About Opulence at Midnight

by Renee Manley
36 pages / 15000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-132-7, 1-60370-132-X
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

King Gaspar thinks his people need something to distract them from their peasant superstitions. He thinks his sons ought to get married, too. So he throws a royal bash of epic proportions, encouraging Neville, the Crown Prince, to find a bride.

Neville's brother Sylvain finds more than he bargains for at the bash, including the most beautiful man. Roslyn is just what he needs, manly,
amazingly hot, and not at all boring. Can Sylvain hang on to his new love when things go horribly wrong? Or will he, and his brother, suffer the consequences of their father's excess?

Sample

His people lived much too long in the shadows of superstition, Gaspar had thought, and he vowed to make massive reforms once crowned king. It was an event that was inevitable, to say the least, and when the day finally came, the celebrations were spectacular and frenzied. Here was a new ruler, after all, who was expected to lead the kingdom to a new era of greatness—one marked by progress in thought and in faith.

Gaspar was of the new faith, and he was an admired scholar. He desired above all else to eradicate all traces of the heathen propensities - those he strongly believed to be a great hindrance to his kingdom’s advancement. He’d watched his people since the moment he was taught his duties—watched their minds grow stunted under the heavy, backward influence of ancient beliefs that had no real grounding on purer, more divine powers, let alone science’s rational, balancing influence. Crude ideas of worship and detestable practices based on an ancient fear of nature and freak deities defined his people’s culture and behavior, and Gaspar was none too pleased.

“This is incomprehensible,” he declared one day. “How does one expect progress to happen if people continue to hold on to barbaric absurdities?”

He stood by the window in his private chambers and gazed out into the encroaching evening hours, his features deeply etched with thoughtful lines. He’d spent his day on horseback, paying unexpected visits to towns and villages embraced by his kingdom’s long arms, a handful of soldiers and trusted aides in tow.

With grim interest, he’d watched his people bustle around, gathering wood and a host of other supplies in preparation for the coming winter. Most hurried to and fro with bundles of precious fabric, leather, wood, and leaves piled precariously in their arms. There was an air of subdued dread among the peasants as they went about their business with restless speed as though they were all racing against the hours. Of this the new king knew too well. The people may have done quite nicely in their conversion, but there were still those lingering influences that he felt needed to be eradicated once and for all, not the least of which was this primitive celebration of the end of the harvest and the start of a harsh winter—one marked by timeless fears of the dead rising to mingle with the living, blurring the lines that divided mortals from the spirit world.

Gaspar shook his head.

“There’s nothing to this primitive practice,” he said firmly, “but terror and doubt. I can’t have my people live this way year after year. In courage lies progress. One can’t move forward if he spends his days cringing from things that instill too much fear.”

His queen looked up from where she sat, idly petting a beloved little dog that was curled tightly on her lap, her light eyes following him as he paced restlessly before the window in deep thought. “I suppose you’ve heard about Odo Mourey?”

“Should I have?”

“He was a weaver, I think. He lived somewhere near the eastern borders…”

Gaspar tapped his finger against the window absently. “And?”

“He died not three days ago.”

“I’m sorry for it, Eugenia, but I fail to see how…”

The queen raised a long, white hand to silence him. “I understand that the man was frightened to death. Nothing to do with bandits or wild animals or other such things,” she hastily added when Gaspar turned around to stare at her, a bit alarmed. “He simply frightened himself to death.”

“Frightened himself to death?” the king echoed, now incredulous. “How on earth can one do that?”

“Perceived threats that have been hanging over his head all his life, I suppose. What do you think these peasants care about, Gaspar, other than their work? All those exhortations of good behavior and threats of punishment for those who dare cross the line? To a man of great learning these aren’t much more than childhood tales that entertain morbid fancies. To a peasant, though…”

Eugenia’s words faded, and she left her statement unfinished. An emphatic look was all she gave before turning her attention back to her dog. “One ought to be grateful, I suppose, that we all aren’t so badly situated in our fortunes,” she murmured as an afterthought. “Odo Mourey, from what I’ve heard, had grown so nervous that he could barely set foot outside his door without turning himself inside out with all sorts of prayers and calls for protection against all unearthly forces that might dog his steps.”

Gaspar scowled and shook his head as he turned his attention back to the scene outside his window just as raindrops began an uneven pelting of the glass. Every bent and ill-dressed figure from earlier that day now stirred his imagination. What would be this man’s greatest fear, he wondered, and what would be that woman’s worst nightmare? He thought of them skulking about with wide, wild eyes and faces distorted and prematurely aged by daily threats of supernatural occurrences.

“Such nonsense,” he sighed