Previously
Jeanne de Toulouse, the eldest daughter of a ruined noble family, reflects on how she broke social taboos by working as a tutor to support her family after her father's failed investments.
Yet the young master was neither borne by the Queen nor first in line. There was only one crown, and power brooked no rivals. That was why no one dared tutor Young Master Mael, and how I—with no credentials beyond teaching a viscount’s daughter once—ended up taking the post.
‘If His Majesty passes away, won’t I be in danger too?’
Even with fear gnawing at me, I could not bring myself to leave his side. The money mattered, of course, but more than that, my heart ached for this boy who drifted alone through the palace without a single friend. Not a soul, not even a lowly palace maid, was willing to exchange words with him. When factions loyal to Her Majesty crossed paths with him, they would shout things like, “Look there! There goes the lump of lard’s get!”—insulting both the Duchess of Ventadour and the young master in one breath as they strutted by.
‘The lump of lard’s get?’
When I realized that “lump of lard” was aimed at the duchess’s voluptuous figure, it struck me like a thunderbolt.
‘How could anyone say that about a person? And to His Majesty’s beloved mistress? Does His Majesty have any idea this happens?’
Yet Young Master Mael looked entirely unbothered, as though he had endured such vitriol far too often to feel the sting.
And before long, I too grew numb to all this absurdity that had once felt so bizarre.
Then came that day.
More than two years into my service as his tutor, an anonymous accusation that a book by an Enlightenment philosopher—known for inciting sedition against the crown—had been found in his study threw the entire palace into an uproar. And who was an intellectual familiar with such works, who also had free access to the study?
I was singled out as the criminal who sought to corrupt Young Master Mael’s mind. Guards suddenly burst into my quarters, dragging me down to the dungeons; only long after I was locked away did I learn the charge and the nature of the offense.
It was the absolute truth. Yet pleading ignorance did nothing. The culprit had already been chosen before the trial even began.
After a few days in the dungeon, I was dragged before a summary tribunal, and the sentence was handed down: exile.
“The sinner Jeanne de Toulouse colluded with subversive elements to taint the mind of Lord Mael, an offense worthy of death. However, in light of the Toulouse family’s longstanding fidelity to the crown, the condemned shall be spared execution and exiled to the Duchy of Skadi.”
The magistrate’s words left me completely dazed.
‘Exile? Me? And to the Duchy of Skadi?’
Yet there was no appeal, no reprieve. My place of banishment was the Duchy of Skadi, a frozen land of howling blizzards inhabited by barbarians.
The mere word Skadi chilled me to the marrow.
Even I knew the history of how the Duchy of Skadi came to be. Centuries ago, barbarians from the frozen wastes beyond the sea crossed the waters in longships and raided nearly to the gates of the capital. Realizing they were seeking arable, warmer lands rather than simple plunder, the late king ceded that northern territory to them. To tame barbarians with barbarians—by acknowledging their might and binding them in fealty, the crown aimed to use them as a shield against further northern incursions.
His Majesty granted the chieftain of the fiercest tribe the rank of count, along with the treacherous northern frontier to rule. Many barbarians settled there, clearing and expanding the territory. Over generations, the chieftain’s scions defended the kingdom in countless wars against barbarian hordes, earning the title of duke. By now, the north was virtually an independent nation swarming with barbarians.
Rumor had it that even after settling, the brutal instinct running through their blood remained unbroken. They were said to capture foes alive and take pleasure in impaling them upon wooden stakes, much like shrikes fixing their living prey to branches.
‘They are sending me to such a place?’
With no time to brace myself, the sentence was carried out at once. I begged for one final glimpse of my family, but the order came down that I had to leave immediately. The only small mercy in this catastrophe was that the escort officer assigned to guide my exile was a compassionate man.
He handed me a letter from the young master and a small pouch.
I opened the letter first, desperate to understand how this nightmare had unfolded. In it, Young Master Mael explained that this entire plot had been orchestrated by the Crown Prince’s faction to oust him from the palace. He apologized profusely for dragging me into it and swore that one day, he would see me pardoned and brought back.
Yet as I read on, all I could do was let out a hollow sigh.
‘Where would he find the power to do that?’
The tide was turning fast. This incident might cost both the Duchess of Ventadour and her son what little favor they had, precipitating their fall from grace. In such a predicament, would they have the leeway to spare a thought for a mere governess?
‘I may never return.’
Folding the parchment, I tried to drink in as much of the vanishing scenery as my eyes could hold, knowing it might be my last.
the officer said.
‘They say winter in the Duchy of Skadi is smothered in something called snow, cold enough to freeze living flesh solid…’
In Franc, the capital of Lancis, the climate stayed mild through summer and winter alike, making the sight of white snow an utter rarity. The clothes I wore were sorely inadequate for a frozen exile, but no chance was given to change. To make matters worse, I was embarrassingly poor at riding horses. Even so, it was vastly better than walking on foot.
Clambering onto the horse the officer had provided, I spurred it forward to follow his lead, riding toward a land I had never dreamed I would ever see in my lifetime.
‘My thighs hurt so badly. My stomach is churning. I feel like I’m going to die.’
Both inner thighs soon burned as if scorched by flame, and with every jolt of the horse, a brutal shudder tore from my hips all the way to my skull. Within a few hours, I was heaving what little food I had eaten straight from the saddle. Noticing my wretched state, the officer rode abreast to lead my mount by the reins, but it barely kept me from tumbling off.
The closer we drew to the Duchy of Skadi in the north, the fouler the weather became—a mirror to my own future. As we rode northward, the wind grew so ferocious that keeping my eyes open became a struggle, and drizzling mists traded off with sudden downpours, drenching me to the skin half a dozen times a day. We found shelter in dingy roadside inns when night fell, but it brought no real rest. Within days, a violent, hacking cough tore from deep within my chest, as though it would crack my ribs.
To keep me from falling, the escort officer had to lash me to the saddle. A seasoned rider would have made the journey in three days at most. Yet by the time my feet touched the soil of the duchy, well over a fortnight had passed, and I was on the brink of death.
A thick, impenetrable fog swallowed the world whole, blinding me to everything ahead.
‘Is this my place of exile?’
Gathering the final dregs of my strength before losing consciousness, I forced my fluttering eyelids open, desperate to see what kind of place I was condemned to inhabit.
‘Is this the prison where I must live out my days?’
Yet like the days ahead of me, nothing was visible.
All that met my eyes was dense, sodden smoke, a suffocating veil smothering the world on every side as though the celestial dam holding back the clouds had burst.
I remembered nothing after that. My only lingering recollection was the escort carrying me into another shoddy inn, and the endless cycles of burning with fever and freezing like ice upon a rough plank bed.
Through the delirium of fever, the desperate plea in my student’s letter drifted before my mind—begging me not to lose hope, swearing he would deliver me at any cost—while the grief-stricken faces of my family hearing the news flickered in and out of the haze.
‘Now even I have fallen like this… What if the shock breaks Mother’s frail health completely?’
There had been times when I resented my father, yet here I was, walking the very same path he had tread.
‘Blinded by the promise of immediate coin, I ruined everything.’
I had gambled our family’s fate, and I had lost.
‘What am I supposed to do now?’
No answer came to the question, only total, suffocating despair that swallowed me whole.