Madeline had been relatively satisfied when her sister had informed her she was going to wed Lord Edmund Duncan. Oh, not that she had been satisfied right away. At first, she had been rather mad, for this mean her children had definitely lost the league for the throne of Pemberton, unless she did some quick assassinating. But with the appearance of King Ambrose, those worries had stopped bothering her. If she succeeded in grasping his attention, than her children would be in league for something much greater than Pemberton itself. Actually, at this very moment, Madeline was certain Pemberton itself would not be enough for her.


It was her sister's engagement ball. Madeline was glad; she adored balls and parties of all sorts. She adored dancing just as well. It was needless to even say she adored dressing up. For this evening, she had chosen to wear a wide, red dress with a flower on the deep decolletage. Her hair was in a sophisticated bun, also decorated with flowers, while a necklace with a ruby heart rested on her chest. The dress spread elegantly as she walked, and spread even more when she danced.


Right now, she had ended a dance with a Lord from the court whose name was not important(but he was handsome), and decided to rest for a bit. She went over to the refreshments table, and took a glass of crimson wine for herself. As she drank, she looked at the dancing couples. And in spite of the fact she did not lack dancing partners, she could not help but feel a tiny worm of sadness in her heart. She rembered meeting Evan during one of such balls...it had been Victoria's engagement party, she would never forget that. He had approached her during a break like this one...the dark-haired, handsome faced lord...there had been something so dark about him, but so attractive...She was certain she had fallen for him that very day.


Madeline's eyes glinted with emotion nobody could've misplaced for sadness, even though it was that. She was just very, very good at concealing it. There had indeed been something dark about Evan...he had been a traitor. Not that she ever blamed him for it. She had loved him...she loved him still, and whatever he'd done was fine with her. But why, why had he allowed Uncle Edward to snare him into that plot? Had that not happened, he might have been here today...by her side...Imagining that was not going to get her anywhere, so she shook the memories off.


Tonight, she was going to have fun, not be sad. Anyone that passed by could've seen that she was from upper nobility, by the mere way she stood, with pride and charm. Anyone could've also branded her as very attractive...but also challenging.

François had been lingering at the edges of the party between dances. The wine drew him; there was a new cask tapped, it seemed, a vintage that appeared blood-red in the dazzling lights of the ball's many candles. He took a glass from a passing servant and sipped at it, taking the time to savour the taste. It was delicious, light and sweet; doubtless, Marcheford wine. It would almost be worth going to live in that duchy simply for their excellent wine, which might come close to that of his own native country. François, however, could commit no such sin as that of disloyalty...

well... he had never had a problem with the sin, but homesickness did plague him. And the tastes of memory were ever more savourous than those of the present. Where are the snows of yesteryear, he thought, quoting his poetic ancestor to himself.

A lady dressed in deepest ruby, her dress complemented by the wine (and clinging, he noticed, to substantial and delectable curves), stood to one side. She too appeared slightly distracted, and he approached her, hoping she wouldn't be put off by the bruises on his face and his recently broken nose.

"Milady," he said, bowing slightly to her, though he didn't take his eyes off her face. "Excuse my incourtesy, but I seem to be unable to stop staring... I am the Lord François Villon." And you are highborn, he thought but did not say, as well as beautiful.

"Milady," The voice reached Madeline's ears, and she seperated her lips from the wine glass, turning towards its source. There, she saw a man she had never met before. She was not sure whether he was of Pemberton or of some other Duchy...lately, she had stopped bothering to remember all of her native duchies' inhabitants. She let her spies handle that. They gave her reports she could check out when she had the time and the will. Usually, she would do it when very, very bored or upon meeting someone new. Within seconds, she would know them better than their own mother. She took both great pleasure and pride in that.


However, she valued her first impression more than anything else. She placed great trust into her own intuition and thoughts. Concerning this man, her thoughts were rather fine. Even though the bruises on his face were trying to hide his natural good looks and his charm, they were unsuccesful. The man was undoubtedly very attractive. His eyes were clever and there was a shine within them. His body seemed strong, a trait very important to Madeline. She wondered, what was his name...


"Excuse my incourtesy, but I seem to be unable to stop staring... I am the Lord François Villon." François Villon...she was definitely going to look him up once she got back to her chambers. He was certainly interesting enough to her. And he had a way with words, obviously...Unable to stop staring? Well, that was only natural to Madeline...people not being able to stop staring at her. Not that all of them stated it so openly. Evan had, she recalled with a slight pang, done so. Back then, she had had no spies, but she had caught up with the gossip about him. More than a decade ago, more than a decade...


The lady allowed herself a beam as she drank from her wine glass once more, eying the newcomer with interest. The pause was intended to appear as if she had second thoughts about talking with him. She merely enjoyed killing men with the suspense...that had not changed since ten years ago. When she finished tasting the scarlet liquid, she had her eyes meet with his before introducing herself; "Lady Madeline Sherbourne." Had he known who he was conversing with at all? Had he heard any rumors?; "I admire your audacity, Lord Villon, at approaching a lady so openly."

François smiled at her comment, and at the look on her face.

"Milady, you may compliment my courage at approaching you if you wish... but there was little of bravery in it and much of compulsion. You're a difficult woman to stay away from, Lady Sherbourne," he murmured, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "The courage would lie in living out my days without succumbing to your thrall... but enough, before I embarrass myself." He smiled slightly, the composure of his features belying the whimsical desperation of his words.

His eyes swept over her with undisguised longing that was only half feigned. "But since women are good for more than ornamentation," he added softly, his voice silken, as caressing as he wouldn't dare be with his hands, at least not yet-- "would you favor me with a dance, Milady Sherbourne?"

"Milady, you may compliment my courage at approaching you if you wish... but there was little of bravery in it and much of compulsion. You're a difficult woman to stay away from, Lady Sherbourne," Obviously, he had known who she was. Otherwise he would've...or should've been a tad more surprised, amused or anything. Unless he was from a different sort of men than she was used to. If that was correct, it could have been no bad thing. Madeline enjoyed exploring the unknown. Adventurous...yes, that was the right adjective;"The courage would lie in living out my days without succumbing to your thrall... but enough, before I embarrass myself."


"Well...you certainly do have a way with words, Lord Villon..." Which was a necessary but not a sufficent quality of her ideal of the perfect man. Of coruse, she elided that part. There was no need for him to know of it...yet. Who knew, perhaps in the future...Whether he was importand and rich or not hardly played a part, for the King Ambrose was the most essential part of her plans for the future. If those plans came to fruition, she'd need no other sources of wealth for a lifetime...or for a very long time; "But now I'm not sure about what to think of you. You see, I greatly admire courage in a man, yet I am glad you've been a coward this time."


Such teasing lines were often heard from Madeline. She liked to test the intelligence of men by tricky questions and statements. This was also the way she judged character, personality and everything she could not truly get out of her spies. For example, François had more options now. He could either take this as a joke, since she had said it lightly, or he could take it as an offence and cool reasonably. He could also leave, be angry...Of course, she hoped he'd do the frist thing. He was a likeable fellow...worthy of her attention. Had that not been the case, she would've already gotten rid of him.


"Would you favor me with a dance, Milady Sherbourne?" The lady grinned. Of course she would. But that was not something she was supposed to say right now. She had to appear as if thinking it over. So, again she sipped her wine, her eyes flowing over the other people in the ballroom. Then, a rather sudden movement, she placed the glass onto the table and turned to him, looking him straight in the eye "I think I just might, my lord."

"Oh, courage, milady," François said lightly. "Do you not read the Bible? As He says in Ecclesiastes, 'a living dog is better than a dead lion.' And the basest creature blessed with your presence is above the noblest without it."

He paused to drain his own wine, then took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. He tried to ignore the white-hot pain now radiating from his ribs. Perhaps so much dancing hadn't been entirely advisable; but then he would have made no alliances, and he would never have met the Lady Sherbourne had he avoided the dance altogether.

And she was beginning to utterly fascinate him--a rare quality in a woman, though he'd doubtless grow bored of her within the fortnight. He always had before, with one exception, and his bruised heart refused to let him feel anything of the kind for any other specimen of such inferiority. For everyone was--inferior--particularly Lucinde. Enough.

"Now, milady... I don't suppose you've heard this particular jewel of superstition, but in my country it is said that a woman with a tongue for lovely words has other skills as well." The statement itself wasn't lewd; but if she took it that way he would laugh, and explain that he meant skill at dancing; for such was really the common saying. Though at the same time, others of a different turn of mind did have another saying!

"Do you not read the Bible? As He says in Ecclesiastes, 'a living dog is better than a dead lion.' And the basest creature blessed with your presence is above the noblest without it." Madeline grinned more openly this time. So he shared her views about herself...another positive trait within him. She was really starting to like the man now. However, she chose to pursue further the discussion she had teasingly begun. Something made her certain he was going to be able to keep up with her; "I am afraid I am not of the religious sort, Lord Villon."


This was completely true-she wasn't. Madeline had never really believed there was some higher power. If the good God everyone spoke of existed, than why did he let all the evils happen on this world? Why had he let Evan die? Since the moment her husband's life had been terminated, Madeline's faith in God had been completely earsed. It had been weak but existent before. Now it was gone.


As Lord Francois took her to the dancefloor, she laughed. She had always enjoyed dancing. Her ideal man had to be a good dancer just as well as a charmer and a brave one. As she heard his statement, she chuckled once more; "Most men value women through how they do..." Here she grinned wickedly, "Other things." This was common experience. It was clear what she meant by 'other things'.


Now it was the right time to ask a question that had interested her even before, but she had kept it back. Even though it was far from evident that he was in pain, Madeline could see it. The lord had trouble keeping up with the pace of the dance, which was relatively fast. And his face clearly said he'd been in a fight. So, her eyes gleaming, she questioned; "May I inquire about the history of your bruises, my lord?"

François thrilled when she not only responded to his lewd jest, but admitted too that she wasn't the religious sort. He answered that first.

"In truth," he murmured, "I take the Bible only as excellent literature, and all of my citations of it are meant in irony... so lovely to turn the weapon of the needlessly powerful in their faces, is it not, Your Grace? As a woman in a position of power... you must understand that." He was being bold Too bold, perhaps. But then so was she, and her admissions would have shocked a different man.

A lesser man, in François's opinion.

"As for the bruises, those I got in an unarmed duel with His Soon-to-be Grace of Pemberton." He let his voice linger ironically on the honorary title. "We share certain differences of opinion. He thought I was a coward without honour. I corrected that assumption."

In some eyes, he'd proven it, but François shoved the thought aside like the ghost of his by now thoroughly dead conscience.

"I take the Bible only as excellent literature, and all of my citations of it are meant in irony... so lovely to turn the weapon of the needlessly powerful in their faces, is it not, Your Grace? As a woman in a position of power..." Madeline chortled lightly. How nice of him to call her 'Your Grace', as if she were the Duchess. Oh, she was better than the Duchess, all right. In spite of her love for her sister, she disapproved of the fact the court had given her the throne. Madeline would've been a much better Duchess. Esabell was too lax and not the ruthless leader Pemberton needed at times like these.


"Thank you for calling me Your Grace...but I'm afraid I am no Duchess..." Here she lingered for a while, her eyes playfully locking with his, "Yet." And I might become something a lot higher than just that, she wanted to add, but did not. Her plans concerned her and her only...at least for the time being. Later, she might consider discoverinjg them to certain people of trust. Who knew, perhaps Francois could be one of them once she got to know him better.


Lady Sherbourne had no intentions of assassinating her sister. If she was aiming for the Pemberton throne, than she would get it through careful schemes and deceit, not using violence. Violence was sometimes very useful, but most often it merely brought-here she thought bitterly of Evan-trouble, if not death. Right now, she was going to focus on her other plans, though.


"As for the bruises, those I got in an unarmed duel with His Soon-to-be Grace of Pemberton."We share certain differences of opinion. He thought I was a coward without honour. I corrected that assumption." Madeline laughed again. A fight with Lord Edmund? How interesting indeed. And amusing. She wondered if Esabell knew of the said encounter; "Ah, Lord Edmund. Really, I haven't quite gotten to know him yet. Even thoughwe are soon to be family."


Perhaps she should ask Francois for his opinion on Edmund. Yes, she was going to do exactly that. It was going to be fun, and useful. it was always useful to know what the courtiers thought; "How do you find Lord Edmund?" She said just before a twirl. The question had a teasing note to it. They'd been in a fight-what could he possibly think of him?

"How do I find him? Easily, milady, he's right over there." François pointed, before going back to the dance. Her comment about her rank had been most telling. In fact his calling her 'your Grace' had been, he realized, a slip of the tongue; he must be more drunk than he thought he was. In this country they did not address all members of the Duke's or Duchess's family by the title, and he ought to remember that. Nonetheless... useful information to have--her ambition.

"But really... he is a rigid man, and slow as stone," François said, narrowing his eyes, "And as you know there is no love lost between myself and Our Future Grace, though from what I've seen he is distinctly--graceless." He watched the Lady Madeline. "But what do you think of him? After all, I am sure your opinion is less--biased, as you've never tried to maim each other, so far as I know; and you have eyes in your head and a keen mind, it would seem, so even if you 'don't know him well'..." He trailed off. "And how do yo find me, milady? Shockingly improper, I imagine?"

She chuckled at his joke, allowing him to twirl her around once more. She liked jokes. She always had. In spite of all that had happened to her, Madeline was a rather jolly woman dep inside. That, her other side, to say so, would come out during parties and balls she truly enjoyed. Oh, she'd always keep her dignity around people of lower rank, and she would still punish servants if they made the slightest mistake, but people would simply feel a lot more relaxed around her than usually. Not that all of that could not change within a second. A millisecond, actually.


"But what do you think of him? After all, I am sure your opinion is less--biased, as you've never tried to maim each other, so far as I know; and you have eyes in your head and a keen mind, it would seem, so even if you 'don't know him well'..." What did she think? Nothing. She'd only begun to really think about Edmund a few days ago, and her spies had brought in information right away. Even though she knew many details about his life, she had not yet completed her knowledge with her own image of him; "Nothing yet. I don't find my knowledge of a person complete until I talk to them in person." Because I value my opinion mroe than anybody else's, she finished in her mind.


"And how do yo find me, milady? Shockingly improper, I imagine?" Again he made her grin. What a direct, blunt...and a very, very fun question. She liked telling people what she thought of them straight into their faces. In diplomacy, though, you couldn't really do it. Still, Madeline often broke the usual standards of politics. If there was someone she found idiotic, she'd tell them exactly that, perhaps softening it a bit before. That, the softening, was the best anyone could get from her, reserved for high ranking people of other duchies. VERY high ranking people. "I believe I need but one word to describe it, Lord Villon...amusing."

"Ah. Forbear to judge, then, for judging is commitment; and most wise of you not to make unsupported statements about your sister's betrothed," François murmured. "For she is your sister, yes? Though you seem more favored--in several ways."

His gaze flicked down over her body, then up again to meet her eyes. "Now, I am not without ambition, milady, but what I value over all things--over power, over wealth, though they oft go hand in hand with it--is freedom. And the freedom to be... amusing, as you say. To hold with no propriety save the natural grace of natural respect for others. The ones, at least, who deserve it."

He paused, following the steps of the dance and trying to relax despite the continuing pain in his ribs. He firmly believed that ignoring pain made it less, and attempted to do so, thinking instead on the Lady Madeline.

"You, milady--you haven't asked me what I think of you, because, perhaps, you believe it obvious that I'm entranced," he murmured. "And entranced I am, but somehow I have the feeling you may be one of those women on whose bedroom door is inscribed, 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here.'" This was not an insult. "You will only tolerate strong men, is it not so?"

"For she is your sister, yes? Though you seem more favored--in several ways." Madelineraised her eyebrows, a bemused look on her face. Once again, evidence was resented to her that she was better than Esabell. Before, that would not ahve given her much pleasure, because she knew it already. But now, when her sister was the Duchess, it became more important. Madeline still did love her sister...but her cold feelings had cooled a tad more when she had suddenly gained on ranking, to say so. Madeline had always been a jealous person. That was not about to change.


She recalled her childhood, when she was about five. Esabell had been given a lovely new doll Madeline had wanted. Now, Madeline would never have 'stooped as low' as to ask politely for her sister to give her the doll, just as she would never steal it, not to appear as if she truly craved for it. So she had 'accidentally' burned it...dropped it into the fireplace. If she couldn't have it, nobody could-her favorite saying. Or one of them. Just as she had not liked sharing toys back then, now she didn't like sharing men and power. Of course, she'd learned ways much more refined than throwing things into fire during all the time.


"You, milady--you haven't asked me what I think of you, because, perhaps, you believe it obvious that I'm entranced," Good, good. He was doing fine for the time being, "And entranced I am, but somehow I have the feeling you may be one of those women on whose bedroom door is inscribed, 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here.'" Of course she saw it was no insult. He wouldn't have insultd her just after stating he was entranced...as he was supposed to be. Dawning a smile, she nodded, "Indeed. If a man is weaker than myself...than how can I have any fun with him at all?" The last part was spoken with mocking innocence.

"I feel the same way about women," François murmured, tightening his grip on her waist slightly to display his own strength. And he was--whilst not as physically strong as some muscle-bound warriors or Dukes-to-be he could name--strong, in a wiry way, with energy that burned mainly on will and the well-stoked blaze of perpetual anger.

"And there are very few women," he added, leaning close to her, his mouth by her ear, "very few indeed--who can honestly claim strength for themselves on behalf of their sex. You may be one of them; you may not be. The strangeness and the beauty of women lies, or so I have always believed, in their very inscrutability. Men you may test on the battlefield, but women meet their challenges elsewhere."

She was an older woman, he realized, looking at her again, and he liked it; liked the idea of experience, cynicism, and worldweariness. His eyes drank in the ample curves of her figure and the coldness in her eyes, which he found more alluring than any glimpse of pale, smooth flesh.

"And you have met many, milady," he whispered, going on intuition.

Madeline's eyebrows arched over her eyes once more, just at the very moment of Francois' grip tigthening on her waist. Her expression was playful, but with a dose of cinycism. No, she had not lied when she'd said she liked strong men. That had never really changed, and never was going to-weaklings just were not fun. But the tightening of the grip-could it have been a sign of hium wanting to tame her...break her? If that had been the case, then Madeline was going to break him. Attempting to tame her was something she looked upon just as treating her badly. And no man could do so unpunished.


When she'd danced with Evan, his grip had been strong from the beginning. That way, it had never occurred to her he might have tried to tame her. Later, he'd admitted he had not-he'd loved her just the way she'd been...and still was. Of course, that was the only answer that would have pleased Madeline...the answer coming from the man she'd loved...and maybe loved still. For even now, as she looked at Francois, deep inside she compared him with Evan. Evan had been more muscular, he'd been darker...and he'd been different. Even more playful, even less formal...


"The strangeness and the beauty of women lies, or so I have always believed, in their very inscrutability. Men you may test on the battlefield, but women meet their challenges elsewhere." This was completely true. Women could not openly display how they felt, even though Madeline did it constantly and without restrain. Still, females had to be more careful with what they say, when and why. Yet they were more succesful negotiators and bribers than men. Especially when dealing with men; "You speak the truth, Lord Villon..." Then he spoke again, "And you have met many, My Lady."


"Indeed." She said loudly, and then more silently, in a whisper, "And I always enjoy a good challenge."

"I speak the truth indeed, and it's a rarity for me, so you ought to treasure it," he said, leaning forward, his breath tickling her ear. The dance was coming to a close, and he regretted it, because he found her presence intoxicating.

"As for challenges... I myself relish them," he said softly.

The dance ended. He stepped abruptly back, watching her. He was deep in thought, and entranced, both due to alcohol and her intoxicating scent, which seemed to emanate from deep below her skin--more than mere perfume.

"Do you pose enough of a one, I wonder?" He bowed to her one last time, as the end of the dance dictated, sweeping an arm out in front of him in the style of his country, and tried not to wince at the pain in his ribs. He looked up to see what her expression was.

Madeline, too, would hae rather enjoyed it had the dance lasted longer, but she was far from sad or disappointed. There were plenty of men around to dance with...Francois certainly was not the only one. Still, he had proved to be...enjoyable enough for consideration fo further...consumation. Which, at this very moment, meant nothing more than that she might grant him another dance in the near future. There was no doubt in her mind he would appreciate that very much. She could see it when men liked her. She'd had plenty of opportunities to work on that skill.


He bowed to her, and she curtsied-a vey, very slight curtsy, yet somehow sensual. The only person that would ever get a deep curtsy from Madeline was going to be the King. This only showed how self-important she was. Very, very aware of her own height. Her name did, after all, mean high tower. She'd heard it from a travelling...something that had passed through Roseworth Manor once. And she liked it. That was why the man had gotten a few extra coins. When in good mood, Madeline could be prodigal, even though she was mostly full of belief people were supposed to do everything in their power to help her...even for nothing.


"Well," She said, her expression satisifed, "You are quite a dancer, Lord Francois..." She had chosen to use hist first name, "Perhaps we might do this again sometimes." And then, slipping her hand gently out of his, she walked off.