César and Joséphine - hallways
 

(((ooc: Ghanima - It's fine, take your time. Hope the below post is ok? We haven't discussed Jo's relationship with her now deceased father-in-law at all, and only briefly touched on the subject of her mother-in-law. So, if you imagined things differently, let me know.)))


A match made in Heaven. Those had been the words of Jean-Baptiste de la Valliére, one late afternoon in autumn years ago, when he sat listening to the lively and high spirited conversation between his beloved son, and cherished daughter-in-law. Seated in his favorite armchair, by the fireplace in the salon of the de la Valliére country Château, he had observed the young couple, like so many times before, listening as they bickered playfully about something that in the old Marquis' eyes didn't seem to even matter anymore, as it apparently posed only as an excuse for the two of them to try and prove eachother wrong. Unlike his wife, the aging man shared his son's appreciation for Joséphine's opinionated person, partly because he genuinely liked the girl, and partly because he could tell his son adored her and that clever mind of hers, that would often give him quite a run for his money when there was a disagreement. It was obvious just how much César appreciated the challenge, as he would even go as far as to feign ignorance, sometimes even downright stupidity, just to instigate an argument. Or, as could sometimes be the case when he desired an actual and meaningful conversation, he would simply ask for Joséphine's opinion on something; a book, a play, philosophy, politics, there was no limit to his faith in her ability to deliver intelligent, educated and insightful viewpoints.
Now yes, it was somewhat unusual for a man to encourage his wife to be outspoken and to challenge him, sometimes even infront of guests, and Jeanne, César's mother, strongly advised against it, insisting that it made them all look bad. But César didn't agree, nor did he care. He was proud to have a wife that not only could hold her own in any conversation, but sometimes even outshine her conversational partners with her wit.
A match made in Heaven indeed.

The words came back to César now, as he discovered, much to his mirthful satisfaction, that Joséphine did decide to accomodate his wish. Triggering his amusement at first, with the look of slight surprise that spilt across her comly features - which César quite conveniently mistook for surprise at his directness regarding the act of lovemaking, rather than the fact that it was the closest thing he had ever come to a confession, albeit one made of pure ignorance, regarding his 'indiscretion' - she then moved on to pick up the gauntlet that he had thrown down at her feet, delivering a swift retort to his bold statement;

"I don't believe that's true", she argued thoughtfully, clearly with some tangible, contradicting scenario in mind. "Furthermore... are you saying men are nothing but single-minded beings driven by lust alone and with no standards than simple beauty?"

In all honesty, César himself really had no trouble picturing just what exactly Joséphine had been referring to when rebuting his allegation, but still once again feigned complete ignorance with a skeptical look similar to the one Joséphine herself had donned a minute ago, all for the sake of the argument. Though when came time for him to reply, he left that particular part of her statement hanging, in favour of answering the question asked;

"What I am saying, my dear", he started, while wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer, and gazing down at her with mischief practically shooting from his eyes, "... is that when in bed with a beautiful woman, men don't seek to make conversation."

((OOC: Ghanima thanks! And muse hasn't returned, but ah well, at least there's something to work with. Mental floor goo if you would. And with that utterly resounding introduction to yonder post...))

Larkin heard the girl's relief that he agreed to walk with her. Surely not nervousness? Yes he was the queen's uncle, but if the Baroness's earlier behavior was any indication, she had other places to be than making fairly poor conversation with him. He decided not to be flattered at his own prowess, he had introduced himself, and even a rudimentary knowledge of noble genealogies would have mentioned the Baron d'Aurvilies, mainly because his older brother was kind enough to split his duchy among his brothers rather than claim the entire thing and leave the family to find their own fortunes. A rare enough thing, and thus one that would be taught, especially to a girl as young as this one. Of course, anyone older would have heard of the entire thing as well, most nobles that Larkin knew would add whomever the newest royal was to their knowledge of heraldry as a matter of course.

The Baroness had smoothed out her skirts after some truly titanic levels of fidgeting- more of the inexplicable nervousness, or was she some sort of shut in? The thought amused Larkin slightly but he did not let that onto his face as she offered him her arm to go a-walking, saying as she did "Shall we head to the courtyard then? I think it would be best if we had some fresh air." As to whether she intended to lead him outside or expected him to do so, Larkin did not find out, since he did not take her arm, considering it too familiar a gesture and interpreting that she offered only as a courtesy.

The two strolled into the courtyard in silence, Larkin engrossed in the lovely wall decorations, and on occasion on his lovely companion- not that he thought anything might come to fruition, but he figured at his age he could look at younger women for purely aesthetic appeal. And tweak Baroness Devine with slightly misplaced bitterness.

They arrived outside in due course, their silence more companionable than awkward. The late afternoon soon was just starting to wend its way towards twilight, and Larkin was pleased to note Adele stop to close her eyes, seemingly to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air for a moment. It was a delight to find other people who had some appreciation for nature as a pure relaxant. Her eyes opened and flickered around the courtyard, perhaps seeking out some of the prettier bits of gardening. Larkin was ever so slightly disappointed to find that she had been looking about with a much more pragmatic purpose, given that she started to walk towards a nearby bench. She asked curiously, "“Would you like to sit down and rest? The choice is yours.”

Larkin gave her a small smile, that last statement was a poor attempt at courtesy or a thinly veiled note of fear, mayhaps of him, or of seeming presumptuous. Neither one of which Larkin wanted, the idea of people fearing him unless he specifically had cultivated it did not appeal to him, and if the far likelier thing, that it was just a poor attempt at courtesy, was true, then Larkin would have preferred she dispense with it entirely if she couldn't do it properly. He doubted that a small smile would remove a sense of fear, or do away with sharply trained courtesies, but then again, it couldn't hurt.

He was about to voice his assent, he had been walking about in one way or another since morning after all, but the slowly darkening twilight gave him pause for a moment, and he smoothly transitioned into an entirely different thing to say, "I'd be delighted to, but it looks like it will be getting dark soon. I had been planning on going to dinner around now. If you would like to accompany me, you are welcome to." A small imp of perversity led him to mimic her words of a moment ago, "The choice is yours." Let her see how annoying those basic courtesies were in an informal setting.

Marie-Elisabeth & Bella
 

If Marie-Elisabeth had her way, they probably would have stayed in the Orangery for a long time yet. There were so many places spiders and other similar creatures could be hiding and it would have been quite amusing to watch Bella squirm over them. But even her legendary powers of persuasion couldn’t prevent the sun from going down and evening approaching, so she reluctantly made the suggestion to leave. As much as she would have enjoyed staying, she knew did have to write back home soon in order to have Charles able to arrive in time for the wedding. And she was also starting to get rather hungry. She hadn’t eaten much that day, but she also did have to get the letter written, so she made a mental note to have her maids get her writing things out for her so she could do so as soon as dinner was done.

Her suggestion to exit the Orangery was accompanied by a practical hiss of agreement from her less than desirable companion, who nearly beat a path into the ground with her hasty exit out the doors. “Oh well” Marie-Elisabeth thought as she followed her outside “That just means it’s highly unlikely that she’ll ever come back in here. Which makes it just the sort of spot I intended to find this morning. Mission accomplished”. She smirked as she increased her pace to catch up with Bella.

“I’m getting rather hungry myself” she said as they walked through the paths back toward the palace “Do you think that her Excellency will be joining the rest of us for dinner, I can hardly wait to see what she’s like”.



(((OOC: I’m baaack And my new cousin is adorable! Thanks for waiting for me.

Random question, is the wedding going to occur tomorrow RP time, or at a later date. Just wondering if I have to bring in little Charles next RP day or if I can wait till later.)))

Mini App: Charles Francis Xavier de Valois II, Marquis de Valois
 

(((OOC: He's adorable, Robyn! And congratulations on your cousin's baby! Is it a boy or a girl? )))

Bella was glad to get out of there. She was glad to get away from those ugly, unsightful and unpleasant things. She wouldn’t go back in there if her life depended on it. Well, her life was not very likely to depend on it and therefore this was not a problem in the long run. Why did spiders exist?! Wait, wait, wait. She’d just made a spectacle of herself, a paradoxical subtle spectacle, but noticeable nonetheless. Now, unless Marie-Elisabeth was even more air-headed than she looked, it would be impossible that she hadn’t caught onto her phobia. What now? She wasn’t going to use it against her, was she? Although, this did mean that Marie-Elisabeth would realise that Bella wouldn’t venture back into the Orangery if the King himself demanded it.

“I’m getting rather hungry myself,” Marie-Elisabeth was speaking as they walked down the path leading them to the safety of the palace. “Do you think that her Excellency will be joining the rest of us for dinner, I can hardly wait to see what she’s like.”

Elena? Well, she was beautiful to say anything. Completely beautiful and utterly devastating. It wasn’t an innocent sort of appeal either, it was as if she had been bathed in womanliness rather than girlish femininity. A sort of femme fatale, a mild warning signal going off in it’s undertones, but still beckoning regardless, mind and body. The short while spent in Elena’s company had given Bella a reasonable, though difficult, insight of her – and no doubt did the same for Elena. As far as Bella was concerned, Elena was dangerous and Bella was playing with fire. Then again, that was in no way to say that Bella was a defenceless child in this situation. While not as bad as Elena, she was a sort of an apprentice, a miniature version. However, Bella doubted she would ever become as proficient as Elena in the games they played.

Well, Marie-Elisabeth was getting none of this information as Bella blandly nodded with matched curiosity.

“I’m sure she’s very charming,” she smiled agreeably at the other woman.

Marie-Elisabeth & Bella
 

“I’m sure she’s very charming,” she smiled agreeably at the other woman.

Marie-Elisabeth had a strange nagging feeling that Bella was more knowledgeable than she had insinuated about things. She didn’t know what precisely it was that made her think it because she had no good reason to do so. But as her mother was eternally fond of saying, a woman’s intuition is a powerful thing indeed. So somehow she knew she had made the right choice by putting on the foolish act and keeping everything of importance to herself.

“Oh I’m sure she must be” Marie-Elisabeth said as they made their way through the large elegant doors that were the entrance to the palace “How can one possibly be considered a suitable candidate to be a French Princess without being so? I do wonder what she looks like, although I’m certain she must be lovely. It will certainly be interesting to have someone so exotic become part of the Royal Family”.

She smiled politely at Bella and gestured down the hallway. “Well I had best be on my way to prepare for dinner. It was lovely to spend time with you today Comtesse, thank you for the company”. She continued the bright smile, even though it was rather difficult to say what she had just said with a straight face. But she was nothing if not polite to everyone, even pretentious social climbing twits like Bella. "We shall have to pick another day to go exploring some more together, we hardly got to see anything. Although what we did see was lovely".


(((OOC: Thanks Alissa! Little Charles is actually just Marie-Elisabeth aged down, given his dad’s eyes/skin, and turned into a boy! LOL Her and old Charles….well let’s just say their CAS children didn’t turn out so pretty coughsuperdperfugtasticcough

And feel free to have Bella leave now if you want :P

Oh, and my cousin had a girl!!! We’re really excited; it’s been all boys in my family lately)))

Octavien and Elena - Elena's suite
 

Octavien was playing a dangerous game. He knew he was, when alternating between making the observations of an insightful young man, and the frank, unmasked remarks of somewhat dull-witted one, risking to ruin the minor charade before it even had a chance to take off. He just couldn't help himself from pointing out parts of his own views and reasonings, of his many musings, these days often yearning for a bit of a philosophical conversation, that was not laced either with bunny trails of jokes and other distractions, as was often the case with César, or with that strange magnetism and slight discomfort that had appeared in various shapes between himself and Joséphine. It was a subtle wish, that seemed to sneak into his mind and his words, without him really being able to stop it, no matter if the timing was bad.
At the same time, what could be percieved as the observations of an insightful man, might also be percieved as a phrase learned and repeated by a simple and impressionable mind, an expression he might have heard someone else use, and thought it sounded wise, and thus adopted it as his own, as a way of coming across as being more intelligent than he 'really' was.

Although... Perhaps 'risky' was a better word for it, since the fact was he really didn't stand all that much to loose, even if Her Excellency did catch on to his slight chicanery. After all, what could she do? He would still be the Prince, regardless, and she could never be absolutely certain that what he showed her now wasn't his true self, unless he actually confessed otherwise. She could, of course, feel convinced anyway, and try to make his life difficult, as some kind of revenge. But there wouldn't be much in it for her, and all that she'd manage to do would be to drive him away from her, and have him avoid her. To a Prince, there were quite a few ways of doing that.

It would hardly be the ideal fundament of a successful marriage, however, to antagonize her, and after the fiasco the last one had turned into, despite promises and assurance, Octavien would much prefer one that was at least friendly. But... He couldn't help but feel that there was something in Her Excellency's eyes and in the way that she chose to respond to him that made him think she just might appreciate the talent of deception in a husband, or even a friend. Perhaps not when wielded against her personally, but with the many intrigues and powerplays of court and French nobility in general, only a fool would disregard the usefulness of such a quality. Often enough, it would prove to be far more potent than wealth, and even power.
And to Octavien himself, a woman with enough brains and deceptive skills not to flaunt her affairs by running around with a notorious womanizer in public and during the most suspicious of circumstances, would indeed be a step in the right direction. In that case, he would probably even prefer to be decieved, as he doubted he would care any more about Elena's possible affairs than he had about Adalita's, as long as they were handled discreetly.
Furthermore, he too could see the personal advantages of having a resourceful ally. Especially one favored by the King...

But, he was getting way ahead of things, thinking like that already. The two of them were not even married yet. This was their very first encounter, and so they both had alot left to learn about their soon to be spouse. Things - meaning their future - were still very much up in the air, and a first impression was hardly a reliable indicator for what their marriage would be like. If there would even be a marriage. Let's not forget that the union would not be made a reality until the ceremony itself was over. Many things could happen before then.

In the meantime, the game was still very much on. Even though in Elena's case, Octavien still wasn't sure if what he saw was a game or not. His attempt to draw some kind of reaction from her with his statement regarding his ancestry, had been a fairly successful one, in that he had indeed gotten a reaction. The thing was, while it had confirmed what he already suspected, it had offered little more information than that. Her answer - a very agreeable and diplomatic one, following the the initial surprise that was to be expected at a Prince's bluntness - had confirmed that she was an intelligent woman, who knew how to maneuver herself favourably in conversation, without giving too much away, of what was really going through her mind.

"As opposed to my own, illustrious lineage?" she had said, graciously avoiding to make a show, one way or another, of the fact that his question had perhaps not been of the most appropriate nature for such a formal setting, and after only minutes into their acquaintance. "I prefer to think that history will remember our deeds, not our ancestry."

An equally gracious reply, that was sure, and most likely meant, to please. The only problem was, Her Excellency and the workings of her mind were hardly the same thing as history. History was yet to be written, and her thoughts on his background would have been born the very moment she was informed of their engagement, if not sooner. Thus, a her answer had not really been an answer at all, though it still allowed a fairly intelligent man to read between the lines; either she was an exceptional actress, or she really did not mind too much. Either made sense, but the latter left the question of why. Considering her formidable lineage, which she herself had pointed out, one would think she would harbour some kind of aversion to marrying a man not born even a noble of the lowest ranks. But on the other hand, regardless of his rather modest background, he was still the Prince of the most glorious country in the civilized world, so maybe the advantages of marrying him overshadowed his 'faults'.

He did not reply, however, as a slight nod in acknowledgement of her congenial words was all he managed to offer, before a knock on the door brought their conversation to a temporary halt, as a pair of servants arrived, one of them inquiring where Her Excellency wished to dine this evening, while the other went on to add the warm glow of candles to the dimming light in the suite.

"Well", Elena began what Octavien had almost expected to be a 'confession' to being quite tired and wishing to remain in her suite, which would have had him soon excusing himself and taking his leave of her, but which surprisingly enough turned out to be quite the opposite; "I do believe some company during supper would be most welcome, as I have sat in this room long enough today. Would Your Majesty like to join me...?"

Meeting her gaze, Octavien found himself wondering. It seemed she was making an actual effort to get to know him, which would indicate that she did not find his company particularly boring or unpleasant, that there really did exist a breeding ground for friendship. But, bitter experience was not easily silenced, and he couldn't help but think that it would also be a way to observe and assess him further; something she might desire to do very much, had she indeed picked up on the small inconsistencies in his conduct. Of course, one did not necessarily exclude the other, but in the case of either or, the difference was striking.
Well, whichever would turn out to be the case, he would have a better chance of figuring it out if he did indeed accompany her, not to mention that he still did wish for a stimulating coversation; something she seemed most capable of providing him with, so far.

"It would be my honor", he thus said with a nod in acceptance.

Following that reply, he then stood, and in a grafecul motion offered her his hand in proper assistance, a gesture that brought to light that gentle, ever-present flow to his movements, almost remniscent of female grace. Though oddly enough, it had never made him seem feminine, but rather managed only to bring out his masculinity instead, a masculinity so very different from the vibrant virility of someone such as César, but still as potent.

"Though I do hope Your Excellency is not bothered by various displays of curiousity", he added with a slight smile, "for I suspect there are still many who have yet to catch their first glimspe of you, and are eager to do so."

César and Joséphine - en route to the Grand Dining Room
 

Much unlike his darling spouse, César de la Valliére was not a multi-tasker, nor did he have the perceptive mind span of one. Which would explain why while she had noted and even responded to greetings of courtiers passing by, César had failed to even notice their presence, completely engulfed by and focused on his pretty wife, and her injuries, at first, and then, once she had dismissed his worries, the playful path onto which he was steering the conversation. And, it would probably also explain why it was that he hadn't noticed Joséphine, nor Octavien, when he had been leaving the Palace to go riding with Marie-Elisabeth the previous day. In fact, throughout his career as a womanizer, there were few women that had been able to rightfully complain that while in his company, they did not have his full attention. It was most likely even one of the reason why he was so successful in his extramarital endevours, as well as most of his marital ones; when with a woman in whom he was truly interested, his attention tended to be focused on her and her alone, to the point where his interest would by far surpass another passion of his; food and, more importantly, wine. That is, until the target being lavished with his attention reminded him.

Melting into his embrace and glancing up at him with a mischievous smile that pretty much mirrored his own, Joséphine laughed softly while giving César's nose a light tap; a simple but lovingly playful gesture that drew a chuckle from his lips as well.

"Spoken from personal experience there, mon cher", she said, giving a reply of a nature which César felt he could neither deny nor confirm.

He did too make conversation while in bed with her, and some damned good and meaningful conversation too, if one was to ask him. But he couldn't very well point that out, as it would have him contradicting the point he himself had made seconds earlier. Nor could he deny that most such conversations did tend to end up the same way as every... non-conversation. So to speak. When in bed with Joséphine, he usually would end up with her in his arms. Or at the very least try to do so. Though in all fairness, Joséphine hadn't made a habit of rejecting him, so the times when his attempts remained only that, were thankfully few.

Before he got a chance to answer, however, Joséphine decided to change the subject, reminding him it was time for that other, previously mentioned passion; food.

"I don't know about you", she said, slipping out of his embrace in order to wrap an arm around his, and giving a meaning glance down the hall as she continued, "but I am absolutely famished, it would appear that once again time has flown past us. Would you like to join me for dinner? Perhaps Octavien and his fiancée are also there."

Ah, yes. Dinner. The word alone was enough to draw a congruent rumble from César's stomach. He really was quite hungry as well. And, even if he hadn't been and the food hadn't held much of an appeal to him, the second part of Joséphine's statement held an appeal of it's own; he too wished to see if Octavien and Her Excellency had made it to the Grand Dining Room. Partly because he wanted Joséphine to see Octavien's future wife, and partly because he himself wanted the chance to see how and if the 'happy couple' were getting along.

"Why, naturally, my dear", he said with a nod, and as he began escorting Joséphine towards the Grand Dining Room, added with a teasingly scolding smile; "Of course I'd like to join you. Honestly, Joséphine, sometimes I think you do not know me at all."

Bella, with and without Marie-Elisabeth - Palace and then Dining Room
 

(((OOC: Robyn, I figured I'd have Bella leave her alone for a while, if not, she'll see ME at the Dining Room
Not the best thing I've ever written, but well...
And also, welcome Avara )))

“Oh I’m sure she must be,” Marie-Elisabeth continued her relentless commentary as Bella accompanied her back to the place. Well, in all truth, if anything, Elena was charming. Except that was until she discovered that she had no use for you.

“How can one possibly be considered a suitable candidate to be a French Princess without being so? I do wonder what she looks like, although I’m certain she must be lovely. It will certainly be interesting to have someone so exotic become part of the Royal Family.”

And Bella simply smiled again. Marie-Elisabeth’s intellect was out to impress today, indeed. Now that one thinks about it, of course! Yes, it does make sense that the royal family wouldn’t choose someone frightening to the eye and endowed with the charms of a peasant to join their ranks. Then again, exactly how much say the King had in said choosing was a matter for debate.

“Well I had best be on my way to prepare for dinner. It was lovely to spend time with you today Comtesse, thank you for the company,” Marie-Elisabeth turned to Bella with a polite smile. Surely, the sarcasm in that was unmissable given what had transpired today and on Bella’s first day here. "We shall have to pick another day to go exploring some more together, we hardly got to see anything. Although what we did see was lovely.”

“Oh, it was,” Bella smiled back with added cordiality. And, just to show Marie-Elisabeth that Bella was no coward and other Comtesse had no way of truly getting to her, she continued. “I had a splendid time, too. We must visit the Orangery again.”

But only if you drag me in kicking and screaming.

With that, she retired to her chambers, realizing the she too had to prepare for dinner and that everyone would be present at the dining room. So, in a short while, Bella was ready to join them, making her way towards the Grand Dining room.

(((Approachable)))

The grand dining room.
 

Rosaline made her way toward the Grand Dining room, after a young maid had informed her it was nearly dinner time and that all the other nobles would be there. Her first day here and she would have to meet them all at once. 'Hopefully I will not stick out like a sore thumb,' she thought to herself; she always had in Bayonne, what with her black hair and tan skin. Her parents thought her oblivious to the rumors that floated about, but she'd heard them all. Though at times, she often wondered the same as the gossipers had. It would certainly explain why her mother seemed to care little about her and favored Yvette, and also why their father doted on her instead. Such was the way in arranged marriages, she supposed, not all of them could learn to like or love one another.

One of the men at the door opened it for her once she reached the dining hall, motioning her to step inside. She smiled warmly, certainly a rare sight on the face of one with her title. Rosalina made a point to be friendly and courteous to everyone... unless they gave her reason not to be; if she truly was half Spanish, then it would explain her temper and vindictive streak when she felt wronged. Her eyes scanned over the partially empty tables, noticing a few people here and there talking amongst themselves. Rosa took a deep breath to quell her nerves and maintain her wits, she would no doubt need them all for the coming evening. And so, she simply waited for the others to claim their tables; she would claim a seat of her own after them, not wanting to choose someplace she should not be seated.

( OOC: She is approachable, if anyone feels like doing so. )

Marie-Elisabeth : Dining Room
 

Octavien and Elena - Grand Dining Room - eventually joined by César and Joséphine
 

It had been some time since Octavien had dined with the other courtiers in the Grand Dining Room. Truthfully, he couldn't even recall a single time, since the splendid festivities following the wedding between himself and Adalita. For one reason or another, be it his own need for solitude, the 'harpsichord lessons' with Queen Isabella, or as of late, the royal family favoring privacy as part of their mourning process - dinner had often been ingested someplace other than with the rest of the members at court. While he hadn't missed it at the time, the moment Elena invited him to join her for supper, he realized that in a way, he had actually longed for it. There was a part of him, a big part, that had always thouroughly enjoyed socializing, and even though it had recently been buried under what felt like many and heavy layers of pure concrete - bitterness, disappointment, betrayal, to name a few - it had begun to surface yet again, starting around the arrival of the small de la Valliére family. César, as always, had made it quite impossible to stay cooped up in a suite, no matter how beautiful and comfortable it was, and Joséphine had done her part as well to liven thing up. In fact, she was probably more responsible for Octavien's blossoming mood and enthusiasm, than her husband was. Not to say that César hadn't played his part, and masterly so, what with the minor drinking binge in Octavien's suite only hours after he and Joséphine had arrived at court and all, but it was Joséphine's actions that had had her and César join Octavien and Bella at their outing to the theatre the other night, and it was her that had been climbing trees and getting herself into trouble, thus forcing Octavien's usual self to re-surface and come to her rescue.

Therefore, the decision to join Elena, his future wife and Princess, for dinner in the Grand Dining Room, was one easily made. And hopefully, César and Joséphine would be there, or Bella, if not all three of them, and he could introduce her to them. For while he had started out not feeling particularly interested in having anything more to do with Elena than was absolutely necessary, he had to admit he was starting to warm up to her. A little bit. She had not nearly fulfilled any of his fears - at least not yet - but instead proven herself to be quite agreeable to be around, and an entertaining conversationalist, in that she cut short the cordial but so very tedious bullsh*t, first chance she got. That alone earned her a notch in the right direction.

Now, joining the others did of course mean the stakes in the game his was playing, and would continue to play for a while yet, would be somewhat higher, but be that as it may. Despite her so far very amiable ways, he had not forgotten that there could easily be ulterior motives hiding behind it all, nor had he forgotten that seemingly devious gleam he had hinted ever so briefly in her eyes. More people around meant more distractions, and while it meant a growing challenge to Octavien, to keep Elena from realizing he was holding back, it also meant that her chances of noticing any possible slips in his demeanor, would be rather limited. For surely, she couldn't keep her attention focused solely on him, with a room full of people that would wish to meet and greet her, or at the very least make eye contact so that they could give a nod to acknowledge her presence and rank, until they had the chance to be properly introduced.

Gliding through the doors together, Elena still on Octavien's arm, and stopping just beyond the threshold, the couple, although as different in appearance as night and day, with Octavien's blonde hair and fair complextion to Elena's exotic looks of raven tresses in an elaborate coiffure, and her soft olive skin, were joined by their mutual display of elegance, the two of them seeming like the essence of youthful royalty personified. Within moments of their appearance, silence spread throughout the grandiose room, long before the footman had even announced their presence.

"His Royal Highness, Prince Octavien, and Her Exellency Elena Sánchez de Suárez y Torre", the middle-aged man's voice boomed from beside the door, causing the last few unobservant courtiers to turn their heads and behold the new arrivals.

The initial silence was then broken by the hushed sound of a whisper, soon joined by another, and another, as Octavien escorted Elena towards the slightly elevated short end of the U-shaped banquet table where they took their royal seats next to one another, overlooking the rest of the room and the courtiers in it.

"I hope you will find the delicacies of our French cuisine to be to your liking", Octavien said with a faint smile as they began their meal, figuring that while Elena had most likely already tasted samples of it on her journey to the Palace, well-wishes had never hurt anyone. "Though I do believe it tends to be somewhat less seasoned than the Spanish one."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the footman's voice rang out again, this time announcing the arrival of none other than two of the people Octavien had hoped to see join them all; the Marquis and Marquise de Mont-de-Marsan. César and Joséphine.

"Well, would you look at that", César grinned at Joséphine, but keeping his eyes directed at Octavien and Elena, noticing the small gesture made by the former, welcoming husband and wife to join the soon-to-be husband and wife. "Look who has indeed come out of hiding. And brought his lovely betrothed with him as well."

As they started making their way towards their friend and Prince, and the future Princess, they could see him turning to her and saying something, most likely explaining who the approaching couple were to him, and how he would like to introduce them to Elena, as well as quite possibly have them join for the actual meal.

Thus, when the young Marquis and Marquise finally reached the table, Octavien stood to greet them both, Joséphine with a proper kiss on the hand, and César with a less formal gesture of inclining his head.

"Your Excellency", he then said, turning back to Elena. "These are two of my dearest friends, César de la Valliére, and his lovely wife Joséphine. César, Joséphine, Her Excellency Elena Sánchez de Suárez y Torre, daughter of the illustrious Duque de Suárez y Torre."

Having spent the majority of the last couple of seconds, since arriving at the royal end of the table, gazing at Elena with a mix of curiousity and open appreciation of what he saw, César gave a deep bow.

"Ah, so it is this lovely lady who is to be our future Princess", he said with a smile. "Had I been aware Spain held such beauty, I would have travelled there a long time ago. Now, I believe I shall have to make a point to rectify such negligence."

With that, he moved on to plant a feathery kiss softly upon Elena's knuckles.

"Enchanté, Your Excellency", he greeted her officially, and more properly. "Allow me to wish you welcome to the splendor that is our court."

In the meantime, Octavien on the other hand was trying hard to resist the urge to roll his eyes for the second time, having almost failed the first, when César, true to his usual self, started flirting even before the official greetings were over. Even though it was the kind of polite, harmless flirting, obviously filled with flattery but no real intent towards anything more, as was always the case when Joséphine was around.
Though truth be told, Octavien was quite relieved to have César there, and he had to try just as hard to suppress a smile as he was trying to resist the eyeroll, thinking mirthfully to himself; 'Well, that should keep her occupied!'



(((ooc: Ghanima - Hope this is ok? I know I didn't let you post Joséphine first, but I figured there is lots of room to squeeze in any reply she might have to César's comment, in case you had one planned. Also, Octavien's introduction might not be 100% correct, but if that is the case, it's my fault rather than Octavien's. It's meant to be correct, but not in a particularly uptight way. *s* )))

Bella and Marie-Elisabeth - Dining Room - Food fight, anyone?
 

Finally at the Grand Dining room now, Bella had hesitated in her entry. Mainly it was because Octavien and Elena were approaching and she’d rather avoid being introduced to Elena by Octavien, a ridiculous affair seeing is if anyone should be introducing anyone to anyone, it was Bella introducing Elena to Octavien. Well, apparently there was no need for that as her Excellency, it appeared, had already made a pleasant impression on her future husband.

Finally allowing other courtiers to follow after the hush that was consequent of Elena’s introduction, Bella saw fit to enter the room herself. Ah, except one problem, standing at the doorway, she noticed that there was a seat available next to none other than dearest Marie-Elisabeth. Oh, no, one morning and one afternoon of a day with this woman was more than enough, she was not going to subject herself to further. However, before she could say anything to halt the footman in his announcement of her entry with some excuse as ‘Oh, pardon me, I’ve forgotten my… shoes’ or such ludicrous intervention, he’d already managed to bellow out:

“Comtesse Isabella Devine.”

Fantastic.

Now, her name had been announced and she had already noticed Marie-Elisabeth and therefore could not exactly wander off to befriend some other courtier. No, that would be accepting defeat. She’d sit next to Marie-Elisabeth through dinner and she’d make small talk. Yes. It was possible, it was doable, and it was a good mental exercise before Elena demanded a meeting with her.

Therefore, donning a pleasant smile, she made her way, leisurely and gracefully – secretly wanting to turn around and march off – towards Marie-Elisabeth, a look of pleasant surprise claiming her features. It was like walking to one’s own execution.

“Why, Comtesse,” she breathed out upon reaching Marie-Elisabeth. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

Yes, and I missed you so…. No, not really.

With that, she effortlessly slid into the chair beside the other Comtesse, determined to deal with the situation better than Marie-Elisabeth.

(((OOC: Hope this works for you, Robyn)))

Adele and Larkin || Courtyard/Great Dining Hall
 

The sky was getting dark and the moon would slowly begin to rise; complete darkness was just around the corner. Soon it would be night. So Adele understood when the Baron chose to head to dinner, instead of sitting down and watching the moon come into view. "I'd be delighted to, but it looks like it will be getting dark soon. I had been planning on going to dinner around now. If you would like to accompany me, you are welcome to.” Nodding her head he then added a few words, which caused her to question her knowledge about common courtesy. “The choice is yours.” Immediately her expression became somewhat content, and she forced a smile towards him. “Of course I’d love to join you,” she replied, as she turned to look towards the palace.

Her eyes couldn’t help but show her frustration and embarrassment. Yet she knew all along that she couldn’t carry a decent conversation without showing her lack of etiquette. The whole time she felt as if she were a fish out of water, as if she didn’t belong. She’d be surprised if the Baron couldn’t sense that she had no grasp of the concept of proper courtesy. But he probably knew that already. Rising from the bench she strolled down to the Great Dining Room, hoping that the food would relieve her of the everlasting exhaustion she was feeling. She needed something, anything that would give her energy so she would have a small chance of making it the rest of the evening without collapsing.

Upon entering Adele gave one brief scan of the Dining Room before she even bothered seating herself. There was quite a few who had already arrived, making her feel a bit uneasy. So many unfamiliar faces, she thought, as she sat down a few seats away from everyone. Isolation - oh how comforting it was. She didn’t mind whether Baron Larkin sat with her or not; she had no intention of talking to anyone. She would rather save herself the embarrassment. As her eyes darted around the room, she glanced at the others who were seated a short distance away from her. Adele did not care whether they chose to think of her as a loner. Yet if they thought any less of her because of it, they would certainly be getting and earful.

Her content expression had faded, and was replaced with a saddened look. What in the world am I doing here? I don’t belong. She was right, she didn’t belong. But it was not her fault, not the slightest. Being with her father she never knew of a place where everyone was polite and reserved. She grew up in a much different social environment, where everyone was outspoken. If someone did not like you, they would tell you.

Stepmother, she thought.

Immediately narrowing her eyes, Adele frowned at the thought of her stepmother. She certainly didn’t take kindly to her, and neither did her stepmother. A wretched woman she was – no, she was a foul disgusting pig. No intelligence, no sense of direction; she was a slut who completely ruined whatever relationship she and her father had left. She had no respect for that woman, not an ounce. If it were her choice, she would have never been part of the family. The twenty-two year old wouldn’t even call it that.

Her eyes wandered over to the opposite end of the room, as she tried to block those unnerving those out of her head. Quickly she glanced over at the others; some were in two’s or three’s, but it didn’t matter really. She knew that if she tried to pretend she wanted to talk to the others, they would see right through it. Sighing she rested back in her chair, wishing that she was back in her room reading a book. She had the feeling this was going to be a long dinner.

The Grand Dining Room.
 

Rosaline seemed a little out of place, even though she was a born noble through and through. The court of Bayonne was not nearly this large and there was no royalty either; Prince Octavien caught her eye when he was announced by the footman. She had heard that he was not born into this life, but his handsome features were enough to make even Rosaline second guess the truth of that statement. However, there were many handsome men among the lower classes in society... Rosaline secretly loved to indulge in watching the soldiers spar, of course hidden from their view to watch them, if they so desired, remove their tunics during practice. The thought brought a blush to her cheeks: she hadn't done that in quite some time, but the memory of their muscle hardened bodies gleaming under the sun from persperation...

Focus, Rosaline, focus! She shook her head, glancing around to make sure no one had been watching her be engulfed in one of her girlish fantasies. Perhaps it was foolish of her to still dream of a dashing knight in shining armour coming from afar just to seek her hand in marriage, when the reality of it was her hand was sought by old noblemen. Old, fat, balding, greedy noblemen; well... most of the time. Some of them were younger, some attractive, but in her heart she desired a warrior. A fighter. An adventurous man who was not afraid to be a knight or a soldier; such a man was almost non-existant within the courts, and if one was there he was usually already wed. Sighing heavily, Rosaline closed her eyes for another moment.

"Marquise Rosaline Toussaint of Bayonne!"

The bellow of the footman caused her to jump, placing a hand to her chest from the surprise. Well, so much for going unnoticed until everyone else was seated. She shot the man an annoyed look, to which he only gave her a vaguely amused smirk before going on to announce the next entering noble. As her name was new to the courts, everyone turned and looked at her near immediately. Already she could imagine what they were whispering amongst each other, "That is the Marquise who is rumored to be half Spanish, a mixed blood. Look at her!" Let them gossip, what they said didn't matter in the end since they could not prove the claims and openly accusing her of being such would be a huge folly on their part. Holding her chin high, shoulders back and posture straight, she gracefully strode toward the large dining table. Her eyes fell upon Elena on approach and widened slightly, it was not often she saw another woman with near the same exotic features as her. This was the Spanish woman, the woman that might possibly be the prince's future wife; if the courts weren't already whispering about the likelihood of Rosa's mixed blood, she was sure they were now.

Rosaline put such ideas from her mind as she reached the couple, drawing up on the hem of her dress slightly as she performed a curtsy before them. "It is an honor to meet you and to be allowed among your court, your Excellency," she said to Octavien with a smile, finally lifting her gaze to regard the prince with sapphire eyes fringed by thick lashes. Turning then to Elena, she curtsied to her as well with the same benevolent smile. "And it is an honor to finally meet you as well, your Grace."

Once standing again, she bowed her head and looked at the two. She would wait for them to dismiss her with some kind of word or motion, not wanting to walk away and risk offending one or both.

( OOC: Atropa & Ghanima - Hope that this works for you guys, but let me know if it doesn't. )

Marie-Elisabeth : Trying not to throw her drink
 

Larkin and Adele- Great Hall
 

((OOC: Avara I really hate to be picky, but did you say that Rosaline's sister married a comte in Normandy? Cause [and correct me if my knowledge of British history is lacking] hasn't Normandy been an English province since the days of William the Conqueror (1066 and change?). It seems to me that as desireable a match as you described Yvette and Rosaline to be would be able to land Frenchmen, or if they/she didn't that Rosaline would have a strong enough opinion on the subject to merit mention in her bio. Just saying. And also, if you are going to stick with Normandy, the British title at the time would be in English, not French, so duke.))

Larkin, unlike a great majority of people at court, had very few ulterior motives. He did greatly desire land, but he was perfectly content without it, given the appreciable size of his barony and the fact he took no interest whatsoever in doing things with the land, beyond vague orders that his steward was welcome to, and frequently did ignore. He did not seek out greater titles, as that would place far too much responsibility on his shoulders- a baron was able to clumsily flirt with noblewomen, freely take advantage of peasants, and in general act according to no rules but his own. As for influence without title, he already had it, being a far branch of the royal family. So, in a manner that oftimes discombobulated people, he did things that gained him nothing. When Larkin d'Marius extended a dinner invitation, it was only that, a request to share food and company.

So Larkin was pleased when his companion simply nodded her head and rose to follow him to the dining room. His pleasure did not stop him from releasing the oh-so subtle rejoinder that slid from his lips, but his general unconcern for the further reaching consequences of most of his actions- taking anything Larkin valued would require going through the Duc d'Margoles, and not even the king could do that quickly- did not make much note of it. Until Baroness Adele's face fell as though he had delivered a whip crack to her face, rather than a slightly ill thought out reprimand to a behavior that wasn't all that bad. It was not that her expression wavered overmuch, but it went from something that seemed sincere, and mayhaps even somewhat flattered, to a contented facade. Still cheerful, but glassy.

“Of course I’d love to join you,” she said, her voice soft. Larkin knew full well then that that line was only a courtesy, her body language was about as coldly dismissive as a noble woman could get without actually saying "Leave. Now." with any number of accompanying expletives based on class and history. Glassily content expression, head turned aside towards her destination as opposed to her companion, and a sharp flicker in her eyes that Larkin couldn't quite interpret. Whatever it was did not bode well for him should he not take the hint she was kindly handing him on a platter. Then again, Larkin was hungry, they were going to the same place, and her words had not directly asked him to leave her be. Normally Larkin would take the hint, but he had started going insane at social conventions.

Hence why he followed her to the dining room a few paces behind, close enough to help if she decided to pass out, far enough away that if she did get extremely and violently upset he would have enough warning to get away. Most noblemen did not deal with noblewomen that would actually resort to violence, but then again, Larkin was not most noblemen, and if something unpleasant happened once he would do his best to avoid the situation which bred said unpleasant event. Such as having a kneecap dislocated and bruised by a woman he had offended. She had been fun... Larkin couldn't help but let out a tiny grin, but remembering precisely where he was and who with, he stifled it and followed attentively behind the Baroness.

They arrived at the dining hall without incident. Astoundingly little incident. The doorman did not announce either of them. Larkin could understand why he wouldn't be announced, a moderately plainly dressed, slightly older man, following two paces behind someone who was clearly a noblewoman. But Adele should have been announced, and Larkin idly contemplated getting offended on her behalf, but quickly rejected the idea as both too much trouble and probably fruitless.

He gallantly stepped in front of her to offer her a chair at a small table near another group of people, a pair of younger men who had probably spent their afternoon drinking if their slightly flushed faces and jerky motions were anything to go on. He was slightly discombobulated to find that Adele completely ignored him and went to a table separated by three empty tables in all directions. "Damn, she must be upset at me" Larkin thought gloomily. Never for a moment did it occur to him that she might be upset over something else entirely than his little barb in the courtyard.

She had ceased to maintain her glazedly content expression and it was replaced by one much easier to interpret- sadness. Why would she be sad about what he said? Maybe there were more issues in Baroness Adele's life than slightly tactless barons. Those complicated issues she had mentioned earlier? He seriously contemplated prying a bit, if what he had said had merely triggered something rather than causing it independently, then she would be slightly vulnerable. He might not even have to bother Ambrose to find out what her problem was. Just as Larkin had made up his mind to "be supportive" Adele's eyes narrowed. Anger again? Larkin attempted not to let it perturb him, he had already made his decision. He would just step much more warily.

He turned around carefully and asked a passing waiter to bring two glasses of good wine. The man glanced over at Adele and raised his eyebrows in something akin to amusement, but Larkin did not dignify the servants behavior with a response. Adele had slouched back into her chair by the time Larkin returned with the wine and was sending off clear signals that she would rather be anywhere else.

He gently placed the glass of wine in front of her, and said, as soothingly as he could manage, "You sure you're going to be alright? I've been told a day in my company is a long day." He flashed a real smile out her, one that had gotten many many peasant women to ahh... do laundry for him, but let it subside quickly. He was trying to be kind, not pick her up. As of now at least.

( OOC: Copied directly from Wikipedia's page on Normandy.

"In 1204, during the reign of King John of England, mainland Normandy was taken from England by France under Philip II of France while insular Normandy (the Channel Islands) remained under English control. In 1259, Henry III of England recognized the legality of French possession of mainland Normandy under the Treaty of Paris."

So basically, Normandy belonged to France from 1204 and on long after. And the reason I put Yvette in there and her marriage is to illustrate the fact that she was not as desirable as Rosaline. Thus why her father married Yvette off to the first man who asked, lol. )

Morning Announcements
 

Adele Rosseau || Great Dining Hall/Blue Salon
 

Adele’s eyes adverted over to the Baron, who was holding two wine glasses in his each of his hands. She would need some if she was ever to survive the night. He placed it down in front of her and she thanked him graciously, taking a quick sip. She was tempted to swallow it all in one gulp; it had been quite a while since she’d had such tasteful wine before. Yet she wouldn’t dare try such a thing. She knew that as soon as she finished the first glass she would have another, and another, until she was completely intoxicated. She had no desire to make a fool of herself. One glass wouldn’t do much harm, but two or three? She wasn’t planning on drinking that much anyway.

Why did he decide to join me? Immediately she felt a slight tinge of curiosity, wondering why on earth he would bother to stay and talk to her. Was it out of pity? Surely he didn’t feel sorry for her. There was nothing to be sorry about; nothing which she told him, of course. But there was the possibility that he felt as if he did something wrong and was trying to make up for it. Yet she didn’t think that could be the reason. She wasn’t upset at him but instead at herself, and her lack of preparedness. Adele felt as if she had been thrown into a new environment, where their social graces were completely different from her own. It was going to be a long road if she continued living here, but she felt it needed to be done. She would not become a drunken old fool like her father. If anything, she was determined to be a graceful young lady, no matter how difficult it may be.

“You sure you’re going to be alright? I’ve been told a day in my company is a long day,” the Baron said, giving a genuine smile. She quickly looked towards him, allowing the corners of her mouth to move upwards. A few more glasses of wine and I will be, she thought. Bringing her lips to the glass once more she felt the wine trickle down her throat, bringing her at ease. When she brought the glass back down to the table she realized she had drank a little over half, and sighed quietly. “At least I didn’t consume it all,” she muttered. Looking towards Larkin she smiled.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied. “Really I will. And I greatly enjoyed your company.” Quickly she drank the last bit of her wine, savoring it until the last drop. Tasty it was; so tasty in fact, that she wanted another. But she forced herself to do otherwise. What would people say about her if she had too many? She looked towards the Baron, trying to figure out what was going on with him. He didn’t still think she was upset with him, did he? “I know that I’m not in the brightest of moods at the moment, but I truly did mean what I said,” Adele added, hoping it would reassure him. “Talking to you has been the most conversation I’ve had in days.” She gave him another smile, hoping he would understand that he did nothing wrong.

“So I thank you.”

Gazing towards the opposite end of the room Adele rose from her seat. “It’s getting late, and I should be getting back.” She began to leave, but quickly stopped herself and turned back around. “I do hope to see you again, Baron Larkin.” With that she pushed in the chair, and swiftly made her way back towards the doors, not bothering to look back as she turned the corner. Rest; right now, that’s what she needed the most.

____________________

Shifting slightly in her bed, Adele slowly opened her eyes to the new day that had come. Her head rested in the assorted pillows that lay about the bed, and she smiled. A new day meant a new start for the young twenty-two year old. Her hands moved slowly to the edge of her sheets and she pulled them back, slowly rising to her feet. Taking a few seconds to allow her eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room, she sighed quietly, gazing around her suite. Adele’s soft, blue eyes landed on her desk where a letter lay. Eyeing it she walked over, noticing the beautiful detail of it:


Adele was surprised that the wedding was so soon. “A bit soon, isn’t it?” she said aloud. They barely had a chance to meet one another, let alone get married. Yet as long as they loved each other it didn’t matter. It would be nearly impossible to love someone when you have only met yesterday, but she thought nothing more of it. It had nothing to do with her anyhow; she had no right be making accusations. But she wondered whether or not their marriage would end in happiness or destruction. Placing the letter back on her desk Adele took the time to change into her dress and brush her hair, which was completely entangled in knots. Though she was wincing in pain the young girl continued to comb through it, brush stroke after brush stroke. Her hair was extremely difficult to take care of, with all the knots and tangles spread around in her golden hair. Taking care of one’s hair is not easy especially if you hair is extremely long, which unfortunately is the case with her. But luckily her hard work paid off, for her hair was now free of knots. Putting the brush on her nightstand, she turned and walked over to her desk, gently picking up a book she was reading. She then strode out into the hallway carrying her book with her.

She had planned to Blue Salon and read with no interruptions, and no problems. Peace and quiet; that is the only thing she wanted. Turning a sharp corner, Adele entered the Blue Salon, feeling relieved that there was no one to pester her in her time of silence. Taking a seat she opened her book and began to read.

Flip, flip, flip.

Every so often you could hear the turning of pages moving swiftly and quickly, the breathing of a twenty-two year old, and the occasional tapping noise. That was all, and it was all she wanted to hear. Nothing but those three sounds. Other than that, there was complete silence. And for once, Adele was not agitated, nor embarrassed or upset; she was calm. Silence, how wondrous it was. It was the one thing that made her feel peaceful and serene. Silence, she thought, as she continued to read.

((Approachable))

Larkin- Gallivanting
 

Larkin was inordinately flattered when Adele accepted the proffered wine with a polite thank you and took a dainty sip. Even nicer? There were no further unpleasant facial fluctuations when he spoke. In fact her face broke into a smile. A controlled smile, yes, but far better than the fury she had demonstrated before. If fury it was.

She took another sip of wine, draining half her glass and muttered under her breath, "At least I didn’t consume it all." Larkin figured he wasn't supposed to respond to that, so he maintained a pleasant and neutral expression. She spoke a bit more, diplomatically thanking him for his time, and then excusing herself to abscond to the hallway.

Larkin stayed to eat a good meal- roast duck on wild lettuce- and chatted lightly with the drunk fellows he had noticed earlier, before going to his suite. He dismissed Ambrose to spend his evening as he would, finding out about Adele could wait for a more decent hour of the day.

The morning dawned, and Larkin awoke to Ambrose dropping a slip of paper on the writing desk, with a conspicuously torn envelope. Larkin idly contemplated reprimanding the lad for so shamelessly reading his correspondence, but Larkin decided to forgive him- mainly because doing elsewise would require actually rising. He let out some sound which cued Ambrose to his wakefulness, and the boy proceeded to say that an invitation to the royal wedding had arrived.

Larkin's face visibly darkened at the thought and Ambrose took the hint to leave, leaving Larkin to his silent musings. It was an old wound, her arranged marriage and by the time Ambrose returned with Larkin's attire the baron was quite composed. Dressing quickly, Larkin took another envelope that Ambrose handed him, this one from his steward and mercifully unopened. Cracking the rrather thick envelope open Larkin saw that the dutiful steward had heard of his impending return and equivocated on a number of issues until "his lord and leige" could return to offer his opinion. Happily the man was quite unconcerned about Larkin's gaffe with Lady Devine.

Larkin decided to answer the steward's letter outside of his suite, more from a boredom with the decor than anything else. He decided on the blue salon, at this hour it should be nearly deserted, and he had seen a few desks there.

Upon arriving he saw the room was empty except for the now seemingly omnipresent Baroness Adele. He paused in the doorway and he finally graced her with a small nod before going to a desk to work on his letter. He had acknowledged her presence which was enough for the purpose of social requirements. If she wanted to speak to him, very well, if not he did have work to do. He set to and idly wondered whether it would be in poor taste to filch leftovers of that duck dish from last night as he checked some crop tallies the steward had included.

((OOC:As he mused, she can talk to him or not as you see fit))

Marie-Elisabeth : Nosy neighbour dodging, visiting, and waiting for her boy
 

Marie-Elisabeth awoke the next morning to what she sincerely hoped would be a much more Bella free day than yesterday. She had had enough of having to paste on fake smiles and pretending to be a featherbrain to last her for quite some time. Before bed she had attempted to decide whether it was worse to be forced to sit through dinner with Bella or her late husband’s two dreadful brothers, and had given up after she started to develop a headache.

It wasn’t that she didn’t see the necessity in behaving how she had, oh no, she saw it very clearly. And that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that Bella, unlike others she had met at court, couldn’t be trusted, just confirmed her thoughts. She would have behaved the way she did just due to that feeling alone, but the pretentious and really rather annoying way Bella had acted when they met just sealed the deal.

Marie-Elisabeth yawned and stretched as she slid out of bed, attempting to clear all Bella related thoughts from her mind. She found it wasn’t particularly difficult as much more pleasant thoughts soon filled it when her eyes fell on the ornate invitation perched on her bedside table. Mentally thanking Jeanne, she opened it and quickly skimmed over it. “A garden wedding” she mused, already mentally going through both hers and Charles’ wardrobes to decide on something suitable to wear “I bet it will be lovely. All those wonderful spring flowers, the beautiful atmosphere, they certainly picked the best possible time for a wedding. Unlike my mother who insisted I get married in the middle of December”.

She glanced around nervously as she said that, and then chided herself for doing so. “Despite what she says Lisabeth, Maman isn’t everywhere. Stop that”. Setting the card down, Marie-Elisabeth called for Jeanne to come and help her get dressed for the day. She had informed her the previous night, after finishing penning letters both to her mother and her darling son, that she wanted to wear her blue dress for the day. She had already worn it that week, but it was Charles’ favourite and she wanted to wear it for him when he arrived later that afternoon.

It didn’t take particularly long for her to get dressed, it never really did. Most of the time was spent pinning her long blonde tresses up into their signature tight curls, and perching the small blue hat that matched her outfit securely on top of her coiffure. And most of that time she spent thinking about Charles and how much she was looking forward to his arrival. With all the distraction she had lately, some much more pleasant than others, she hadn’t had much time to consider just how much she missed him. But now that his arrival was only a morning away, those feelings all came back to her.

As soon as Jeanne was finished she thanked and dismissed her, carefully placing her locket around her neck and fastening her bracelet around her tiny wrist. All preparations thus completed, she tentatively opened the door and glanced out. Seeing no sign of a certain neighbour of hers, she quickly made her way out the doors and down the hallways. She made a brief stop at the court accountant’s office before making her way towards the main foyer of the palace, smiling and counting the hours until her son was due to arrive.



(((OOC: Approachable.

Thanks for the hair info! I’ll be SURE to post lots of pictures of what will no doubt be an epicly slap festy asylum *snicker* And methinks we all know who'll be the biggest instigator

And the dress I linked to is exactly what I mean for her, including the hair and hat (I did already use it one I think) Except no bow thingy around her neck. That would cover up her locket )))

Adele and Larkin || Blue Salon
 

of Baron Larkin, and immediately her stern demeanor softened slightly. He stood in the doorway for a moment noticing her presence and he nodded graciously, with Adele returning the gesture. As he sat down she couldn’t help but notice the letter he was holding in his hand. “Following me are you?” she asked him suddenly. A soft smile emerged on her lips and she let out a laugh, knowing full well that wasn’t the case. But a little joke would case no harm. “It’s good to see you again Baron.” She then turned back around and decided she would speak no more. He appeared to be preoccupied with his letter, so she opened her book and continued to read where she left off.

Though the Baron was now present Adele could still hear the silence lingering around the room. As she read she began to wonder how the rest of the evening went when she left. She didn't bother to stay for dinner for she was much too tired, and went straight to bed as soon as she entered her suite. But unfortunately in the morning she awoke to an growling stomach, and soon regretted her early departure from the Grand Dining Room.

Turning to the Baron she opened her mouth to speak, but quickly decided otherwise. Did he want to be bothered? It certainly didn't seem that way. He probably came to the Blue Salon to get some peace and quiet like herself. No disturbances ever. She did have a few questions to ask about last night, but she decided to ask him later in the day. So instead of being a nusiance and bothering the Baron she turned back to her book and began to read, though she didn't find it the the least bit interesting. It was an informational book which people in most cases, found dull and boring. Yet she didn't mind it so much. If it allowed her to learn something she didn't already know, then there was no reason not to read it.

Larkin was a fairly subtle man, when he went people watching, it generally was not noticed. Indeed as he had walked into the room he had known Adele was there, but reflexive observations of reaction had made him wait to see how she would react. As she had heard him enter she had seemed annoyed at the sound, most likely at the invasion of whatever privacy could be found indoors in the Palace of Light and Air. Upon seeing him her expression had warmed notably, and she returned his nod when he gave it.

By this time Larkin had arrived at the desk and set out his letter, as well as a new sheet of parchment. Adele had done nothing more, in the admittedly short space of time this took, but even though convention would hold she greet him verbally he was still pleasantly surprised when she did say, in a sudden and brusque manner, “Following me are you?” He heard her give a small laugh and out of the corner of his eye he saw a smile grace her lips. He turned his head to return the smile, as was only polite, but it widened into a very sincere one as she continued, "It’s good to see you again Baron.”

He turned back to his letter quickly, hopefully before she saw how much her words pleased him and answered, "Pleasure is all mine Baroness, I did most enjoy our conversation last night." True enough in its way, that statement, but nonetheless it said very little. Larkin did not necessarily think of himself as a tired old courtier, but then again, few tired old courtiers would admit to that status. He reopened the stewards letter, but the thought of crop tallies and the good steward's trade crisises seemed stifling at the moment, so he leisurely replaced the letter and mostly blank reply back in the envelope to devote his attention to his companion. Not directly of course, but should she wish to speak, he was making it clear he wasn't doing anything.

Octavien, César and Joséphine - Palace entrance
 

Ever the early riser, and painfully aware that it might be the last day he could spend entirely the way he chose to, when Octavien had left the Palace the first time around this beautiful morning, it had been in dawn's early light, when the sun had just barely risen above the horizon, painting the sky in the vibrant colors of red, pink and orange. His mind had been set on enjoying every minute of it, as starting the next day, he supposed that he would from then on be expected to share part of his morning procedure and have breakfast along with his new wife daily. Unless, of course, the two of them could come to some sort of agreement similar to the one he'd had with Adalita; that they lived their lives seperately, and only appeared together for official events, or other circumstances that called for it. Right now, however, it was far too early to tell whether such an agreement would be possible or not, as Octavien still dwelled in darkness regarding Her Excellency's intentions and attitude towards the whole thing. She seemed agreeable enough, but that could be as much of a problem as it could be a blessing, depending on her feelings regarding Octavien and their marriage. If she had as little interest in him as he did in her, the only problem would be for the two of them to figure out the mutual disinterest, so that the agreement could be made. If she had hopes for a real, traditional marriage however... Well, then it might prove to be difficult indeed, because Octavien really wasn't out to hurt or offend her, and how did one go about telling someone you preferred to have as little as possible to do with them, without doing that?

However, these were all thoughts Octavien had left to be pondered later, as he really didn't intend to have anything clouding this 'last day as a free man', as César had put it.

Knowing he had a few hours before he was to meet up with his two friends, who, contrary to Octavien himself, were hardly known for being early risers, the young Prince had made his way to the stables, to start off the day the best way he knew how; on the back of a horse, gallopping along the paths in the forest and across the nearby fields, letting the speed and the fresh air peel away any last trace of sleep, and wash his senses with clarity and vivacity, preparing him for whatever the day ahead of him might bring. This morning, and for this purpose, he chose one of the beautiful Lippizan stallions he knew had been acquired from one of his own father's stud farms, and soon set off on the magnificent beast, leaving behind a small cloud of dust drifting aimlessly across the stableyard, before dissipating.

During the few months he had been at court, he had already spent enough time riding and roaming the Palace grounds and their surroundings, to know each path like the back of his hand, and thus soon turned the horse from the main road through the forest onto another, slightly narrower one, choosing a route he knew would eventually lead him back to the Palace. He didn't want to be late for meeting with César and Joséphine, nor did he desire to show up smelling of horse. Therefore, it was within the hour that he returned to the stables, cheeks flushing red from the wind and the effort, his face and the upper part of his chest, visible through the loosened lacing of his simple, white shirt, glistening with a thin, thin layer of sweat. Dismounting with the grace of an experienced rider, he then handed the reins to one of the stableboys, offering a bright and satisfied smile in the process, before heading back to his suite, a cleansing bath and fresh clothes.

When once again he emerged through the double doors, he had been dressed in a dark purple frock coat, with cream colored breeches, both perfectly tailored, but suitably simple in that neither had been decorated with lace or embroideries that could easily be torn during outings such as the one Octavien was about to indulge in. His gossamer hair had been neatly pulled back by a black ribbon, as always, and on his feet was a pair of comfortable leather boots, perfect for walking and riding. Outside the suite Gilles was waiting along with a handful of servants, carrying baskets with food and wine, blankets, parasols, and other 'necessities' for the Prince's picnic. Gilles was just finishing his inspection of what had been brought, and turned to Octavien as the young man stepped through the door, giving a nod of approval of the preparations.

"Everything is ready, Your Majesty", he said with a deep bow.

"Thank you, Gilles", Octavien replied with a faint but warm smile. "You may go. I doubt I shall recquire your assistance until tonight."

At that, the elderly man gave another bow, and Octavien turned to leave, making his way down the stairs towards the Palace entrance, with the rest of the servants trailing a few paces behind him. They all reached the first floor just in time to see César and Joséphine approach from the hallway in which their suite was located, and Octavien greeted with yet another warm smile, only wider this time.

"Your Highness", César said with a slight smirk, while forcing himself into a bow.

He still had quite a bit of trouble adjusting to the severely reversed roles of him all of a sudden finding himself far beneath his old friend in rank, and thus still could not deliver such a submissive salut without making it sound as though there was some ironic joke hiding in there somewhere.

"My", he then added once he'd straightened his back. "You're looking mighty cheerful this morning."

"I have no choice, do I?" Octavien immediately retorted, still smiling, as witty remarks were rarely far away when the two men got together, especially when either of them had just brought the other's need to retaliate upon themselves. "For if I didn't, we'd all be made to listen to you whine about how I don't appreciate your company, or something equally melodramatic."

That being said, he then turned to Joséphine, leaving César no chance to deliver a comeback. Which, in secret, César was quite grateful for, as Octavien's remark had actually managed to take him by a bit of surprise, thus leaving him speechless for a second or two, which in turn would have been made noticable, had Octavien not turned to the pretty brunette by César's side, and continued;

"Joséphine, you're looking radiant as ever. Life at court agrees with you."



(((ooc: Ghanima - Works perfectly. Oh, and, I would have moved them on out of the Palace, but I didn't want to rush things, nor have Octavien seem like a three year-old on speed.


Also; they're not approachable.)))

Adele and Larkin || The Blue Salon
 

A kind smile formed on the Baron’s face which then became much more heartfelt, for her words appeared to delight him. He seemed to notice this for he quickly turned around to his letter, which had been lying on the desk. “Pleasure is all mine Baroness, I did most enjoy our conversation last night.” Adele nodded her head and opened her mouth to reply, but he opened the letter once more as if continuing to reply to it. But he paused midway, suddenly putting the letter and his reply back into the envelope. He obviously had no desire to respond to this unknown letter, so she face him one again.

“I also had lovely time yesterday,” she replied, giving a slight smile. “Although I wish I had stayed for a bit longer last night. Had I been thinking more clearly I would have eaten something before deciding to departure.” She sighed at her own foolishness, shaking her head slightly. Unfortunately she would have to wait a few hours before she had the chance to eat anything, and she was on the brink of starvation. Yet maybe if she asked to have a small bite to eat, it might hold her over until dinner came round. Turning to face the Baron she continued.

“I hope you didn’t mind me leaving so abruptly like that.” She pondered a bit, deep in thought, then continued on. “Was everything alright after I left? There was no trouble, I assume.”

Adele opened her mouth to continue to speak but quickly decided otherwise. She felt as if she was beginning to sound like someone’s mother; always questioning their child to see if they were alright, constantly trying to shield them from danger, and always seeming to worry. But she was certainly nobody’s mother, and had no intention of acting like it either. So instead of continuing her interrogation, her gaze traveled to the opposite end of the room and she laughed, she blue eyes shining. She gave a quick glance towards the Baron, wondering how he would react. Surprised, baffled, maybe even upset perhaps? She sighed, wondering why on earth she was so concerned about it. She had no need to worry – no reason to even think twice about it. Of course there was Baron Larkin, but she had just met him yesterday. She hadn’t even known him long enough to even consider him a friend. In her opinion, acquaintance was a more appropriate word.

But that still did not explain her reason for such concern. She sighed, knowing that she would not be able to figure this out in only a few minutes. Yet countless thoughts continued to rack her brain as she closed her book and rested her hands in her lap, waiting for the Baron’s reaction.

Bella - Her rooms - Midnight ideas and the morning after
 

(((OOC: Atropa, Ghanima, I hope it's okay what I had Bella do. I couldn't think of any other way for her to find out that Berini's dead and she wouldn't just let go of the opportunity to talk to him if he was still around. But if it is a problem, do let me know )))

After one whole day’s dedication to an exceptionally unnerving Comtesse, Bella knew she had shown equally exceptional restraint in not using cutlery as weapons when the woman just kept going with her frankly excruciatingly painful company. Bella had never before thought that the expression ‘I’d rather watch paint dry’ could mean so much. But it had. Further more on the subject of Marie-Elisabeth, the woman was either completely dim-witted, completely self-absorbed or completely secretive. Well, Bella being ever paranoid, decided to add the last to the list compiling what she knew of her neighbour; possibly home-wrecker, pretentious and secretive. They were going to be good friends, she could tell.

However, after dinner, she had managed to give Marie-Elisabeth the slip and struck up conversation with a few other, more knowledgeable courtiers who seemed to have a fraction of a clue as to what was going on in the world around them. Eventually, through the ins and outs and helped greatly by Elena’s grand entrance, she was able to elicit certain important information rather inconspicuously. For starters, a Marquess Berini had apparently been behind the attempt on Octavien’s life and it’d caused such an uproar that it suggested that Marie-Elisabeth must have been blind, deaf and shut up in her room to have not heard the gossip. Therefore, communicating with Bella was the problem there. Well, looks like her dear neighbour would have to serve as Bella’s entertainment then.

Yes, Marquess Berini. He’d apparently requested a meeting with the Prince, gone in there and, five minutes later, tried to stab him. Just as a point of interest, why exactly was he having Octavien killed? To save the monarchy from a Prince who wasn’t royal blood? So was that so that they could make allegiance with another country by marrying off Princess Adalita to a groom from a foreign land? Possible, but rather improbable seeing as they already were married and Adalita –who’d have been widowed if the attempt had been successful – would perhaps refuse to marry again for quite some time. A little twist of fate then, that she died, he’s a widower and due to be married again in a day.

Also just out of interest, what exactly was the Marquess planning to do once he’d managed to kill Octavien? What a stupid way to assassinate someone…. Wait. That really was incredibly dense. So, was Berini just some perpetually drunk fool or was there something more to it? Was he a sacrificial lamb, sent as a threat to Octavien rather than an actual attempt on his life? So, who were these people and why exactly was Octavien being threatened rather than killed? Did they need him to dance to their tunes? Also, had Berini just lost his mind and decided to sacrifice his entire future on a whim? He had to have been offered something.

Alright, hold on, Bella, she halted herself. That was a conspiracy theory and it needed some work. It needed more information, proof and she wasn’t going to get either of those lying half-asleep staring at the canopy over her bed. Yes, that’s right, her epiphany had managed to strike right in the middle of slumber. Always so co-operative. Therefore, she could not go back to sleep because this was playing rampantly over her mind, taking paths and avenues explore more and more possibilities and she could not go to sleep just in case she did manage and forgot about the whole idea come morning.

Hence, out of bed it was, in the middle of the night, by candlelight, the lone figure of Bella easing herself into her dressing gown as she moved to her desk, sitting at the chair to formulate a plan. Firstly, she had to locate this Berini, find out where he was, if not executed, and what would make him talk regarding why he’d made such a pitiful assassination attempt. Obviously, if he was still alive, he’d be stationed at a dungeon somewhere and they didn’t have the best mail service. His family or his estates would be the best place to look. Except, they weren’t likely to release his details to just anyone.

Well, money made the world go around. It took Bella only a short moment to come up with a feasible idea. She’d pretend to be a lawyer. She’d pretend to be a lawyer of a deceased aunt, who died a wealthy spinster and left Berini her cats and some of her silver. It stood a good chance of working and therefore Bella wasted no time in getting into the crux of things. Being naturally left-handed, and that feature having been declared a sign of the devil, she had been taught to write with her right hand. That did not mean that she stopped using her left hand for writing. Therefore, Bella ended up with two distinct handwritings, one for each hand. For the letter, to avoid any danger of detection, she used her left-handed writing. Having finished, finally asking for Berini’s whereabouts to approach him to sort out the details of the transaction, she wrote down the return address of a good friends; Jean-Louise’s. Jean-Louise had been at the Abbey with Bella and had grown to be a dear friend, almost a sister. She’d know what to and Bella would write a letter in the morning outlining what she expected.

With that, she finally retired to bed again, falling asleep steadily with no burden in her mind. Dreams and blank periods of time passed and eventually morning called, rousing Bella from sleep. The half-hour or so that she lost writing the letter had made no real difference to the degree of renewed energy with which she woke, rising out of bed with enough zeal to even hope for a whole day without dear Marie-Elisabeth. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, so here’s hoping. With the help of Grace, Bella was soon dressed and ready, in her moss green dress, her hair done to let the loose curls hang free.

Sufficiently ready, she wrote the letter to Jean-Louise before handing out the rest of the orders for errands Grace was to carry out for her. Grace having been Bella’s maid for years on end now, would not question it, neither fail to fulfil it to the best of her ability.

“I want you to find Marquess Berini’s home address – it should be in the records somewhere – and post this to reach there,” she said handing the unlabelled envelop to the maid before handing the one address to Jean-Louise. “Make sure you raise no questions. Also, post this other letter.”

With that, she simply moved into the salon of her suite, taking a few moments to herself before she was ready to go out, lest her wonderful neighbour lingered there.

Bella - Orangery - Waiting for Elena
 

(((OOC: It's all fine by me, Ghanima. I wasn't sure if Elena was already in the orangery, so I left that part open, so hope this works for you)))

A while had passed during which Bella blissfully lost herself between the covers of a book. Not fiction, however. She was no real fan of someone’s fantastical ramblings, save for a few truly inspirational works. No, she very much liked to remain in the world to which she was currently ordained, lest it change without anyone them noticing. What was the point of dwelling in a realm imprinted in pages of a book when there were far more intriguing things one was already embroiled in?

Thus, her decision to read An Essay to Revive the Ancient Education of Gentlewomen, a rather bold piece of literature to challenge exactly why men deserve full control of the world they lived in. She knew for a fact that Duchessa Natalina Pizerio, her Godmother of sorts, would relish this. Well, to be honest, the Duchessa had probably already read it and managed to write a dissertation on it. Of course, she’d advise that equality rewarded to women was not a topic to be declared among men, it was a conquest to be secretly attained. The Duchessa did like and indulge in more than her fair share of underhand tactics after all, and had somehow managed to mould Bella in her image.

Her thoughts interrupted by the sounds of knocking at her door, Bella simply cast a glance at Grace as the maid scurried over to the door, opening it to greet her visitor. Bella simply returned to her book, but was only embroiled in it for a moment longer before Grace rushed to her, flustered. And what exactly had been that unsettling?

“It’s her, my Lady,” Grace uttered, her voice hushed, almost wringing her hands. “The Spanish woman.”

Bella’s eyes widened for a moment. What?! She credited Elena with much more intelligence than to show up at her door!
"Her Excellency?!” she demanded of her main through complete incredulity.

“No, no,” Grace corrected. “The other one, my Lady. The… the maid.”

Bella almost laughed. During their time in Spain, Grace had served with Juanita. And hated every moment of it. Juanita had… disturbed Grace’s calm somewhat and Bella wasn’t particularly surprised; Juanita would be enough to disrupt the calm of a monk. Still, Grace had to toughen up and deal with things. She’d come into contact with Juanita a lot more now that both Elena and Bella were more or less permanently residing in the same court.

“She won’t bite you, Grace,” Bella calmly pointed out with an exasperated sigh. “What does she want?”

Apparently Juanita had something for Bella and would deliver it to her and her alone. Well, wasn’t that loyal? The Comtesse could only just fathom the amount of drive it must take to keep oneself tethered to Elena and not want to constantly pull at the chains. Then again, the workings of Juanita’s mind was beyond Bella, and possibly anyone’s, ability to understand. The girl was just completely and utterly strange. Coming face to face with her once more, Bella was starkly reminded of why she’d understood how Grace had been so unsettled. It was the look in Juanita’s eyes, a primal look of sorts that was always so threatening, as if there was a wild animal in there somewhere.

Dismissing the object of scrutiny, Bella finally opened the note, only to be utterly dismayed at the contents. Elena wanted a meeting. That wasn’t incredibly great news, but it wasn’t exactly surprising. What was surprising and borderline devestating was the fact that Her Excellency had managed to choose the one place Bella had grown to detest already during her short time here; the Orangery.

There was little sympathy to be gained from Grace, her maid of several years, over the matter, simply beacause Grace believed thoroughly that Bella was committing a grievous crime by spying on the Prince and went as far as to reiterate her belief as advice to Bella, cornering on the fact that being summoned to the Orangery was a sign and punishment of sorts.

“If I wanted ‘I told you so’s, Grace, I have the Holy Bible at my disposal,” she simply dismissed before placing the note somewhere safe. For insurance purposes.

With that, she simply made her way towards the Orangery, every step towards the blasted place prompting her more and more to turn back and run, to request that Elena pick some other place. But no. Then Elena would know there was something Bella had against the place and she’d probably see it – even something so trivial – as a sign of weakness. Further more, Bella was too interested in what news Elena had for her to delay the meeting any longer. She’d just have to deal with whatever feelings she had against the place in which they met.

Therefore, taking a deep breath, she pushed the doors open, cautiously venturing into the place, her eyes vigilant for any movement, both human and spider. For particularly disconcerting specimens of both species were due to join her here.

Larkin saw that Adele was watching him, not from any observance on his part but the sheer speed with which she replied, at the precise moment when it became acceptable to do so, which was when the letter went back into its envelope. Insofar as she had to have been waiting, or at least watching, this precisely acceptable timing lost said propriety. Larkin decided to be more amused than offended.

“I also had lovely time yesterday,” she replied, and by the time Larkin had turned to look at her again, he had fixed a slightly amused, but generally cheerful expression on his features. He imagined it to look slightly paternal. Her face had developed into a small smile, which belied her next words, “Although I wish I had stayed for a bit longer last night. Had I been thinking more clearly I would have eaten something before deciding to departure.”

Larkin didn't let his expression waver, but he was a man who enjoyed his food, and it took a lot more than an awkward conversation, bad seating, and a questionable dinner companion to displace him from said food. Especially since last night he had sensed none of this at least for his perspective. Adele's words had indicated she didn't think so either, but then again words are wind, and this was France. She sighed and shook her head, a sentiment Larkin most thoroughly agreed with.

Before he could offer to take her to the kitchens- it was too late to get a proper breakfast, but plenty early enough that there would be leftovers- she continued, with a definite pause in the middle, “I hope you didn’t mind me leaving so abruptly like that. Was everything alright after I left? There was no trouble, I assume.”

What a strange thing to ask... On the surface it seemed like a polite, but veiled apology for what was rather poor courtesy, but her tone made it seem honestly concerned. Was she actually worried about what he might think? Doubtful, as he had done his utmost best to seem nonthreatening. Asking specifically about trouble would imply she thought there had been some, had something occurred last night that one in the dining hall should have been aware of? Even more doubtful that, he had been there the whole time, and Ambrose would have cued him in on anything subtle. So maybe something she had planned? He could not help but le t a small smile creep onto his face, Larkin was usually a fair judge of character, and he did not think that Adele would have planned any "trouble." For sheerly logistical reasons, rather than any dearth of character, she seemed too shy to have set up any sort of complicated web.

She gave a small laugh at something or other, and her eyes sparkled most invitingly. Larkin let his grin stay on his features, it could do no harm despite having arrived before her laughter. "There was no trouble, and there were plenty of people in the hall, maybe you noticed? I merely had my repast with them. It would have been nice to have your company as well, but it is perfectly acceptable that you left."

A subtle enough rebuke, in that it wasn't really a rebuke. Merely a courteous reply that reassured her, assuming her insecurities from last night remained, that he did not object to her company, and that he was perfectly fine without it. A bit vain of her to think otherwise, but nonetheless, socially acceptable. As to not eating dinner, or getting a servant to fetch something to her room, that was rather stupid, in Larkin's opinion, given his connoisseur attitude, but again, harmless. "I actually missed breakfast this morning, although I suppose I can't complain. I had planned on going to the kitchens, to see if there were leftovers, I am sure that you would be perfectly welcome to come along."

Larkin was incredibly curious to see what she would make of that. One could tell a lot about a noble by how they regarded their social inferiors. Most held them at a polite distance, but the few that regarded their servants highly enough, and were in turn well regarded enough to be treated very well, were great rarities, usually scorned by their more elitist peers. Larkin did not reveal what import he held his servant's esteem in, but then again it was fairly obvious from his casually speaking of going to the kitchens that he at least was held in some esteem somewhere. He wondered curiously if she would over react, or even notice. If Larkin himself, and his friends from his younger days, were any indication young nobles as a group considered kitchen leftovers to be their personal buffet,and would think nothing of an older person continuing the same behavior they indulged in. Then again, Adele looked to be in her twenties, possibly too old to engage in such silliness, and definitely old enough to understand the ramifications- that he was a dodderer of some sort- of close ties to the lower classes.

Adele and Larkin || The Blue Salon
 

Adele's blond curls fell past her small, delicate shoulders as she gazed towards the Baron. Her eyes studied his expression as she spoke, which was slightly cheerful - fatherly even. Yet as she continued on, he no longer seemed quite so chipper, but confused, which from Adele's perspective was understandable. She did not expect him to apprehend her reason for such unearthly questions she had been asking him. You see, Adele is the type of person to believe that something is to go wrong whenever she isn't present. An example would be when she left the Great Dining Room; she actually thought that something was going to go amiss, but clearly nothing out of the ordinary happened at all. Of course it was all in her head, but she couldn't help but feel on edge. The only reason she bothered to ask such questions was because she was extremely paranoid about it, and wanted to make sure nobody had done anything stupid.

Now she was not one to question another person's intelligence, she wasn't going to go about guessing someone's level of intelligence; not only was it quite rude, but most people including herself would find it offensive. She did not think anyone was thick-headed exactly, you could be the most intelligent person in the world and make a stupid mistake; it was not unheard of. She gave a quick glance towards the door, and then turned back to face the Baron. Why on earth was she becoming so paranoid?

There could only be one possible explanation for her strange paranoia - her father.

It seems as if her father is turning out to be the source of all her troubles, which is truly quite unfortunate. But how you ask? How does her father have to do with any of this? Well ever since she knew her father he was always a bit dense, and it seemed that every time she turned her back he went and did something completely insane. Of course this was not his fault. Not only was a quite old, but months after the death of her mother he used to go out a drink every night, leaving Adele with no one to talk to but the maid. He used the alcohol as a way to "numb the pain" and to keep him from feeling depressed, yet he would consume so much of it that he would become intoxicated, resulting in him making awfully poor choices. It appeared that every time Adele wasn't around he would do something stupid, which would explain her being so paranoid and all.

Yet she wasn't going to tell the Baron about her reasons for asking such odd questions for it would only lead into her personal life, and she had no intention of sharing it with anyone.

“There was no trouble, and there were plenty of people in the hall, maybe you noticed? I merely had my repast with them. It would have been nice to have your company as well, but it is perfectly acceptable that you left. I actually missed breakfast this morning, although I suppose I can’t complain. I had planned on going to the kitchens, to see if there were leftovers, I am sure that you would be perfectly welcome to come along."

Adele nodded her head and gave a quick smile, slowly rising from her seat. “Of course,” she said simply, and grabbed her book to get ready to leave. She found nothing wrong with getting leftovers in the kitchen, if you were hungry then why wouldn’t you? Although she had never bothered to do it before, she had no problem with asking if she could possibly have a bite to eat, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. But if they refused to give her anything to eat, they would certainly be getting an earful. Adele was not a kind person when she was hungry, instead she would be grumpy and a bit of a pain. But most people have never seen that side of her for she ate often, in order to avoid such horrible behavior.

Bella and Elena - Orangery
 

(((OOC: Works fine for me, Ghanima. Also, hope what I had Bella say about Elena was okay? Seeing as they'd be keeping tabs on each other, I expect Bella to have some grasp of what Elena's like? But, if there are any problems, do let me know )))

“So, Isabella Devine...or better said Comtesse Isabella Devine which I have been informed is the proper term to address you nowadays,” called out a voice that Bella knew too well belonged to Elena. She’d been in the Orangery for all of half a minute before Her Excellency proved that she’d beaten her to it. In an hour’s time, then? It’d seem that both parties were rather impatient regarding the meeting and therefore had sought to get there first. Bella hoped that Elena had been as cautious as her, and also an inconspicuous, in getting to the Orangery. Elena, after all, was more likely to be followed than Bella. And thus, she was probably just as, if not more, careful. “I see fortune has favoured you since we last met.”

However, the suddenness of Elena’s presence had some what unsettled Bella even further than she already had been, the tightness in her slender shoulders creeping up almost instantly into her neck. She didn’t turn around immediately. She knew better than that, given the state of mind that she possessed. No, she needed to compose herself before taking on someone like Elena. Deep breaths and happy places found to ease herself and gain control before she slowly turned to face the other woman.

She hadn’t changed much in demeanour, then. Still the very same aura of superiority, of knowing better than everyone else, the air of untouchable greatness that hung around her like a second skin. Although, what really amused Bella was Elena’s dress. Dark and filled with black lace spreading out over the bodice like a midnight spider web. Well, wasn’t that fitting?

Studying Elena again once more as she had done upon their first meeting in Spain, Bella discovered the same things. Well, better safe than sorry, yes? First and foremost between the women was the simple similarity in the fact that both were the only children of influential men who refused to be controlled by anyone but the only women in their lives; their daughters. However, the contrast in the very same scenario was that Elena’s father hadn’t committed a crime and lost his title and was still very much renowned.

Outward appearance was somewhat a contrast too. Elena was so richly dark, an exotic beauty in every right, and revelling in every benefit it brought her. Of which Bella was sure there were plenty, for the King of France was hardly likely to simply agree to the match without Elena’s charms playing some part in it. The ravishing locks of dark hair, capturing black pearls that she had for eyes, and the confident tan of her skin were very unlikely to go unnoticed by any man with even a pathetic excuse for eyesight. Bella, on the other hand, was far more subtle. More than half-Italian, thanks to some recently perturbing parentage, she did enjoy it’s benefits; faintly olive complexion, though still golden, loose coils of dark chocolate hair and honey coloured eyes to match. Not quite the French ideal of fair hair and blue eyes, thus ever so slightly exotic, but still beautiful in her own right and, more importantly, passably French enough not to raise any uncomfortable questions. Though the rich and powerful ancestry of her father was rather well know, it was best not to cause deliberation upon the rather dubious origins of her mother, the late Duchesse Carmella Devine.

There was much, much more in realms of what Elena flaunted while Bella downplayed. The clothes Elena chose to wore were always of the finest fabrics, the most enviable designs and textures, taking every opportunity to display the affluence and influence she possessed. As a contrast again, Bella downplayed it. While her clothes were also the result of fine fabric investment, they were far more subtle. Still revelling herself in satin, silk, chiffon and whatever else struck her fancy, Bella was more than aware of the dangers of advertising the things one was not actually supposed to be able to afford. Though she was still very wealthy, her status previously as a Baroness would raise some questions as to how she was able to afford such luxury, which would lead the question of why the then Duc Devine had lost his title, but not his estates, and that in turn led to some topics that were best not ventured upon. So, the problem was solved by not raising the questions in the first place.

The same pattern seemed to follow the difference in countenance of both women. Elena behaved as if she already was royalty, which given her status in Spain, was more than justified. She always seemed to have about her airs and graces, that she was indeed better and therefore deserved respect, a way to command subconscious admiration in everyone around her. And it worked so well. Bella held more down to Earth charm, a sort of approachability that usually appealed to everyone to converse with her, to befriend her rather than worship her. Well, everyone except a certain Comtesse, but that woman probably had no time for anyone except herself and ‘darling Charles’.

Those outlined differences were only on the surface. Deep down inside, both women were probably more similar than either of them realised, otherwise there’d be little chance of a successful agreement between them. Granted, Elena was several steps more devious than Bella could possibly ever aspire to be, but the potential was probably there. With Elena, there was always a sort of dangerous vibe that she emitted, subliminally, the kind that enticed and drew you closer and closer like a moth to a flame. You knew that things could turn perilous any moment that she chose, but you were too wrapped up in her promises. With Bella, there were no such warning signals, just simple earthly appeal of human sincerity and affection. However, while Elena always carried about her that darkly beguiling light, what Bella possessed was a treacherous mask of virtue. Simply put, Elena was the equivalent a Siberian Tiger that you kept for its majestic nature and you knew it could tear you apart though you hoped genuinely that it didn’t, while Bella was a Persian cat that you kept close to you as a pet, pouring upon it affection and doting, not expecting the moment that it scratched you violently, the minor physical trauma the tip of the iceberg of the potential emotional hurt. It was never clear whose attack was worse, the Siberian’s or the Persian’s.

Perhaps that was why Elena had chosen to make use of Bella, because she knew the capability. Either way, though Bella had been most cautious to accept, she had only been too aware of the benefits. With her influence, Elena was much more likely to find her father’s whereabouts than Bella on her own could ever hope to achieve. Furthermore, Elena was to be the Princess of France, and hence her favour would be very advantageous. It was all well and good for Bella to be immediately related to Italian royalty, but when the only way to grandly acknowledge them would involve running the serious risk of exposing a rather insalubrious secret, it was best left as a last resort. Hence, Elena’s proposal had been somewhat of a godsend, but still very much a double edged sword.

Now. A deal is a deal is a deal. Once in, there was no way out and each participant came to hold enough ammunition over the other to keep the deal going unless one of the participants decide to do something inexplicably stupid. That participant was not likely to be Bella. She had too much to gain and too much to lose. Whatever twist Elena wished to put into her marriage to Octavien was no concern of Bella’s; it was their problem and they could handle it themselves the way she handled her problems by herself. Regardless of how pleasant Octavien seemed, her own agenda came first to Bella and she was sure he’d do the same thing in her shoes. After all, who wouldn’t? It wasn’t like she owed him anything.

So, right now, her loyalties lay with Elena, it’d been bought, but still it had to be paid for, thus it was currently somewhat a tentative loyalty.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Your Excellency,” she greeted cordially, a graceful curtsey to match the velvety quality of her voice. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

And you brought your Psycho Slave. I’m sure you feel at home already.

As for her commentary on Bella’s newfound title, well, didn’t news travel abnormally fast when you had someone at your beck and call, annealing to your whims and every desire with no questions asked? Was that what she wanted to turn Bella into? No chance. Now, best to dispel any ideas that Bella had simply found herself in luck and stumbled upon a title rather than having gone out of her way to make it easier for her to do Elena’s bidding.

“And we both know fortune favours those who help themselves,” she pointed out politely, her astute eyes reaching out to Elena, invoking the sense of shrewdness that both women knew the other to possess. Here, secluded in the Orangery, there was no need to indulge in pointless bouts of forced innocence. Now, she’d wait for Elena to commence business rather than instigate it herself, for she had to split her resources between fending off spider attacks and fending off Elena. And thus there was still that subtle tightness in her posture.

Octavien, César and Joséphine - the lake
 

As a man widely known for his wit and his sharp tongue, among other things, César de la Valliére wasn't particularly fond of being rendered stumped. Not in the sense that he would be angry, offended or even annoyed when ever it happened, which wasn't very often, but in the sense that it would spark an immediate and pressing need to get back at whoever had stunned him. He was competitive, and always enjoyed a good fight, whether it involved words, brains or pure muscle, and so when ever he lost a battle, it would only fuel his desire for a re-match. Even more so when he wasn't even left the chance to throw himself and his opponent into one once he had regained his composure, which usually only took a few seconds at the most.

So then, when Octavien after his oh-so-clever comeback instantly turned to Joséphine, as a way of ensuring that the triumph of temporarily flattening César remained his, César silently vowed to himself that when the right opportunity presented itself, he would return the 'favor'. He didn't interject the moment his tongue was loosened from it's chains, nor did he give an indignated huff to show his displeasure of being robbed of the chance to retort. He simply flashed a faint, and slightly patronizing smile, as though Octavien's quick wit was somehow his merit, for teaching Octavien how to use it, and now going to himself 'Isn't that cute?', much like a mentor when challenged by his student.

Several times during the pleasant little walk to the lake - as suggested by Joséphine the previous night when the genius among the small group had hinted that Octavien's last day as a free man should somehow be celebrated - the chance for a comeback arose. Octavien was somewhat of an easy target, simply because César knew him so well, and so the chances to slip him a jesting remark were plentiful. But none of them were the right one. None of them provided that extra oomph that César wanted for this one. And so he waited, deciding to bide his time and in the meantime partake in the cheerful chatter as though he had forgotten all about his playfully vengeful streak (even though they all knew on some level that sooner or later it would pop out like some unpredictable jack-in-the-box). The right opportunity would come along. An opportunity that would allow him not only to get back with humor, but with a bit of an edge as well. Nothing hostile or uncalled for, but a gibe nonetheless, to match the one Octavien had given him.

Being in no particular hurry, as none of them had any plans other than treating themselves to a day of good company and leisure, they maintained a fairly slow pace, strolling casually along the neatly kept gravel path at first, only to abandon it when it turned and no longer lead towards the lake, in favour of the lush green grass with a myriad of colorful wild flowers scattered all about. When finally the shimmering surface of water basking in the bright sunlight came into view, they even stopped for a few seconds, to take in the panorama of nature's beauty. Still neatly maintained, but not nearly as 'organized' as the part of the gardens they had left behind. Here the trees and bushes had not been strategically planted to form a pattern or an aisle, and the lake was an actual lake, formed by the hands of Mother Nature herself, and not the brainchild of some landscape architect.

The first to break the brief silence, was Joséphine, with a soft breath easing it's way past her lips in the shape of a sigh filled with serenity.

"Shall we find a spot near the water?" she said, giving the two men a glance, to which they only nodded at first.

"How about there?" Octavien then suggested, pointing towards a small cove nearby the cluster of trees; a place in the sun, yet close enough to both water and natural shade, should they desire the sensation of either.

It was a suggestion to which both Joséphine and César agreed, and together the three of them descended the gentle slope, followed by the small army of servants, who once the lady and the gentlemen reached their intended desitation, swiftly spread out the blankets on the ground, and set up the parasols as to not allow the sun to tan the skins of the picnickers, nor spoil the food in the two baskets of provisions. When it was all done, Octavien offered a faint smile accompanied by a gracious 'thank you', and then sent them back to the Palace.

Alone at last, the three friends found themselves their favored spots on the blanket, and César poured them each a glass of wine, while Joséphine and Octavien helped take out and set up the dishes intended for their first meal.

"So...", Octavien said once it was all set up and they had begun digging into the plethora of bread, marmalade, cheese and all the other ingredients of a steady breakfast. "You met... my bride to be yesterday. What did you think of her?"

Knowing that his two friends were both intelligent and perceptive, and considering he himself had had a bit of trouble determining where Elena stood on most anything, he was eager to hear of their impressions and observations, hoping that perhaps they had noticed something he himself hadn't, that would help in establishing if his soon-to-be wife was friend, or foe.

And that was the moment César's need to strike back emerged from hiding, to rear it's ugly head.

"My friend", he said, and laid down, propping himself comfortably on one elbow, after discarding the somewhat restricting light moss green frock coat he had been wearing, and taking on a matter-of-factly tone. "I do believe you are truly doomed."

Pausing for a moment, to ensure that he had indeed gotten Octavien's full and rather concerned attention, the young Prince's sapphire eyes instantly flooding with dread of having his fears confirmed, César then continued.

"She is by all standards a great beauty, she is a highly skilled and entertaining conversationalist, possesses the most enviable qualities of refinement, sophistication and congeniality, and she is by no means old. Oh yes, what a hag."

Silent at first, his cheeks flushing slightly with disconcertion at having his own skepticism and distrust of people so bluntly stated to his face, Octavien shot a brief glance in Joséphine's general direction, as if to see whether or not she shared her husband's sarcastic sentiments. Then, he turned his gaze back to César, and a faint, calm and yet still somewhat embarrassed smile emerged on his lips.

"You think I'm being silly", he said softly, as though establishing a fact.

César's expression however remained serious, though where before only his words had revealed his sarcasm, his tone of voice now joined in;

"You are about to marry a woman who would make most men go green with envy, and all you can look for, are faults. No, why would I think you're being silly?"

This time, Octavien had no reply to give, and merely shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable at being faced with having to explain what he found impossible to put into words. It was a feeling, intangible and fuzzy, based on recent experiences which had tainted his tendency to put a little faith in people. Not trust exactly, but faith, as in not thinking that everyone harboured ulterior motives and was out to get him somehow. There really was no way to explain it in words that another was likely to understand. Especially not since half the story, if not more, was something he could not afford to let past his lips. He couldn't tell them about Isabella, or the true story of Marquess Berini's 'attempt' on his life. He couldn't tell them about Adalita's betrayal, without risking having to tell them they why's and the how's of his marriage to her, and he couldn't tell them about Baroness Flight's/Venn's/Whatever's threats against him. And so, he did the only thing he felt was safe, at the moment:
He remained silent.

--Everyone, it is now Afternoon--


((ooc: Alissa - works perfectly, I agree with all you've written))

Marie-Elisabeth: With Charles again
 

Waiting for something to come, Marie-Elisabeth was acutely aware, had the very annoying effect of making time drag on to a ridiculous degree. It felt like days instead of just hours since she had gotten up this morning, and found the wedding invitation on her side table. She had spent most of the morning flitting around between the front entrance waiting for Charles to arrive, and the suite next to hers making sure everything was just right for when he arrived. “Although” she mused, as she wandered back to the front entrance “If my visit this morning was successful we won’t be there for long. We could be moving into the only suite left in the better half of the palace. Which not only would be a great advancement for my little chou d’amour, but would get me farther away from that vile neighbour of mine”. She smiled at the thought as she all but skipped down the enormous stairs that lead up to the palace, wondering what on earth was taking Charles’ coach so long to get there.

In fact, as she reached the final step she was delighted to see the Valois coach come up the main roadway leading to the palace. She smiled to see a familiar blonde head hanging out the side, darting around looking at everything. Marie-Elisabeth was hard pressed not to run down the road like a madwoman to meet him, or to giggle as she saw a hand dart out from inside the carriage and yank Charles back inside. “Simon” she thought, chuckling as the carriage pulled up “Charles would break his neck if it weren’t for him”.

But any thoughts of anyone else were rapidly wiped from her head as soon as the ornate carriage came to a stop and the door swung open, revealing her beloved son . His bright brown eyes, the only thing he really had of his father in him, were twinkling with suppressed mischief from being cooped up so long. “Maman” he cried, bounding out of the carriage and into her waiting arms. “I’m here, and you wore your pretty dress today. You look so pretty Maman, I missed you”. Marie-Elisabeth smiled into his hair and tightened her arms around him. She honestly hadn’t realized quite how much she had missed him until he was right back there in her arms. And despite her initial misgivings about bringing him to court, she was quite seriously considering keeping him there with her now. That was how much she missed him.

“Maman missed you to chou d’amour, very very much” she said, releasing him to smile at him “And I wore it just for you, I know how much you like it”. “I hoped you would” he said, grinning at his mother who straightened herself up and took his hand ‘That’s why I wore blue today too. So we would match. Right Monsieur Simon?”

The man nodded as he exited the coach behind him. “He was most insistent upon it Madame. He wouldn’t have any other colour”. Marie-Elisabeth smiled and squeezed Charles’ hand as he grinned at her. “Thank you for bringing him here safely Monsieur. You have my gratitude. And I trust you’ll be able to see everything safely to the suite”? she said, looking over at Simon who nodded. “Of course I will Madame” he said, bowing “And believe me it was no trouble with such charming company”.

Marie-Elisabeth smiled at him again, before turning her attention back to Charles, who was tugging on her hand after waving his goodbyes to Simon. “Come on Maman. You have to show me everything around here. I want a tour” he said, all but leading her by the hand. Not that she was protesting the fact any. She has just happy that he was back with her where he belonged. “Of course love. I shall give you a tour right away. I bet there are lots of people who can’t wait to meet the grand Comte de Valois”. He grinned at that, always pleased to be referred to so importantly. “I know, that’s why we have to get going” he stated, tugging her hand again and she smiled and led him towards the gardens.



(((OOC: Approachable, really I’m bored LOL

For the coach, think the same thing except in blue and gold. Valois colours after all With the Valois crest on the doors. And for the portrait, exact same look except blonde hair.

Simon was mentioned earlier, he’s sort of an usher/footman kind of deal for Charles. Something like a man version of a lady’s maid/lady in waiting. He did the same for Charles Sr

Oh and in case you didn't notice...Charles=Only person capable of bossing ME around to any degree LOL)))

Bella and Elena - Orangery
 

(((OOC: I'm pretty sure I started rambling at some point, so do let me know if I've made no sense at all. Hope this works out for you!)))


From the moment she met Elena – even before the façade had been dropped – Bella had had it in her mind to be careful around the woman. There was that edge, the unsettling yet inspiring quality to her that placed her a cut above most women of her time. All admiring aside, basically Elena was dangerous as she was powerful, her word being the sine qua non in her estates in Spain and the rebellion yielding rather catastrophic results. Well, good luck, Octavien.

So, there it was, the need to control everything and everyone around her. With Bella now working for her, it was more than assured that she’d want to know what it was that Bella wanted. Yes, there was her half of the deal, finding Bella’s father, but the younger woman knew Elena would look beyond the idea of a loving daughter looking for her father. Any lies and dress-ups that Bella had offered would have been pushed aside in preference to Elena’s own theories. She’d no doubt asked around, found out about the Duc/Baron issue and God only knew what else and it’d be a matter of time before she figured it out. Was it just hope to think that she’d only become that interested in Bella’s familial issues if the latter decided it’d be a good idea to misbehave? Or was it going to be Elena’s ploy to drain the situation dry to her advantage?

Either way, her chances of finding out what exactly the grand secret entailed were quite slim. She didn’t know the right people, the main person who would have blabbed was dead, as was the crux of the entire problem and everyone else knew to keep their mouths shut. Yet, it was Elena and there was always that risk that she’d find a way. If and when she did, she wouldn’t tell. She’d probably use it to wield more power over Bella. Hence, the antidote was to find something on Elena. Problem was that the woman played her cards too close to her chest.

It was past difficult to discover the secrets of someone who said so little and thought so much about what little they did end up saying. Such was the case with Elena. Nothing passed her lips without thorough scrutiny. Nothing was ever uttered that might actually reveal any personal information about her. Nothing. It was frustrating, to say the least. Well, then, alternative methods had to be implemented. She had to give Elena the impression that she always had the upper hand, regardless of what Bella knew. It was in hope again, that Elena would be in her element somewhat and thus perhaps lower her guard. If that didn’t work, at least it kept Bella safe from her wrath and fine, she could speak as little as she wanted, her body language would have to suffice.

One implementation of such a tactic was now, when Bella had waited for Elena to signal when she wanted to discuss things. And there it was, the subtle nod, the mild disapproval of Bella’s indulgence in dreary cordiality between two women who were breaking a worrying number of those rules. Treachery, spying, deceit and this would all probably lead to conspiring against the crown at some point. Then there was that small smile that had emerged when Bella had decided to lift her painted veil and attempt to converse with Elena as they both really were. The other woman disliked the masquerade as much as Bella disliked having to constantly play the part.

“Clearly, you have done so admirably,” were the words Her Excellency had responded with, the inferences made by her own cunning mind unmistakable in the tone. “How does life at Court agree with you otherwise? Anything...noteworthy to mention? So many new acquaintances, I'm sure.”

And thus it begins.

Regardless of how much leverage Elena had in this situation, Bella wasn’t about to just hand over what she had to trade without knowing that Elena had fulfilled her part of the deal. In any case, that was the point of this whole clandestine issue, Bella didn’t want to risk decapitation simply because she had little else to do with her life. And on the other side, Elena would respect her little if she found herself under the impression that Bella was somewhat a ditzy little girl; she’d then find good reason to make the younger woman dance to her tunes in a more overt way. Right now, as it was with Elena keeping her gloves on, it was much better.

“Oh, only the usual, various courtiers and our... illustrious Prince,” Bella replied with a wily tone of her own to match Elena’s as she glided towards the other woman slowly. It was a promise of things to come, seeing as Bella had gathered more than adequate information to fulfil the quota of the three days she’d been here. On top of all that, she had in fact made Octavien’s acquaintance, which did elevate her chances of continuing to discover more about him. Although, given their current surroundings, the tightness in her shoulders just refused to leave despite her minor triumph in her and Elena’s deal. Better that it was there because it was currently keeping her from sprinting for the door. “…. But I'm sure I'm not the only one to have made interesting acquaintances, your Excellency?”

It was said as one friend would to another after a holiday; ‘Yes, I’ve done all this and had so much fun, but you must have had such a good time too!’. Except Bella’s question had been regarding her own interests that lay in Elena’s capacity and she expected the other woman to have kept up her part of the deal. If not, she was better out of this association with Elena before things became… acrimonious.

Octavien, César and Joséphine - the lake
 

If César had been harsh and unsympathetic in his response to Octavien's apprehensions regarding Elena and his impending marriage to her, Joséphine was turning out to be quite the opposite. As the sarcasm poured out of her husband's mouth and Octavien felt himself shrink ever so slightly, much like a child being scolded, Joséphine met his gaze in the brief glance he cast in her direction, and during those few moments it lasted, she somehow managed to offer him enough support to strengthen him, leaving him reassured that she for one could understand his concerns, and that for whatever reason, César seemed to be intentionally critical of the same, instead of being open to his friend's thoughts on the matter, as Octavien had expected he would be. Perhaps that was why the young Prince felt so vulnerable and uncomfortable, being questioned like that; because he had counted on César's understanding. Not his confirmation exactly, that Octavien should indeed be as apprahensive, but at least some sign that regardless of whether it made sense or not, César could understand where Octavien was coming from.

Instead, it was Joséphine who proved to be not only the most supportive one of the two, but the only supportive one. It would seem the understanding Octavien had been looking for in César mostly, man to man and friend to friend, arose in her instead, so much that César's failure to understand seemed to downright upset her, to the point were her emotions seeped through in her voice as she seized the moment of Octavien's subdued silence and César's jeering one to speak her mind;

"Beauty often causes vanity", she started and then paused for a moment, before continuing in a tone of voice that grew increasingly fierce with every word; "Refined manners help conceal one's true intent and a clever tongue may be the mark of a scheming mind! Equally, despite not being old, she is quite advanced in age for an unmarried woman, particularly one of such high birth, which begs the questioning of reasons! I think Octavien has every right to be wary, at least until she proves herself as a friend!"

A long and above all surprised silence followed in the wake of that passionate statement, as César and Octavien both simply looked at her, each rendered temporarily mute for their own personal reasons. César for the obvious ones of pure surprise at having his wife practically tell him off like that, speaking with far greater gravity than he himself had, something he had expected her to know, and Octavien too. And in Octavien's case, it was a matter of relief at having someone understand him, and acknowledge his concerns, as well as surprise at witnessing the fire with which Joséphine did so, opposing all her husband's simple and rather superficial observations with iron-clad logic. Like Octavien, she didn't see whatever pleasant traits displayed at a first meeting as any guarantee that they were genuine and pure, and not subject to change once charades were no longer a necessity, no longer possible means to an end. She understood, and she sided with him against her own husband. Octavien simply could not help but feel his heart swell with warmth and affection for her, for her compassion, so obvious to him in the words she had spoken in his defense, but also in the look in her eyes. And it occured to him then; his mistake at thinking César would be the one to truly understand, when it was Joséphine who knew better just what exactly Octavien was going through. Her marriage had been an arranged one as well, and while César was indeed part of it and had known little more about Joséphine than she had about him, he, as a young man, had had the privilege of being able to refuse the marriage, without the consequences of doing so being all too dire, should he have found her the least bit displeasing, even through rumours, whereas Joséphine, as a girl and one of slightly lower rank at that, had not had the same freedom. Just like Octavien didn't have much freedom now, to refuse a marriage he didn't want, lest he'd be deemed an 'inconvenience' and somehow disposed of as such, or worse, betray what he held so very close to his heart; loyalty towards his country, and the royal family. In fact, the latter was probably more of a reason for him to not openly object or somehow cause rifts between the royal family, and Her Excellency and the Spaniards, than the suspicion of what fate might have in store for him if he did. He had a powerful ally in Queen Isabella, who knew quite well how to handle Edouard and make him see things her way, so the threat of being sent away as a 'diplomat' to some far-away Godforsaken continent, was not as great as it would have been, had he not had Isabella on his side. And if all went well, he'd soon have the King himself there asw ell.

No, what kept Octavien from rebelling, was what he had in him; his sense of honor and loyalty. At this point, he regarded it as as much a curse as he did it a blessing, for while it had taken him as close to the top as anyone could ever hope to get, it had also left him marred by experiences and troubles he would have been happier not having to cope with at all. Such as the one of being faced with a marriage to yet another woman whom he didn't trust.

Yes, Joséphine did indeed understand his dilemma and his fears, and the way she chose to express them, opposing César in the process, truly filled Octavien's heart with warmth towards her. A warmth he had felt before, yet this time it was different somehow. Different, in that the affection running through it had grown, to the point where it now intermingled with that other intangible... something that sometimes stirred within him when his gaze locked with hers, so tightly entwined that he was no longer sure he could tell them apart...

"Speaking from experience, I suppose", came Joséphine's voice again all of a sudden, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of them following her minor outburst, and dragging Octavien back from his inner musings. "I recall fearing you might be a brute before meeting you, mon cher."

Still addressing César, her tone was now far more relaxed than before, and mischief was sneaking into her words, causing a slight smirk to curve her husband's lips, as César took it to mean that she had now realized her mistake in going at him, and that while his own words might have been rather poignant, they had been nothing to get so riled about, as his intention had been to provoke thought, not hurt. According to him, Octavien was being far to glum about this whole thing. After all, a wife such as Elena Sánchez would look good on him - socially as well as politically - and if they ended up not getting along, then Octavien could just find some other woman that pleased him more to share his bed and his days. He was the Prince, after all, and so he would be practically expected to take a mistress. At least. All royals did.

"Perhaps I wasn't entirely unfounded in my fears", Joséphine added with a slight smirk of her own, almost as though she had heard the thoughts going through her dear husband's mind at that precise moment.

The ironic curve of her lips soon vanished however, replaced with surprise at finding, after a quick search, that they were already out of wine, and - yet again - before César had the chance to retort.

"Have they only brought us one bottle?" she asked, with a look on her face that drew a light laugh from her husband.

Had he had a witty reply to her playful gibe on the tip of his tongue, it was now gone, retreating to make way for another, born out of this recent burst of amusement. She just had provided him with such a golden opportunity, he simply couldn't pass it up.

"I guess they didn't take you into account, my dear", he grinned, flashing her a teasing look.

However, clearly Joséphine wasn't the only one to desire more of the delectable wine, since with that, César himself reached to look inside each of the two baskets, only to come to the same conclusion as she had seconds earlier; there was indeed no more of it to be found.

"Well then", he said, as though he had just reached a decision, and he pushed himself up, out of his comfortable position on the blanket, in order to stand. "Part brute I might be. That, I shall admit. But, a complete brute, I am not. As thanks to our exalted friend here, we can not ask a servant to be so kind as to fetch us some more, I will take upon myself this chivalrous task, so that my darling wife will come one step closer to having all that she could possibly desire."

Now firmly and steadily on his feet, he gave an elegant bow, which he still somehow managed to make seem not completely serious.

"Marquise, Your Majesty", he said, flashed them both another grin, and was off, leaving Joséphine and Octavien to watch as he disappeared further and further away.

Sitting in silence at first, Octavien soon felt as though it was starting to turn into that rather uncomfortable one, that had once seemed to rule the air between himself and Joséphine when alone, and so he turned to her with a faint smile on his lips.

"Thank you", he said softly, with the warmth he had felt for her when she defended him against César's gibe seeping into his voice, despite him not having meant for it to. "I'm glad to know not everyone thinks me to be as unreasonable and censorious as César will have me seem."



(((ooc: I didn't bold all names all the time, because frankly, there were so many it would be hard on the eyes to read it if I had.)))

((ooc: Marie-Elisabeth isn't occupied She's approachable))

Bella and Elena - Orangery
 

Life was a fine line and living it well was the art of tightrope walking. Of course, if you’d already fallen from grace, there was no line to walk and thus you could stumble around drunk all you wanted. However, any life worth living was a fine line. Granted, for some, the line was broader you ample space to make your mistakes and anneal the plans you made. For others, it was twine, thin and treacherous. Either way, sobriety was much recommended.

If there was ever a sobriety inducer on God’s green Earth, it was Elena, especially if you were involved in a rather delicate affair with her. Such was the case with Bella. All the right reasons, all the compulsion and all the advantages aside, it was a dangerous, potentially devastating endeavour. Fortunately, it applied to them both. However, unfortunately, the effects were likely to be more pronounced in Bella’s case.

Thus, Bella had to dance to Elena’s tunes more than the converse. The Spanish noblewoman with her higher status and soon to be even higher power, was more protected, from almost every angle. And she most probably knew it. However, she must have also known that she wasn’t completely protected, just as Bella teetered on the edge of the wolves’ den, Elena wasn’t that far behind.

Thus, Bella’s advantage. The assurance that Elena wouldn’t backtrack on their deal because there were consequences for her as well. Hence, within limits, of course, Bella could assert her demands in their little agreement. The dangerous element in that was the fact that someone else could so easily strike Elena’s interests. Yes, she probably knew full well that she’d simply seen the tip of the iceberg when it came to Bella’s capabilities, but if the Comtesse proved too difficult, Her Excellency would simply favour another, leaving Bella much like a jilted lover. Hence, Bella had to keep Elena more than simply satisfied.

However, Bella could not, in any quarter, prove to be a push over, manipulated easily by Elena, regardless of the short term benefits for the long term implications were likely to be very, very bad. The smallest inclination of submission, Elena would get ideas and push the boundaries, deciding that perhaps Bella wasn’t that difficult to wield at all and then there would be no difference between Bella and dear Juanita. So no, Elena had to be reminded, constantly, that Bella was a collaborator, not a servant. Thus, Bella had to always incite that undertone of appreciative respect from Elena.

With Bella’s previous statement, it had been realised. And apparently appreciated, the small inkling of a smile upon Her Excellency’s crimson lips, and yet no warnings, to put Bella in her place, to show her who exactly held the reins in this journey. Not yet. Was she giving Bella enough rope to hang herself with?

“Much of the same, yesterday evening has been particularly memorable. However, more interestingly still I have been corresponding with some older acquaintances who wrote to me about their travels. They had some intriguing news from across Europe,” Elena’s words and their underlying meaning rung loud and clear to Bella as the other woman produced an envelope from the pockets of her dress. Ah, was that Bella’s payment? “So, do tell...how did you meet my future husband? What do you think of him?”

The words almost drifted past unnoticed while Bella’s eyes remained on the envelope, Elena’s current leverage against her. Holding it in sight but out of reach, so that Bella knew Elena had what she wanted. Did she know where he was? Had they found him? More importantly, would Elena actually tell her if they had found him or would she reveal the trail, slowly, giving enough time to get what she wanted from Bella? Her rose lips parting to draw a deep breath as she peeled her reluctant eyes from the envelope, raising the sunrise eyes back to the other woman to fulfil her part.

Right, this was how it was going to work then. For every shred of information that Bella gave Elena, there had to be something that Elena returned to interest Bella to give more. They were going to play by the Law of Reciprocity. Granted, this was going to be a game that Elena wasn’t going to like one little bit. However, she couldn’t very well complain about it if she didn’t know she was playing it. The problem was, it was incredibly difficult to deceive Elena. Hence, the game will be played, but as subtly as possible, for Bella had more than enough information on Octaiven to make her fill for the night. Question was, did Elena have enough ammunition?

As for how Bella had come to meet Octavien, well, she wasn't going to reiterate the real story, simply because it was rather embarassing that she hadn't known it was him.

"Oh, you know, it's a small court, people run into each other," she inconspicuously explained off, with an incipient smile and a wily flicker in her eyes. Elena was more than welcome to figure that Bella had diligently planned the whole thing.

“He’s certainly a remarkable man, Your Excellency,” she commented, with a slight inclination of her brow to indicate what she really meant. Yes, he was remarkably far from arrogant for someone in his position, that wasn’t what she meant. Oh, no, according to what she’d seen and heard, apparently he wasn’t quite the innocent. Well, for starters, regardless of his reasons, he’d deceived Bella when they’d first met. “To an extent where one has to appreciate his remarkable mind.”

“However,” she carried on, a slight change in tone, less appreciative and more contemplative, as she interlaced her fingers, her eyes still on Elena. “He does seem rather… perturbed by some rather alarming recent events….”

There was that sly look on her face, the signal that this was something that Elena really wanted to know about. But first, back to Elena’s turn in their little game:

”Forgive me, your Excellency,” Bella gave a small sigh and raised her almost entirely innocent gaze back to Elena. “I do have a tendency to digress. I’m afraid I’ve given you no opportunity to participate in conversation?”


(((OOC: Hope this works, Ghanima? Also, she's still a little on egde (tightness in shoulders etc) because she's in the Orangery of all places, so she's not entirely a happy bunny. Just couldn't find a way to include it properly in the post :D)))

Octavien and Joséphine - three's a crowd, by the lake
 

It was destined to happen. Two young people sharing a deep throbbing ache they had no choice but to conceal as best they could - one made a victim of loyalty, and the other of love, and neither of them able to act against those feelings - and finding themselves in what was perhaps the most romantic of settings for miles around, with the sun of spring gently descending across the sky, painting the lush surroundings with an ethereal rosey hue reflected in the rippled facet of the lake... The mutual and so very dangerous ambiance of attraction between them, so forbidden, and so intoxicating, currently further fuelled by wine, and by each of them finding themselves at a time of such emotional strain, and knowing the other was going through much the same thing... It was as classic as it was natural.

When Joséphine's fingertips brushed against his own, Octavien's gaze dropped, watching how the touch seemed to awaken his hand to a life of it's own, slowly turning over for his fingers to gently grasp hers. Such a simple sign of friendship reassured, and yet at the same time, so electrifying he barely even heard the words she spoke.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had, for the mention of 'Her Excellency', of Elena, his wife to be, might have roused him from that slight daze, and made him pull back, retreat, once again faced with what for a moment he had found an escape from, when raising his gaze back up to meet with Joséphine's; reality. Plain and simple. Reality, and all the problems it currently held for him.

Joséphine, it seemed, was overcome by something similar. Like him, she kept looking into the eyes opposite her own, seeing in them so much of what she understood and could relate to, and like him, she drew nearer, as though something in them urged them to look closer, in search of what they really, truly sought, but did not know.

When their lips finally met, in a sense of understanding shared, of wanting to give and to be given comfort, it was in a kiss so fleeting the touch was barely there. And yet they felt it, they both felt it, for it seemed to ignite something deep within each of them; those dark, glowing embers hidden away and all but forgotten for such a long time, until just the other day. It drew them into another kiss, more passionate this time, but still as gentle, speaking more of what was truly ruling the air between them, and less of the hurt they shared. There was fire, burning tantalizing and warm, and there was tenderness, and compassion. And there was guilt. Slithering it's way into their minds, it was ultimately what finally made their lips part, and the both of them to pull back, ever so slightly, to gaze at one another again, in silent understanding.

But as Joséphine's eyes were drifting into focus of Octavien's vision, there appeared something behind her; a new element in the surroundings, a looming shadow that had not been there before. Upon noticing it, Octavien's gaze shifted to take in it's proper form, and suddenly he froze, eyes widening in utter horror.

Behind Joséphine, César had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and was now staring at his wife and his friend in speechless shock. The look in his eyes was that of someone who for the first few seconds of a horrible epiphany simply refused to believe what he was witnessing, and his jaw hung loose, as though just as he happened upon the scene he had been about to speak, or as though he was trying to say something, but his brain would not cooperate, and no words would come out.
Then suddenly, his mouth snapped shut, his jaws tightening with anger, and the usually bright and spirited eyes darkened to a near black. Signs Octavien knew all too well, despite having seen them only a few times before, and never aimed at himself. Until now.

"César...", he said and quickly came to his feet, as though he was about to try to explain, or prevent his friend from turning on his heel and leave before one could be made.

But no sooner had he straightened his back from standing, than César flew past Joséphine, grabbing Octavien by the collar of his coat, and slamming him up against the nearest tree, pinning him against the rugged surface, so tightly that for a moment Octavien thought he was actually about to choke him.

"My wife!", he hissed, and had his fists not already nailed the young Prince to the tree, the eyes flashing with unbridled rage would have managed to do the job just fine.

Having encountered a servant halfway back to the Palace, César had gladly left it in their capable hands to fetch more wine for the Prince and his friends, while he himself turned back to the lake, though ending up taking another route there, due to his ever-present yearning to explore his surroundings. And he returned, only to find this?! His cherished wife, and one of his very best friends, kissing?! There was not enough strength in his entire being, no amount of pressure he could apply to Octavien's slender form, to vent the anger searing within.

"César...", Octavien wheezed in his grip, his voice little more than a mere whisper.

Yet again his attempt to explain was cut short, when César jerked him away from the tree and let go, giving him a shove in the process, with such force that Octavien almost plunged to the ground. And before he could fully regain his balance, César was at him again, giving him yet another shove, and another, until Octavien finally tried to fend him off, thrusting his arms away in what was the beginning of yet another violent shove. But that only fuelled César's fury even more, and with the anger rumbling in his throat, he lunged toward Octavien, as if to tear him down; an attack that sent them both tumbling, right into the lake.

Though César didn't appear to care, or even notice. Not the water, not Octavien's attempts to get a break long enough to actually say something that might halt him, and not Joséphine's desperate outcries for them to stop. As soon as he was back on his feet in the knee-deep water, he lunged forward once again, aiming a punch at Octavien's face. Luckily, his fist only grazed the side of Octavien's jaw, and he lost his balance, as now it seemed even the water itself was trying to hold him back.

And it was then, finally, in that briefest of moments, in that split second of actual stillness, that Joséphine's urgent pleads reached his ears, and halted him.

César, Joséphine and Octavien - the lake
 

(((ooc: My, the rest of you are really quiet. Don't make me create another character, just to get some action.... errr.... some MORE action going here! I really have too many already. *nod*)))


A raging wildfire, roaring as it had engulfed everything in it's path without the tiniest shred of mercy and set it ablaze, suddenly squelched by a single, massive bucket of ice cold water, reducing the searing flames to mere embers fighting to stay alive under the downpour, hissing sharply, like a wounded animal, whenever struck by a single drop of moisture. Still sizzling and glowing, but no longer aflame.

That was how Joséphine's words hit César. And it was a most fitting analogy too, given how he had been so infuriated that he had heard nothing but the deafening thunder of the wrath filling mind and body alike, and seeing nothing but the face of Judas in his eruption of near murderous rage, and how now those pitch black eyes of his, still flashing with remnants of pure hatred, glared from underneath a curtain of dripping wet auburn tresses. Though what appeared in those darkened orbs more than anything, as Joséphine's own outburt tore them away from the Prince's face, was shock. Again shock, much like only a minute ago, when first he had happened upon the scene of the two of them kissing. And where before Joséphine's fingertips had dug into his chest as she seperated him from Octavien, there was now only a growing distance from her, as her words took him by such surprise that the mere force of them pushed him back a step.

"How dare you!", she'd cried out at him, with an anger nearly matching his own contorting her pretty features. "After all you have done to me, how dare you! For six years...six years, César, I've turned a blind eye, pretending I didn't know of all the women you bedded unscrupulously, whenever it struck your fancy, even now, traipsing around the Palace with that Comtesse, for everyone to see, under our very roof for God's sake!"

She knew? For a moment, that was the only tangible thought César could produce. She actually knew? And she'd known all along, since the very start? How? How could she know? He'd been so very careful, and considerate in that he hadn't flaunted his affairs like so many other men did. He'd been discreet, never kissing or fondling any of his mistresses in the open, never showing another woman any unwarranted interested while in Joséphine's company, and always giving reasonable explanations for where he'd spent the night - or the afternoon, or the evening - and why. He'd even lavished Joséphine with all the love and affection he was capable of, both vast and passionate, because of the simple reason that he still held her so very dear.

But, one might wonder, if that was truly the case, then why all the indiscretions?

The sad truth was, César's hypocrisy ran deep. With a father who himself had several affairs over the years and did not try very hard to hide them, César had been raised to believe that it was every man's privilege to not limit himself to only appreciate one woman's company and beauty. That even though one was married to one woman, and had promised before God to love and honor her, always, there was nothing fundamentally wrong in having a 'fling' on the side every now and then. And, it didn't end there. Through his father's words and actions, he'd even been led to believe that when it came to noblemen, Princes and Kings, they were nothing short of expected to take at least one mistress. It was a sign of status, of being prominent, virile and desired, and had nothing really to do with the wife.

So why then, with this firm and deeply rooted belief to support his actions, had he tried to be so very careful and not let Joséphine know about what was going on?
Well, for the simple reason of being - or so he thought - considerate. Ladies, he had learned, long before he had even met and married Joséphine, tended to see it as an embarrassment if their husbands, fiancées or, in the case of being neither married nor engaged, their official lovers, were known to be missing from their beds at night. Evil tongues rarely passed up the opportunity to strike up theories of why exactly the lover would seek the embrace of another woman, and being the target of such humiliating gossip was neither desirable nor pleasant, no matter if it was fairly common. It could cause a dwindling self-esteem in the lady made target of such rumours, and might even spur problems in the marriage itself, such as arguments or simple growing apart. That was a fate César didn't wish for Joséphine, nor for his marriage to her.

But still... Were these his only reasons? Had he not known, on some level at least, that Joséphine was too proud and independent a woman, to see her husband's indescretions as a mere embarrassment? Wasn't it even part of why he loved her; that she was not a meek little mouse who let the world and the people in it walk all over her? She was assertive and intelligent, very much capable of holding her own in any conversation, and challenge most people's notion that women were just vain and silly geese, in need of a firm hand to guide them. Thus, should César not have been at least partly aware that she wouldn't be particularly inclined to share said notion?

Not that he had a chance to reflect on all this now. His mind was still stuck on the question "she knows?", trying to fathom her awareness of something he'd honestly thought he'd managed to keep secret from her, when Joséphine continued her bitter tirade;

"And do you know the worst of it all?" she said, the brief pause she'd made having lowered her voice to a normal, albeit still very angry and biting tone. "Having to play the same pathetic game every time, pretend that I saw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing... your game, César! Your rules! Do you think that because I am a woman I don't have feelings, or a brain, or that I don't see what you do? That it doesn't hurt? It does hurt, it hurts more than I can possibly explain, because you don't care, and because nothing will ever change no matter how much I bear, what I do to please you or... or, how much I love you!"

Still staring at her, each word struck him much like the lashes of a whip, not to mention how the tears welling up in her eyes were like daggers to his heart. He'd hurt her. He'd actually hurt her. Despite never trying to, despite never even wanting to, he'd actually caused her enough pain to draw out such anguish, such stinging bitterness in her voice, and in those beautiful eyes, usually radiating with life and humor, but now only with angry contempt.

It all made the look in his own eyes soften, to something closely resembling pained regret, and in pure reflex his hand started reaching out towards her, towards her face, to cup that tear streaked cheek, if she would let him. Though the motion had just barely begun, when a movement behind her reminded César of the third person present. Instantly, his hand froze in it's semi-raised state, and shadows filled his eyes once more when again he was made to see the whole picture, and not just his own part in it.

Joséphine and Octavien. Octavien and Joséphine Two of the people that mattered the most to him. Wasn't that twice the betrayal, compared to what his precious wife was accusing him of? He'd confided in Octavien, considered him one of his very best friends, someone he could truly count on. A partner in crime, during all their adventures and shenanigans, and one he'd trusted to keep Joséphine distracted when.... Oh god! César almost groaned out loud as the irony hit him. How many times had he asked Octavien to 'keep Joséphine occupied', like he had the other day? 'Keep her occupied'... Oh, it would seem Octavien had kept her occupied, alright!

While all this was running through his head, wave upon wave of so many different thoughts and impressions crashing over him, the look in his eyes mirrored the complete and utter turmoil within. It kept changing, softening one moment, and hardening the next, as though the feelings were running amuck in him, with such speed and frenzy that he didn't stand a chance to grasp a single one of them long enough to have it guide him through his reaction and his reasonings. Though finally, anger was crowned the temporary victor of the battle being fought, because no matter how many times César saw Joséphine's tear-filled eyes, and heard her words echoing in his mind, he still could not erase that mental image burnt into his mind's eye. The vision of her, and one of his best friends, kissing!

"Him!" he thus seethed with an indicative motion towards Octavien, so violent it sent tiny droplets of water flying from the ruffled sleeve of his soaking white shirt. "Of all people, him!"

With that, he turned to make his way back to dry land, but stopped and spun right back around when something else occured to him.

"And, I don't care?!" he spat with narrowed eyes. "I shower you with affection daily, because I do love you, more than life itself! I have never, not once, laid a finger on you, because I would never intentionally hurt you, nor could I! I side with you against my own mother, my own flesh and blood, because I know how what she says about you makes you feel! And I most certainly do not get intimately acquainted with your friends, with the people one would think you could trust! And I don't care?!"

It was far from being eloquent, far from being level-headed, and probably far from being mature, but at the moment, César couldn't care less. He was angry, he was hurt, and, he was leaving. The presence of Octavien and even Joséphine, let alone the both of them together, was more than he could bear. Therefore, as soon as he finished speaking, he shot them both an icy glare, and then turned once again, this time determined to get himself out of the lake, and, more importantly, away from it.

Bella and Elena - Orangery
 

Well, she wasn’t pleased. In fact, Elena was far from pleased and one didn’t need Bella’s sharp mind to discover that.

The darkness creeping into the Orangery was not entirely derived from the disappearance of the sun, but rather from Elena herself. The ominous clouds beginning to encroach over her features as she began to almost glare at Bella. The flickering behind the eyes giving clues as to what she was thinking, that she was thinking. Of course, it being Elena in question, of course she was always thinking. Currently, however, the focus of her contemplations would most likely be Bella and her growing petulance.

Commanding herself not to pay attention to their surroundings, Bella fought in vain to relieve herself of the stress in her shoulders. She had Elena to worry about. Despite her assertions over the fact that she expected Elena to reciprocate and hold up her end of the bargain, Elena made counter assertions of her own:

“No, Comtesse, I'm in the mood to listen,” was the dry reply that Bella received. She was refusing to play games. “I'm led to think your tale is bound to become more captivating still, I wouldn't want to...interrupt it. If still interested, you may then read all about a fresh lead my associates have encountered in Florence. It would appear your father has been sighted there recently. Italy, don't you find that interesting, Comtesse Devine?”

Or was she refusing to play games? Not so much at all, it would seem. She was still offering what she was offering, simply demanding more worth for her information than Bella was currently paying. It was a glimpse into what the envelope held. He was in Italy?! That had been the first place she’d visited, given that it’d been where… everything started. Well, he obviously hadn’t called in on Duchessa Pizerio, otherwise Bella would have heard of it. Where had he gone then? And, how very dare he do this?! How very dare he do this to her whilst being alive and completely, utterly capable enough to travel?! Argh, if he really wasn't dead, she'd kill him herself.

Hence the fury fuelled compounded the tightness in Bella’s posture, soon finding another ally. Elena was threatening. She’d placed emphasis on the surname. It was a French derivative, but it had such strong Italian connections. In fact, so strong that it was frequently mentioned at court, carrying closeness to the royal family. Had she heard? Did she know?! Of course she did, she couldn’t. There was no way. Yet there was the way she held the envelope, wielding it like a knife in a way Bella could but interpret it as Elena’s weapon. That research could lead to some surprising findings. That this could turn so sour. Well, it was sordid enough to turn sour.

"Now...what are these alarming events that have His Majesty so perturbed?"

Alright then. Bella would hold up her end of the bargain, going on Elena’s subtle assertion that she had held up hers. After all, there wasn't much room to navigate around the topic, was there?

Moving closer to the other woman, her voice regressing to more of a whisper than a speech, yet carrying the countenance of two women having a simple conversation, Bella started.

“He is quite likey to be the people's Prince, it appears,” she said with a small inclination of her brow. It was Octavien's humility that led her to that conclusion. He was apparently a man not of titled upon his arrival at court, flying the flag for all those who felt that the titled nobility shunned them and was forever untouchable. Yet, despite his new found power, he had still been very modest with her when they had first met. “Well… save for a minor sector of people who decided that he wasn't good enough for the monarchy and felt the need to voice their political opinions with a dagger.”

She let a moment pass to allow Elena to soak in the information. Chances were, Octavien hadn’t told her. Given the degree of his glee the other night, he wasn’t exuberantly ecstatic about his impending nuptials and therefore was less than likely to have recounted his entire life to his bride upon their first meeting.

“He was attacked and stabbed in the arm, by a Marquess Berini, in his suite, only a few days ago,” Bella continued. “For currently unknown reasons, but I am working on it.”

There. She knew more about the Prince, of course, but not with enough certainty to discuss with Elena. Furthermore, there was the case of leverage. If it came to it, there was still much more she could tell Her Excellency.

Marie-Elisabeth & Little Charles - In the Gardens
 

Marie-Elisabeth had to admit that the past afternoon was one of, if not the, most enjoyable she had spent in quite some time. Just being in the company of her son made her happier and the day had been spent sharing everything that had happened while they were apart. She was delighted to hear of all the progress Charles had made in his studies, and he had been thrilled to hear that she had made the acquaintance of one of his father’s fellow soldiers from back in his army days. He was rather disappointed to hear that the Duc d'Lorraine wasn’t in court at the moment, but Marie-Elisabeth assured him that she would seek him out and introduce them as soon as he returned. Marie-Elisabeth had tried not to laugh at that thought, wondering exactly how Dimitri would spin her husband’s infamous story about their capture by the English, back when said Duc was only 15 and far from the fearsome figure he was now.

The fact that there hadn’t been too many people around was an added bonus, although he had been much admired by the few people they had crossed paths with. He was so likeable and personable, especially for a child so young, that he couldn’t help but charm everyone he met. That always caused Marie-Elisabeth to smile because her myriad of family members always said she was exactly the same as a child, and that it was a quality she still largely retained.

But mother and son had largely been left to enjoy each other’s company, and time had flown by so fast that Marie-Elisabeth barely noticed how dark it had gotten until Charles tugged on her arm. “Maman” he said, looking up at her “It’s getting dark out and I’m hungry. Can we go inside for dinner now?”. “Of course my love” she said, smiling at him and taking his hand "I'm just glad I have such a dependable young man to escort me back to the palace so late at night".

"Of course you do maman" he said, grinning at her "I'm the man of the family, since papa isn't with us anymore, so it's my job to look after you. That's what Monsieur Simon says". Marie-Elisabeth chuckled and used her free hand to ruffle his hair.

"Well Monsieur Simon is very right chou d'amour, and I bet your father would be very proud of the wonderful job you're doing". Charles was all but beaming with pride at that, and she continued to smile at him as they made their way back to the palace.


(((OOC: Figured I would post something that would work as a wrap up. Unless anyone wants to run into them on their way in from the gardens, I'll jsut say they had their dinner and went to bed till morning)))

César
 

"Then why?"

As César was making his way towards the Palace, intent on getting as far away from the lake as possible, the desperate, heated outcry coming from his wife as she struggled against the water to follow him, saw his steady pace gradually slow to a near halt, and it almost seemed he would turn once again, and face her with an answer to her question, perhaps even a forlorn confession that he did not quite know why, as he had never actually considered his affairs to have anyhing to do with her, and thus had not thought of it as something that would hurt her if she found out. Displease her, embarrass her, maybe even anger her to a point, but never actually hurt her. It had been on the tip of his tongue seconds ago, when he'd seen the tears spill from her eyes, and now the hurt in her voice drew it right back.
But, as it had been obliterated before, by the sight of Octavien, so was it now, by Joséphine's next tirade;

"Would you rather he had been a stranger?" she continued. "Don't you understand, César, that it doesn't matter? For all it's worth, it was just a kiss neither of us have planned. It... just... happened, and yes, I wanted it! Because I was angry, and lonely, and because he understood. I know... what I did was wrong, but you have no right to reproach me this, César!"

Those were words that struck César far too hard, for his desire to make peace to stand any chance at surviving as... everything came tumbling down over him.
It didn't matter? It didn't matter that it was Octavien, one of César's very best friends, she had kissed, instead of some stranger whom César didn't know? It didn't matter that it hit César twice as hard, as not only did it rob him of his wive's undivided love, but it smothered whatever love he'd ever had for Octavien, and sent a treasured friendship spanning over a decade, into oblivion?
Oh, it mattered! It mattered a great deal! More than Joséphine seemed to realize, even though she ought to! Or was it out of vengeance that she pretended she didn't? Was it cruelty, drawn out by her need to retaliate, that had her kissing someone so very close to César, and then denying that it should hurt him more than had she kissed a stranger! For as difficult as it was for him to imagine her being that spiteful, he couldn't help but to think; if it truly didn't matter to her, then why hadn't she chosen a stranger?

Because yes, César would have rather had it be a stranger! If the choice had been his to make, then yes! A hundred times yes! A stranger, he wouldn't have to face as someone he had known for years, a stranger he wouldn't have confided in, and shared some of the best moments of his life with!
How could she not realize that?

And as for his right to reproach her... If she was capable of committing the same crime herself, as she considered him having committed against her, and if it had 'just' happened, then why did he not have the right to be angry? She apparently was no better, so while he might not have the right to reproach her, who gave her the right to reproach him, when she did the same as him? Had she confronted him, untainted by the same sin as him, it would have been a different matter, but to get back at him by doing to him what she considered him having done to her, and then claiming he did not have the right to be angry, when clearly she had gotten her revenge, and yet was still angry with him... She had done to him what he had done to her, and she had the right to be angry. He had done to her what she had now done to him, and he did NOT have the right to be angry. Why? Was the severity of her crime to be disregarded, simply because he had committed his first?

The thoughts kept racing through his mind, their sheer velocity manifesting itself in his increased pace, and as Joséphine stormed off in one direction, César marched off in the opposite one, without as giving as much as another glance towards his wife, and friend, let alone a single word in response to Joséphine's heated remark.

As always when so angry he did not quite know what to do with himself, the young Marquis immediately headed for the stables, caring little that his clothes were still slightly more than damp, not to mention his overall appearance rather dishevelled. Like Octavien, he found that a ride often helped clear his head and leave him with a chance to start his thinking fresh, from a clean slate. And boy, did he have some thinking to do.

Unfortunately, his thinking lead from one detrimental track to another, as he still simply could not erase that one thing that cast it's shadow over the entire sordid affair; Joséphine, and Octavien. His wife, and his confidant.
And so, a ride with no goal, but a purpose to help him think, slowly morphed into a ride with a goal, and a purpose to stop him from thinking; a tavern, and wine. Lots and lots of wine.

He had begun to realize that regardless of how he himself viewed or meant them, to Joséphine, his indiscretions were betrayals. So very painful betrayals. Despite not ever having meant to, he had hurt her, and that was a realization that pained him greatly.
And, it was the reason for his first and second goblet of wine.
The third and fourth, he drank in order to try and escape that visual burnt into his mind, which no matter how he tried, kept haunting him, and shoving his thoughts off of the path of reason, to plummet right back into the sea of red hot anger, and hurt. He kept coming back to it, over and over again, and each time, there seemed to be something new to occur to him, and fuel his desire to simply turn numb, to drink himself into blissful oblivion.

How long had it been going on, and how far had they gone? Did they love each other, and was Octavien only still César's friend, because of the convenience of having César himself provide him with an excuse for being alone with Joséphine, when asking him to 'keep her occupied'?
Accompanying all these thoughts, were the fifth and the sixth glasses of wine, and just as the last few drops were trickling down his throat, that's when it hit him. The possibility which the very moment it occured to him, truly broke his heart; what if his daughters were not actually his? What if for the last couple of years, he had been as oblivious as he'd thought Joséphine to be, and the two girls he loved more than anything else in this world, were not even his?

Needless to say, after that, César soon lost count of how many goblets of wine he'd had, and he stopped drinking only when the tavern keeper refused him any more. He spent the rest of the night riding around, and returned to the Palace only once dawn's first light was peaking over the horizon. By then, the cool night air had worked it's magic on his intoxicated mind, and he had sobered up enough to be hung over rather than still drunk. He'd been quite tempted to stay away even longer, as attending Octavien's wedding now was hardly something he wanted to do. But, Joséphine would be going as well, and regardless of how César felt about her at this very moment, he did still love her, and knew that if he made her suffer the humiliation of going alone, he would end up hurting her even more than he already had. And, he still simply could not bear the idea of hurting her. Not even now.
Especially not now.



(((ooc: Sorry it's extremely sucky. Not nearly as elaborate and emotional as I had hoped it would be, especially the daughters part, and the end was pretty much scribbled down to avoid having to write ooc what I intended would happen and where César would end up. I had to rush it, as I should have been in bed over an hour ago, and won't be around tomorrow. I simply felt this was my only chance to get something in for César before the wedding starts Might try to re-write it later, because honestly... I'm quite reluctant to post it at all. (And no, I'm not looking for sympathy or reassurance. I'm just saying it's far from how I imagined it.) )))

Marqiuse and Maquis de Valois: The Gardens
 

There was only one person living, with the possible exception of her sister Caroline, who could wake Marie-Elisabeth up in the morning and not suffer some sort of horrible punishment. An avid lover of sleeping in until at least noon hour, she despised getting up early almost as much as she did spending time with her late husband’s brothers. And said only person was currently jumping up and down on the vacant side of the bed in his nightshirt, grinning and laughing.

“Maman, maman, it’s morning. Time to get up. I want to go out and see more people” Charles said, as she laughed and dragged herself into a sitting position. She looked over to the doorway to see an amused Jeanne feigning innocence at having let him in, and then she walked over and placed a letter on Marie-Elisabeth’s side table before exiting the room to leave them in peace.

“Good morning to you to chou d’amour” she said, reaching out a hand to hold his arm “But you had best stop that before you break the bed. Such a grown up young man is so big he might smash it to smithereens”.

“Yes maman” he said, grinning mischievously and doing one final jump before sitting down. He pulled himself under the bed covers and snuggled up next to her with his head on her shoulder as she stretched out her arm and picked up the letter. “After all” she said as she opened it “The Comte de Valois doesn’t jump around on beds. Or go down the halls in his nightclothes to harass his darling mother first thing in the morning”. “Of course not” said Charles, peering over her shoulder at the letter “What does that say maman, the script is all fancy”.

Marie-Elisabeth’s face broke into a huge smile as she giggled before reaching her arms around and pulling Charles into a hug. “It says Charles, that you are no longer the Comte de Valois. You’re the Marquis de Valois now”. “Really” he said, squirming out of the hug and getting back up again “Do Marquis’ get to jump on the beds”. She laughed and nodded her head. “I think a few celebratory jumps would be ok”.

He grinned and restarted his jumping as Marie-Elisabeth slid out of bed and pulled a robe on. She couldn’t have been more thrilled about the new title for her son, and of course in turn for her. She knew he was going to be even grander and more important than his father had ever been, and that this would only help him along the way. She smiled at him and warned him to be careful, before calling for Jeanne who re appeared in the doorway. “Madame la Marquise” she said, curtsying and smiling “Before you even have to ask it, of course preparations for your move to your new suite are already underway. They shall be finished by the evening”.

“Jeanne you truly are a wonder” Marie-Elisabeth said “I don’t know what I would do without someone like you to oversee things. And there is to be a room for our new little jumping Marquis as well?” “Of course Madame, the new suite has plenty of room for that. Many of your things are being moved as we speak” Jeanne replied “With the obvious exception of the things needed for the wedding today”.

“Of course, the wedding” Marie-Elisabeth said, gesturing to Charles who bounced of the bed and skipped over to her. “Charles, you had best get back to your room with Monsieur Simon now, and get all dressed up for the wedding. We can’t have an important Marquis like you go to a wedding in his nightshirt”. “But maman” he pouted "Fancy clothes are so itchy and stuffy. Do I really have to put them on? I don’t like them”.

She just smiled, well used to this familiar argument. “Yes you do dearest” she said, kneeling down to look him in the eyes, and placing her arms on his shoulders “You want to look just as grand and important as your father always did don’t you? I bet if he were here with us today he’d be dressed to the nines, just like you will be”. Charles paused to consider that for a moment before nodding his head slowly in agreement “I guess if papa would have done it, I can too”.

“That’s my boy” she said, kissing him on the cheek before standing up and ushering him to the door “You go make yourself handsome and then come back here to wait for me okay”. He nodded and waved as he left the room, while she smiled after him. “Allright Jeanne, let’s get this production underway. Lord knows we’ll be at this for ages” Marie-Elisabeth said, pulling the robe off and tossing it onto the bed.

Ages was definitely an apt description, as it seemed like Marie-Elisabeth had been dressing for hours before she declared herself ready. But of course all the preparation was necessary, it was a royal wedding and it would never do to appear in anything less than her best. The dress itself was a beautiful concoction of blue silk, trimmed in delicate white lace and embroidered all over with gold threads. Blue and gold being the Valois colours, she had made sure Charles’ clothing would be the same. The blue rosettes near the hem of the dress matched those woven into her coiffure, and she of course had on her usual locket and now the delicate bracelet around her wrist. Pronouncing herself finally done, she picked up her fan and made her way into the next room where Charles was waiting.

“Maman, you look so pretty” he said, jumping up as soon as she entered the room “Even prettier than yesterday”. Marie-Elisabeth smiled and reached out her free hand to him. “Thank you Charles” she said as he took the offered hand “And you’re certainly a handsome young gentleman. All the other ladies are going to be so jealous of me having such a charming escort”.

“I bet they will, I'm the Marquis de Valois after all” he said, as she chuckled as she said her goodbyes to her maids and they made their way out of the suite hand in hand, before traversing the many halls of the palace and arriving at the gardens. She stopped for a few moments to admire the general splendour of the area, before an impatient Charles started tugging on her hand and they made their way to their seats.

(((OOC: Approachable

Phew that was long o.0 like 2 and a bit typed pages on word. Now for ME, picture the exact look the girl in the picture has, hair, dress and all, except where there’s red picture royal blue. And no silly feathers in her hair And the same for the outfit linked for Charles, with a gold sash instead of a blue one. Hey it’s a royal wedding, the woman’s gonna go as fancy as she can!)

Octavien
 

(((ooc: Heh, yeah. This whole thing really messed with César's head. And yey, I got home earlier than expected, and actually managed a post. Woohooo.)))


The previous day, meant to be one of pleasure and relaxation between three good friends, had been an utter disaster. The kiss that had at the time seemed so very inevitable to happen, the look of pure shock on César's face as he was made to witness it, the way anger tore through him moments later, the fight between friends, the argument between spouses... Complete, and utter disaster.

With César going one direction, and Joséphine storming off in another, the only one who had remained, was Octavien. Standing so very still, knee-deep in water, as though every word spoken over the past couple of minutes had shackled him to the muddy bottom of the lake. Head lowered, shoulders slumping, hearing nothing but the whisper of the wind in the trees, and the ethereal rhythm of the water dripping from his clothes and hair. He blamed himself for what had happened, and himself only. Despite Joséphine having kissed him as well - whether she had kissed him first or kissed him back, he didn't know - and even confessed to César that she wanted it, Octavien blamed only himself. Joséphine had a right to be angry and hurt because of everything César had put her through, and it was only human that those feelings might cloud her judgement, or incite a need for revenge. But Octavien... What reason did he have to kiss his friend's wife, other than a forbidden attraction he really ought to have been able to resist? César had done nothing to him, except maybe forced him into a couple of awkward situations now and then, and to indirectly lie to Joséphine a few times. He'd been a good friend, the best, and now Octavien might have lost his trust, all because of a foolish impulse. He, Octavien, who lately had grown increasingly bitter and cynical because others kept betraying him, had now done the same himself, and not to someone he'd had only an agreement with, but with someone who had really been close to him. To look at the fire of hatred burning in César's eyes, and knowing he was the cause of it... Guilt was a word that would not suffice to describe what he felt. It would have been the understatement of the century.

Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, and then releasing it in a deeply burdened sigh, Octavien had finally lifted his head, seeing his two friends disappear further and further away. He'd wanted to run after them both, to try and make things right, or at least make sure neither of them were about to do anything stupid, or otherwise risky. Both of them were hurt and so very upset, Octavien wasn't sure they were even thinking straight.
But, he was only one man, and thus could only go after one of them. And the matter of who, was settled within moments. One of them had made it quite clear that right now, to them, Octavien and the concept 'within reach' equalled murderous intent. Having seen the look in César's eyes, Octavien knew better than to try to follow him in his current state. It would be suicide.

The young Prince turned his head to watch Joséphine's retreating back, and the many layers of soaked fabric hampering her every move, and with another sigh, drug himself out of the lake and after her, ending up almost running in order to catch up with her. Though not surprisingly, it turned out she too wished to be left alone, and even though he was worried and thus reluctant to do so, Octavien found that it would be a poorly chosen time indeed to refuse her her privacy.

He had returned to the Palace alone. Shoulders still slouching, clothes still wet, and strands of golden hair falling out from the black silk ribbon that had used to tie them all back, prior to César's rather warranted assault. Only a two or three courtiers had seen him as he made his way through the entrance hall, and only from a distance, so it had been difficult to tell if they had recognized him or not. Other than that, the only ones to witness his dejected state of mind, had been a few servants, who as soon as they saw him had frozen for a moment in confusion at the most unexpected and unorthodox sight, but then rushed to help in any way they could; pulling the soaked coat off him, and put a warming blanket around his shoulders for the last couple of yards that had then remained until he was safely back in his suite. There, Gilles had taken over, and dismissed everyone else, making sure the young Prince immediately had a cup of hot tea, and then went straight to bed. Not surprisingly, Octavien felt as though he was being treated like the child he no longer was, but was too tired and weary-minded to object.

Not that he got much sleep. Kept awake by the events of the day that had passed, churning in his head, replaying over and over and over again, he kept tossing and turning, and when finally he did fall asleep, it was due to nothing more than pure exhaustion.

Come morning, Gilles would have much preferred to let the young man sleep, and awake only when he was good and ready, but alas... It was a big day, with a big event, in which Octavien was to play one of the two leading roles. His absence would have been most conspicuous.

Much to the older man's distress, morning light did nothing to improve or brighten Octavien's spirits. All it did was to add a slight impatience to his tone and his movements, even the look in his eyes, as though he only wished for this entire day to be over and done with; something Gilles put alot of effort into making him hide, as it simply would not do to have the Prince of the kingdom look as though he was being lead to slaughter on his wedding day, or had somewhere more important to be. Problem was, he didn't want to talk to his young master that way infront of the other servants, and so the small army of pages, manservants and whatever other people Octavien apparently needed to get ready for his big day, had to wait outside, until Octavien had managed to wipe his face clean of any expression other than... well... blankness. Only then did Gilles let the others in to assist in dressing the Prince in his white wedding suit, with gold embroideries, a gold sash, and a golden silk ribbon to tie back his golden hair, as always, to match. The finished result was a youth looking so very regal with his straight back and head held high, shoulders no longer slouching, that had it not been common knowledge that he had not been born a Prince, none would have been able to imagine him to be anything but a true blue-blood, especially considering that expressionless look on his face, completely devoid of any emotion to show what was going on in his head. Or his heart, for that matter.

Bella - Gardens - Insomina attacks
 

Bella woke, lying awkwardly across the bed, over the covers surrounded by a mass of letters cluttered around her like autumn leaves. The sun was attacking her again, delicate, but sharp intangible arrows venturing out at her as her eyelids struggled against themselves to give her vision, sharp edges papers she’d spent the entire night mulling over. She’d only actually slept during the early hours of the morning, scarce hours of mental rest.

Apparently he didn’t want to be found, according to Elena’s discoveries. Well, tough. She was looking anyway. He had no right to just make a ridiculous confession, give her an even more ridiculously short period of time to deal with it and then take off when her response had been nothing he’d prepared himself for. Mature people just did no do such things and it was plain inexcusable from a parent, of all people. So much for his reproach of her behaviour when really, he was indulging in just about the same calibre, if not worse. How dare he?

And Italy? Italy?! Was he entirely insane? Did he care as little about it all as she had claimed to have?

However, despite all the rage and unbridled fury that culminated in Bella’s form through the night – through these past years, for that matter – there was the one fact that left them all rather neglected; he was alive. For his desire of not wanting to be found to have occurred, he had to be alive and entirely capable to pull his tricks of disappearing into the mist. He was alive and well and that’ll do for now because, regardless of the fact there would actually be hell to pay, he was her father. And for simply that, if not for the fact that he’d been an unsurpassed, most indulgent and lenient father, she loved him and she wanted him back; the punishment for his behaviour, however, would not be compromised upon.

She stirred slightly, more than fully aware of the papers littered all around her and thus any drastic movement potentially causing them damage. Her eyes wandered over to the candle stick upon nightstand that was a candlestick no more; she really had been burning the midnight oil this time. Slowly hosting herself up, locks of dark hair dancing around her elbows, she had the pleasure of discovering the crick in her neck bestowed upon by attempting to sleep without a pillow. This day was going to keep getting better.

Added to the spectacle was Grace’s form venturing into the bedroom, eyes widening impossibly at the sight of the young Comtesse apparently swimming in a sea of papers in disarray. As Bella finally sat up, shifting to lean against the pillows, Grace took it upon herself to delve into a fit of fussing over her mistress as the younger woman simply watched from a mixture of sleep deprivation and the familiarity of all this having happened before.

“How many hours?” Grace asked finally, voice ever so slightly parental as Bella struggled to even roll her eyes.

“Enough,” was the simple answer. Oh, wonderful, she even sounded ill. “I don’t think he’s in Italy anymore.”

“My lady, perhaps it’s time…,” the maid trailed off at the look of incipient annoyance in Bella’s eyes. Grace knew full well the degree of Bella’s compulsion over the matter, the fact that they’d repeated the same dance in several cities now, for what must have been the past year. Was she expected to give up now, when she had Elena’s help over the matter and worse, when Elena was likely to draw her claws to keep Bella’s services?

“It’s time when I say its time,” she asserted. With that, she lowered her head into her hands, fingers rubbing the sleepless eyes gently. “I need to go to the wedding.”

Now, if Grace was going to make any protests regarding the situation, the words caught in her throat, knowing better than to stand in Bella’s way when her mind had been so surely made up.

There were no letters from Jean-Louise and thus none from Berini. Perhaps tomorrow. Today being the wedding, there was more than ample opportunity to discover more of what she needed to know in order to keep Elena’s favour. And thus, she had to go to the wedding in order to be at the reception.

And hence, a while later, Bella had been dressed up, adorned in a gown made of pale grey and vibrant marigold velvet, fit for a royal wedding and then some. When one was destined to look like they’d been the victim of insomnia, it was best to made efforts to compensate for the fact. And thus, Bella had, her clothes, her poise and her hair done up perfectly, leaving a few natural strands to frame the soft curves of her face. Her usual poise and grace returned, though slightly dampened, and threatening to give out at any minute.

Now wasting more time in dwelling over exactly how tired she was, Bella made her way out of the palace and into the gardens, the array of guests scattered across the green, waiting for the festivities to begin.

(((OOC: Approachable – I think I should have left her in bed, she’s just generally not happy….
Poor César, poor Jo, and poor Octavien! I still think it’s all César’s fault, though :P
But he’s just… so deluded about what he’s been doing all this time…)))

((ooc: Yep it is, it's the only one I've found with enough oomph to satisfy Elena's tastes :P

As for the suit...*snicker* those two have more in common than they'd like to admit, I guess :D))

( OOC: Jesus, you could fit five small children underneath that dress. XD )

Octavien
 

What a spectacle this was all turning out to be. As Octavien was making his way towards the altar, followed by a few of the most prominent noblemen in court, with whom he would be awaiting Elena's grand entrance, he studied the scenery that had been chosen as the stage of this morning's big event. White and gold was everywhere, with a dash of red added here and there, most notably in the attire of the men chosen to wait on the Prince before and during the wedding ceremony. As a way of honoring the bride, and the Spanish guests, no doubt. with the colors of their flag. In fact, it all seemed even more extravagant than the last wedding, and Octavien couldn't help but to think that the only reason was flattery, plain and simple. France and Spain were both sucking up to one another, now that an alliance was about to be sealed through holy matrimony. This was simply France's way of doing it; by welcoming Elena Sanchez into their royal family with a wedding that, from where Octavien was standing, seemed even more lavish than the one for their own, now deceased Princess Adalita; an affair that had not yet happened long ago enough to have been forgotten by anyone.

All around them were the lush green colors of the garden, sprinkled with a myriad of spring flowers, and beaming down on it all from high above was the sun, sending an army of lustrous rays cascading over the surroundings, and trickle through the light green leaves of the trees casting shadows to protect the nobles from the heat and sunburn. A small orchestra to the right sent an aerial melody to weave through the hushed murmur of voices that had been heard among the guests as they waited. Though they instantly fell silent the moment Octavien appeared, and everyone quickly rose to their feet as he began slowly progressing down the interim aisle lined with flowers, moving with confidence and with grace, giving small nods of acknowledgement to the most notable ones as he passed. His face, however, was still a placid mask, hiding behind it the inner turmoil still wreaking havoc within, and so no matter how beautiful it all was, in his current state, feeling quite the embodiment of anything opposite of the sunny weather and merrily gleaming decorations, embroided clothing and bejewelled people, Octavien was hardly prone to appreciating the splendor. To him, it all felt rather more like a mockery - 'Here you go, a bride you don't know and don't really want to marry, and with whom you are to spend the rest of your life. Now smile, rejoice and be merry!'.

Merry he was not, rejoice he could not, and if he smiled, it was a mere faint curve of his lips, born only out of the sight of one particular and blessedly familiar face among all the rest; Queen Isabella. Standing by her husband the King at the front row, Octavien locked gazes with her ever so briefly, and that faint smile seemed to flitter by on both their lips as they shared a look of saddened understanding, and of grateful reunion. It had been only days, but oh, how long those days had been. He'd missed her greatly; talking to her, tutoring her, holding her in his arms, simply gazing at her. He could only hope they would be given a few moments alone, to talk, perhaps even share a kiss. Anything more, he did not dare to hope for. He knew all too well that she would only be here for the wedding, and go back to her family's estate the next morning, and that the night was one they simply could not share, as he was forced to share it with another woman. And this time, unlike last, he would be expected to... perform. This time, his marriage was not just a front, a facade, to protect an already pregnant woman from public humiliation and ridicule. And this time there would be no understanding, that his bride was to live her life with whatever lover she desired, and he was to live his with the woman he loved, and there would be no covering for one another. Deception would have to be complete, with the only allies being Gilles and Margaret. If ever he and Isabella would be given a chance to meet, in private. Right now, the chances of such a thing happening any time soon seemed bleak, at best.
Ah, the cruelty of fate.
They needed to talk, so very badly. There was so much they needed to discuss. Octavien's new marriage for one, and what problems it brought with it for the two of them, not only in that this time, it was not simply to keep up appearances, it was an actual marriage, but also in that neither of them had any idea how much of a threat Elena would pose to their affair. They had yet to find out if she was friend or foe, and it seemed that was something only time would reveal. If they'd had to be careful before, now they would have to double, even triple their efforts. The upper floor had been given several sets of new eyes, in Elena and her servants, and there was no doubt in Octavien's mind that unlike Adalita, they would be quite capable of looking beyond their own little existence, keenly and eagerly drinking in every detail that held the slightest chance of being even fairly important. For he may not yet know where Elena stood, but he did know she was an intelligent woman. That much she had made evident during their first encounter. And as such, she would be inclined to surround herself with at least a few servants that were not exactly dull-witted either.

Secondly, he and Isabella had to discuss Marquess Berini's fate, and mysterious death. Octavien didn't know quite what to think about it. He doubted Isabella had something to do with it, for even though she was an assertive lady, she was just that; a lady. She knew how to wield power without unnecessary 'casualties'. Though on the other hand, she had ridded herself of a certain bothersome Duc de Mollier, who had apparently borne a few similarities to the Marquess, but still... Octavien had dealt with the Marquess, and ensured he would cause no further trouble. There had been no need for Isabella to have him killed. And she most certainly was not that vengeful, that she would have someone killed for humiliating her. Punished, yes, but most likely in a way that fit the crime. Killed? No.
And just as he didn't know for sure whether she had been somehow involved in Berini's death, if she wasn't, she had to be wondering the same thing about Octavien. Furthemore, if neither of them were behind it, then who was? Yes, indeed, it was imperative that they got a chance to get to the bottom of this conundrum.

And then thirdly... Octavien had to confess to her, the disasterous events of the previous day; how he had kissed another woman, and why. Something that would be difficult, if not impossible, to explain, considering he himself was not entirely sure.
However, now was not the time to start reliving it all yet again. He was already making an effort not to glance towards where César and Joséphine were sitting - together, thank the lord - and did not need the thoughts that at this time would accompany the sight of their faces, or Isabella's, lest he'd falter completely and the sea of emotions would wash over the features he was trying hard to keep placid and amiably composed. So far, and much to his relief, successfully.

Thus, he soon busied himself with talking to the nobles that stood waiting there at the altar with him instead, occasionally glancing impatiently towards the opposite side of the aisle, where Elena was soon to appear. For impatience was one of the few emotions he could afford to let show. He was getting married, after all. Impatience, so very easily mistaken for anticipation, was to be expected.

OOC: WHOA! I was going to overcome my S2C roleplaying fear and join, but I'm just a bit intimidated by the length of posts and detail. It may not be a place for me, a just-starting-out roleplayer, but I will make an application tomorrow. It is 3am right now, where I am! Eep.
Oh, and does a Comtesse have to be married? I still don't really understand the titles part. If she isn't married, she doesn't have the de in front of her family name, I think. Is that right?

OOC: Hey there, Janne, don't be intimidated by the post lengths at all, as long as your posts are 8 lines or more, you'll be fine
I was a newbie RP-er when I joined Viper's, so yup, just jump in! Also, no, a Comtesse doesn't have to be married as long as she's the last surviving member of her family.

Octavien - wedding
 

Time was out to spite him. He was sure of it. Standing there by the altar, waiting for Elena to arrive so that the ceremony could commence and this wretched thing be over and done with, it seemed Time itself had picked today, of all days, to add to the burden already threatening to make Octavien buckle under the pressure. At this point, he wasn't even wishing for the whole day to be over, right now he would be willing to settle for just a few minutes to himself, in some secluded area of the Palace while the others enjoyed themselves at the wedding banquet. Just a few minutes, away from any living soul, so that he might finally be able to hear himself think, and actually gather his thoughts. Since the moment he had woken up, people had been buzzing all around him, incessantly chattering in his ear about his attire, the wedding, the consequences thereof, and generally fawning and sucking up to him by going on and on about how fortunate a woman Elena was to marry the very Prince of France, how attractive she was as woman and wife alike, and what a lovely pair the two of them made. Things that at this point in time, and to Octavien, were becoming increasingly nettlesome with each passing minute. Which, funnily enough, eached seemed to last a lifetime.

But then, just as the wait was starting to become truly unbearable - with the mindless chatter of the nobles next to him, and the efforts he made not to glance towards his friends or Isabella, wearing him down - the music started playing once more, and several hundred pair of eyes, including his own, turned to the opposite side of the aisle, where Elena was just emerging, sending a sough of awe-struck sighs in unison through the many rows of spectators. Dressed in a wedding gown that in itself was the very embodiement of royal splendor, with layers upon layers of white, bouffant silk, and gold details, perfectly matching the attire of her soon to be husband, she progressed slowly down aisle, practically floating forward between the two seating areas, cutting gently, effortlessly through the envious whispers and breathless stares, to finally reach a slow halt by Octavien's side. And although somewhat of an adversary to the entire spectacle, even Octavien himself had to admit that had his heart not already belonged to another, it probably would have skipped a beat at the sight. He even felt the look in his eyes brighten ever so slightly, ever so briefly, for there simply was no denying her beauty. She could have been the most vile person in all of Europe, and she would still have brought out a spark of appreciation in him.

Though his smile still remained the same placid, almost noticably forced one, as no matter how beautiful his bride was, the fact remained that he did not want this. Not now. Even though he knew well that he would be securing his position this way - and so in that aspect, he didn't truly mind all that much, but was rather the quite willing participant as he realized that he was gaining alot more weight to throw around, should he choose to - the timing was all wrong. So very, very wrong. He had too many other things on his mind, even officially, for this to be anything even resembling an opportune moment to marry, and everyone knew it. For while they might not know all of what was going through his mind, such as last night's disaster, the mysterious death of Marquess Berini, and his growing distance from the woman he loved, they did know of the all too recent death of his first wife, and the fragile state of his (soon to be former) mother-in-law. Those two things alone were enough to make this present union in the making a most awkward event. People - the commoners, the nobles and especially the royal family - had to realize the timing was gravely askew. How could he be expected to show grief in public one moment, and happiness, even for no other reason than to not offend Elena and the Spaniards, the next? A convenient and advantageous union or not, it was downright cruel, to slap anticipated displays of grief over one wife and joy over another into his hands, and expect him to find any kind of balance between the two.

And yet, even with all the bitterness and the emotional turmoil raging within him, he was determined to do his best, knowing on a more rational level it all was not something done to him personally, but rather something done for the good of France. And just like he had sacrificed his own future once already, when marrying Adalita to spare her and her family a most embarrassing scandal, he would set his personal wishes and desires aside now as well, and do what was needed of him. For now. There was nothing stating that aforementioned wishes and desires could not be implemented into the new scheme of things, once the time was right.

And so, the young Prince found himself going through the same procedure as he had already done once not too long ago, promising before God, the Arch-Bishop and the congregation the same bunch of lies he had then, and finding, not to his surprise exactly, that they were a bit more difficult to pronounce this time around, as now, there was no understanding, so silent agreement between him and his wife, that they were just that; lies. Though he had his doubts Elena was any more sincere in her vows than he was in his, if for no other reason than the obvious one; one simply could not love someone they did not know, nor could they promise to love them once they did get to know them. Feelings just were not that cooperative or easily controlled.

And while the smile beaming at him as he lifted Elena's veil to seal the union showed only joy and satisfaction, neither struck him as having anything to do with marrying him, only with marrying the Prince of France. Yet again, on his very wedding day, a day that only weeks ago he had thought he would share with a woman he actually loved and who loved him, he was reduced to nothing more than a title. Just like he had ever since gaining it.

It was a thought that almost made him falter, and the mask he so stubbornly clung to crack. But at the last moment, during that one critical split second, he managed to muster all his willpower, and keep the mask intact. If anything showed, it was a mere shiver of his lips, so brief and fleeting if anyone saw it, they would have wondered afterwards if it had truly been there, or if it was just a figment of their imagination. And the only one actually close enough to see it, as their faces were only inches apart, was Elena, and while it might not be ideal for her to catch a glimpse of his apprahension, it would not exactly be a disaster either. She would be most aware that he was hardly likely to be jumping with joy. It had only been a mere few days since his last wedding, and even fewer since he had become a widower, left behind by a wife who, for all anyone knew, he had loved dearly. So, unless he was made of stone, which clearly he was not, of course he would be under alot of emotional pressure.
As for Elena, and her possibly witnessing that slight quiver of his lips... He could only hope that if she did, she would not just realize his situation, but understand it as well, maybe even be empathetic enough to support him. For even though he might not love her, that did not mean he did not wish her to be lovable.

Suspending the moment no further, he placed his hand gingerly on Elena's waist and took a small step closer, as close as her gown would permit, and then leant down to plant an equally ginger kiss on her lips, while struggling internally to try and keep himself from feeling the weight of three particular pair of eyes resting on him for three very different reasons, in this most delicate and uneasy of situations.

Even when only a minute later he and his new wife were making their way back down the aisle, this time together as a married couple, headed for the banquet in the Grand Dining Room and followed by all the guests in order of importance, he did everything in his power to fend off the nearly overpowering awareness of their presence, and instead did his best to keep his focus on Elena.

((ooc: Gah I was hoping to bring Jo in today but unfortunately it's gonna have to wait till tomorrow

paintedgray, Elektra, where are you guys?


Also, it's now Afternoon. ))

((OOC: Sorry I haven't posted in a while Ghanima Atreides, I've been having some serious writer's block . I'm not even sure how to start off my beginning sentence. I might be able to post soon if I can think of anything.))

((OOC: If I can I'll try an make a post to Marie-Elisabeth and Charles. If I can't think of anything tonight then I'll probably post tommorrow ))

Adele felt the warm heat of the sun against her cheeks as she awoke the next morning to a brightly light room. Rolling onto her back she stretched her arms up above her head, letting them rest on the array of pillows that lay above her. The silk sheets felt cold against her warm, porcelain skin which caused her to shiver quietly to herself. She laid there for a moment, motionless, appearing to be frozen in time. She slowly closed her eyes, seeing colors of red and orange splotched onto a black surface, not seeming to notice that today was the wedding ceremony.

Rising from her bed Adele stretched out her arms and legs, looking towards the window. She had slept fairly well last night, and on a full stomach at that. No longer would she miss a meal due to fear of embarrassment; it was a lesson well learned. Stepping onto the floor she strolled from her bed over to the window, opening it so some fresh air could come into the room. A cool breeze swept into the room causing a chill to travel down her spine, and she looked out onto the palace grounds. Her pink lips parted slightly as she gazed at the large assortment of flowers spread throughout the palace gardens, which immediately reminded her of the wedding ceremony taking place this morning.

Surprisingly enough, Adele took her time when getting dressed this morning, wanting to find the perfect dress to wear when attending the wedding. It was a baby blue dress ,with white bows located at the elbows and midsection, and white trimming at the top. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, though it was fairly messy due to Adele's lack of knowledge about hair. Messy wisps of hair fell out as she walked towards the palace gardens. It was warm outside, but with just enough breeze as to not overheat. The sweet sound of violin music could be heard, and rows of white chair had been placed precisely in front of a low platform, where Prince Octavien and Elena were to marry. Adele gazed at the unfamiliar faces then took a seat near the middle, wantingto have a few drinks located near a table surrounded by servants.

Adele watched intently as seemingly confident Elena made her way towards Prince Octavien, with four young girls trailing behind carrying her dress. The orchestra began to play its sweet music as she walked down the isle towards the altar. The Arch-Bishop then preformed the ceremony allowing the two royals to now become husband and wife. Prince Octavien leaned towards Elena, lifted her veil, and gave her a kiss. Adele smiled and watched as they made their way back down the isle towards the Grand Dining Room, with all of the guests following. When they arrived Adele found herself bumping into little boy, who looked at least younger than ten years old.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Adele said apologetically, giving the boy a slight smile. She looked towards a woman and bit younger than herself and smiled towards her. Assuming she was the mother, she quickly apologized to her as well. "I didn't seem him there," she said, hoping she didn't uspet her, or the little boy.