Although Victor had long known that Angoulême had lived in this country for an entire winter, he discovered he had still underestimated her. The network of connections she had built over that winter far exceeded his expectations.
The two noblemen, Palmerin de Launfal and Milton de Peyrac-Peyran, were both old acquaintances of the White Wolf, Geralt. However, they merely knew and respected him. By comparison, they were far fonder of the life of the banquet, the one whose presence guaranteed there would never be a dull moment, the crude and straightforward Angoulême.
After old friends reunited and new friends were introduced, the two knights were greatly surprised that the Dragonborn Bard had appeared alive and well in Toussaint, and that Skellige's first knight, "Victor of Kaer Trolde," truly existed.
Thus, under their warm invitation, the Phantom Troupe and the two knights, a party of four, were now on the road to the capital, Beauclair.
"Upon my honor," said Knight Palmerin, whose shield bore a cross and golden lilies on a blue field, "your concerns are entirely unnecessary, Mr. Victor. Her Enlightened Ladyship will absolutely not look at you differently because of Viscount Julian's affair. After all, in the end, she still pardoned the viscount's crimes. Yes, upon my honor, there is no need for you to take it to heart."
Knight Milton, whose coat of arms showed a black bull's head on a white field of snow, cheerfully echoed him. "Ha ha ha, in fact, I am certain Her Grace the Duchess would be very eager to hear news of the viscount! In private over the past few years, she has mentioned to me more than once that she deeply regrets rescinding his death sentence back then! If she could turn back time, she would definitely make sure he rotted in prison!"
Angoulême cut in. "Hey! I remember that. He was already up on the gallows and still wouldn't stop rambling about his thoughts, as if he'd known all along he was going to be pardoned. But isn't that kind of bad? Doesn't that mean the duchess still hates him?"
"Ah… my dear little monkey, matters are not so simple. Sometimes, between men and women, when they say they want the other dead, those are not their true feelings!" Milton said merrily, smoothing his magnificent beard, as if preparing to launch into an impromptu lecture on love.
Palmerin knocked his gauntlet against his shield to stop him, then said in annoyance, "Dear Sir Peyrac-Peyran! Please do not share baseless conjecture with friends, especially not when it concerns Her Enlightened Ladyship. If she heard you, she would certainly grant you a kind of honor you would not want."
Milton laughed heartily and smoothly changed the subject, beginning to discuss Angoulême's mount, Amber. As a gift from Mother Nenneke, the high priestess of the Temple of Melitele, it was naturally a steed worthy of discussion.
The atmosphere of the conversation was relaxed and harmonious. With some leisure to spare, Victor sat on horseback and reviewed the accounts from all sides, adjusting his mental preparations for the audience.
Her Enlightened Ladyship was the title by which Duchess Anna Henrietta, ruler of the Duchy of Toussaint, was known. Her affair with Viscount Julian, that is, the troubadour Dandelion, had begun around nine years ago.
…
Looking back to the previous year, when the witcher was still living in the Temple Quarter and supporting a certain troubadour who had been left with nothing but talent.
One night, Victor heard this story. At the time, Dandelion had his lute on his knees, a wine cup in his hand, and a distant look in his eyes. "It began like this… Nine years ago, that winter, I was a guest at the Toussaint court, playing my lute, singing romantic ballads, and reciting poetry.
"And Duke Raymond was in Cintra attending a meeting, with no hurry at all to return home. Even I knew he had become infatuated with a local mistress. That was an utter humiliation to the duchess.
"Under those circumstances, Anarietta and I… oh, Beauclair is a magical and special place. Love there is like a powerful spell… Once you actually go there, you will understand.
"Poems, compliments, flowers, words, glances, and sighs… In short, from the moment we met, within just a few days, we had fallen in love."
"Love came too fast, like a tornado?" Victor asked with a laugh.
"More intense than a tornado," the poet said in an aria-like tone. "I will not tell you the details. That would be far too discourteous. However, dear Vic, at your age, you ought to begin understanding that although love has many forms, once a man and a woman fall in love, more intimate contact is naturally a very normal thing."
Victor whistled and clicked his tongue.
"Our burning love blazed for two months," Viscount Julian, Dandelion, continued. "From May Day to Midsummer. I must admit that, dizzy with love at the time, we threw caution to the wind.
"And so rumors began to spread, malicious words followed us like shadows, and I had no choice but to hurriedly leave the duchy.
"Until three years ago, when Geralt, several companions, and I returned to Toussaint in pursuit of Ciri's whereabouts. By then, the duke had already been dead for years, and Anarietta and I met again, confirming that our love still lived!
"Ah! My dear little weasel, our love was so scalding and blazing that she even gifted me lands, forests, castles, and palaces…
Victor selectively forgot a long stretch of boasting.
"…but in the end, she actually treated me that way. I almost had my head chopped off by her! Listen to the crimes she forced upon me, disrespect toward Her Grace the Duchess, treason against the duchy, perjury, slander, and spreading malicious rumors against the nobility!"
After listening, Victor silently pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. "Could you say it one more time? Where exactly were you caught cheating by your 'dear little weasel'?"
"Vic, are you drunk? Your memory is terrible. It was in Baroness Sunny's bed."
"Mm. You deserved to be beheaded!"
…
Dandelion's version ended there. Victor then recalled a casual conversation he had with Angoulême while camping in the wilderness not long ago.
After hearing the part Victor narrated, Angoulême gave a lewd little snicker and tossed a piece of wood into the campfire. "That bastard was lucky he ran fast. During the six years after he fled the duchy, the things that happened to the duchess were not pleasant, so he deliberately didn't talk about them… Let me fill in that part of the story for you!
"Back then, as soon as Dandelion escaped, Duke Raymond came rushing back from Cintra to catch them in the act, because a servant had written down everything that happened in a letter and sent it to him.
"That brought a fine disaster down on the duchess, but that despicable informer didn't come out ahead either. The furious duke cut his throat open with a single slash!
"After placing Anna Henrietta under house arrest, Duke Raymond originally planned to send soldiers after Dandelion, dig out his heart, fry it with lard, and feed it to the duchess. It's such a pity he didn't manage it. In my opinion, that's the only regrettable part of the entire affair.
"Then that hot-tempered duke got so angry he had a stroke!"
Victor propped his chin on his hand. "A stroke, and then he died?"
"Oh no, he lived for several more years. It wasn't until he suffered a second stroke in another mistress's bed that he finally died, to everyone's relief.
"According to the person who told the story, even if you described him in the mildest possible terms, Duke Raymond was still a villain, a son of a bitch. Even the devil would get ulcers after spending six months with him, and Toussaint continued to suffer under his rule.
"As for Lady Anna Henrietta, long may she live!"
…
Amid the clatter of hooves, Victor combined his memories, the knights' attitudes, and the prophetic development of the plot, and could confirm that Her Enlightened Ladyship and Dandelion were still tangled together by lingering old affection. The connections derived from this made this country practically half a home field. Though it could not compare to Skellige as a full home field, it was still a very convenient place to operate.
In the game, Toussaint had once been set as the promised land of the final happy ending. After completing a series of quests, Geralt would obtain a fine manor and fertile land here, establishing the vineyard estate known as the White Wolf Retirement Home.
Looking around from horseback and experiencing the rural charm that seemed to combine French and Italian styles, Victor decided on the spot that he would buy property here for himself, set up an elegant vineyard, and enjoy the quiet leisure beneath the Provence sun.
Passing through the forest, they emerged into an open valley. On both sides, gentle hills were covered in neatly trimmed hedges and shrubs. Beneath the shrubs, the ground was carpeted with red and yellow leaves. These were the economic pillar of Toussaint, grapevines.
"Look!" said Palmerin de Launfal, riding on Victor's right, pointing beside them. "This is the famous Sansretour Valley. The best wines in the world are made from grapes grown here."
"Indeed, I have read documents introducing it," the witcher replied politely. "It is said that the soil of the valley is volcanic, with a porous structure and excellent drainage. Combined with Toussaint's ideal sunlight and rainfall, the careful cultivation of the vineyard workers, and the expertise of the winemakers, it ultimately produces wines of extraordinary quality."
"Victor, you are a man who knows the trade," Knight Palmerin said with a smile. "Extraordinary quality! Well said. Do you see that white castle tower? Perhaps you would like to know that the castle is Castel Ravello.
"The vineyards there are abundant in Erveluce, Fiorano Rosé, Pomino, and the famous Est Est. Everyone knows that, whether it is wine produced in Cidaris or Nilfgaard, Est Est costs ten times as much."
"What a wonderful coincidence! I have a friend who is very fond of Est Est and Fiorano Rosé. She specifically asked me to bring those two back for her. Perhaps when I leave, I should take a full oak barrel with me."
"Your friend sounds like a lady?"
"Without a doubt, she is indeed a lady."
"What a pity! Young witcher, I thought you would want to have a romance here."
"If the opportunity arises, I would not be opposed."
…
Several days later, when the elven-built castle appeared before their eyes, both Victor, who was seeing it for the first time, and Angoulême, who had been there before, could not help but sigh in admiration.
"What a magnificent castle," Victor said with admiration in his voice. "After traveling through many lands, Beauclair's beauty definitely ranks among the finest. A pleasing style, and a truly admirable visual effect."
"This place is still so pretty!" Angoulême added.
"Welcome to Beauclair Palace," Knight Milton said proudly. "The best-preserved building from the elven era, restored and partially rebuilt by Master Faramond."
"Forgive my ignorance, but who is this Master Faramond?" Victor asked casually.
Knight Palmerin said, "It is normal for a northerner not to know him. He was a famous Nilfgaardian scholar, an expert on nonhuman architecture, and is recognized as the founder of the new school of elven architecture. Beauclair Palace is his most perfect masterpiece."
"Look closely," Knight Milton explained. "Faramond's style is mainly displayed in those prominent towers."
Following where Milton pointed, Victor carefully observed the cluster of white spires, each covered by red roofs, all of them pointing straight toward the sky. At first glance, it looked like a beautifully decorated cake covered with birthday candles.
Feeling as if he had truly understood something, Victor nodded and smiled. "Very interesting. Thank you for the introduction!"
"Come! If we do not wish to spend the night outside the city, we had better quicken our pace. Do not think we are very close just because you can see the castle. These mountains distort one's sense of distance." After saying that, Palmerin lightly squeezed his horse's sides.
And so, on the way to the city, their party overtook many carts and carriages. It seemed the harvest season had arrived again, because those carts were all loaded full of grapes.
Victor suddenly remembered having once read in a book that every harvest season, Toussaint held a certain rather sensual winemaking ritual. In his heart, he calculated that perhaps he could delay for a few days and seize the chance to witness an interesting folk custom.
By the time evening approached, the four of them crossed the city park. Everywhere here were poplars, yews, and barberries. As they passed beside rose bushes, they could also see many varieties of wild roses.
Many details that flashed by quickly in the game, once manifested in reality, carried a dreamlike sense of wonder. Victor made up his mind that after his audience with the duchess was over, he would properly tour Beauclair. The last time he had felt this impulse to explore a city had been when he first arrived in Novigrad.
Following the white stone streets, fragrant with the scent of grapes, as they wound upward, they finally arrived at Beauclair Palace on the mountain. Beneath the carved pillars that decorated the palace gates, the knights and soldiers of the duchy stood guard, protecting their beloved ruler, Anna Henrietta.
Milton volunteered to go in and make the report, while Palmerin stayed outside to accompany the two members of the Phantom Troupe.
The witcher had originally thought it would take some time before he was received, perhaps even that they would have to wait until the next morning. But very soon, a strong, bald man with a face covered in scars walked out of the palace.
He came to a stop two steps away from the troupe and the knight, then bowed.
Victor raised an eyebrow, then bowed in return according to etiquette. According to knightly tradition, the four of them should remain silent for ten heartbeats as a sign of respect.
However, this sort of rule meant nothing to Angoulême. After bowing, she immediately lifted her head without restraint and spoke. "Ah! Mr. Scar, you came out to greet us! Long time no see, I, Angoulême, am back again!"
No one paid attention to her. After the three of them properly finished the ceremony, the bald, scarred man nodded to Palmerin, then took the initiative to greet Victor. "Known as Victor of Kaer Trolde, the respected Mr. Victor Corion, I am Damien de la Tour,"
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