VERSAILLES || h.s.

II

The arrival at Versailles was quite exquisite, even Harry himself had to admit. The detailed gates wrought in pure gold opened to reveal the beautiful gardens that stretched as far as the eye could see, and then further still. The carriage made its way around the majestic fountains and the horses trotted to a stop behind another carriage. Harry could see the royal British coat of arms emblazoned on the back, and the intricate ivory design that swirled around the golden shell signified the passenger was of great importance.

The Earl stepped out of his own carriage – equally as grandiose – and waited patiently to greet the passenger of the other. "Harry, do join me. You must meet my dear friend."
Harry obliged and stood beside his father, disinterested in whomever he was about to meet. His mother and sister joined him and his father.

Who could possibly be important enough to warrant the entire family's attention?

"My lord, your collar," his mother hissed quietly. "Fix it."
Harry did not budge.
"Harry Edward Styles, do not test me at this time. If you embarrass me in front of these people, I shall have your head," she whispered, her words like daggers. And yet, Harry did not move.
Losing her patience, the Countess reached for his collar to correct it. Before Harry could argue, a man stepped out from the Royal carriage and began playing a royal entry fanfare. The British coat of arms unfurled from his trumpet. Everyone froze and stood to attention.

Harry spotted his father bowing, and soon everyone around him, servants and nobles alike, followed suit. He, as usual, did not.
"Harry, for the love of God, you are about to encounter the K—" The Earl's scolding was cut off by the Countess' sharp slap to the back of Harry's head.
"Bow. Now."

This time, he obliged.

He noticed a sudden crowd of people making their way out of the palace doors; aristocracy from across Europe, wearing the most expensive gowns and overcoats that money could buy, all gathering around this single carriage and bowing.
The herald cleared his throat as the crowd settled. Harry heard murmurs in German, Dutch, Portuguese, as people silenced themselves.
Then he began to speak: "Please make way for His Majesty, King George III of England!"

Oh. The King, Harry thought. He almost felt guilty for his close encounter with disgracing his family name.

Almost.

A series of fanfare followed from the herald as everyone bowed even lower, and the King stepped out of his carriage. He halted when he reached Harry's father.
"The Earl of Breckenridge. My, it has been too long my friend," he spoke. His tone was serious yet amiable. The Earl stood, and only then did everyone else.
"Your Majesty, indeed it has. Might I introduce you to my family," the Earl began. "My wife, The Honourable Countess Breckenridge, my daughter, The Lady Gemma Anne Styles, and my son, The Viscount Breckenridge, Lord Harry Edward Styles."

Each curtsied as their name was mentioned.
The King took the Countess' hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles.
"An honour, my Lords," the King said.
"The honour is ours, Your Majesty," the Countess replied, bowing once again.

The King and Earl departed and walked toward a group of noble men, leaving the Countess with her children.
"My dearest, accompany me," she said to her daughter. "Butler, collect my son's things and show him to his chambers. He is not to leave his confines until supper," she told the finely dressed French servant. She gave Harry one last, harsh look before turning away.
"Oui, Comtesse. Vicomte, follow me, s'il vous plaît."
The butler summoned more servants to carry the Viscount's luggage and led the way to his bedroom.

Harry huffed grumpily and followed like a sulky child. However, his thoughts were lost as soon as he entered through the palace doors. The lavish walls were covered with beautiful carvings and paintings of angels, and the ceilings were an artwork within themselves. The marble floors and golden candelabras only added to the luxury. The foyer alone was more elaborately decorated than any castles Harry had ever visited; he couldn't possibly imagine the dining hall or the ballroom.

The butler ushered him up an imposing marble and gold staircase that led to a long corridor with two doors on either side and a floor-to-ceiling window at the end. His own manor was very impressive in its own right, but Versailles was another universe entirely.

"Vicomte, votre chambre," the butler announced, opening the double doors that led to Harry's room. All his belongings had been put into the closet and his trunks were stored.

The room was even bigger than his at the Breckenridge Manor, and that was a bold statement. The monstrous bed had a red silk canopy trimmed with gold, and the bed was covered in a cream-coloured quilt embedded with gold ivy leaves. The ceiling featured a painting of Cupid surrounded by lovelorn and lovestruck couples. Four french doors adorned the wall opposite to the bed, and led out onto a balcony brimming with red roses. Plush velvet stools were arranged in the corner of the room, accompanied by a large painting. In fact, there was a large painting on each wall. The candle-lit chandelier glittered with diamonds and gold, brightening the room. The skirting along the walls and the arches throughout the ceiling were also gold.

"Pardon, Vicomte, but I must inform you that this bookshelf is the entry to your salle de bains. That is, your bathroom," the butler said. He made his way to the shelf and tugged on a book, and the entire thing spun halfway to reveal a luxurious marble bathroom.
"Yes, thank you," Harry said, distracted. "Why, might I ask, is there so much red in this room?" he enquired, turning to the butler.
"Versailles has created themed rooms for its guests, Vicomte. Yours so happens to be La Chambre d'Amour," the butler explained, a slight smirk grazing his lips. Harry had a minimal knowledge of French; he lived in England, he rarely ever used it.

"What does that mean?" he asked, noticing the look of amusement on the butler's face.
"Vicomte, quite literally, it means 'The Love Room,' but it is called the Red Room for quite obvious reasons. I believe the decor attempts to instil passion and, er... How do you say... Ah, yes, sexual desire upon those that enter," the butler said, smiling knowingly. Harry blushed.

"I–I see. Very well. Uh, please, tell me, what is your name?" he continued, attempting desperately to deviate the subject.
"Je m'appelle Jaques, Vicomte."
"Thank you, Jaques. That will be all."

Jaques bowed and left the Viscount's room, shutting the doors behind him. If his reputation as a womaniser did not scare off any potential one-night conquests, the room filled with allusions to sexual intentions certainly would.

"The Love Room," Harry scoffed. "Splendid."