Secret Identity
Maxted and Josephine left the rented estate to do business. They had arrived in Val Royeax as part of a small party in advance of formal visits and official business within the city. He needed to visit his usual court tailor and had offered to accompany Josephine on her own errands. She had planned several receptions and salons on behalf of the inquisition, meaning she needed offerings for their guests and was liaising with suppliers, new and old, to make arrangements.
He looked forward to the coming weeks, he enjoyed much of what Orlais had to offer, although he preferred all of it in small doses. Unlike some he knew, he had few fears regarding The Game. There were less than a handful that could best him at it. He loved the challenge, he also enjoyed the relief of not having to deal with it as a part of his everyday life.
Maxted and Josephine wandered through the Summer market in search of a particular pastry shop that was becoming the current vogue in Val Royeaux. They spotted the proprietor’s sign just as a familiar and imposing figure emerged, followed by two heavily burdened elves clad in the old fashioned robes required of Circle mages.
Josephine hailed her; “Ah Madame De Fer, I am unsurprised that this establishment has your patronage. You have given me confidence that it’s wares will be as delightful as it’s reputation promises” The Grand Enchanter of the diminished Circle of Magi politely smiled and nodded slowly at each of them “Ambassador Montilyet, Inquisitor.” Maxted smiled back, hoping he didn’t look like a gurning fool. He always felt like an idiot in front of this woman. He’d never entirely extinguished the effects of the puerile, embarrassing crush he’d formed on her when she had walked down those stairs at Duke Bastien De Ghislain’s estate. Often, when he had spoken with her and there was no more official business to discuss, he’d fall into those deep, grey eyes and start blathering foolishly as he flailed in conversational panic. He was a towering, accomplished man who felt like a gangly half-grown boy next to her statuesque, poised figure. He would stay calm this time and… well, he would stay calm. He took a breath. “Please” he said, “I am not my title, after all this time you must feel free to use my given name.”
“My dear, what are we, if not the standard-bearers of our own accomplishments? You should carry your title with pride. Besides, you know I could never manage to remember that little bit of trivia.”