────────「 ʳⁱᵛᵃˡˢ & ʳᵒˢᵉˢ 」──

[wait for me.]

𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝙺𝚒𝚛á𝚕𝚢
22 | Princess of Austria | Location: Austria --> England | Mentions: Eleanor | Tags: Open | wc: 1399

Marriage was a solemn duty and Wilhelmina Király had never expected that she would marry for love. It had never been an option for her. From the moment of her birth, her parents had supplied her with a steady stream of potential husbands, but none of them ever lasted. One of them, though, had been more than just a consideration. Jerrik, the former heir apparent to Denmark, had always been kind, the few times they had met. Mina had settled into the idea of being married to him, of ruling their countries together, of creating an alliance between Denmark and Austria. Her father had been pleased by the possibility of the infamously prosperous Danish ports, and Mina had been pleased to see her father so happy. It was a rare occasion, for he was an austere man. Alas, the engagement ended, not with a wedding, but with the death of her fiancé. Though they had barely known one another, Mina had cried for the loss. It was always a sorrowful day when a good man left this world. And a good, young royal, at that. He might have done many good things for the world, things that would be written about in the years to come. Instead, sickness had come and claimed him and he lay cold in his grave. Such was life.

As she helped to pass up the last of her trunks to the servants loading the carriage, Mina let herself take one last look at her the Hofburg. It was not her favorite of her family's residences, but her family would not be returning to the summer palace until the warmer weather returned in force. The façade of the Hofburg was grey, blending with the snow in the heights of winter. Its true beauty was in its three brilliant blue domes, which demanded attention, forcing one to draw their eyes up into the heavens. It was beautiful and sprawling, yes, but in a way that was, at its grandest, crystalline. The summer palace, Schönbrunn, was a diamond, a gleaming, glorious yellow diamond. Her heart ached at the thought that she would not see it again before she went to England. She would next be accompanied to these palaces by her husband. A sobering consideration, to say the very least, and painful, too, if she were being honest. These were the homes of her childhood, such as it was. She had played in the gardens and the private menagerie of Schönbrunn, had chased the dogs through the snow of the Hofburg's courtyard. Would she ever again be permitted something so lightsome?

All she knew of the man that she was to marry was that one, he was English, two, he was called Raymond, and three, he was not her equal. She knew that none of the English, nor the French princes were called Raymond, so she knew that this man was not royalty. It was a slight to her, her family, and her nation that she had been arranged to marry a man who could provide her with little to no additional wealth or influence. Her parents had tried to arrange matches between her and all of the English princes, and it had always been denied. Now she saw why. The current English monarchs did not see Austria as their equivalent. This arrangement was all but an insult. However, that did not mean that Mina was going to sulk and refuse to cooperate. After all, her parents had been the ones to accept. When her temper sparked, her parents reminded that that, while the marriage itself may seem degrading, it provided opportunities. Connections. And perhaps this man – Raymond – would be ambitious, eager to play the game of politics and war. Power and wealth might still be gained for her nation, it simply had to be won, rather than freely given. Perhaps that was for the best. It was rarely a good thing when one owed their power to the favor of another nation. Mina certainly did not want to be indebted to England. At least a lower noble from England was better than a prince from France. Marrying into French royalty had, historically, not gone well for Austrians.

"Eure Hoheit?" The driver approached, his hat in his hands, "Wir müssen gehen. Bist du vorbereitet?" (tr. Your highness? We must go now. Are you prepared?)

"So viel ich sein kann, Adal." (tr. As much as I can be) She had said her goodbyes to her family before she and the servants began to load the carriage so as to not tire herself out with crying or prolong her leaving, but now she wished that she had waited. If she ran back into the palace now, would she find any of her siblings within that first hall? Would she find her parents? She longed to throw her arms around them and embrace them all one last time. Would the youngest, little three-year-old Albert, even remember her face when she returned? Though she knew better than to voice it to a servant like Adal, she did not hide her sorrow from him. Her face was long, her lips turned down, her eyes filled with tears that she would not let fall, at least, not yet. "Ich glaube, wir müssen jetzt gehen oder ich verliere die Nerven." (tr. I believe we must go now or I will lose my nerve.)The older man gave her a pitying look, placed his hat back on his head, and pulled himself into the driver's seat. Mina whistled for her dog, Cobbler, who leaped into the carriage ahead of her. Impatient to be off, she didn't wait for anyone to help her in to the carriage. As they drove off, Mina looked out the window, leaning her head to see backward until the palace's domes disappeared from view. It was only then that she let herself whimper, then cry. She hated that she was crying, but once she started, it was awfully hard to stop. Cobbler sat with his head in her lap all the while, occasionally leaning closer to nudge her hand for a scratch behind the ears.

Before ever setting foot on a ship, Mina had already been traveling for nearly three weeks, having taken a carriage from Vienna, through Bavaria, to Belgium, where a ship was waiting to take her to from Ostend to London. Sore, craving a good bed and better food, Mina bore it all as best she could. It could've been worse, after all. Going through France would have taken almost another two days, and would hardly have shortened the journey by ship. The schooner, chartered by her family for only her and the few servants she had brought with her, could travel at around sixteen knots, meaning that the journey would only take about six hours, scarcely more than a blink, given the rest of her trip. It had seemed so much shorter, the times she had made the same journey as a child. Perhaps she had lost some of her patience.

And so it was that Mina found herself once more in a carriage, the English palace finally in sight. Something reminiscent of excitement kindled in her belly and she perked up, Cobbler equally restless at her feet. She ruffled Cobbler's ears and praised him for how well he had handled the journey, calling him a "Guter Hund!" again and again, making his tail thump against the floor. The time that she had spent traveling had turned her irritation with the English and the sorrow at leaving her family into eagerness to show her talents and make her family proud. When the carriage finally stopped, Mina commanded Cobbler to "Fuß!" (tr. Heel!) and, waiting patiently to have her door opened for her, took the hand a servant offered and stepped down from the carriage with all the grace she could command. Cobbler was quick on her heels, but, as if he understood the import of the situation, moved with equal grace. She took a deep breath of the brisk English air and let a closed-mouth smile cross her lips.

Her eyes landed on Eleanor Addington, a woman who had once been her dearest friend in this world. She had grown into herself since she had seen her last, as Mina supposed she, herself, had done. And that was the problem, wasn't it? That they had both been too much themselves to remain friends? An old feeling stirred in her and she forced it down again. Now was not the time for such thoughts.

[RaptureMetro]

♕⸸ 𝔓𝔦𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔦𝔵 ───────────────────────────────────────
{ prince de france . location: france → eng. palace . mention(s): eleanor . tag(s): valentine, kier . word count; 1,509 }

Even though Pierre had been expecting this day since he was merely a child, there was something so surreal now that the big day was finally upon them. It had been no surprise to the young prince, afterall it was his duty, his god given birthright that one day he would be betrothed to a lovely princess, they would have an extravagant wedding, and soon after inherit the throne from his father, or at least those were the stories his mother would tell to lull him into a peaceful slumber. Back then he was still so innocent, so naive to the expectations and responsibilities he would soon be saddled with, some days he wished he could return to those simpler times. A time where he could spend endless hours, days even with his childhood friend without arousing suspicious whispers from the castle staff. A time where he didn’t have the weight of a treaty resting on his shoulders, where any wrong move, wrong word could mean another war between the very people they had formed an alliance with.

England, it seemed foreign that their greatest adversary would soon enough be united with the bonds of marriage into forming such an unlikely union. He remembered his parents, their smiling faces, how proud they looked when they announced the news that they had been able to arrange to marry off their children in exchange for England’s aid in their hour of need. He knew he should have felt honored to know that he was serving his purpose, and just steps closer to dawning the crown and being appointed the new king of France, but all he could concentrate on in that moment was fighting back the urge to throw up. He felt his chest constrict, an overwhelming sense of dread clinging to his very being, realizing in those moments that he was nothing more than a bargaining chip in his parents eyes, and once again he could feel the threads of his fate slipping through his fingers. He didn’t sleep that night, thoughts too loud to ignore.

Truthfully there had been no rest for the young prince, as in the coming days his mind found no solace. He could find no silence in the chaos of his jumbled mind, afterall he had enough to worry about, would his betrothed even like him? Would they have anything in common they could relate to? What if they despised each other? He could not love someone he hardly knew. Regardless of his protests his mother’s attempts to reassure him did little to calm his mind.

Marriage is a partnership, love will come with age as it did for your father and I.

But what if he did not have the time or the patience to give his heart away to someone else, or what if he made the mistake of giving the princess his heart only for her to not reciprocate said feelings? He didn’t know if he could handle another heartbreak such as that. He knew very little of the Addington’s, his knowledge stemming from what he’d heard through the grapevine, and the brief information he’d gathered from his parents. Eleanor Addington, from what he could amass on his future fiance was nothing more than pleasantries, that lady Addington was a lovely, quiet young woman who would make an exceptional wife one day. There was no doubt in Pierre’s mind that Miss Eleanor was a lovely woman (he did not wish to speak ill of someone he hardly knew), but these vague niceties were not enough to quench his uncertainties, and he still had his doubts. He just wished he wasn’t alone in his fears when he finally came face to face with his dear Bonnie, as his mother had affectionately nicknamed his betrothed. How oblivious she seemed to be of his apprehensions, some days he wished his parents could pick up on the uncertainty so he wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He couldn’t handle the look of disappointment and skepticism that became all too familiar when he’d spoken his mind in the past.

However, there was one person Pierre knew he could trust with these apprehensions. As sleep continued to evade him, on occasion he found himself accompanied by his dearest childhood friend throughout the dead of night. A sense of peace always accompanied the young artist, and that sense of comfort and security was well needed throughout the long, sleepless nights. He confided in the young artist of his uncertainties, vented his frustrations, and shared his insecurities about the entire arrangements. After all, Kieran did not judge and was always there to lend an ear so the young prince did not shoulder the world by himself.

As the dreaded day finally arrived, so too came the chaos and disarray of a long day’s travel. As much as it pained him to be kept apart from his dear friend, he knew they would eventually be reunited once the disorder managed to settle the closer they got to their destination, and as the ferry docked and everyone found themselves situated in their respective carriages so too did Pierre find himself reunited with Kieran. As Pierre settled down in the carriage his attention was drawn towards a voice as another figure entered their carriage. A brief, gracious smile greeted Valentine before the young prince dipped his head towards her, “Good Afternoon Lady Valentine, good to see we are in safe hands during our travels” He greeted, sprinkling in a little praise as he did. "The English royal family will be lucky to have you among their ranks for the time being". It was common practice to have a knight to escort them during their travels, but escorting was not the only reason Val was present on this journey. It seems father and mother had involved everyone in this little arrangement. “I hope you don’t get homesick easily, as I don’t believe we’ll be returning home for some time” He spoke, almost as if he had been talking to himself and not so much addressing either Val or Kier.

As the ride progressed, dark eyes stayed fixed on the exterior as the carriage rattled about, a foreign land laid sprawled out on the other side of the glass panes. Only so many more miles till the inevitable, was it too late to flee from the carriage? Surely Valentine would be tasked with retrieving him if he did attempt to make such a reckless break. Pierre does not dwell much longer on this impulsive thought as Kieran’s voice breaks the stillness, “Hm?” dark eyes drift towards his companion taking a moment to recognize what he said, “Oh… I supposed you’re right, the royal family must pay good money to keep this path well cared for”. He appreciated Kier for the distractions; a conversation was enough to keep the young prince away from his thoughts for the time being.

His lips curled into a comfortable smile, as he felt his companion collide against him. How effortlessly the young artist could drag the prince out of any funk, and go about brightening his mood with a little nudge and a well placed statement, “Touche mon cher ami” The anxieties from the night before all but vanishing for the time being, “but fear not no woman could ever take your place as my royal advisor, after all there are very few people who can discern my handwriting quite as well as you can” He mused, a warm look lingering behind his eyes. Kieran had nothing to fear, if it was up to Pierre (which it was) he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon… As long as Kier’s own betrothed had no trouble with the arrangements.

An amused look took hold of Pierre’s features at the sudden accusations being thrown around, for all the years he’d known Kieran he could easily differentiate between the times he was being serious and the times he was being funny, and this was one of those times. An feigned offended look took hold of Pierre’s features as he stared at his friend in disbelief, “Kieran you wound me” His voice laced with a playful disbelief, “Do you have no faith in my memory?” he smirked, a light chuckle following his statement.

“You would have all right to not forgive me, but you are not so easily replaceable. No pretty face will ever lead me to forget about you” He reassured, resting his hand on Kieran’s shoulder, his dark eyes locked with Kieran’s, lingering for a moment longer than needed.

Shortly after this comment the carriage came to halt, reality once again washing over Pierre as his gaze turned back towards the window of the carriage. A knot forming in his throat, as the carriage door opened, the afternoon light trickling into the confines of the plush interior. His dark eyes turned back towards his companions for a moment, “on y va?” He questioned, Shall we? It was such a simple question, but in those two words he called upon reassurance from his childhood friend, a question silently passed between the two; Everything will be alright… right?

[Fawnie]

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ＴＩＴＬＥＳ//nonexxxxxxxxx ＰＲＯＮＵＮＣＩＡＴＩＯＮ//MAHN-seexxxxxxxxx ＴＡＧＳ//raymond
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the surreal feeling of residing at the palace. for all she had known, it was just a very large and pretty home, not for the likes of people like her. never in a million years had she envisioned herself taking up a quarter in one of the guest rooms. peering into the vanity mirror, gazing deep into the eyes of her reflection 'i'm a prisoner here am i not? am i not a pretty bird in a very pretty cage?' a squire had come to the basu family residence only a week ago, bearing the news that she were to be betrothed by degree of the king. one does not refuse, for all she knew it could mean the doom of her family otherwise. at first, she didn't deem it all too bad seeing as a match made by nobility, she was only moving up from there... except from what she had heard, her future husband was titless like her AND poor. the royal family was insulting her to say the least, perhaps punishing them for other unknown reasons. had her pita not amassed such riches, would she have been spared from this fate? was this some twisted way to prevent her from getting ahead in life? spearhead the eldest of the basu sisters and for what reason? she was a fool for having great sprits when she allowed them to escort her to the palace. like a prized animal, she knew she was getting pampered only for the kill.

the little lies she told herself was the only thing that kept her from defeat altogether. over the course of the week, she often surprised herself by how good of a liar she was. without the tight embrace of her maa's arms or her cardamom scented shoulder for mansi to bury her face in, there was no telling if she was going to be able to stop crying if she started. 'no tears' she told herself, knowing very well she cry out a new pond at the addington residence. on most days, she dismissed the maid that tried to visit her quarters. it was all she can do to preserve herself, taking care not to lash out on the maid. mansi cleaned her own messes, dressed herself, found mundane 'lowly' tasks to do, anything that could avert her mind from the obligation coming her way. intrusive thoughts plagued her throughout the day, only to cease at night. despite the ill news, her body was kind to her in that it still found sleep effortlessly.

"yes, yes, please. you may come in", musing from her bath, she looked down in her tub and she realized her skin was rasining from the prolonged time in the water. the milky mixture of fancy soaps and oils had gone cold long ago. 'miss basu...' the maid started, "MAHN-see" she politely interjected, allowing the woman to blanket her in a towel. she had an interesting thought whether the servants were dead-set on formality or were they struggling with the foreign-ness of her name? 'basu' was easy for her pita had cultivated power to the name. but of 'mansi', she supposed it was merely a phrase, yet to be claimed by the eldest of the basu girls. as much as she had wished that they got it right, she held no ill-will for their blundering tongues. the palace had a plethora of servants and of the faces she recognized, they were the ones that often served the prince and princess of england. the place was even devoid of those faces. how alienating it was to be restricted to one wing of the castle, surrounded by strangers. if she could have had her way, she would have ran to princess eleanor the first day she got there. alas, mansi was on orders not to seek out the monarchs. she doubted the princess nor the crown prince had an inkling. at the least, she hoped they didn't know, otherwise she'd have to tell another lie to herself. running a comb through her dripping hair, the image of eleanor's surprised face when her name was going to be announced for the pairing gave her some life. mansi had to repeat multiple times to herself 'she's innocent. she's innocent. she's innocent. baby girl doesn't know i'm here. this is at the hand of something more nefarious.' for the past couple of days, she was given little information. the one thing she knew was that she had to preform tonight: she was on orders that her dignitaries were to be untroubled by her 'inconveniences'. the command put her in a state of gloom.

for a moment, her worries vanished. it bemused her when the maid had cast a curious glance at the gown and shawl she had pulled out. the attire was a marriage of her roots and english fashion. the dress itself resembled that of england: empire waist, fitted bodice, bare shoulders. she allowed the maid to fasten it on her from the back, knowing her gaze was trained on the watery gray fabric and the peculiar pattern. the shawl was a soft gray, largely sheer with thick bands of silvery needlework at the trim. she draped a portion of it on her shoulder, pleated it diagonally across her body, secured the folds with a golden waistband, and let the rest of the fabric fall elegantly to the side. mansi twirled once for the maid to marvel at her radiance. the way the clothes caught the light, it glistened like the moon, as if some of its essence was captured in the fabric. by the look of the perplexed maid, she stifled a chortle: an inside joke that if she wore her native attire in full, she could have easily upstaged royalty. 'is it treasonous to think like this?' mansi pondered 'only if i were to act on it'. she would never.

aside from the formal wear, her accessories were understated. a single golden cuff adorned her arm. a hair stick of similar color kept her black mane at bay in a neat bun. her belongings still clung to the earthy aroma of home- black tea. at once, she had returned to her state of despair. it was only a matter of time before her things would adopt a new, foreign scent. whatever was going down that night, she was prepared for a negotiation to better her situation.

'miss...' the maid caught herself and cleverly pivoted 'shall i escort you?' mansi nodded and linked her arm with the servant without a word. the two traversed the long hallways in a comfortable silence other than the rhythm of their asynchronous steps. being a head taller than the woman beside her, it was only natural. although there were no servants in sight, she speculated that the walls had ears regardless. at the start of a familiar set of stairs, mansi broke the long reticence: "thank you" she uttered through the clopping of their shoes. silence. she didn't expect an encouraging remark for mansi was no noblewoman to be kissed up to. she held no blame on the lady as she had been good to her for the week. with every passing corridor, the palace became alive once more, indicating that their trek was coming to an end. at last, they reached the foyer of the palace. from a distance, she made out the silhouettes of some familiar english nobles, neatly lined up to greet the foreign visitors. in her last moments with her maid, the woman patted her shoulder and wordlessly exited the scene. mansi could have only made it as a 'good luck, see you later'.

quickly, she considered what actions she had to take as the distance between her and her dignitaries shortened. 'keep things light, stupid' she reminded herself. her coffee-colored eyes flickered from one nameless face to the next. there was no trustworthy face in sight. the three before her were her only hope despite hating the idea that she needed help. 'innocent until proven otherwise'; with that, she checked her pessimism before joining them to make a quartet. "prince laurence, princess eleanor, nice evening" she chimed in her most nonchalant voice, mixed with heavy formality for the prying eyes. "raymond" she traded for a teasy-friendly tone as she stood on his other side. at laurance, she discreetly had a second take on him, noting a slight dishevelment to his appearance. no words for the crown prince. mansi lightly bit down her tongue. no questions, it was probably best not to inquire. naturally, she folded her hands behind her back, patiently waiting for the guests to arrive.

she side-eyed intently, waiting to lock eyes on raymond. for when he did, she cocked her head and rolled her eyes in light exasperation of the event, then nodded her head towards him. it was a light message he should have known well: drinks after this? you in? she watched for a silent reply, eyes trained in the direction of where the first of the foreigners would enter. for ray, it was a mere casual request for company, for mansi, a small thing with a deeper message:

'ray old buddy, old drinking pal, i need your schedule to be free so i take take advantage of you to escape the palace and get my affairs sorted out. i know you don't know what's going on in my mind but i'm really betting on the fact that you don't have knightly duties and they've allowed you some time to decompress after the night is over. ray please, for all the knightly duties i neglected you for, i must admit i feel -removed- right now and would rather not try to find a plan b, c, or d...i'm not sure if i'll be clever enough to make a plan b. many thanks if this long shot worksxxxxxx- sincerely your drinking buddy that really needs a 'drink', mansi'

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ＴＲＡＮＳＬＡＴＩＯＮＳ//माँ - maa - momxxxxxxxxx पिता - pita - dad

[Zyn]

🛡️ 𝚁𝚊𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚛𝚔𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 🛡️
English Knight || "Ray" || Male || Twenty-Four || Pansexual || wc: 2,413

◤xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx◥
🛡️ Location: The Grand Entrance
🛡️ Tags: Eleanor & Mansi
🛡️ Mood: Lawrence & Wilhelmina
◣xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx◢

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Maybe it was habit or maybe it was nerves but Raymond was awake before the sun even considered peering over the horizon, painting the sky with a soft orange glow. He hadn't managed to fall asleep until long after the sun had fallen the night prior and had gotten a scarce amount of sleep. He had known the moment his eyes had opened that he would be unable to fall back to sleep. Until that night he had been able to pretend like each day leading up to the arrival of the royal families guests was just any other day. Pretending like it this whole event wasn't ever going to happen. One of those guests was destined to be his wife, a statement he never thought he would hear, he still hadn't uttered it out loud. The idea of being set up was not something he had found to be desirable in the least. In fact he hadn't even considered the idea of marriage, his parents hardly acknowledged that he existed and he knew they cared little of him and any offspring he could have. To be completely honest he was fairly certain that if he parents had his way then he would not be married nor would they want him to have children. That was the duty of his elder brothers and sisters to pass on the bloodline and through his brothers their name. The Arkwright name. Something he often wondered if he was even worthy of bearing, his parents had never seemed to think he was. Though they had never outright disowned him, that would look very poorly for them no doubt. To disown a knight, practically scandalous. The talk of the city for good long while for sure, though he doubted such a thing would be big enough to last long. Still the threat of such a thing seemed to be enough to hold his parents back from officially disowning him. Their lack of letters hadn't gone unnoticed and in a way he felt they had unofficially disowned him, the only thing he got to keep was the family name.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Raymond let his head fall into his hands, doubling over as he wearily scrubbed his eyes. The morning had come and with it the sun had started to peer through the windows. Even the curtains that he had pulled over the window to block the sun from bothering him did little to hide that day had officially started. All he wanted to do was flop backwards and curl into a ball under the blankets and pretend like it was still night time. Like today wasn't going to ever happen. He pressed his fists into his eyes drawing in a deep breath as though preparing himself to stand up. However as he released the breath trapped in his lungs he merely sagged to the side, flopping against the bed like he was boneless. He knew he had to get up soon, the guests weren't set to arrive any time soon but he had told himself he had to be out and waiting before anyone else. A guard of sort to keep an eye out just in case someone wanted to try something tricky. He barely twitched at the sounds of footsteps passing his door, the servants and maids were bustling around. It was what he was supposed to be doing right now rather than sitting around. His gaze drifted to the chair set by his dresser. He had managed to drag in a decent sized mirror and had leaned it beside his dresser. It helped in the morning to be able to tell if he looked halfway decent or if he needed a little more help. The mirror wasn't his primary focus though, neither was the chair that he had initially looked at. No it was the formal clothes that he had laid out the day before. He had gotten off guard duty and spent hours trying to figure out what to wear, which seems like it wouldn't be so bad until one realized he didn't have too many clothes to begin with. On top of that he had very few formal pieces so it should have taken him so long. Yet it had. Staring at his shirts and trousers like he had never seen them before in his life. Carefully laying them out side by side to see which would go best together and then second guessing himself. He had reached a conclusion in the nick of time. The sun had only just gone down when he had picked finally and blown out his candles.

Heaving a sigh Raymond pushed himself upright and forced himself to stand up. Pausing to run his fingers through his hair. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. The guests would arrive even if he wasn't ready and he would much prefer that he was ready for them. Gathering himself he took the few strides towards the chair and started changing, his fingers moving methodically while his mind wandered. It didn't take long to get changed, he had chosen to keep the pieces few in number, wearing a fancy jacket would be to warm if he was to be outside for too long. Taking a moment he carefully tied the black silken necktie, tucking the ends under his vest. Only then did he turn to the mirror and stared at himself. With a white dress shirt, black brocade vest, black silk neck tie and dark grey trousers he hardly recognized himself. Leaning closer to the mirror he turned his head to the side as though trying to find the man he was so used to seeing in the mirror. Lifting his fingers he racked his fingers through his dark hair, attempting to tame the locks until they appeared to be as put together as the rest of his outfit. As he ran his fingers through his hair he could almost see his father standing behind him. When he had been sent to the castle at the rip age of seven his father had taken the time to ensure he looked his best. His father had run his fingers through his short hair and adjusted his tie just like this. For a moment his lips tugged downwards in a frown at the imagery. A strong urge to fluff his hair almost overcame him and he had to lean away from the mirror to mess with his necktie instead. Whatever his father thought he wasn't making himself presentable to make his father feel good but to make a good impression for the royal family. It would only look poorly upon both himself and the royal family if he showed up looking like a hot mess. His fingers stilled at the thought of the guests. The only thing he had gotten was the woman's name, Wilhelmina Király, the Austrian Princess. A rank that made him nervous just thinking about. As though trying to distract himself he reached out and carefully belted his sword to his hip, letting it rest on his left hand side for easy access. It wasn't that he expected danger, just better to be prepared than regret it later.

Stepping towards the door Raymond lingered by the doorway, his hand outstretched towards a beloved top hat. His fingers drifted over the brim of the hat as he fought the urge to grab it. While it was staple of his regular attire he was fairly sure that it wouldn't be appropriate today. For a moment his fingers curled around the brim as he tugged it closer to him, trying to convince himself that it would be fine to wear it today. That it would be best for his betrothed to see what he would look like on his days off. An image of the royal family flashed in his minds eye and his fingers released the top hat and with one last longing look at the hat he shut the door. The hallway was as busy as he had pictured, maids and butlers and servants rushing around getting everything perfect. Making last minute checks to make sure that everything was exactly like it was supposed to be. The rest of the castle would be filled with the same hustle and bustle, the moment the guests arrive he could only assume that it would become quieter. Striding down the hallway he dodged out of the way of servants intent on their destination. Raymond was merely another obstacle to be avoided and something he took quite seriously as he made his way through the castle. Far too soon he was arriving at the entrance, there was no way to keep pretending like this wasn't happening today. As though seeking reassurance he let his left hand rest on the pommel of his sword. Both familiar and normal, while some of the knights had been known to carry pistols or rifles he had never been a fan of them. The advantage of distance was a nice thought but muskets in particular were slow and difficult to load. Thirty seconds didn't see like a long time on the average day but in a fight those thirty seconds could the difference between life or death. It was why he had always favored the sword, relying on speed to get him in close quarters with his enemy rather than hoping that he wouldn't have to reload. His fingers curled around the pommel as his gaze flickered from one side of the grand entrance to the other side. The moment he had found a position at the entrance his gaze had been searching for every single movement.

The sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway drew Raymond's stead gaze and he quickly found the source of the noise. Eleanor was rushing down the hallway, her hands keeping the dress from tumbling in the way of her long strides. The dress itself was nothing less than beautiful, he had yet to see her in a dress that was any less than impressive. Today's dress was the color of cherry blossoms, a shade that both complimented the princess complexation but also her dark brown hair. The large bow was just the cherry on top. As his gaze took in the dress as Eleanor rushed towards him, he could only wonder about how uncomfortable it was. Personally he hadn't ever worn a dress or a corset or heels for that matter but he could only assume that they were hard to move around in. His own riding boots were easy to run around and spar in, something he had no doubts would be close to impossible with heels. As she came to a stop next to him, his lips tugged upwards in a welcoming grin. "Princess" he replied warmly, if he was feeling more bold he would have greeted her with her name. However today was not a day to be so informal with the princess. At her next words his grin faltered ever so slightly, unnoticeable to someone who wasn't paying close attention to his reaction. "It is true, it seems like the king has managed to find someone who can put up with me, quite the feat if you were to ask me" he replied with an amused grin. "A bit sudden but then again I can't even begin to understand what goes on in your father's head." A statement that could be taken as him being in awe of the king or questioning the kings decision. His tone of voice gave nothing away as to which version he intended for Eleanor to interpret it as. Whatever else he was going to say was put aside at the appearance of Prince Lawrence. The sight of the prince was enough to have Raymond fall silent and he returned to his careful study of the entrance. The two had never been close in the way Eleanor and him had been close and he didn't want to get in the way of the siblings bonding. However it didn't stop him from taking in Prince Lawrence's appearance, a bit of a mess for a member of royalty.

A third person joining them drew his attention away from his careful watch once more, a welcome sight to be sure. Once he would have found Mansi to be a bit intimidating, but after a night of drinking and story telling he had begun to see her in a different light. Even with her dolled up appearance, the dress was a much different color than Eleanor's and the shawl with the golden waist band tied the whole look together. Once again he mentally reminded himself to ask for her assistance with fashion, his own outfits were terribly lacking and with the prospect of marrying in the royalty still sinking in he knew he would need all the help in the world to look presentable beside such a woman. As Mansi drew closer Raymond offered a disarming grin in her direction as she addressed him and took the spot next to him. With his black and grey and white color scheme he looked quite dull next to Mansi with her pop of gold, but he was glad for it. If he was dull it would help make Mansi shine in comparison, not that she needed any help in that manner. "Mansi" he greeted her with a dip of his head. He almost missed her side long glance at him, if he had looked away a second soon her wouldn't have caught her gaze. Thankfully their gaze locked and he tilted his head ever so slightly as curiosity flickered across his face. For a moment his brow furrowed ever so slightly as he took in her hidden message before his expression clear with realization and he offered a smirk. Before he silently replied he shifted his gaze around the grand entrance, searching for something out of the ordinary and also to see if anyone had noticed their exchange. After a moment a long moment he shifted his gaze back to Mansi and dipped his head both in agreement and also towards where the port taverns lay. A night of drinking with a friend would a good way to take his mind off all his internal worries. Mansi would be a good distraction from everything, and perhaps he could get up his nerve to ask for her help. "You look well, are you ready for today?"

[Baroness-Pets]

𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧
Role: English Prince - Location: English Palace - Tags: Eleanor, Raymond, Mansi

There were several things that Laurence supposed he could count his blessings for. For starters this marriage might signal the end of his dependence on his father, he would be a ship freed of its anchor and would be able to pursue his life thereafter with little influence from him. Secondly, Laurence wasn't the person in the partnership who would have to leave one’s country behind. It was difficult for the Prince to even imagine being taken away from his home and everything he’d ever known, simply to marry a stranger for political fulfillment. Punishment didn’t seem like an outlandish word when he thought about it in these terms, for him to be taken away from his English countryside Laurence could scarcely imagine anything worse. Serena had to be feeling some apprehension about coming to live here with him, surely? A stiff upper lip would not be able to hide a forlorn look of homesickness, and it would be hard for Laurence not to consider that his own fault. Yet had he not been born a Prince, it would have been someone else, some other Prince would have been primed for betrothal.

Laurence swore to himself that he would be a good husband, a decent man, for to be taken from one's country and married to a nasty brute would kill anyone from the inside out. Making his fiance feel at home here was his top priority, it was the least he could do since he felt in many ways he would be taking away her freedom. Of course the King would have something to say about it, but when didn’t he level criticisms Laurence's way? When had he ever once approved of anything he did? Anything he was? The man fidgeted, still wishing he was anywhere else but here right now. He longed for the gardens, for the forest, for his steed and his dogs. Perhaps he could sneak out half way through this dreaded event. Perhaps Serena had an affinity for the outdoors too? That would be a blessing, maybe he could take her out riding in the near future. Show her his home, his true home. He wondered perhaps if their children would be outdoorsy like him, and at this thought his mind screeched to a halt. Goodness, why was he thinking about that? Who knew if they would even have children? Of course they’d be expected to, for the future of the throne. But Laurence’s mind refused to go any further than faint images of little faces. It was probably because Serena was still a stranger to him, the idea may get clearer and less terrifying with time.

Still, Laurence felt he would never get used to prim and proper ceremonies like this. Eleanor’s scathing jokes were enough to bring him down to earth and make him aware of his own appearance. Was it really that bad? Would he be able to live down looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards in front of their esteemed guests? If the Prince could have his way, none of this would be necessary at all. He felt bad for the women who had to go through so much preparation for one look, whereas all he had done that morning was pull on his Sunday best. Always one to refuse help, he would never let a Valet dress him. It was just too intimate an act, and he wasn't a child who needed dressing. Taking advice on his appearance was another matter though, Laurence would need to learn that.

“How dare you!” Laurence gasped dramatically in mock offense, pressing a hand to his heart. “Why have people dress and groom me when I can get the dogs to style my hair?” This conversation brought him to another question, one that he mumbled aloud to himself “I hope Serena likes dogs, otherwise she’ll be in for a nasty shock.” Captain, Juno, Grey and Madam were big dogs, as intimidating appearance-wise as Laurence himself. Though master and hounds shared traits in common, mostly the fact that they were massive softies. But still, a smaller woman being faced by four dogs that probably equaled her height on their hind legs might be a lot to take in. Perhaps it would be better to introduce the dogs one at a time.

Laurence leant down as his sister reached up, trying to give her a better chance at reaching the stray hairs she wanted to flatten. Comparing the two with height alone, one could find it difficult to imagine they were related at all. The Prince attributed his great height to all the meat he ate as a child, second and third portions had been common for little Laurence.

Once the brief tidying was over and done with, Laurence strained his ears to listen to what Eleanor was saying about their father. Having been so wrapped up in his own emotions, the man hadn’t even considered how the King would end up acting on a day like today. A shiver of apprehension shot up Laurence’s spine, and he felt quite as if they would have to brace themselves for what was to come.
“I distrust him also. Let’s hope he has sense enough to keep his mouth shut, I dread to think what might happen if he doesn’t.” Depending on how Laurence himself reacted to Serena, he worried he would have to shield her from any comments the king might throw her way. If his father ruined his chance to make a good first impression, Laurence felt he may snap for the first time in his life. Choice was something lacking in almost every aspect of this arrangement, the only thing that could be chosen was one's words.
“I’ll keep a weather eye on him.” Laurence added after a brief pause, flashing Eleanor a smile. It was nice to talk with her civilly like this, the contact made him feel less like a lone ship in a storm. They were in this together after all.

“A blind man could not be displeased by you, dear sister.” He paid her a compliment, hoping that perhaps it would keep her spirits up. The only thing the french prince should be displeased at is the situation, not Eleanor. Laurence had been taught etiquette and decorum, so he assumed the French royals had received a similar education. If one was displeased, one should never outwardly show it… apparently.

In no time at all the carriages seemed to arrive en masse. Nodding respectfully to Mansi, who arrived at their sides. This was all beginning to feel so real, and in a moment he would see the person he was to be wed to for the first time. He adopted a soft smile, one that wouldn’t hurt too much to keep up if it did not become genuine. Noticing the red fabric erupting from a carriage door, Laurence wondered if its owner was Serena. It hit him suddenly that he had absolutely no idea what she looked like, so he tried to pay extra attention to the names being called. Nerves rattled in his brain and turned his veins to ice.

[♥Princess of Lions♥]

- 𝒮𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝓇𝑜𝒾𝓍 -
Princesse de France | Female | 22 | Location: English Castle | Tags: Kit, Laurence, Eleanor, Mansi, Raymond | Mentions: N/A

𝒜 swarm of people had gathered out front of the English castle in observance of the special occasion. A plethora of those in attendance were servants, all clad in varying shades of dull browns and tans, huddled together in the shape of a horseshoe spaced at least three feet behind the nobility and royalty who were also gathered in attendance. At the heart of all the commotion was a line of individuals standing parallel to the unloading carriages; the second halves of the newly arranged marriages. As Serena’s pupils adjusted to the light, she allowed her hand to slip from the glove of the young man who had helped her from the carriage, keeping her smile unwavering and offering a nod of thanks towards the stranger. She then stepped aside for Kit to step out from the carriage, ignoring the murmurs and chatter of the servants as they judged her every movement, every breath. Naturally, her gaze drifted towards Kit as she waited expectantly for his arrival to be announced as well. “I suppose it’s time, your highness,” Kit had said to her, “Go sweep them all off their feet with that charming personality of yours.” A hint of a blush crept up the edges of her cheeks in response to Kit’s compliment, the only emotional reaction Serena had a difficult time masking if she believed the speaker to be genuine with their words. Serena gave a little nod in response, whispering, “You too,” in his direction, not wanting to speak over his introduction- what was taking so long? It then dawned upon the princess that no one was planning to introduce him.

Her first thought was to instruct the trumpet bearers to introduce the rest of the French arrivals just as they had done for the royals, but that could be misconstrued as a power play and would be a very dangerous stunt to pull. Serena was progressive, but most of the time she could identify the bounds of limitations even she had to abide by for the sake of the majority. After dismissing this initial temptation, Serena settled upon a small compromise. Speaking loud enough for the English to hear her, she personally introduced her friend. To avoid potentially insulting anyone by introducing him the exact same way as the royals, she kept it brief. “And Kit Verne, French gentleman,” she spoke, motioning towards the stableman. Kit was committing to the French and English union just the same as everyone else. The only difference was, the royals had always known an arranged marriage was a possibility in the cards, but to everyone else it was largely unexpected. Kit deserved a damn introduction, and so did everyone else.

Serena did not allow one ounce of her internal frustration to leak into her facial expression and was quick to calm herself by refocusing upon the world around her. Her gaze shifted back towards the group of English waiting before her, and she began to approach with purposeful strides. She was quick to pick her fianceé out of the lineup. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail. As a woman in a world where politics are largely controlled by men, Serena prepares herself by learning as much as she can about the other political players on the board at any given time. Weeks before her people set sail for England, Serena had purchased and studied paintings depicting the political leaders she was to meet upon her arrival. Although she couldn’t find paintings or information on everyone who was to be present and wed, it was easier to get information on each of the major players, which was her primary objective. Though at the same time, there was something to be said to the melancholy nature of the existence of the lesser servants being confirmed solely from a mere name scrawled across a piece of parchment at the very bottom of a marriage declaration.

The princess stopped before the royal family and those who stood among them, dipping into a subtle curtsy of respect. It was customary to curtsy in greeting to those of equal or higher status, dipping lower depending on the distance between social classes. Since Serena was of equal status, she only met the minimum requirements. Anything more, and it would risk making France look feeble. Anything less, and she would be disrespecting the English royals.

Her palms delicately bunched the sides of her dress, spanning the many layered skirts the appropriate amount, causing her dress to shimmer elegantly beneath the sunlight. She dipped her head until her chin was about halfway to her chest, and bent her knees just a touch. “Thank you kindly for welcoming us to your beautiful lands. It is a pleasure to finally meet you all, Crown Prince Laurence, Princess Eleanor, Lady Mansi, and Sir Raymond,” she greeted the four in order of renown as she straightened up from her curtsy. Serena looked across the small line of people and re-presented her very best smile, briefly locking eyes with them one at a time.

Raymond. He was probably the one she had the least information on, in fact, she had only identified him through process of elimination, since he was the only male of high enough status to be standing this close to the royal family. Serena had not been able to find any clear depictions of the knight, which was actually a little surprising considering how handsome he was. In fact, if Serena was feeling particularly bold, she might have allowed herself to think that he was the most handsome one in the lineup. But of course the thought never crossed her mind, because she was never so bold, and they were both already spoken for.

Mansi. Although she wasn’t technically a Lady, were it not for the discriminative boundaries of feudalism, she would have earned such a title long ago. A single greeting as ‘Lady’ was certainly well deserved, and if Mansi was truly as strikingly ambitious as Serena had heard, it should please the young woman to be referred to as such. On the other hand, if greeting Mansi as ‘Lady’ turned out to be a problem, Serena could always chalk it up to an honest mistake. Surely no one would take it farther than that, for Mansi’s family was still a far cry from the usual peasantry. The woman had an almost exotic aura about herself with the way she dressed and the way she carried herself. Maybe part of it was also to do with her height- Mansi was probably the tallest woman that Serena had ever met. The few paintings she had seen of Mansi did not realistically depict her height.

Eleanor. God, was that woman beautiful. The paintings Serena had studied truly failed to do her justice. Her skin was clear and pristine as porcelain, her lips sculpted straight from marble. Her hair had been meticulously weaved up into a large bun, bound so tightly that it was impossible to tell just how long it might be if it were hanging loose and free. If all Serena had heard of the English princess held true, Eleanor was not only exceedingly gorgeous, but also very kind and warmhearted. Maybe, just maybe, she could be a perfect match for her brother, and they would be able to truly love one another. Maybe, just maybe, sweet Pierre would get to have the happily ever after Serena had always dreamed he would have.

A foreign emotion was quick to overwhelm the princess in the brief moment she allotted for her greeting to Eleanor, but none of it was visible in her expression. As her gaze was passing on, understanding dawned upon her. Eleanor was the only person in the entire world right now who could fully understand just what Serena was going through. No, they weren’t the only ones in arranged marriages, but they were the only royals to leave their homelands, the countries they had helped lead for the past twenty-some years. Leaving the place you were born and raised is one thing, but leaving a country you helped to build just hits different. A fleeting temptation arose within her gut, prompting Serena to look back towards Eleanor and try to discern whether she had come to this same realization or not, but it was time to move on, so she didn’t look back.

Laurence. The past several months of Serena’s life had all led up to this moment. She would never dare to admit it, but when her gaze finally, finally settled upon her husband-to-be, her heart seemed to sink a little. Everything was just.. anticlimactic. Serena didn’t exactly have specific expectations for this moment, but compared to everyone else, Laurence didn’t look like he was really trying. His appearance was kind of..disheveled. It wasn’t that Serena was trying to be shallow and judge him by his looks, but there was something a little hurtful about the apparent lack of effort that went into his appearance for this meeting. Raymond, Mansi, and Eleanor all looked as if they had spent hours upon hours perfecting every hair upon their heads and every thread within their outfits, but the same could not really be said for Laurence. It wasn’t that he looked bad or ugly- far from it. Laurence was incredibly masculine and muscular, both attractive features in a man- but why hadn’t he put the same care into his first impression as his three companions had? Serena’s insecurities were quick to get the best of her. Maybe Laurence just didn’t think she or this marriage was worth investing any effort into. If that was true, then perhaps she was in store for a very lonely future.

Despite the heavy fears that now plagued her mind, Serena kept all indications of her feelings thoroughly buried. On the outside, nothing had changed at all. It would take someone who knew her very very well to look into her eyes before it could be identified that her attitude was now complete bull and as reality would have it, Serena was fairly afraid.

[mtuan,]

.. 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄. 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝙋𝙀𝘼𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎 𝙄𝙉 𝘼 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 !!
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(tags) Pierre
Valentine (mention
ed)
(misc.) [currently
playing: little mer
maid- kiss the girl]
1,144 words
mtuan, kim mtuan

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𝐀
𝐊
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𝐊
𝐈
𝐄
𝐑
𝐀
𝐍

The sound of the prince humming along in agreement is a melody to Kieran's ears as he watched the outside world pass by, a small smile beckoning its way onto the young man's face in response. "You sound so unenthusiastic to be here." He jokes, laughing softly, freely, as a hand runs through his long, dark fringes. They fall back into their original place immediately, much to the mild distaste of Kieran, though the man simply allows it to happen. The shorter strands frame Kieran's face once more, shifting with every blink when he leans back into his seat. Like everything else about Kieran Vernet, his hair is complacent, but quietly persistent. "Look alive, we wouldn't want our French Prince to be like the statues in the English garden, now would we?" Despite his words, Kieran's tone is light, laced with his usual lighthearted banter. There are no prying eyes... yet.

At the smile that blooms onto Pierre's face, Kieran couldn't help but reciprocate, his own growing in size as well. It's soft around the edges, corners lifting innocently- like a child's. His mother would have started another lecture if she'd been a witness. It's not the usual slight half-smile he'd been taught to present at the face of every family of status, wealth or royalty. This is different. Candid. Genuine.

Kieran chuckles as he recalls Pierre's handwriting- the prince himself surely wasn't wrong. "I'm holding you to that," he jokes "With your handwriting, it'll take a lifetime for anyone else to understand. Perhaps when we're all old and wrinkly, the future queen will finally be able to discern what's in those manuscripts of yours. But for now- I suppose I have proven useful!" Softly, the young man finds himself leaning his head against his friend's shoulder, "I would suppose it's the one useful talent that'll keep me in the court, aside from my wealth, hm? After all, I don't have the knightly duties- or skill for that matter, that Valentine possesses to stay by your side otherwise. Aside from my parents' influence, I suppose."

Vaguely, thoughts swirl through the back of Kieran's mind, crashing like a wave; he falls into a comfortable silence. Just who would their arrangements be anyway? Would they perchance be friends as well? Imagine if our future wives weren't. Though I suppose it wouldn't be so different to sneaking out as per usual when one of us is too busy to be out casually-

The man lifts his head briefly from Pierre's shoulder, eyes narrowing playfully in response. He shakes his head, allowing dark fringes to fall away from his face for a brief moment. "What can I say? I know all your weak spots, these days. Besides, who knows what would happen- for all I know, your future wife could make you lose all the cells you have left in that pretty head of yours!" A light smack lands against Pierre's chest soon after, before Kieran is settling back into that warm little spot he'd created by leaning into the French Prince's side.

At the warm hand settling into Kieran's shoulder, he chuckles softly; when the man lifts his gaze to lock eyes with his long time friend's, he briefly wonders just what consequences would befall him if he'd decided to lean in and kiss the prince. It's a whisper that only flits briefly across Kieran's mind, but he flushes faintly, anyway. Idiot. It's a little late for the thought, anyway. We're about to be married off. Only a true idiot like Kieran himself would think to kiss the prince; clearly the privileges his parents' status has gone to his head. No one else would truly dare, but perhaps the spoiled, childhood friend, of course. Humble yourself.

"And I'm holding you to that thought, my prince." The Japanese-French man confirms, though his voice is thinner, comes out a little weaker than Kieran would have liked. "Even when we're gray and old enough to watch our grandkids run through the gardens like we once did."

It's too late for regrets now, isn't it?

Perhaps things could have been different in another life. Or we could have been different people.

But at least I've been graciously granted the opportunity to work for you in this life, still.

Kieran offers a smile when the little inquiry from Pierre snaps him from his thoughts. The door swings open, offering the pair of men an escape from the confines of their tiny carriage room. An entrance to the English court. Knowingly, Kieran puts on his usually formal facade- one that had taken his parents' decades to perfect on their son, but came so naturally to said man. Like second nature, the polite, half smile appears, a slight dip in his head as if to gesture for the prince to exit first. After you, your highness. I dare not step out of line on the premise of the English court." The French man of wealth murmurs gently in their mother tongue, smooth and well-versed.

Despite himself, Kieran briefly reaches for the prince's hand, offering him a light squeeze in reassurance, murmurs a soft "Don't look so worried, I'll be right here every step of the way. I promise, Pierre."

And with that, Kieran pulls away, arm falling back to his own side as he ushered the French Prince out of their carriage, following soon after. The fresh air rolls over the man like a refreshing wave. Though it feels far too foreign, too different from the atmosphere of home in France.

Once feet hit the solid dirt road, the young man smooths down the fabric of his formal attire, hands patting his trousers gently to free himself of the nonexistent dirt and dust. Kieran almost wants to reach out and pat his friend down as well, but knowing of the potentially prying eyes of others, he refrains. It would be inappropriate to touch the prince without his permission from here on out. The young man reminds himself. Only when hidden away from prying eyes in someone's private chambers, would the two friends ever truly be free... or you know, unless they eloped- (joking, of course.)

Soft, dark eyes survey the pair's nearest surroundings, the patch of greenery coming into view- the same view from the carriages just prior. A quick side eye in Pierre's direction is all Kieran needs to give the other man a quick elbow, lips quirking in mischief. "So, is it just me or does the garden of roses over there seem ever more inviting than the group of royals by the front entrance? I was joking about the statues earlier, but I'm sure they're grandeur at worst." Kier teases softly, even as he nudges his best friend in the opposite direction of company. "Check it out with me? If anything, we probably won't get in trouble if anyone sees you-"

[senna_]

──── 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 ─────────────────────────────────────────
english princess • location: eng. palace • mentions: asmund, raymond, pierre, tags • tags: laurence, mansi, serena, august

As time went by, more and more carriages began to pull in. Eleanor could not quite tell if she was relieved or unnerved to see so many trotting horses in the distance. Just how many guests had her crazy father invited? They had plenty of spare rooms, that went without question, but for someone who was enraged over France’s actions only weeks prior, this seemed a bit odd. It rose further suspicion; was he planning something? It was always so difficult to tell with the King ─ everyone knew that. Ellie wasn’t even offended at Raymond’s comment regarding her father, because he was every bit right: her father was steadily losing bits and pieces of his mind as the hours rolled by. She prayed kingship, or even just rulership, wouldn’t destroy her brother, and maybe even herself, the way it did her father. Even to this day, Ellie still questioned if he had been like this when he first wed their mother.

Laurence wasn’t a bit like their father, though. While he was on the quieter side, it was a different sort of quiet. Condensed and under control. Steady; proper. They weren’t close, Laurence and Eleanor, but Ellie didn’t feel uncomfortable around him. He wasn’t his father, and Eleanor did not doubt he would make a fine ruler one day. “Tell that to your future wife,” she retorted playfully, raising her brows. “I hear the French are both particular and very picky when it comes to their dressing habits.” Jokes aside, Eleanor was relieved to hear that her brother was on the same page as her, as it seemed many of the English were. While there was no wiggle room in this marriage, that didn’t mean they had to follow their father’s every order… right? He was like a child on Christmas ─ a wealthy one, that was, that received everything he ever wanted. Take away some of those presents and what was given in return? Was that something they were about to find out, assuming this alliance did not go as planned? You must stop thinking about this. It is tiresome. She wasn't sure she wanted to see that outcome unfold before her very eyes.

Sighing aloud to her stern inner voice, Eleanor’s hands trickled to the back of her dress, fingers brushing the tips of the big baby pink bow that was pinned to her lower back. “I do hope this goes smoothly,” she murmured, half to herself. “With all sorts of ranks coming together, we can only hope our own people will be on their best behaviour.” Her gaze travelled onward at that, as if to keep a close eye on those that were greeting their guests first. It was hard to tell what everyone thought about this. As her eyes flickered about, a particular figure caught her attention. Was that him? Asmund Sorensen? Eleanor was not familiar with the names that had been on the invitations. It would be quite a shock if it was indeed him, although, at the same time, it wouldn’t be an unexpected visit. The Sorensens had always been close with the Addingtons, after all. But with all the sorrow and loss Asmund had bundled up within him, taking a trip that was not only simply very far away, but to a place that surely cast many old memories, was undoubtfully painfully difficult. Eleanor did not leave her spot, though. She did not offer a wave. What if it wasn’t him? How embarrassing would that be! She decided to leave it and wait until she could see the figure a bit better – that would determine who exactly it was, draped in fine silks and leathers. He wasn’t the only ghostly face that was sparked remembrance within her mind. Were her eyes deceiving her because they were guests arriving at her home? Or did she really know these people? Who was from France and who was not? Why weren’t they announcing the names loud enough? Or had her eardrums been stuffed, unwilling to properly do their job at that time? The only thing she seemed to really catch was her name, which had been spoken from behind her. Tearing her eyes away from the figure, Eleanor glanced over her shoulder, gaze immediately lighting up like the fires they burned on celebratory nights.

“Mansi!” she gasped, her worries seemingly vanishing into thin air for a moment as she threw herself towards her friend. “Oh, my dear, how long have you been here?!” Her manners seemed to also have disappeared as she embraced her friend. A hug would only take a brief moment, anyway; the carriages were taking ages to come to a halt. “You look like you’re ready to show who’s boss.” She knew Mansi wasn’t one for compliments. She was a woman with a powerful expression, one who walked with an invisible cloak of dominance and independence. She hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to the lady about the situation, although she suspected Mansi was far from pleased. Unlike Ellie, Mansi would undoubtedly voice her distaste to her betrothed. Her confidence sparkled on her like gold chains, and Eleanor adored it.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to speak to her for much longer, for a trumpet blew and the Princess of France was announced. Raising her brows at Mansi, Eleanor turned back around, taking a few steps out of the shadows. The red fabric that she had spotted earlier did indeed belong to the Princess. She was absolutely beautiful. Delicate frame, kind brown eyes, a soft smile upon her pink lips. She carried herself with an impressive amount of elegance. Eleanor did not have time to glance over at her brother to catch his reaction. She didn’t know this lady whatsoever, but she wanted to. Was that wrong? Surely not, as they were to be acquainted with one another now, anyway.

“I’m delighted to finally meet you, Princess Serena of France,” she returned, mirroring the curtsey. If it was up to her, Ellie would have dismissed the curtsey (formalities were so overused!), but that was evidently not the case. “We welcome you to our humble household.” A mischievous smile, small, though still visible, followed at that, as if to add to the thin layer of sarcasm drizzled over her last sentence. Sometimes it didn’t even feel like a house, with so many people scurrying about. It was more or less a safe place to rest. But that would be far from appropriate to voice aloud.

Oh, my dear, how nervous you must feel.

Did Serena feel as reluctant as the rest of them? She put on a brilliant smile, but how was she really feeling? Anxious, excited, something in between? It was difficult to tell, given how she had managed to perfect the look present on her features. Glancing from Laurence to the French princess and back again, Eleanor felt the sudden urge to cry. To let the sobs overpower her right there, standing outside the court, and go against her orders to stand statue-still and smile radiantly and warmly greet her guests. Looking at the two made her stomach swirl, and subconsciously, her hand slid to rest on the front side of the top of her basket skirt. Oh, how in love they would one day be. While love would come in the future, Ellie knew without much of a doubt that Laurence would adore and spoil the beautiful young woman, and love would flourish throughout court. Looking at the two of them sparked envy, enough to shoot down and drizzle atop their future happiness. Worry and envy and panic, all that Eleanor would never experience that with her betrothed. She knew from a young age she would never receive the keys to unlock the chest of pure love and merriness. She was a princess, positive emotions like such were stripped from her from the time she was a toddler, only just beginning to learn to walk. It wasn’t even that she had anything against Prince Pierre, because she absolutely did not. But she couldn’t help but fear that he wouldn’t love her, adore her, take her in his arms and warm her with his presence because he wanted to be there for her.

Worried he wouldn’t even like her.

What if he had affairs, took mistresses? Ellie knew her father did that; many Kings did. It would deem her unworthy, surely. Was she unworthy now? Eleanor had yet to scope out the prince. He couldn’t have possibly wiggled free from arriving here, especially not with the talk of war underway, but if he was reluctant enough to come here, he certainly had the power to resist and hold his carriage back a bit longer. Any reluctance to come to her home was surely to be dawned on herself; she was the reason he was to come here, after all. The more she waited, the more intrusive thoughts her mind plucked to read aloud.

Finally, Eleanor decided she couldn’t stand and wait around. While she near it was her duty, standing as still as a stone wasn’t doing her any good – and it surely wasn’t helping anyone else. Sweeping her hand over the hairs that curved around her round face, she took a few steps forward and tapped Laurence on the upper arm.

“I am going for a walk,” she told him. “Not far, just down the path. I figured greeting them up close may be better than forcing them to walk over here.” Even if Princess Serena was not present, there was a high chance Eleanor wouldn’t have told Laurence about her nerves regarding Prince Pierre. What she had said aloud was more than enough. Offering a polite curtsey to the princess (and hoping it didn’t seem curt or impolite, because the lady truly seemed charming), Ellie gathered the front of her dress, lifting it enough to walk, and exited the scene.

Her head felt stuffy as she drifted closer to the line of carriages. Trying not to let her fretting show freely, Eleanor kept her chin up, gaze focused on a thin pine tree ahead. It wasn’t until a nearby carriage door swung open that her attention was roped back in. Coming to a halt, Ellie’s gaze swept over to the carriage, turning slightly to properly face the figure exiting.

“Hello there,” she greeted. “I hope your ride over was not too much of a hassle.” The face before her was completely new, although he had kind blue eyes with a sparkle that made it seem like she had known him for decades. Was he from France as well? They had yet to announce his name. Eleanor lifted a hand to dismiss one of the servants who was approaching her, knowing all-too-well he was about to tell her to leave and return to her assigned spot up front. She did, however, take a step back to let the blond have some breathing room, and let her gaze patiently fall on him once more as she waited for him to properly collect himself.

[senna_]

──── 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄 ───────────────────────────────────────────────────────
french stable servant • location: eng. palace • mentions: laurence, mansi, raymond, tags • tags: serena → asmund

It never failed to amaze Kit, the way those below the royals gawked at their every move. How they swooned if their eyes connected, how their cheeks flushed rosy red if a breathy “hello” was passed along. Kit was once that person. Sometimes, in fact, Kit still felt like that person. He had come a long way; as a youngster, it had been made clear to him to avoid the Lacroix family at all hours of the day. He was to work tirelessly in the stables and would only ever come close to them if any of the family needed a mount to travel elsewhere. Even at that, though, Kit hadn’t spoken to them for a good long while. Years, if he were to be more specific. He wasn’t sure when that changed, or how it happened. He couldn’t remember if it had been Serena or Pierre who had approached him first, but he did know that for weeks following their first interaction, he had been far too nervous to even say hello whenever they came into his area of work. He had been a boy from the streets – quite literally. Some of the other servants even viewed him as a lowly boy who was to be given less than even themselves, despite the fact that they were all workers for the same people. He was the boy that whispered to the horses and napped in the sweet-smelling straw. The boy with untamed curls and eyes so bright, the shade sometimes blended right into the midday’s sky. How he managed to befriend both the Lacroix siblings, he wasn’t too sure, but he was ever so grateful for the both of them.

Even if things would never work out the way he wanted for either of them.

Kit knew from the time he was young that they would eventually walk away from him. He had told himself it would be because of their duties, and not because of their personal decisions, and while he was still fairly confident that would be the reason in the near future, he still had his occasional doubts. When was the last time he had spoken to Pierre? He wanted to speak to him, craved it nearly every day, but it did not work out in his favour. Was that going to happen with Serena, too? Would she be bound to her royal duties now that she was here? What did the French even have to do, apart from looking presentable and proving that France was just as worthy as the English believed England was? Kit supposed the King and Queen of France had informed Pierre and Serena of their duties here in the English court, but it was still one big question for Kit. What about himself? Was he to go to the English stables and carry on with his job as if he was working in the French court? Was he going to be welcomed inside and treated like a proper guest? What even was considered a proper guest? He hadn’t ever travelled anywhere, he hadn’t a clue how this was going to be laid out. His eyes darted around helplessly, and he could only hope further instruction would come about later that day.

Still in one spot, mostly because the crowd gathering near the royals was growing by the second and he was sure he’d get trampled, Kit let his arms fall behind his back, and he hung back until a large enough path cleared for him. It wasn’t until Serena raised her voice that things began to fall in line. Kit hadn’t been expecting a proper introduction, and when Serena did just that, a sheet of gratitude draped over him. He caught her eye, hoping it was enough to pass his silent "thank you" along. Truly, he was grateful. While it wasn’t at all necessary, it warmed him to know she felt the desire to take it upon herself to make his presence momentarily known. But then again, that was Serena. Kind, considerate, and always willing to help her people. Her compassion and devotion had always caught his attention, and it never failed to fill him with awe every time she used her power to satisfy those traits of hers. Within a swish of motion, though, she was gone. And Kit was left standing alone, with no power to do anything but watch her walk away, out of his reach, separating them once again.

What if that was the last time he would have a proper moment with her?

Kit’s smile, which was small-scaled to begin with, was fading by the second as things around him began to register. He did not expect to receive the number of lingering eyes that the royals would get, and he knew that well. However, not only had they failed to call out the name of his to-be wife (although perhaps that came later?), but he also did not see even one lady that looked nervous or eager to meet him. Had she not shown up? Was she fake? Had the royals faked out Kit’s supposed future engagement? If he truly did not have someone to meet while spending his days here, then why was he here? He was nothing more than a nameless stable boy, they surely would have cast him out onto the streets once again if he didn’t have a good enough reason to be here. Kit was not about to complain. He appreciated all that had been given to him, and to have gotten a ride over to England for further safety was beyond something he could have ever dreamt of. But something told him it came with a price. He just wasn’t too sure what exactly that was yet.

He began to slowly move forward with the sway of the crowd. The royals of England were growing larger in size by the second as he came closer. Unfamiliar with those that lived in the English court, Kit could do nothing more but offer the four standing before him a bow. It was difficult to mistake a knight, especially since this one was wearing an outfit that screamed the position, but he was not quite sure who the one with the heather grey shawl was. A Lady, but was she of her own title, or was she one of the Princess’s ladies? Whatever the case may be, Kit still made sure to show his respect. He figured out fairly quickly who the Addington Prince and Princess were. Their outfits even looked far more expensive than anyone’s here, with the exception of the French royals. While he didn’t mean to, Kit found his sky blue eyes lingering on Laurence more than he knew he should have let them. He couldn’t help it. The man was physically large, a good five or six inches taller than Kit was, and easily twice as muscular. His chiselled look screamed masculine, and Kit admittedly found himself rather intimidated. His stomach dipped upon noting that if he felt this uneasy being in the Prince’s presence now, there was no chance he’d be able to see Serena. What if Prince Laurence was protective over her and refused to let her chat with other men? He let his eyes linger on Serena once more, but his expression gave away nothing. I hope you are okay.

And then he was almost quite literally shoved off to the side so that more people could greet the English family. Stumbling off, Kit let his gaze remain low to the ground. Unsure of where exactly to go, he felt it would be best to blend into the crowd standing around nearby. That was the best option for now, right? Nobody had given him further instruction, after all. Keeping his gaze on the cobblestone beneath him, Kit headed in the direction of the grouped people. His cheeks instantly burned a bright red and he felt as though his heart stopped suddenly as his arm brushed against what was undoubtedly another person’s. So much for keeping a low profile. His head snapped up, eyes wide, expression a mixture of guilt and surprise. Standing near him was a man with an unfamiliar look to him, both in terms of his face and what he was wearing. The man was almost his exact height, with long, perfectly black curls. His eyes were equally as dark, filled with years of knowledge and endless secrets. A tunic clung to his torso; two large, intimidating swords were present on his person. A guard, perhaps? Whoever he was, he was certainly someone with a lot of power. Immediately, Kit felt like a mouse trapped in the claws of a fierce feline.

“Je suis désolé, monsieur,” he stuttered, only to remember where he was. “Greatest apologies, Sir. I was not looking where I was going.” His mouth opened to say more, but he was quick to shut it. He had already made a fool of himself, there was no need to make it worse.

[lemon!!]

✰━━━ 𝑨𝑼𝑮𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨𝑪𝒀
21 ⋆ french dancer ⋆ location: france → english palace ⋆ mentions: the english ⋆ tags: eleanor

August had always questioned what exactly had made the French royals so eager to meet him on that fateful September night. A dancer, the young man had trained quite literally since he could walk, and had received very little compensation for his aching bones and sleepless nights. It wasn’t so much about the money - Gus just loved to dance. But it still puzzled him why exactly they had requested an audience with him that night. There must have been ten other male dancers at that specific ballet who were just as hungry for opportunity as he was, and yet he was the lucky one who had grabbed the attention of the King. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was just great fortune - or maybe, just maybe, he was finally receiving the karma he so desperately deserved. Gus knew that the King was incredibly fond of him and his work… but it still came as such a surprise when he was invited on this journey. He only hoped whatever picture the royals had painted of him was one he could live up to.


Truth be told, the small blonde had absolutely no idea what the King’s intentions were until the very day he was supposed to board the boat. The dancer had been living in excited bliss for the weeks leading up to the journey. His excitement was based on the very notion of seeing another country, what with August having never left the city he was born in, the thought of shores anew were almost too fantastical to even consider. This giddy anticipation was quickly shot down upon entering conversation with one of the maidservants.


“August, aren’t you scared?” she’d asked, eyes wide with nerves.
“No!” he’d replied, “ships sail all the time, it’s nothing to be afraid of!”
“Oh not of the sails…”
“Then of what?”
“What if your wife is nasty?”


The girl could not have been more than fifteen years old - Gus assumed that perhaps she had misspoken. But when pressed on the issue, she was more than happy to divulge all the details of how the nobility weren’t the only ones being married off and how a select few servants were to be joining this little… arrangement. The thought made his blood run cold. A woman? Not to be misunderstood - Gus loved women. He was friends with more women than men thanks to his position as a dancer, but he was never interested in any of them romantically (though not for lack of trying on the part of a few of the ballerinas). The blonde had only ever been interested in men, although he had never disclosed this to the Royalty who were so kind to let him stay… even if it meant sneaking in windows at early hours to hide his love affairs.


His usual peppy demeanour was nonexistent for the entirety of the boat ride. This was fine in August’s books - so long as he was alone, it was okay to let himself falter a little. The only time it wasn’t acceptable to show his suffering was when he was in the presence of company. He watched the waves bound up and down at the boat’s body, trying to numb his mind with the repetitive action of the choppy sea as they sailed across to the fantastical kingdom they called England. Married to a woman, he thought. A cruel twist of fate! Though he supposed it would have to happen eventually, he never expected it to end up like this.


The carriage ride raised his spirits a little. Launched into a tightly packed carriage full of giggling maidservants (who just wouldn’t stop talking about how gorgeous the princes of both countries were!), Gus allowed himself to slip back into the upbeat personality everyone in the palace had come to know and love. He let himself laugh with them, chuckling at their jokes and encouraging their girlish antics. He knew how tough it was to live life as a “nobody” in the eyes of nobility… might as well encourage them to enjoy themselves while they still had their youth. It always left him humbled by how different his life was now he was worth something to the royals (and he always wondered where he’d be if they’d decided his ability to dance wasn’t worth a second look).


Upon pulling up to the palace his eyes could barely pull themselves away from the grandeur of the building in front of him. How magical it looked! Of course he had seen a palace before (he lived at one!) but this was something of a dream. Surrounded by the cackles and shrieks from the excited maidservants beside him, August could barely take a moment to compose himself. Tearing his gaze away from the stunning architecture to the line of carriages in front of his own, August came to realise that his was one of the final to arrive. Merde! This was not the way he wanted to make an introduction. Especially if he was one of the “lucky” few to be married off to a foreign counterpart. He took in a few deep breaths, never letting his smile flinch from his face. Remember what they taught you, he thought to himself, whatever emotion you want them to feel, you must present convincingly. It was time to put on a show.


Bright smile turning to the gaggle of girls in the carriage, Gus let them all know their plan of action. They were to go and tend to the duties they’d been given - no mingling, no giggling, certainly no rude behaviour. The English royals could be anywhere and they were not to be seen making a fool out of the French palace. The maidservants all just nodded. “Let’s make a good first impression, yes?” He unlocked the carriage door so that he could climb out, turning round to let the girls exit before him. He was awfully surprised to see each one’s eyes widen as they scurried out and away to perform whatever menial tasks they’d been assigned… but it all made sense once he actually climbed out of the carriage. He was met with a woman who seemed all too familiar.


Her eyes were kind, if a little bit weary, her gown the most beautiful he had seen, her entire demeanour screaming elegance. There was no doubt in his mind who he had just come face to face with - this must be Princess Eleanor.


“Bonjour!” he greeted the Princess with a bow before closing the door to the carriage. “Not a hassle at all, Your Highness. These are beautiful carriages!” Gus offered the young woman a bright smile. She was even more beautiful than the pictures he had seen of her - he could only liken her to the ideal depiction of the hauntingly beautiful sylph of “La Sylphide” (though he inwardly cursed this image, praying her marriage to his prince would not bind her to her doom in the same way).


“My apologies! I should have introduced myself - my name is August Acy, I… am a dancer for the French court. It is an honour to meet you!”