice within, yet continued to smile and converse without. 'Even should war not immediately destroy the land, it will be no less simple to erode the structure of the Duchy— and from there, the nation— with but a few more well-placed lies... and a dagger or two. So rejoice, your grace... yours shall be the most beautiful of deaths, from whence the exposition of the greatest of plays shall begin. You need only watch with amor from the front seats... as your play your part to the very end.'
In the waking world, outside of Valen's mind, the young man smiled. "You are just returned from the north, yes? I should be glad to hear of your recent exploits in the capital. Come; though I do so enjoy the dancing, I tire of this throne. Walk with me, Madam, along the terraces— I would have you regale me... In a more private setting." The duke gingerly declared, standing renewed from his chair as he did so. The council, obviously bewildered by the young man's sudden bright and engaging persona, immediately moved to see that he was fine— but with a flick of his wrist and a wave of his hand, he dismissed them all the same, leaving the two aides dumbfounded at his newly-acquired energy. It was odd... almost as if her were enchanted. Yet despite their concerns, neither stopped the duke, as he began to leave with 'LaCroix', knowing there was only so far they could openly protest the duke's behavior in public.
Amelia smiled sweetly, leading Valen toward a door to the northeast of the room. All was proceeding according to plan. Soon... soon, true hell would befall the Duchy, and it's crown.
