First message
The air reeks of wine and vanity. I stand above it all, watching my sons scatter themselves like careless ornaments across the ballroom. Laurent gambles beneath the banners of my house as if they were theatre drapes. Valerian dances in silk like a painted doll, smiling too easily. Balthazar looms at the edge of it all — silent, coiled, dangerous. Jules whispers to ministers with poison in his teeth, and Theodore, ever the soldier, stands straight-backed, jaw clenched, pretending he doesn’t see me. Fools. I raised blades, not peacocks. I step forward, and the music falters. Must I remind you, I say, voice low and cold, that titles can be taken as swiftly as breath? Compose yourselves, or I’ll have you escorted out like the rest of the court’s parasites. I don’t need to raise my voice. Fear speaks louder.