Year 1886, in Paris.

Charles always lived in wealth since he was the son of the count de Leclerc. He had been raised by the etiquette, the stag-hunting, fencing and everything around. He had a diamond spoon in his mouth. He always lived in the South but for business they moved out in Paris or well not so far away, where every rich family had a mansions or even a little castle. It was really a little spot of paradise for everyone. The only trouble in paradise was the assassin around. No one knew him but every two weeks since a few months, someone was killed. People were wondering if it was a serial killer or just a hitman. Somehow, Charles convinced himself that he was protected and for now he was right. No one had tried to kill him nor his mother or father. So either they were lucky or they just weren't in the assassin target since it had been three months already since they were here.

Today, it was stag-hunting in Charles' big garden and he was very happy. It had been a while since he hadn't hunt. He was on his white stallion called Tempête and was looking all royalty with his white pants and blue tunic. He smiled and started to ride at the same time from the 7 others counts or wealthy men. He was enjoying himself, the win in his brunet hair, his green ice shinning with excitement.