Post by Benoit Deveraux on Jul 28, 2017 10:00:14 GMT -5
The disbelief had finally faded. There was nothing to be done for it. Stephane was gone. It seemed that all of Benoit’s plans had been flung into the far winds. In the days following, Benoit remained in seclusion, refusing to see anyone or view any correspondence. The grief stewed and festered in his soul. While he accepted Stephane was dead, he was having a harder time accept that his decades of work had been for naught.
No, it must not be so. He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, and invested so deeply that he could not quit now. If Stephane could not be king of Archades then he would do it.
Benoit was accustomed to the slow burn. Setting plans years in advance was truly his forte. However, he did not have years. There was no telling when Alexandre would finally pass and when he did, Nicolette would be named Queen of Archades. He would have to act fast, there was no other choice. Fortunately, there was already a framework in place. The network of toadies and lackeys had not been breached. It was time for them to finally prove their worth.
He worked as secretly as he could, planning, maintaining his isolation, and keeping the rest of his cursed family in the dark. Not even his remaining children were considered and they would not be until his plan was successful. It did not take long for Benoit to fall into a natural rhythm. Indeed, he was starting to feel like his old self again; his son’s death was hardly even thought of. All that existed was the goal. All that existed was that which was rightfully his.
The feast was in full swing. Benoit’s excuse to Nicolette was understandable; a death of a son was hardly a cause for feasting. Nicolette, of course, simply had to maintain appearances. She simply couldn’t let something as inconvenient as a death of a valued family member get in the way of social grandstanding. Benoit’s hatred for her grew and along with it his determination. He gave the final order to proceed with utmost surety.
The most dangerous part of the plan belonged to him. Certainly, a lackey could be caught, but in the end, Benoit did not care about them. He only cared about himself and what he was about to do was dangerous indeed. As he drew closer to his destination, the anxiety faded away. If he was successful, he would be victorious and would thus revel. If he failed, he would likely be killed, which was better than confronting said failure.
Benoit quietly approached the door to the king’s chamber, dutifully guarded by a pair of stoic Clavigers. He noted that the knights’ evening meal had been delivered, just as planned. “I shall speak to my brother,” he announced to them. The Clavigers gave him a dubious look as he knew the king had not summoned the prince.
“A moment, Your Highness,” said the senior knight before slipping into the chamber.
A short time later, he emerged and this time held the door open. Without a word, Benoit strode within. He maintained that stately pace all the way to Alexandre’s four-poster. The bedchamber, like most royal chambers, was opulently decorated and perfumed. No doubt the latter was the mask the vague scent of death in the room. The curtains had not yet been drawn, indeed, even a window was open. Benoit could hear the goings on of the feast. Its smells couldn’t penetrate the miasma in the room.
Then there was Alexandre himself. Once a tall, handsome and confident man of blond hair and perfect looks now reduced a pathetic husk. This was the great King Alexandre? How the mighty fall, indeed. “Good evening, brother,” Benoit greeted, his tone mild and plain.
“Already moving about, I see,” Alexandre rasped at him, his face drawn and pale. The exhaustion was plain on his face, but there still existed a fire of determination in his eyes. “I thought I’d not see you again, especially not after S-“
“Life must move on,” Benoit cut him off, not wanting to hear that name right now.
“Mm,” the king nodded vaguely. “So they say.” The silence between them dragged on for a moment. “Have you considered retiring to your estate?” There was much that went unsaid with that question. Since Stephane was dead, there was nothing to keep Benoit in Bordelaix. Nicolette would be crowned queen, she would establish her council, her court, and arrange the castle as she saw fit. Benoit had no place here.
“You should know me better than that,” the bitter in his voice spiked in that moment.
“Oh, I do,” Alexandre said tiredly. “I do. I know what you are thinking. I .. “ he raised a bony finger at him, “I can see it. You’re a book to me, Benoit. You always have been. A book the plot of which I realized in the first chapter.”
A torrent of rage flowed through Benoit. Damn this man. Even on his deathbed, he was clinging to his superiority. Oh, yes, Alexandre was the perfect son, the perfect heir, the perfect king, perfect, perfect, perfect! Benoit’s fist tightened around his cane, wanting to leap forward and bludgeon the man. But, no. He furiously reined himself in.
“Go, Benoit. Leave this place. You cannot win. You think you can. You think you will. But you will not. Even if you some wrest the crown from my dead fingers, you will not win.” The voice had turned firm. Even now, he refused to plead with his brother. Even now, he was determined to use reason with his so very angry little brother. “You will pay for it in spades.”
Benoit had had enough. The Princess would be dead any moment. He had to act. Without a word, he approached his brother’s side, calmly set the cane against the nearby nightstand and smiled coldly. “Then I’d best spare you having to bear witness,” he whispered. Using the pillow he suddenly seized, he pressed it slowly and firmly over his dear brother’s face.
The king was surprisingly strong, struggling against him for several very long minutes, but in the end, his strength proved futile. Even after Alexandre stopped moving, Benoit held the pillow in place. Only after he was confident did Benoit lift the pillow, fluffed it and artfully placed it back. He then arranged the former king. Why, he looked so peaceful, Benoit himself was almost convinced he simply died in his sleep. The final touch was drawing closing the windows and drawing the curtains.
Benoit looked around one last time while straightening out his doublet. It was time to move. The Crown was calling him. He stepped out of the king’s bedchamber but not without stepping over the unconscious guards. Once the door was secured, Benoit resumed his stately pace down the hall. It was not long before he heard panicked screams through the windows…
He smiled slowly.
No, it must not be so. He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, and invested so deeply that he could not quit now. If Stephane could not be king of Archades then he would do it.
Benoit was accustomed to the slow burn. Setting plans years in advance was truly his forte. However, he did not have years. There was no telling when Alexandre would finally pass and when he did, Nicolette would be named Queen of Archades. He would have to act fast, there was no other choice. Fortunately, there was already a framework in place. The network of toadies and lackeys had not been breached. It was time for them to finally prove their worth.
He worked as secretly as he could, planning, maintaining his isolation, and keeping the rest of his cursed family in the dark. Not even his remaining children were considered and they would not be until his plan was successful. It did not take long for Benoit to fall into a natural rhythm. Indeed, he was starting to feel like his old self again; his son’s death was hardly even thought of. All that existed was the goal. All that existed was that which was rightfully his.
The feast was in full swing. Benoit’s excuse to Nicolette was understandable; a death of a son was hardly a cause for feasting. Nicolette, of course, simply had to maintain appearances. She simply couldn’t let something as inconvenient as a death of a valued family member get in the way of social grandstanding. Benoit’s hatred for her grew and along with it his determination. He gave the final order to proceed with utmost surety.
The most dangerous part of the plan belonged to him. Certainly, a lackey could be caught, but in the end, Benoit did not care about them. He only cared about himself and what he was about to do was dangerous indeed. As he drew closer to his destination, the anxiety faded away. If he was successful, he would be victorious and would thus revel. If he failed, he would likely be killed, which was better than confronting said failure.
Benoit quietly approached the door to the king’s chamber, dutifully guarded by a pair of stoic Clavigers. He noted that the knights’ evening meal had been delivered, just as planned. “I shall speak to my brother,” he announced to them. The Clavigers gave him a dubious look as he knew the king had not summoned the prince.
“A moment, Your Highness,” said the senior knight before slipping into the chamber.
A short time later, he emerged and this time held the door open. Without a word, Benoit strode within. He maintained that stately pace all the way to Alexandre’s four-poster. The bedchamber, like most royal chambers, was opulently decorated and perfumed. No doubt the latter was the mask the vague scent of death in the room. The curtains had not yet been drawn, indeed, even a window was open. Benoit could hear the goings on of the feast. Its smells couldn’t penetrate the miasma in the room.
Then there was Alexandre himself. Once a tall, handsome and confident man of blond hair and perfect looks now reduced a pathetic husk. This was the great King Alexandre? How the mighty fall, indeed. “Good evening, brother,” Benoit greeted, his tone mild and plain.
“Already moving about, I see,” Alexandre rasped at him, his face drawn and pale. The exhaustion was plain on his face, but there still existed a fire of determination in his eyes. “I thought I’d not see you again, especially not after S-“
“Life must move on,” Benoit cut him off, not wanting to hear that name right now.
“Mm,” the king nodded vaguely. “So they say.” The silence between them dragged on for a moment. “Have you considered retiring to your estate?” There was much that went unsaid with that question. Since Stephane was dead, there was nothing to keep Benoit in Bordelaix. Nicolette would be crowned queen, she would establish her council, her court, and arrange the castle as she saw fit. Benoit had no place here.
“You should know me better than that,” the bitter in his voice spiked in that moment.
“Oh, I do,” Alexandre said tiredly. “I do. I know what you are thinking. I .. “ he raised a bony finger at him, “I can see it. You’re a book to me, Benoit. You always have been. A book the plot of which I realized in the first chapter.”
A torrent of rage flowed through Benoit. Damn this man. Even on his deathbed, he was clinging to his superiority. Oh, yes, Alexandre was the perfect son, the perfect heir, the perfect king, perfect, perfect, perfect! Benoit’s fist tightened around his cane, wanting to leap forward and bludgeon the man. But, no. He furiously reined himself in.
“Go, Benoit. Leave this place. You cannot win. You think you can. You think you will. But you will not. Even if you some wrest the crown from my dead fingers, you will not win.” The voice had turned firm. Even now, he refused to plead with his brother. Even now, he was determined to use reason with his so very angry little brother. “You will pay for it in spades.”
Benoit had had enough. The Princess would be dead any moment. He had to act. Without a word, he approached his brother’s side, calmly set the cane against the nearby nightstand and smiled coldly. “Then I’d best spare you having to bear witness,” he whispered. Using the pillow he suddenly seized, he pressed it slowly and firmly over his dear brother’s face.
The king was surprisingly strong, struggling against him for several very long minutes, but in the end, his strength proved futile. Even after Alexandre stopped moving, Benoit held the pillow in place. Only after he was confident did Benoit lift the pillow, fluffed it and artfully placed it back. He then arranged the former king. Why, he looked so peaceful, Benoit himself was almost convinced he simply died in his sleep. The final touch was drawing closing the windows and drawing the curtains.
Benoit looked around one last time while straightening out his doublet. It was time to move. The Crown was calling him. He stepped out of the king’s bedchamber but not without stepping over the unconscious guards. Once the door was secured, Benoit resumed his stately pace down the hall. It was not long before he heard panicked screams through the windows…
He smiled slowly.