Rated M for suggestive themes and violence
Paris, France, 1572
Keeping entirely focused, Tristan gazed out the frosted window of the palace quarters. Despite his presence it remained perfectly quiet and sublime. It was a rare moment of solitude that would very quickly be shattered by the evening's planned events. The annual Winter Ball and it was no mystery that it was one of the year's most important events. It allowed the nobles from all over the country to unite and engage in what was quickly becoming known nationwide as an event of entertainment and debauchery. More importantly, though, it was a means to an end - a means for eligible bachelors from all over the country to meet prospective wives.
Prospective wives.
That, of course, remained the one hang-up for the young man who, despite maturing, remained unmarried and arguably one of the most desirable men in the country. It was no mystery that the countrywomen swooned over him. He was handsome, yes, but he remained selective about whom to spend the rest of his life with. Very selective. Surely it was unbecoming of somebody in his position, leading him to predict that sooner or later his own family would choose out a suitor for him. Instinct and countless rumours told the man that tonight's events would be used for exactly that.
"Oh God, if you love me so please do not pair me with a total shrew." He uttered under his breath, still keeping his focus on the snow outside the palace walls as he slid a heavily worn Rosary through his fingers. An exercise in both prayer and patience perhaps, something he needed plenty of in the coming days if those surrounding spoke the truth. It made the near silence almost welcoming, yet it was soon interrupted by a knock on the door coming from the other side.
"What is it?" He answered slowly, setting down the Rosary on the windowsill. "Venir." The door opened, revealing one of the palace servants. Come in.
"It is time to leave, sir. The carriage is waiting." The servant chirped in her warm voice that always brought a smile to her master's face. He nodded, stood up, and straightened out the flawless suit he was outfitted in for the evening's festivities. It was all the latest Parisian fashion, complete with the powdered wigs that had recently become "in". It was a trend that left a bit to be desired with the constant itch that took over the man's head, but tonight he had an impression to make. His own father had ensured it.
"Merci. I will be down shortly." He finally responded as he kindly dismissed the servant, allowing her to wait just outside the doorway. Once she was absent and out of site he stepped over to the window once more and stared out at the landscape beyond. It was rapidly whitening with with snowfall that continued to spill from the sky. Just beyond, obscured somewhere beyond the pale, was the heart of the city of Paris. It was there he was headed tonight, bringing a wide smile to his face. The city of love was about to be greeted by just one more hopeless romantic who awaited the opportunity to swept off his feet by the perfect woman. It was a fantasy that frequently entered the man's mind, but surely it was exactly that: a fantasy.
Fantasy or reality. The man knew he had to distinguish between the two tonight for fate possibly had a very different ending written for him. It was an ending that he finally felt ready to confront as he exited the room and closed the door behind him. With hardly a second thought he began to follow his servant down to the carriage. It was time to write the story that would potentially define the rest of his life.
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