Daughters of the King (Completed)

01 | Departure

"It is always the adventurers who do great things, not the sovereigns of great empires." — Montesquieu, 1689-1755

1663, Paris, France

Celeste

MY LIFE BEGAN IN disaster. My mother found herself in the violent throes of labour when travelling to an extravagant party in the Place des Vosges, the elegant square housing the wealthiest apartments in Paris. Before she could command the driver of the carriage to halt and escort her home, I arrived—my reddened hands clenched into fists—as if hesitant to leave the safe walls of my mother's womb.

With my first breath, Maman took her last. She perished with her slender arms closed around me, her satin skirts drenched in blood, and her lovely violet eyes fluttering closed with awful finality. 

As the driver later informed my father, he was forced to pry her lifeless fingers apart to extract my infant frame from her powerful embrace. It was as if she had predicted the tragedy my life would become and sought to protect me from it.

Because I was only a babe and too young to remember, my father imparted me with the tragic story of my birth. 

He had me believe I was a cursed child—ushering in the premature death of my lovely maman with my arrival in the land of the living. Worst of all, I was not the son he had longed for. I was not fit to become some entrepreneurial merchant or skillful soldier eager to pillage and conquer faraway lands. I could never salvage the wounds of my family by earning money, nor could I carry my father's name with honour.

I was but a girl.

As I grew, I never ceased to provoke indignation from my father. Even the sight of me could make him explode into a raging temper—being reminded of my mother with my violet eyes, slender form, and thick raven hair. I attempted to charm him, but none of my kind words or clever quips ever seemed to assuage his malice.

"Fille stupide!" He had screamed after a gruesome duel over a lost bet, the scents of smoke and brandy emanating from his breath, "Can you not see that you cause all my bad luck?"

After a while, the comments spurred the growth of skin thick enough to withstand the sharpest of spears.

Though my late maman's prominent Moreau clan disdained the man she had chosen for a husband, they supplied Papa with funds for my education and care. 

Thankfully, I found some refuge in learning philosophy, Latin, and literature under the guidance of several tutors. So, I devoted myself to my studies and hoped that I could salvage the burden of my girlhood by cultivating a clever mind.

Despite our ample income, Papa spent countless livres on his gambling and drink—reducing my inheritance to nothing more than a few worthless coins.

One day, my father vanished. He did not leave word or warning where he had gone. I was but a youth of thirteen, though by then, my innocence was stolen from me. All I could do was explain my case to a Parisian orphanage—begging for respite, lest I succumbed to starvation.

Though providing food, drink, and shelter, the orphanage was a most morbid place, with a stern woman called Madame Chevalier to administer the various punishments. 

She took offence at my bold nature and stubbornness, sending me up to my cot with an empty stomach many nights. Never did she offer any kind word or encouragement, for she believed that such frivolous compliments precipitated pride.

Recalling my troubled past aids me in understanding why I answered King Louis's call for young, unmarried women to populate the enigmatic colony of New France through marrying French settlers and providing them with heirs.