Marie-Elisabeth, Charles, and Adelle
 

Adele, Marie-Elisabeth, Charles || Grand Dining Room
 

"How could you not see me?" the little boy asked, slightly agitated. "I'm the Marquis de Valois. I'm very important." Adele found herself at a loss for words, and awfully surprised that he replied in such a manner. Yet she couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, for she found the young boy to be quite adorable. “Charles you mind your manners. It’s very crowded right now and it isn’t as though this lady meant to bump into you," the woman said, turning to face Adele.

“It would be a good idea to watch where you’re going more carefully. “In crowds like this you never know what could happen."

Adele pondered that last statement, questioning what she meant by it. Was she insinuating that the people here were not as kind as she originally thought? Surely that was not the case. Everyone hear appeared have enough self restraint and manners, there couldn't possibly be something going on that she didn't know about. Yet she had only just arrived at the palace; things could certainly be going on that she was not aware about. It was possible. But instead of contemplating about it any further, she positioned those thoughts in the back of her mind and turned her attention back to the little boy and the yong woman.

"Of course," Adele replied, nodding her head. "Young man, I am truly sorry for bumping into you," she said. "I simply wasn't aware of my surroundings, I should have been paying more attention." She gave a quick glance towards the woman, then back towards him. "Marquis is a very important position, you know. Are you sure you're up for the challenge?" she asked jokingly. She smiled at him once more, then looked towards the woman again. "I'll be sure to watch my step next time." Adele gave a quick scan of the room, still seeing unfamiliar faces at every glance.

She was almost unknown by the rest of the palace, but she brought this upon herself. She would rather be alone reading a book than anything else, but she had to meet everyone at somepoint. She couldn't go the rest of her life without meeting a least a few others. Sighing, she turned back to the woman. "Baroness Adele," she said softly, giving a nod towards the boy and the woman

((OOC: Oops! I'll change my post right away !))

Bella and Joséphine - Palace
 

(((OOC: It's fine, Ghanima works for me
Also, please excuse Bella's lack of originality, she's somewhat of a zombie at the moment)))

She was falling asleep. Three hours of sleep after an exhausting day to see her through to yet another demanding day was nowhere enough for Bella, and so, she was at risk of falling asleep. However, it simply wouldn’t do to doze off at the royal wedding, in fact, that would be ill advised to say the least. Hence, she had to keep going through whatever energy she had left.

Despite her fatigue, the grandeur of wedding was something she simply could not help but marvel at. And marvellous it was, the sheer splendour of the decorations, the flowers, the candle arrangements, the guests and of course, the main players; the bride and groom. It was breathtaking, the whole thing. The wedding was simply the word for it. Octavien, in his lavish suit making his way down the aisle to wait for his bride to join him, looking every shred the royal that he was supposed to be, his more natural carriage no longer the one he employed.

Elena. If the hall had been hushed before her arrival, she made her entrance and stunned it into pin-drop silence, with good reason. The gown alone would have carried the show if Elena’s beauty was insufficient, but that was so very not the case. She looked beautiful, in every sense of the word, practically drinking in every look on admiration, every shard of envy as she graced her way down to the altar. Even the Prince looked spellbound.

And the ceremony proceeded and Bella, along with the other guests, did her part. She stayed still. Every time she stood, she was still, she sat still and she did everything in utter silence to keep what energy she had left, too tired to think of any of what troubled her and instead, blankly watching the wedding. The Prince and Her Excellency were made husband and wife.

With that, the guests were ushered out into the Palace for the banquet and Bella had followed, tactfully avoiding Marie-Elisabeth simply because she couldn’t deal with another moment with her, especially at this point. Instead, it would seem, that she was to find herself another companion, none other than the agreeable Marquise Mont de Marsan.

“Oh, pardon me, Comtesse. Good afternoon,” Joséphine greeted, her eyes scanning the vicinity momentarily. She looked how Bella felt – and no doubt also looked. The circles around her eyes sure giveaways to the sleepless night she must have also spent, Joséphine left Bella wondering whether anyone had actually managed sleep the previous night. “How are you today? Enjoying the festivities?”

”Good afternoon, Marquise,” Bella replied, a warm smile growing over her lips at the genuine amicability she felt for the other woman. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I’m very well, thank you. I must say, that was beautiful service,” she vocalised what must have been on everyone’s minds, the slight fatigue manifesting itself in a diminished voice. Her honey eyes then wandered over the Marquise’s angelic features once more. She must be exhausted. “How are you? And that is a lovely gown, it suits you delightfully.”

Marie-Elisabeth, Charles, and Adele
 

(((OOC: ACK o.0 *runs to change* It was like....2am when I typed that, I was tired LOL)))

César
 

It had been a most dreadful night. It was being a most dreadful morning. And it was going to be a most dreaful day.

Those were the moderately cheerful thoughts of the Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan, as he was making his way towards the east gardens where the royal wedding between the last person he wanted to see and the last person he wanted to see's soon-to-be wife, was to be held. As if yesterday's display of affection between Octavien and Joséphine hadn't been bad enough, and left César with no particular desire to sit through a lengthy ceremony, watching one of them, with the other by his side, the previous night's drinking binge and the toll it was taking on him wasn't exactly working miracles on his mood either. His poor head felt as though it was going to shatter any minute, with an army of tiny hammers banging away at the inside of his skull, his eyes felt as though someone had thrown a handful of sand in them, and were probably blood shot to boot, and his backside had him wishing he didn't have one. He'd been riding for most of the night and wee hours of the morning, and apparently, in his drunken daze, he hadn't been all too mindful of sitting correctly in the saddle.

And yet, he was feeling somewhat better now, physically, than he had when he'd first returned to the Palace, in order to find some way of getting ready for the ceremony, and be there for Joséphine, without actually having to run into her before she simply wouldn't stand a chance to have another go at him. He'd had quite enough of that last night, thank you very much, and was still wrestling with the raging storm of emotions left in the wake of her outburst.
Thus unable to go to the suite he and Joséphine shared, and preferring death and damnation ten times over, rather than setting foot within ten yards of Octavien, César's options had been severely limited. He couldn't exactly drop by the charming Marie-Elisabeth's suite for another early morning "courtesy call", now could he? Not after what Joséphine had hurled at him, about 'traipsing around the Palace with that Comtesse', despite him not actually having seduced her yet. Even he would be set on coming as a friend, or rather an acquaintance, and not in order to court her. It would have been most odd, to come knocking on her door, and asking if she would be so kind as to allow him to simply get changed and shaved in her suite. And even odder if he really all of a sudden no longer actively pursued her.
Though wouldn't it serve his darlig wife right if he did bed Marie-Elisabeth after all?

Well, actually, no. No no no. If it hadn't been for his bedding other women, all of this might not have happened in the first place. He was no more a hypocrite than realizing that. Well, it might not have happened in the first place, if one went by what Joséphine had said, that is. Given the person she had chosen to... to... do things with, César had his doubts, for had she just wanted revenge or a shoulder to cry on, well, then, there were plenty of other young men for her to turn to. Though for all César knew, she had turned to them! Just because she hadn't let on that there were others, it didn't necessarily mean there weren't. And, as hard as it was for him to believe she would do something like that, the fact remained that he clearly didn't know her the way he though he did, for he had never, ever thought she'd go behind his back with one of his best friends.

But, he couldn't start back down that road again. Not now, or else he'd drive himself mad. And if he was going to make a stand, by showing up as Joséphine's escort, he had to remain fairly composed. Just long enough to slip in and slip right back out agan, once the ceremony was over. Stay for the banquet and the evening's festivities, he would not.
So then, regardless of whether or not Joséphine was telling the truth, seeking refuge at Marie-Elisabeth was not an option.

Which left only one, and one he didn't particularly care for either; the girls' suite. He really didn't want to go there, as he didn't know if he'd be able to bring himself to even look at them, should they already be up and about. For even though he had stopped drinking, his reasons for doing so in the first place, had not gone away. He still wallowed in heartwrenching doubt about how long Joséphine's and Octavien's affair had lasted, and thus who had really fathered the girls he loved so dearly. There was no way of telling, as the color of their eyes and hair could have come from Joséphine and not him, and it wouldn't have made any difference in their appearance. So, regardless of what Joséphine or Octavien had to say about it, how would he know they weren't lying, just to protect the girls for possibly loosing César's affection? How would he ever be able to look at either of them, and not wonder?
The only one he would know for certain was his, was the one Joséphine might be carrying at this very moment. Because if she was indeed pregnant, she must have been pregnant before coming here, or else she wouldn't yet have a clue that she might be. And she and Octavien hadn't met for the last couple of months, since Octavien had been sent off to court. Of that, César was sure.
Though it hardly lessened the blow of Adèle and Angélique possibly not being his, and the pure torture it would be when next he saw them, and he really would have preferred to wait a while longer yet, before subjecting himself to the risk. But, as all other options weren't options at all, he had no choice but to head for the girls suite.

Much to his enormous relief, the servant currently watching over the girls informed him that they were both still sound asleep. Waisting no time, César immediately sent another servant to fetch him "something to wear", pretending not to notice the odd looks he was getting, for various reasons. The first being his apparent disinterest in the girls. Usually, he would have been disappointed to find that they were not yet awake, and might even have taken it upon himself to rouse them from their sleep, by showering them with tickles and kisses. Now, however, he was being quite clear that dressing and grooming him should be done in as much silence as was humanly possible, as to not wake the children.
Secondly, his dishevelled appearance, and lack of interest in what to wear. Always one to look his best, especially for occasions such as this, the servants would have expected him to order at least half a dozen outfits to be brought to him, so that he himself might choose what to wear.
But instead, he barely even glanced at the cream colored frock coat, with matching vest and breeches, and when the servants started exchanging questioning looks, snapped at them to get a move on. And so before long, he was dressed, shaven and groomed.
And out the door.

The next hour or so he spent by himself in the garden, not far from where the wedding was to take place, going over there only once he spotted Joséphine approaching from the opposite direction. With the girls.
It took César every last ounce of willpower not to turn on his heel, and flee. For he knew if ever there was a test to his composure and his self-control, this would be the one. He couldn't openly distance himself from the the two beautiful girls, not even to try and make things easier on himself. Whatever the case may be about who was their father, they were not to blame. And they would not understand if his greeting them was cold and reserved. Nor did he think he could greet them like that, even if he wanted to.

Therefore, when they came running towards him, with their pretty dresses billowing around their little legs, he squatted down to face them on their level, and give them each a light squeeze as they threw their arms around his neck. Though the soft, joyful chuckle that would often make it's way past his lips at their enthusiasm, stuck in his throat, and even the smile seemed to come and go within a single moment, while his eyes searched their round faces for any resemblance to his own.

Seconds later, Joséphine reached the three of them, and César greeted her as well. Though this time, it really was with a certain chill and reservation in eyes and voice alike, and he made no effort to make smalltalk, or otherwise seem the least bit friendly. She might, as she apparently saw it, have all the right in the world to be angry with him, and while he was beginning to understand why, and just how much it had hurt her - thus starting him down the guilt trip of a lifetime - at this point, his own anger and hurt were both still too fresh to be easily silenced.

During the entire ceremony, not a single word was exchanged between the Marquis and Marquise, and it was doubtful either of them even paid attention. César certainly didn't. He was looking everywhere, but towards the altar, and the Prince. In fact, if there was any detail in the decor any of the other nobles had missed, he would've probably been able to fill them in quite amply.

Having made the stand he come there to make, when finally the ceremony was over, after what seemed like an eternity and a half, César again wasted no time. Caring little if anyone saw, or no one at all for that matter, he started his departure from the crowd and the Palace, going in an entirely different direction from everyone else, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who had a most legitimate reason for doing so.

However, even though perhaps unnoticed by most, there was one person that saw him go.

"Papa!" Adèle called out and wriggled her hand loose from her mother's gentle grip in order to run after César. "Where are you going, papa?"

Not stopping, as peace and quiet and a chance to be by himself and think could not come a moment too soon, César barely glanced over his shoulder as he answered with a curt and firm;

"For a walk."

"Can I come?" the eldest girl asked while doing her best to catch up with her father's long, purposeful strides, which still really only carried him further and further away from her.

"No."

"Please?"

"No. Go back to your mother."

"Pleeeeaaaase?"

Already having balanced on the verge of loosing his temper for the last hour, that became the last straw for César, and despite his best efforts, he snapped.

"Adèle!" he bellowed, and spun around, with eyes so dark the message would have been clear even to the deaf.

Caught in that black stare, the little girl instantly froze in pure terror at somehow having made her precious daddy angry, when all she'd wanted to do was to spend some time with him. Though a moment later, she too turned on her heel, and ran straight back to Joséphine to hide her little face in her mother's skirts, thereby missing the way César's eyes had almost immediately softened, and he'd opened his mouth to tell her he hadn't meant to mean. But before he could say anything, his gaze met Joséphine's, and his mouth snapped shut. Staring at her in silence at first, the look in his eyes slowly darkened once more, as he was reminded of why exactly he had wanted to get away from there in the first place, and without another word, he turned again, and kept on going.



(((ooc: Not approachable. Also, I'll be going away early tomorrow morning, and probably won't be back on here until Saturday. Just figured I'd mention it. )))

Adele, Marie-Elisabeth, and Charles || Great Dining Room
 

“I will so be up for it” the young man exclaimed. “I’m named after my father after all, and I want to be just like him. He was a great hero in the war. He fought against those nasty Englishmen and sent them home crying, didn’t he mama?" Adele smiled at the boy, her thoughts immediately traveling over to her father. She, unlike the boy, had no intention of becoming anything like her father. With the unbearable wife and his immense amount alcohol intake, she felt the need to be the antithesis of him.

She could recall the day when she ultimately decided to make something of herself, and no longer wait for her father to care for her, since it was quite obvious he no longer would. She was only fourteen then, but she realized that unless she made some sort of drastic change she would end up drunk married to some horrible man, who would have only married her for the amount of money she had. In her opinion, she had become a knowledgable and kind young woman; and much more approchable then her drunken father. If anything, she had taken up the characteristics of her mother, who unfortunately died of a heart attack. Now she was own her own, forced to create a stable lifestyle. But of course, she wouldn't have it any other way.

“Yes he did chou d’amour, but don’t you go charging off just yet. Your father didn’t start in the military until he was my age, you’ve got quite a ways to go”, the woman said, with a smile appearing on her lips. She turned her attention towards Adele, whose thoughts about her father were no longer present.

“Marie-Elisabeth, Marquise de Valois” she said, giving a nod “And this is my son Charles, the Marquis”. The young boy gave a nod, and Adele returned the favor with a slight smile. “Why don’t we go and sit down now mama, and you too Baroness, aren’t you both hungry too? It’s almost time for the food right”. he asked, with the Marquise giving a nod in response. She gazed over at Adele, who immediately gave a quick glance over towards the table.

“Would you like to come and sit with us Baroness. That way we can get better acquainted and a certain Marquis here won’t perish of hunger”, she asked with a faded smile.

"That would be wonderful," Adele said in reply, giving a genuine smile towards the two of them. Stepping over towards the table she sat down, resting her hands gently in her lap. "Did the pair of you enjoy the wedding this morning?" she asked, attempting to continue the conversation. Her voice was soft and quiet as she spoke, for she felt the need to lower her voice a bit.

((OOC: Just a quick question, would Adele refer to Marie-Elisabeth as Marquise Marie-Elisabeth, or just Marquise? The same thing goes for Charles.))

APP - Baroness Amelie de la Rougemont Chateau
 

Name: Amelie Christinne de la Rougemont Chateau
Title: Baroness (de la R.C)
Age: 17
Bio:
Amelie had a despairing childhood; her father passed away when she was just two years old, and her mother fell ill with an unknown sickness at eight. She was then forced to be moved to other homes, where she was treated badly, until she met Master Ralph de la Rougemont Chateau.

Ralph came from a rich family with a long history - His father, a Duc, owned a small castle, and they were all raised up 'properly'. After meeting each other, Ralph brought Amelie into his house and there she worked for the Rougemont family. That is, until young Ralph announced to him parents that he wished to wed the girl. Completely outraged by this, Ralph's father kicked the both of them out, but Ralph's mother, Julienne, was kind enough to Amelie and controlled his anger.

When Ralph's father finally allowed the wedding to go on with the exception that that she was a commoner was kept quiet, Ralph became a Baron, and sought after independence from his parents. He knew that his father would never allow it, so Julienne once again helped them - and here they are, at the Palace of Light and Air, seeking opportunities and fortune. All this time, Amelie had to adjust herself to the strange and uncomfotable lifestyles of high nobles, survivng the prying and discerning eyes of others, usually women of high places.

Amelie never speaks of her parents, and although she never trusts anyone until they approach her with a (seemingly) warm heart, the young girl has been known to do anything to achieve her goals, whatever that may be. Unfortunately for her, in the mere year that they she and Ralph have been married, he often has had to sail away and be gone for months at a time, leaving her lonely, bitter and vulnerable - she seldom smiles. Partly from the fear of men that she has gained from her past, Amelie will easily spill her knowledge when drowsy, or scared enough.

Picture:



((OOC: I changed her picture.))

Marie-Elisabeth, Charles, and Adele : Diningroom
 

Bella and Joséphine - Palace
 

Tired though Bella was, she’d much rather prefer the company of Joséphine rather than another, more newly made Marquise. However, though she wasn’t a fan of idle chit-chat, the present mental conditions would permit little more at her usual calibre. However, that did not mean she was about to give up nor was she about to let her guard down over what she might reveal just in case.

However, it didn’t seem that Bella in this case would be the one subject to a barrage of questions for it proved that the Mont-de-Marsan girls pounced at the chance to launch the Spanish Inquisition against their mother. Though Bella was not entirely familiar with children and their childlike ways, being the only child, she did find the spectacle rather adorable. They had such few worries.

Proficiently dealing with her daughters’ unbridled curiosity once more, Joséphine returned her attentions to Bella, to carry on in the chit-chat that was really customary in such occasions.

“Thank you, I am well. I meant to go with a richer colour but my mother convinced me peach goes best with my pale complexion,” she replied politely. “Yours is also beautiful, the velvet looks positively luxuriant. The wedding was impressive indeed, something tells me neither the French nor the Spanish wished to come in second as far as opulence goes.”

This, Bella had to smile at, not the compliment which the Marquise returned, but the opulence being chalked up to the French and Spanish rather than what Elena was likely to have demanded.

“And now, we have a new Princess...I cannot help but wonder what she is like.”

Oh, here we go. There was what Bella had been waiting for, yet dreading the moment it arrived, talk about Elena. Though, she did know that given that it was the royal wedding and she was the new Princess and thus everyone would talk about her, Bella simply didn’t have the energy to keep the guard up about how little she was supposed to know the woman. It is always said how easy it is to feign ignorance, but one could so easily over do it and simply give themselves away.

So, what was she to do? Simply give Joséphine the same reply that Marie-Elisabeth had received? Or should she try to gain Joséphine’s impression of Elena, given that they had had at least one dinner conversation.

However, before Bella could decide how to proceed, little Adèle pried free from her mother’s grasp and suddenly started fleeing from the crowd. It was the oddest thing, until Bella’s eyes followed the path taken by the child to fall upon Cèsar. Ah! Daddy’s little girl, of course. Though, there wasn’t the reciprocity of affection from the Marquis that one would have expected, for instead of waiting for the miniscule strides of the little girl to carry her to him, he simply kept walking, further and further, apparently curtly answering her questions.

That was until he simply snapped at her. It was hurtful to watch as a third party, Bella’s own shoulders almost flinching as Adèle withdrew her small form from her father’s derisive stare, confused and scared as she ran back to the comfort of her mother, burying herself in the peach gown, little sobs pouring out. How dare he? Despite Bella’s currently, sadly, non-existent relationship with her own father, she had never been spoken to that way. And he didn’t even come to comfort her, instead the softening gaze growing darker again at the sight of his wife. Regardless of whatever he was angry about, this was just heartless.

What was he angry about? For clearly, Adèle wasn’t the one at fault, otherwise he wouldn’t have looked apologetic straight after he’d scared the living daylights out of her and thus, it was likely to be Joséphine, for he’d turned straight back to looking hateful when his gaze met hers. Did they have an argument about a certain Marquise? If so, what was he angry about, it was really her right to be fuming?

In any case, it wasn’t anything Bella was to be affected by; it did not concern her now, nor her purpose here, nor the whereabouts of her father. However, that said, she did feel amicability towards Joséphine, even if simply for the natural conviviality the woman exuded, so she simply couldn’t walk away. And, if she had to subject herself to perpetual underhandedness at Elena’s bequest, she could do this simply out of the kindness of her heart.

“Are you alright, Marquise?” she asked tentatively, her eyes somewhat wide, expectant and concerned once it met Joséphine tearing itself away from Adèle. Well, of course she wasn’t alright. Thus, she continued, just as tentatively, offering support in case it was needed. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Arrival - Ralph & Amelie.
 

Bella and Joséphine - Palace Entrance
 

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

Awkward though the situation was, Bella had been compelled to offer support if it was required and thus she had offered the support. This was really nothing to do with her, as far as she knew, and it was a private matter between the Marquis and Marquise Mont de Marsan, and thus, if Joséphine decided that she did not want to break that privacy or that she did not need the support, it was her decision to make and one Bella would respect.

And, it would seem, that that would indeed be the course that the young Marquise decided to pursue upon Bella’s offer.

“It's...complicated,” she replied, searching for Bella’s form out of the corner of her eyes before she turned to face her, resolute in her stance.

Most things in life were complicated and of course, for the Marquis to snap at his own child and then walk away without a word of apology spoken, things had to be bad.

“Have you ever willingly accepted deception, Comtesse,” she continued, the question seemingly not entirely directed to Bella, but more within Joséphine herself. “For the sake of someone you loved, all the while craving a truth that in the end was not the solution you've always envisioned it to be?”

It was not a question intended deliberately for Bella but it may well have been. A select set of words echoed in the young Comtesse’s mind upon Joséphine’s question:

‘Your father does not want to be found.’

Elena’s words, unwelcome though they were, held something that Bella hand relentlessly, disdainfully contemplated for months now. That the problem was not that her father did not want to face his mistake, it was that he did not want to face her. The things she’d said in a moment’s fury… and she couldn’t blame him for it.

So yes, she was indulging in deception, at Elena’s commission, to work through the court and discover what she could about Octavien. To live and breathe a lie every day of every week until the impossible was obtained. To let the charade go on and on until that was all you knew, that was all you were. To deceive yourself to the point where you truly believed it and no-one could tell you otherwise. And Bella had accepted it, because she was living in a web of self-deception anyway. To find a man who does not want to be found, to find a man who may not be alive, to find a man who did not care. Yes, she was indeed living in a grand deception that things were reparable. But it was surprisingly difficult to do.

“If you do not mind, Comtesse, it is something I would rather not delve into at this moment,” Joséphine continued as Bella, unable to meet anyone’s eyes while she struggled to free herself of those crippling thoughts simply absently let her eyes rest on the Mont-de-Marsan children. “It is, after all, a joyful event. Shall we join the others in the Grand Dining Room?”

“Yes,” she uttered, a voice less that a whisper in admittance that she was indeed deluding herself, but with no other choice for what was she supposed to do? Just let it go? And then she snapped out of it, her eyes raised to meet the Marquis, the warm smile growing on her lips and flowing into her eyes as she continued, more enthusiastically. “Yes, let’s. I’m sure she’ll make a delightful princess. What were your impressions of her?”

Octavien and Elena - Elena's suite
 

Just like time had seemed to be out to spite him earlier, emotional balance in any way, shape or form now seemed to constantly elude him. Drifting out of his grasp every time he tried to reach for it, slipping through his fingers as easily as morning mist, he simply could not seem to achieve it. It had been bad enough to have the disaster of yesterday's picnic weighing down on his young shoulders and make it all the more difficult for him to act his part of the suave Prince, during a time when he really needed to stay focused. He had managed, though only the Lord himself would know how, and the only ones who would have sensed that something was not right, were those who knew him well. And of those, the majority - Joséphine and César - were already painfully aware of what was bothering him. More than likely, Isabella, the Queen, had sensed that something was the matter as well, but as she knew he was hardly marrying Elena out of love, or was even particularly happy about doing so for any other reason, she would most likely ascribe it to that simple fact.

Also possibly aware that his mind was not filled with happy thoughts and rose petals, was Elena. She was a perceptive, intelligent woman, and for the entire day, she hovered closer to Octavien than any other person, sitting right by his side during the wedding banquet, floating close to him during the dances they shared. However, one of the small blessings in the chaos that had ruled the last couple of days, was the fact that he really had every reason to have mixed feelings - to put it mildly - about the marriage. Elena knew better than anyone that the union was not one of love, and add to that the fact that Octavien had just been widowed by a young, beautiful woman he was believed to have loved dearly, and it would be quite understandable indeed that he had to reach far within himself to muster each of the many and amiable smiles he produced during the day.

Another blessing, though a most bittersweet one, was that the pressure on Octavien was somewhat easened by César's apparent absence following the wedding ceremony itself. It pained the young Prince to know that one of his best friends might be a friend no more, and not even be able to stand being in the same room as Octavien, but at the same time... Right now, every time Octavien's gaze touched Joséphine, and César as well before he had departed, he felt himself come one step closer to faltering, and so, sad and hurtful though it may be, César's absence really did have the faintest of silver linings.

Though it was a small comfort indeed, and one that would prove to be short-lived, as just when Octavien thought he finally had himself and his state of mind somewhat under control, fate decided to strike once more, and the next in the long line of things to swipe his feet from underneath him came along. And in the shape of something he had thought would actually bring him some additional inner strength, too.

It had all started when disguised as nothing more than a polite gesture, he had invited his mother-in-law, his beloved Isabella, to a dance, as a way of at least holding her in his arms, if that was all he would get a chance to do during her all too brief return to the Palace. She had asked then that they would each try to get away, just for a few minutes, as she had something important to tell him. Even through her usual, placid mask, he had caught the urgency in her voice, and knew that whatever it was, it really must be very important.

It was.

Within the hour of the dance, they both found a window of opportunity to slip away unnoticed, as it was impossible for anyone to keep track of a single person in the constantly moving sea of colorful gowns, suits and extravagant headdresses currently filling the Palace. Having found that his own suite housed a secret staircase, much like the one connecting the Princess suite with Duc Peitou-Charentes' old one - now, ironically, the de la Valliére one - Octavien ventured upstairs to the royal floor, and then back downstairs via said secret staircase, to the currently and conveniently empty suite below, to which Isabella had gone as well, from the ballroom, leaving behind what she had first carefully made sure was a deserted corridor. There, inside the empty suite, they had their first conversation away from the prying eyes of the court - and a certain Baroness Flight - in what seemed like forever.

Although they both knew time was far too short for them to enjoy it the way they wished to, for the first few minutes, they could at least pretend. Without a word, they met in a passionate embrace, each holding the other tightly to their body as though they both dreaded the moment they would have to let go, and their lips locked together in a kiss holding every ounce of desirous longing they would not get to express in any other way, in any other place, for what they both feared would be an all too long time. Once they finally parted, as slowly as they did reluctantly, Isabella gazed up at Octavien for a moment, with a faint smile on her lips, not yet ready to knowingly add to his already heavy burden. Instead, she put a hand lightly against his chest, absent-mindedly caressing the delicate lace ruffles and gold embroideries of his wedding suit, while quietly commenting on how magnificent he looked, and, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, how indeed during her brief absence it would seem the giggling between servant girls had now spread to be heard among the ladies of the court as well. It was a comment to which Octavien couldn't help but to grin, and as a pure reflex, he gave the reflection in a nearby mirror a quick glance. And, he had to admit, he really didn't look too bad. The embroideries complimented the golden sheen of his hair, and the white silk fabric brought out the intensity of his blue eyes. Add to that his his clean cut features, and his proud yet casual poise, and it was not a royal apprentice looking back at him. It was a Prince. From head to toe, a Prince.

It was almost funny, how he himself had not noticed, nor really cared, having been rather preoccupied with other matters. In fact, he had been rather relieved when it seemed Elena stole most of the show. Not that he normally would have paid so little attention, as he wasn't nor had ever been prone to hide in the shadows, but rather shine and live up to his role as a nobleman, and now a Prince. And he probably would have made the effort, had he not had other things on his mind, and thus surrounded himself with that elusive, intangible air that on some profound, subconscious level of which those around him were not really aware, communicated that he wanted to be left alone. At least, that was what he'd thought had been part of the reason why most of the attention seemed to be directed at something other than him, whether it was Elena, the King and Queen, or the lavish decorations. But, as it would seem, he had been wrong, both in thinking the others had picked up on that certain air he'd had about him, and in thinking he'd escaped most of their curious albeit appreciative attention. According to Isabella, he too had been the target of many sets of eyes, which had been following him since first he'd sat foot in the aisle that had lead him to the altar. Some stained with envy, others with admiration and others yet with what Isabella claimed to be desire. It seemed over the last couple of days, the Prince's star among the other nobles had been on quite the rise, and that now that he had married Elena to seal an alliance with Spain, they realized his presence at court was far more secure, and that he would not risk being sent off to some far away country as a diplomat. He would now be a force to be reckoned with, something previously known only by Isabella. And, now that it was 'official', of course it would draw the attention of people to him. He'd been well liked already as an untitled man, for his kind and gentle manners towards everyone, servants as well as other courtiers. But, when he'd begun climbing the ranks, it had seemed as though most grew a little more wary of him, as though suddenly he had gone from being just a nice young man, to an actual threat. And when he'd been crowned Prince, well, then their suspicions had been confirmed. He had been a rival in their endless battle for power, and most hadn't even seen him coming. Although, there had still always been a few who had maintained what had seemed to be genuine liking and approval of him, and now that it became evident that he wasn't about to loose what power he had gained any time soon, the number of people who displayed their approval was starting to grow. But, whether it was genuine of not, of that he had his doubts. To have the Prince of the kingdom on one's side could be quite advantageous to one's own interests, and in a court filled with ambition and greed, a young Prince would be wise not to believe everything he heard and saw, without contemplating possible ulterior motives first.
Though given the recent events, and the suspicion they had instilled in Octavien, it would seem that was hardly going to be a problem...

However, neither Octavien's striking good looks nor the joint epiphany of the court had anything to do with the urgent business on Isabella's mind, and no matter how desperate they were to prolong the moment, they both soon realized they could not put it off any longer, lest they be gone long enough to make people wonder. Thus, that small piece of comfort offered by the minutes alone with Isabella, was soon yanked right out of Octavien's hands once more.

Starting with a deep sigh - which in itself was enough to produce a small crease of worry between Octavien's blonde, aristocratic brows, but to Isabella seemed merely a way to muster the courage to tell him the news, since a moment later a small and slightly excited smile appeared on her lips - she then dropped the bomb; she was with child. And, considering it had been several months since last she had recieved a nightly visit from her husband, the King, there was no mystery as to who was the father.

In that very instant, the world stopped turning. At least, that was how it felt to Octavien. Several seconds passed, with him simply staring at Isabella as though frozen in time, and it seemed as though he had been rendered utterly incapable of producing a single lucid thought. Then, it all snapped into motion again, and instead of standing still, the world seemed to throw itself into an out of control spin around him, making him so dizzy that he had to sit down, slumping down into the nearest chair. Thoughts were racing through his head, feelings through his heart and his gut, so fast he felt as though he could no longer breathe. There had already been so much coursing through him - guilt, shame, bitterness, anger, over what he had done to César, to Joséphine, and to Isabella, and over what was being done to him - that there had been no room for more. And now there was a battalion of new feeling forcing it's way into his mind. Shock, confusion, fear, and... something else. Something which at first, he couldn't identify. It was only once he finally managed to look up, and saw the expression on Isabella's face, that it dawned on him. Happiness, and excitement. It was written in her eyes, in every single one of her beautiful features, plain to see despite the thin veil of worry and dread. And it was slowly starting to seep into his own.
A child. His child. Their child.

Needless to say, he'd made his way back to the banquet in a daze, and didn't actually remember too much of what had happened after he had left the vacant suite where once again Isabella had turned his life upsidedown. It had all been a blur of polite smiles and greetings, of gratulations and well wishes. The delectable food didn't taste anything, nor did the sweet wine, and when they all gathered on the large stone balcony to witness the majestic fireworks exploding in the sky, multicolored sparks lighting up the obscurity of beginning dusk, in honor of the newlyweds, the only thing Octavien would remember of it was the noise cutting through his inner dialogue, and making it so much more difficult to hear himself think. Yet no one seemed to notice how distant he really was, as somehow, he still managed to appear fully present, like one does when acting on social instinct, following along a path already set.

It was only when came time for the royal bride and groom to withdraw, that he suddenly snapped back to reality, faced with yet another situation that caused an uproar of emotions inside of him; the wedding night. The night of sharing the bed of a woman whom he did not love, and this time knowing there would be no escaping the... expectations. Unlike Adalita, Elena was not already pregnant, and marrying him only to save face, nor was she as... experienced as the previous Princess had apparently been. Indeed, he had even been informed that she was entirely pure. Add to that the fact that there was no understanding between her and Octavien whatsoever, and it would seem the act of consummating the marriage was not an optional one. It had to be done...

Together, the two of them made their way towards Elena's suite, a long trail consisting of the King and Queen, the Archbishop and about a dozen of the most prominent courtiers following behind them, to see the newlyweds into bed, as was customary. However, that was all they were going to do, and for that Octavien was eternally grateful. He doubted very much he would have been able to consummate anything, knowing there was a minor crowd standing behind the bed curtains, listening, and that one of them was Isabella. Now that really would have made things twisted; to be intimate with a woman he didn't love, while the woman he did love, was forced to listen in on it. Euripides, eat your heart out.

Luckily, they all simply watched as the servants started undressing the Prince and Princess, leaving only the undergarments before slipping the nightshirt and nightgown, respectively, over their heads, and how the cut on Octavien's arm recieved a quick but careful cleansing and some new bandadges, before he joined Elena in the large bed. With both of them sitting next to one another, the down comforter pulled neatly and properly up to their waists, the young couple recieved both the King's and the Archbishop's blessing. Then, the curtains were drawn, and they listened as their 'audience' departed, the shuffling of feet and the closing of the doors announcing that they were now gone, leaving behind what to Octavien sounded like a deafening silence.
How on earth would he get through, or preferrably out of this one?

"Well...", he said after a few moments of that most awkward silence, managing only a brief glance in Elena's general direction. "Goodnight then..."

And with that, he slid further down underneath the covers, partly turning his back to her in the process, as if preparing to simply go to sleep. It was almost as though by avoiding to address the matter of what was supposed to happen next, he hoped it would just magically go or away, that she would somehow think he was too exhausted by the day's event to stay awake a minute longer, or heck, even too dense to realize what was expected of him, and that she would somehow be too modest to enlighten him. Either option suited him just fine.


(((ooc: Sorry it's so extremely long. I swear, I set out to write like a fourth of all this... It's just that... my boys are really emotional right now, so it's difficult to keep it short.
Also, Ghanima, I hope what I wrote works? If not, let me know.)))

((OOC: I haven't even started reading, and I am so bloody tired... but I wanted to post something. Twelve word post ftw! OK not reall, bu in comparison...))

The previous evening had seen Larkin arrive at the kitchen, steer Adele from any particularly unsavory bits of culinary information, and enjoy said nonentities himself in the warm company of Ambrose and several scullions who did not know quite what to make of him. Or the baroness before she left, a bit more quickly than was seemly, but Larkin did not care overmuch, his stomach was full and the rowdy servants were probably better company anyway. At a somewhat reasonable hour of the evening a portly cook chased him and Ambrose out, Larkin did not object at all, he had learned a long time ago that making an enemy of the people feeding you was a bad idea.

The next morning Larkin awoke with an intense sense of foreboding, that something, somewhere was going to go badly for someone. Always one to trust his instincts, Larkin rolled over and went back to sleep.

Several hours later Ambrose walked into the room with a tray of fruit and bottle of wine, which he promptly dropped. On the happily asleep Larkin's head. Which made larkin reconsider his pretty cavalier attitude toward his servants. That rushed right out the proverbial window as Ambrose babbled, "Sir, I thought you would get up for the royal wedding, you missed it by ages! You have to go now or you will be so deep in sh-"

Larkin barked out something that sleep fog masked, which was probably better for Ambrose, and dressed hurriedly in a black doublet and embroidered pants- suitably formal, but understated enough to show his general disapproval of the entire thing. And black because the old princess had been dead for less than a month. Even if he'd never met the girl, and even if he approved of the match with Spain, he thought it in poor taste. That was the advandtage of powerlessness, one could still believe in things.

He marched out of his room to the grand ballroom only to find it utterly deserted. An apologetic looking girl whom he had chatted with breifly the other day told him that the reception was in the dining room, even though it was smaller than the ballroom the sevants had rearranged all the tables carefully and left room for dancing and everything. She looked quite pride of the accomplishment, as if she had any significant role in it. In Larkin's present mood, that was not well appreciated and he offered the girl no further comment before turning on his hell to the other room. A ball in a dining room... even with clever furniture arranging wouldn't it be a bit cramped?

That opinion lasted about as long as it took Larkin to find an unobtrusive way into the hall. Somehow he had not made the leap between the grand and mighty palace of light and air having an equally grand- and huge- grand dining room. One plenty big enough to hold a royal wedding reception, and have plenty of room for dancing. And he reluctantly gave the servant girl some credit, any rearrangement of furniture- which still had doubtless been required- was so subtle as to make the room still fit.

The bride and groom appeared to be long gone, and larkin recognized his own mood as one not good for company. He had come in through a back entry way, not the one the waiters were using he wasn't that cavalier about servants, but a mere rear door. There weren't any empty tables where he could drink himself into a stupor in preparation for the hell he would receive about missing the ceremony- unless no one noticed? No, that would be too much to hope for.

He arranged for a plate of food and sat down next to someone, pretty much at random. They were conversing, but Larkin simply nodded and hoped that no one would be offended. There was limited seating after all.

((OOC: That was lame, but he could have sat by anyone))

Octavien and Elena
 

(((ooc: Am I the only one thinking the banquet following a royal wedding wouldn't exactly leave the ballroom deserted until the wee hours of morning, at the earliest, and that food would be served for just as long? )))



Damn, damn, double damn. The very moment Octavien slid further underneath the covers in his attempt to escape this last one of his obligations for the night, he realized what a giant mistake he had made. Not in trying to avoid doing what he wasn't particularly willing to do, but in the way he went about it. Already during his very first conversation with Elena, which had been sadly brief but still highly informative as to how keen her eyes and mind were, she had proven to be quite a brave lady, seemingly completely unafraid to risk hitting a raw nerve with him even at such an early point in their acquaintance. Given that, she would hardly be anywhere near too modest to not only point out his reluctance, but question it as well.
That was his first mistake.

His second; turning away from her, onto his injured shoulder. With the wound having been torn open once again the other day, when he had been playing the knight in shining armor to Joséphine's lady in distress, it still wasn't well enough to support his weight without a sharp pain searing through his shoulder and causing it to throb with anticipation to escape the sudden and highly uncomfortable pressure he'd just put on it. And it left him with no choice but to turn again, onto his back once more, while a slight wince stole across his face, a tell-tale sign that the injury was indeed still causing him a great deal of discomfort.

Consequently, he ended up with his face a mere few inches from Elena's, only a few seconds after she had uttered her rather accusatory question, and was made painfully aware that his chances of squirming out of this one without offending her were fizzling like the last glowing embers of a dying fire in heavy rain.

Was she unpleasant? In looks, in demeanor, in overall representation?
The answer would be... No. She was quite comely, to put it mildly, with her dark features and her skin of smooth, glowing bronze, with her smouldering cinders currently gazing at him, depths filled with mysteries and secrets, holding an irresistable allure to practically any man. She was intelligent and quick-witted, a skilled and entertaining conversationalist on most any matter, and her mien was that of a true lady; demure without being meek, soft-spoken without risking having her voice be drowned out by others, confident and noble but not demanding or arrogant.
No, she was by no means unpleasant. And she bloody well knew it, despite that slightly disconcerted look on her face, and the verbal pout. Thus, her umbrage came not from bruised self-esteem, but more likely, a bruised ego. No woman, or man for that matter, enjoyed rejection, and to be rejected on their very wedding night... Well, if she was offended, it was only understandable.

It was just that... He would rather keep refusing and risk insulting her, than to go through with what was expected of him, for the truth of the matter was that while he could think of a few reasons to fulfill his duties, he could think of about a million not to. A million, out of which two stood out; Guilt, and Isabella. Two reasons that were connected, but still two very different ones. To Octavien, it would still feel like a betrayal of Isabella to be with another woman, even though it wouldn't be entirely by choice, and even though he was well aware that Isabella shared a similar fate. But neither fact made it any easier. Now granted, he hadn't had much trouble seducing women with whom he wasn't yet in love before. In fact, he'd quite enjoyed it. But, a most important difference between then and now, had been that at the time, he hadn't been in love with anyone. Now he was. And... He couldn't just love one woman, and then merrily bed another. He just couldn't. He wasn't César, nor had he ever understood César. Not when it came to these matters.

As for guilt... The sense of betrayal against Isabella was a large part of it, but it was also just that; a part. There was so much more to weigh down his conscience into guilt's darkest pits, such as The Grand Disaster known as yesterday's picnic, and it all had his mind sending too many baneful signals to his heart and his gut, for his body to respond to temptation. And, overpowering guilt did have a way of proving quite detrimental to a man's ability to... perform, and so yes, he would rather risk offending Elena, than to suffer the possible humiliation of... of 'failing'.

Suppressing a sigh, he therefore shot her another brief glance, while shifting ever so slightly away from her, without actually changing his position much.

"I assure you, you are not", he said in a somewhat monotonous voice, though when he continued, there did appear a small ripple of emotion on the surface. "But we have yet to get to know one another."

He didn't care if it sounded silly, weak or effeminate. Let her think he was just that. With a little luck, it would only fuel whatever notion he might have already created in her mind that he was not the sharpest tool in the shed.


(((ooc: Poor Elena! :laugh: I swear I didn't set out to make him that difficult!)))

Adele, Marie-Elisabeth, Charles || The Great Dining Room
 

((OOC: Atropa - Thanks so much! These titles are confusing, they frustrate me so!
slytherin-girl - Sorry I haven't posted in a while, been busy getting ready for school and sports.))

Adele gazed down at the seemingly large porportions of food resting on her plate. Her meal consisted of a wide collection of meats and grains, with a small amount of vegetables and dairy on the side. As her eyes wandered around the room every so often she would take small bites of her meal, sometimes even pushing it around on her plate as if she were a child playing with their food. She was not particularly hungry at the moment, unlike the young man whose attention was mostly on his food. The Marquise de Valois appeared to be looking for someone, for she gazed around the room as if she had intentions of finding a particular person. Yet as to who that person maybe, Adele hadn't the slightest clue. The Marquise then reminded the young man of his manners, then turned around to face her.

“It was amazing, I’ve never seen anything like it” she said in reply to her question. “Especially her highness’ dress, it was exquisite wasn’t it?. Although I don't envy her the time it probably took to put on. Mine was barely half as elaborate and it took me over 2 full hours to get ready”. What the Marquise said caused Adele to break out into a smile, for she knew all to well how long it took to get a dress on.

"I understand completely Marquise," Adele said, laughing quietly. "I feel like a spend most of my time putting on my dress, and by the time I've gotten ready, it feels as though most of my energy was wasted trying to get into it." She felt her lips part as yet another smile emerged on her face.

The Marquise de Valois smiled and looked at her son, the turned to face Adele once more. “Are you here by yourself as well Baroness?” she asked suddenly, all while playing with her necklace. “You weren’t with anyone when you bumped into us”. "Indeed I am," she replied. "But I don't mind it so much, I guess. Though I do feel a bit lonely sometimes...." Her voice trailed of, and her mind seemed to do the same as well. She had been feeling quite alone lately, though she bumped into an occasional familiar face or two. Yet another than that, she had the rest of the time to be on her own, which can become frustrating.

Adele sighed, then turned to face the Marquise. "I mostly spend my time reading or writing, it keeps me occupied." She forced a smile, then turned back to her food, finishing the last bit of it. "But you are not alone," she said, gazing towards the young man. "It must be wonderful to have a child, someone to care for all the time." Realizing that she was letting her emotions get the best of her, she closed her mouth and relaxed a bit in her chair.

Bella and Joséphine - Grand Dining Room
 

(((OOC: I think it’s socially acceptable by Baroque standards what Bella said about Elena? I wasn’t sure, but she just meant that Elena seems to be quite a capable woman.
Hope this works for you
Poor Elena AND Octavien! )))

There are points in one’s life where they are forced to focus upon points of their reality that they previously ignored, whether purposefully not accidentally. It could be anything, a word, a conversation overheard, a simple turn of events or… a question.

Bella had moved on from dwelling on the pathway her life was taking, knowing that regardless of whatever twists and turns her reasoning took, she would always, again and again, through compulsion, drive and guilt, arrive at the same decision. She had moved on to resign herself to Joséphine’s amicable company, to a conversation that didn’t remind her of all her problems.

“She seems to be in her element,” Joséphine mused, seemingly offering Bella a genuine shred of her awareness. “In my opinion, she is exactly where she wants to be.”

She was no idiot, that was for sure. In fact, it had been Bella’s impression of the young Marquise that a powerful mind behind that saintly exterior. Not in a malicious sense, however, there was quite a difference between knowing something and using it to hurt someone. However, it did beg the question as to why she hadn’t dealt with the problems her husband brought her, or more to the point as she’d phrased it herself, why she willingly indulged in deception.

“I agree,” Bella replied with a smile as both women took their seats at the table. “And I’m sure she’ll have no trouble making what she desires out of it.”

With that, she tasted a few of the dishes laid out before her; they weren’t bad at all, in fact, quite delectable despite the fact that she wasn’t all that hungry. However, turning to her companion, Bella found that Joséphine perhaps did not share the same sentiments as the greenish hue spreading over her complexion suggested. Out of cordiality, Bella decided to follow suit.

“Have you considered marriage, Comtesse?”

Yes, sometimes a question could make an individual consider parts of their lives that they had not thought of before, or preferred not to think of. While Bella could imagine what brought the question on – given that they were currently at a wedding – she had no clue how to answer it simply because she’d just never considered it.

She was nineteen years old. Women of her age were married, with children of their own. Truth be told, until she was fifteen years of age, she had been stationed at an abbey and her father’s first and foremost priority had been to ensure that Bella never discovered what he’d tried to hard to keep secret. Well, that cat crawled out of the bag and after she’d effectively been banished to England, she’d had little trouble adjusting to things, especially given that she adopted a carefree nature just to spite her father.

It did catch the attentions of a few gentleman, two in particular. However, the English, it transpired, were not like the French and while they did attempt – and the term had to be used loosely here – to court her, one thought it would be prudent to seek her father’s permission. That early on. However, that was how really the problem began, for after repeated attempts at contacting him, Ashton Devine was simply nowhere to be found and he wasn’t just ignoring her. Needless to say, Bella left England – and her suitors – in search of her father.

She travelled, everywhere and anywhere, never staying in any place long enough to establish anything and where there was interest budding in that short space of time, Bella could not – did not – reciprocate for she had far more pressing matters on her mind.That was the simple truth. However, that did not mean that she would launch into husband hunting at any point, for if any man did seek to claim her heart, he would have to earn it.

“I must admit I have not, Marquise,” she answered with a slight smile and a hushed chuckle. “I confess I like my independence too much.” That slight smile played out a little more at a realisation of what impression Joséphine had made on her and so she continued with amicability and slightly puckishly: “I suspect you are the same, no?”

Marie-Elisabeth, Charles, and Adele : Diningroom
 

Octavien and Elena - the gloves come off... but that's pretty much all that does
 

When agreeing to marry Princess Adalita, Octavien had known perfectly well what he was getting himself into. He knew of the duties and the obligations, of the aloofness he'd be supposed to exude, and how nothing should be seen actually getting to him. He also knew that he would be giving up the chance of marrying a woman he loved, and perhaps even the chance of having children of his own. At least legitimate ones, if even that. For some reason, he hadn't imagined fathering a child with Isabella, and because she was the woman he loved and the only one he could imagine sharing his bed with, that ruled out the possibility of fathering another woman's children. At least for as long as he was still with Isabella.

Then, through the twists of fate, he had been released from the shackles he had voluntarily put himself in, and been once again granted the chance of some day marrying someone he cared for, maybe even loved, if things with Isabella ever went awry. He'd had his freedom back, only to have it torn away from him merely a moment later, and a future with a woman he neither cared for, nor could with good reason avoid being intimate with, showed into his hands. Thrown in shackles once again, and this time not as willingly as before.

But, even that he had known could happen. The thoughts of it had danced through his head upon Adalita's death, as he had realized his usefulness to the King had shrivelled up and nearly died along with his precious daughter, and that dead weight was nothing that would be around the royal family for long. Well, not when it had married into the family. The dead weight that was many of the born Princes and Princesses around Europe there was little choice but to keep around, but the ones that had married up to their title, that was a different story. Especially if their spouse died.
No, Octavien had gathered that one way or another, he would be put to good use, or preferrably see to it himself that he made himself of good use. He'd never aspired to being just another noble that drifted aimlessly in life, with his only plans consisting of how to chase the next thrill. He had come here looking for a bit more power to wield, a bit more renown and honor to his name. He had found it, and he was currently trying to make it stick, and grow. Partly through conceeding to the marriage to Elena in the first place; if he was to be used as a pawn, then by God, he would play the game.

What he hadn't expected, was for things to happen so quickly, and certainly not while other aspects of his life were spiralling out of control.

He had been given no time to adjust to his new role as Prince, before being thrown to the wolves by suddenly being widowed and expected to grieve in public like a born royal. And just as he had started to find his footing, he'd been pushed off the cliff again by being betrothed and married, all within a few days, without the slightest chance to catch his breath in between all the tosses and turns. Even without all his other troubles and tribulations, it would be quite understandable for him to be... torn. Anyone in his situation would be, even if they had been born into all this.

And now here he was, in bed and expected to just magically set all his troubles aside and indulge in marital activities with a woman who, as it turned out, didn't have the faintest idea of how difficult things would be for him to do so, nor how she herself was doing a fine job of pushing them from being just difficult, to being bleeding impossible.

"And yet here we are, expected to behave as husband and wife", Elena said, in a voice that sounded as though she was discussing a business arrangement, while fiddling with the lace adorning his nightshirt. "Do you believe you are the only one with duties to fulfil, or who has had to make sacrifices? Some will be more difficult than others, but there is nothing to gain in making matters needlessly difficult."

'And yet', it rang in his head as an immediate sarcastic response mirroring her statement, 'here you are, doing exactly that'. It was only pure will power alone that kept him silent, and the words locked tightly between clenched jaws, while his eyes not only narrowed ever so slightly, but darkened from their usually vibrant blue, to the ominous arsenic of a stormy ocean as they locked with hers.

That was supposed to make him more willing to perform his duties? Completely annihilating any trace there might have been of this possibly being more than just 'business', partly through insinuating he was acting like a spoilt and ignorant child? Oh, his blushing bride was inexperienced indeed, if she thought this got them any closer to consummating anything. The human body did not respond to logic, no matter how evident and clear, and unlike the female one, in the case of a male one, that was a fact that would remain painfully obvious.

"Sometimes the same duties are more easily performed to some than they are to others", he thus finally replied, his voice low but with an unmistakably dark edge. "There are those that have certain circumstances they have no choice but to adhere to, that others have the luxery of needing not to care about. Though that doesn't make said circumstances any less real, and only a fool would disregard them."

There he paused, but only to glance down at the slender fingers toying with the sleeve of his shirt, and withdraw his arm from their touch before continuing, caring little that he was probably shattering the very facade he had previously tried his best to maintain;

"Furthermore, as someone as accustomed to duties as you clearly are, I would expect you to be familiar with the fact that while some people inspire effort in others, there are those who do not. You, my dear, I trust to be intelligent enough to recognize your current category."

After all, if they exited this bedroom in the morning, with Elena's supposed virginity still intact, the shame would not be his alone, or even for the most part. For was it not a woman's duty to appeal to her husband, to entice and to be pleasing enough for him seek her embrace? If he did not, the shadow fell on her. He was a man after all, and as seemed to be the general opinion, when it came to sex and lovemaking, men rarely needed a whole lot of persuasion. And, even if she would claim that the fault was somehow his, it would be in vain, for of the two of them, he was the one who had one marriage already behind him, as well as a few known love affairs, and in neither of them had there ever been complaints in that department.


(((ooc: Ahem... *whistles innocently*)))

Bella and Joséphine - Grand Dining Room
 

There are certain moments in life where one realises how repetitive their life is, that everything that happens to them has happened before to another, in another time and in another place, but surely, those have happened. So, there was never a loss of inspiration of what to do, what to say, the quotes and learning from history in it’s very best form. Thus, theoretically, no situation was ever beyond salvage.

Also, theoretically, it could just well be that ‘another time and another place’ were two variable factors that were not too different from the time and place in which the primary individual was. It wasn’t entirely unfeasibly that, regardless of how much of a coincidence it was, there was someone else in your vicinity, that shares predicaments very similar to yours. Or even similar sentiments.

However, when one realises such a similarity, one must be equally astute in their articulation when verbally recognising the parallel. Thus, watching Joséphine fine brow curve in response to Bella’s statement, the Comtesse did wonder whether she’d chosen the correct way to highlight the comparison. Perhaps not as it would seem, but despite the differences in the two women when it came to claiming independence – Bella avoiding marriage to keep hers and Joséphine possibly accepting marriage to earn hers – there was a similarity, an obvious one to Bella, at how both women coped with it. Bella would wager a bet that even if César was prone to controlling behaviour – not a likely scenario, admittedly – Joséphine wouldn’t simply let him get away with it. Granted, there wouldn’t be the fiery wrath that Elena would cunningly exert in such a situation, but there would be something nonetheless.

“I have seen far too many women living in gilded cages to resign myself to such a fate,” the young Marquise conceded, to which Bella let a sincere appreciative smile steal across her rose lips, only to dull momentarily upon Joséphine’s next statement. “Although I suppose, eventually, no-one is entirely free, we all have obligations, ties that hold us back. Mine are simply more obvious than others.”

How very true that no-one was entirely free. Yes, there were startling levels to freedom and being women, the Marquise and Comtesse were even less likely to reach it’s brighter hues than their male counterparts. That said, however, freedom, in any form was still cherished freedom. Getting more and more caught up in her web of lies though Bella was, she would always have the freedom of thought and likewise, so did Joséphine.

Though, it was the way the Marquise’s gaze drifted towards her children that tugged at Bella. Did she consider them as mere obligations? Not entirely likely, she seemed to be a loving mother if anything, so what was it that made her feel so tied down? Her marriage itself? Her husband with whom things seemed turbulent?

“But, just as how there are several degrees of freedom, there are several forms of freedom, Marquise,” she pointed out with a warm smile, her eyes raising themselves from the tired children back to their mother. “Most importantly, freedom of mind, something that never really can be tied down.”

So, yes, though Joséphine and Bella both had their obligations, they still, in every right, had their own will, their own thought and power of mind to writhe their way out of whatever ties that had them bound. Women though they both were, they were also clearly intelligent women and through that, they were already free of most society’s restrictions on its female citizens. Where there was a will, there was a way, no?

(((OOC: Hope this works for you, Ghanima, and sorry for the delay! )))

OOC: ARRRGHHH! I was almost done with my post when something happened to my window and everything I did went out the window!
I might try and re-post it, but we'll see... ugh.

Octavien and Elena - Elena's suite
 

Octavien had not set out to be unpleasant towards Elena. Indeed, had he not done quite the opposite, and been very amiable, albeit a bit distant, towards her? Today, as well as during their first meeting. He'd told himself that just like him, she might be a victim of circumstance, of other people's will, and that there was no reason to take his anger and frustration out on her. And even if she wasn't just a pawn, but had something to do with the entire thing herself - after all, considering her 'advanced' age and the two facts that this was her first marriage, and that she was quite pleasing to the eye, it did suggest that there was a bit more to the story than just appeared on the surface, or else she would have married a long, long time ago - she was not the one ultimately responsible for Octavien's situation. Nor was the King, which one might have thought would have been the one Octavien would hold responsible.

But no. The one ultimately responsible for the entire thing, was Octavien himself. He had married Adalita, willingly and knowingly, even if it was out of a sense of duty and honor. He had known what he had gotten himself into. And when told he had been betrothed, only a day after his first wife's funeral, he had had two choices; accept, or refuse. Octavien, being the headstrong young man that he was, might have very well refused and faced whatever consequences there would be with his head held high, had he not deemed it more beneficial to himself and his own interests to go along with it. He did not blame anyone else, nor did he blame himself, all for the simple fact of 'blame' not being the right word for it. An opportunity had been given, and it was one that he intended to use.

So, what bothered him about the entire thing, enough for him to make his reluctance in this case known, was not the role he was playing in it, but that people insisted on treating him as a pawn, even when he had made it quite clear that what he did, he did out of his own free will. He would not be forced, and he would have a say in how the game was played. It was as simple as that.

Isabella had known it from the start, Adalita along with her lover, and not to mention Marquess Berini, had been made aware of it as they went along, as had both the Duc d'Lorraine and the King as well. Now the turn had come to Octavien's new darling wife to be made aware of it. He would not be treated as a mere commodity, a trained dog on a leash, expected to perform tricks on command. In Adalita's, Silvius' and Marquess Berini's case, that was a fact he had imposed on them to the point where they had no choice but to back down, and to back down unconditionally. In the case of Duc d'Lorraine and the King, there had been a bit of... well, Octavien would call it compromise. They chose to accomodate him, and he chose to accomodate them.

Now, in the case of Elena... While Octavien had agreed to marry her, and was well aware that like him she could have been used as an (intended) pawn, there was quite a bit of doubt eating through that notion. First and foremost because of pure logic; again, her age. Twentysix years old and only just now married for the first time; it did suggest that there was more to the story indeed, that more than likely and for whatever reason she'd enjoyed a freedom similar to the one Octavien himself had cut short; to wait until someone she actually wanted came along, and marry only then. She was a beautiful woman, and in manner not a complete harpy, although she did surround herself with quite a demanding air, which he had just seen made far more tangible, through her statement regarding duties and sacrifices.
Secondly, because of the smile on her lips as they had been announced man and wife. It had been a genuine one, and since Octavien was certain to the point of being willing to bet his life on it that her happiness of being declared his wife, had little to do with him as a person, it too suggested that in all of this, she was not a mere pawn.
Thirdly, there simply was far too much spirit in her, to surrender to a fate she did not want.

All of the above were each in their own right reasons for him to set his foot down now, and show that while he might be willing to accomodate, it would be in the form of compromise, and never unconditional surrender. He would accept an intelligent and strongwilled wife, he would even accept an ambitious one, who more than likely saw him simply as a means to and end, the necessary second party of a business deal. But by God, he would not be treated like it. Especially not if she expected him to fulfill his marital duties. He was not the kind of man who would bed a woman just because others thought he should. Never would 'the act', whether it be that of lovemaking or just a plain old roll in the hay, be reduced to nothing but a different kind of handshake to seal a deal. Furthermore, if there was no emotion - and Elena's frank statement had made it quite clear that indeed there was not - then there was no way of changing the circumstances Octavien had spoken of; the circumstances he had no choice but to adhere to, but she enjoyed the luxury of needing not care about, namely the matter of arousal being a necessary ingredient for 'consummation' to be physically possible.
So, if she wanted wanted something to happen, but could not be genuinly interested in his touch, then she would just have to pretend. There were times when deception, known or not, was simply a necessity.

However, given the harshness of his statement, and the way it made her eyes flare much like hers had done his, he didn't expect that even if she did concede, it would happen now. She was after all, like he had already established a few times now, far too spirited to just yield, and so at this point, he didn't except her to accept his touch any more willingly than he had accepted hers, even if he did change his mind and decide to give it a try. In fact, he got the distinct impression that it was only a willpower just as strong as the one he had exercised when not getting up to leave a few seconds ago, that now kept her from banning him from her suite, effective immediately, and in her eyes he saw not only rage, but thoughts of how to deal with being still untouched come morning, flashing by. Possible plans of how to shift the blame onto him. Well, if that was the case, then let her try. There were few things she could accuse him of, directly or indirectly, that he could not counter. His history with women alone had given him a reputation for being a virile young man, perfectly capable of bedroom activites. Whispers of impotence or a perverse preference in gender would be far-fetched indeed, and quite easily proven wrong, and as for plain unwillingness... Well, he was a widower, was he not, just having suffered the loss of his first wife whom, for all anyone knew, he had loved dearly? And not only him, but the people of France as well. If he was unwilling to bed another woman while the memory of Adalita still clung to the very walls of the Palace, then people were more prone to sympathize, than they were to point an accusatory finger at him.

And perhaps Elena too realized it, for a few seconds later, the fury slowly drained from her eyes, and her voice when next she spoke was candid and calm.

"People inspire one another," she started slowly, with a pointed tone in response to his indirect accusation that she had done nothing to inspire effort in him. "From the very beginning I have been told to expect this union to have less to do with you and me and more to do with... events that are beyond our ability to control; today, there was little I have experienced to suggest otherwise, though I had... hoped."

Alright, he was willing to admit she had a point in that perhaps his behaviour had been somewhat discouraging to an inexperienced bride, though he would still maintain that he had not been directly rejective, or cold. He had shown reluctance and apprahension, yes, but not plain rejection. If he had, his reply to her initial question about being unpleasant would have been a simple "no", and that would have been that. Instead, he had assured her she was not unpleasant, and even explained the source of his reluctance. That, to Octavien, was not rejection.

As for her hoping this union would have shown signs of being more than just a consequence of 'events that are beyond our ability to control'... Of that, he had his doubts, for just as he may not have shown any such signs, neither had she towards him. She had taken the pragmatic approach, devoid of emotion, first chance she got, and Octavien doubted very much that even with his somewhat reserved demeanor, she was too shy to at least try giving one such aforementioned sign herself.

And, she clearly was an intelligent woman, so should she not realize then that he actually had reasons to be apprahensive, and plenty of them? Even if some were far less real than the majority would ever know. It was not a long time ago that he had spent his first night in the same bed in the same room, with an entirely different woman. A woman who was now dead. Naturally he would harbor some apprahensions, as memories were destined to haunt him still. Even the workings of the human mind would explain why he might be so reluctant, as regardless of whether he was superstitious or not, there might be thoughts passing through his head, which were only natural for someone in his position; thoughts of his first wife's ghost lingering in the room, thoughts of him maybe being cursed, as tragedy had followed so soon in the wake of his last wedding night. One did not have to be a naive believer in fairytales and the supernatural, for such thoughts to impose themselves on one's peace of mind. So then, could she really blame him for not taking the initiative?
You would think not.

So considering all this, the fact that she had shown no emotion, neither towards him nor towards the deed they were expected to perform, would suggest she simply did not care. To her, it was a business arrangement, and that was it. No matter the way she tried to dress her words.

"I also fear you misunderstood my admittedly ill-formulated comment", she continued, and even though Octavien had his doubts regarding the level of truth in her previous words, the fact that she was adopting a more humble mien, did somewhat soothe the acidic sting of his dark musings. "I know neither of us finds the situation we have been given an ideal one, but it was given nonetheless. What I meant was that we now have an opportunity: we can allow it to become extremely unpleasant, or we can try and make the best of what we do have."

There she paused, as though to let her words sink in, and suggest that what she had spoken of had involved not just their immediate future, but their future in the long-run as well. Something he had already gathered, but neglected to address in favor of the matter at hand, towards which her attitude had been what had riled him.

"You mentioned earlier that we do not know eachother", she then continued once more, her tone still far more soft and thus to Octavien's ears agreeable than before. "That is true, and we never will, if we do not... try."

Staying silent for a few seconds, partly as a way of regaining control of his rebellious temper, and partly as a way of granting Elena a sign of acknowledgement for her words, Octavien merely looked at her steadily, studying her eyes and features as though determining the sincerity behind those words. Even though her tone had changed, he still was not convinced.

"And in what way is it that you intend to know me, then?" he finally said, managing to wipe the edge from his voice as well. "As an actual husband, or as a business partner who just happens to share your bed?"

He darned near added 'A necessary evil, perhaps?', but managed to bite his tongue, as it would have been his still simmering temper talking, rather than his common sense. Elena did have a point in not needing to make matters unnecessarily difficult, and she had clearly taken to trying to compromise, and doing so in a fairly friendly manner. It was only fair that he did too. And therefore, he gave a small sigh, and the piercing look in his eyes softened, as he decided it was his turn to make an effort to try and steer this away from disaster and rejection once more.

"I will admit I myself may not have encouraged... efforts to be made, but given the conversation we had the other day, I was under the impression that you would understand why."



(((ooc: The 'perverse preference in gender' thing does in no way mean I have anything against homosexuals (as I believe my history of past characters will prove. ), but those were the standars of the era, and so... yeah...
And... Sorry about the length... Like you said Ghani, there was so much I wanted to include.)))

César - returning to the Palace
 

(((ooc: Yeah, I'd be more than willing to have my characters be involved in more plots. Come one guys, there is so much to do with the stuff going on in this RP.

Ghani - *lmao* ME's right next to César and Jo now?? Oh man! Jo's gonna love that, isn't she?)))



When as the dark cobalt blue of the horizon slowly began to brighten, in the last hour of night before dawn would spill it's spectrum of colors onto the sky, yet another night of little to no sleep had been added to the already weary mind of the young Marquis de Mont-de-Marsan. After leaving the wedding the previous afternoon, scaring one of the two girls he adored in the process, he had wandered aimlessly for an hour or so, until he was sure most of the wedding participants, Joséphine included, would be in the Grand Dining Room for the reception banquet, leaving the court and stable yard close to deserted, not counting the stable boys and other servants who might be milling about out there. By then he had decided to once again flee the Palace, and any chance of running in to... well, anyone really. He still was not ready for another round with Joséphine, and Octavien he couldn't stand the sight of. Comtesse Devine, well, she had appeared to be offering Joséphine a shoulder to lean on, despite César doubting she had any idea of what was going on, and so he really wasn't interested in exchanging forced pleasantries with the woman. The only one to bring out any kind of amiable feelings at this point, was Marie-Elisabeth. But they were amiable feelings mixed with confusion and apprahension, for quite frankly, César did not know how to handle possibly coming face to face with her at this point. Guilt had started riding him, harder by the minute, since Joséphine had swiped his feet from under him, and at the same time, he could not deny that the thought of Marie-Elisabeth still stirred feelings of desire within him. So then, coming face to face with the beautiful blonde could turn out quite... awkward, to say the least.

It had all been better, and simpler, to just stay away altogether, and try to make some sense of the jumble of thoughts currently occupying every inch of his mind.

For the second night in a row, the tavern had become his refuge, in search of something of which he was no longer sure. Escape, or clarity? Somehow, it seemed he was eagerly grasping for both. Which would probably explain why he was failing miserably at seizing either, since one simply can not reach for two things so very far apart, and expect to actually get a hold of them. And it really didn't help matters that once again he tried to drown his sorrows with wine. For some reason, even though he was aware that getting drunk when in a bad mood would often only make things worse, he still tried. It seemed to be one of those wisdoms learned so very many times, yet never learned properly.
Though this time he'd had enough sense to quit while he could still walk fairly straight, and instead of returning to the horse for yet another few hours in the saddle that would only leave him sore in the morning, he'd paid for a room, and toppled into bed.

There he had spent a few hours tossing and turning, drifting in and out of something that could never really be considered sleep, but rather a slumber that left his limbs heavy, and his mind foggy, but spinning. To get any real rest, seemed like a lost cause. And so, after having spent what felt like hours on his side, staring at the window in the cramped and stuffy room, when the nightsky began turning from black to deep blue, he suddenly decided that enough was enough. He couldn't take it anymore. It was time to take the bull by the horns, or else he'd soon drive himself mad with guilt and, most of all, anxiety. There were so many thing he didn't know, so many questions that had been raised in those few seconds of seeing Joséphine and Octavien kiss, and they were all eating away at his sanity. No matter how painful the answers might be, he had to know.

Not having bothered to undress except for taking off his coat before tumbling into bed, it took him no more than a minute to get out of bed and leave the room, passing through the now almost eerily quiet tavern. Once outside, he paused for a few moments, closing his eyes and drawing a few quick, deep breaths as a way of making the last few remnants of the clouds in his mind evaporate, as well as try to draw some strength from within. Neither one fully succeeded. Thoughts were still crowding inside the walls of his skull, making it nearly impossible to seperate them and review them one by one, and his heart was still trembling with fear of what answers he might recieve, urging him every step of the way back to the Palace to simply turn around, and head in the opposite direction. And had it been the only feeling in his heart, he probably would have.
But it was not. There was also anger and hurt, both driving him on forward, towards a confrontation for which he might not be ready, but badly needed.

And, there was love. He loved Joséphine dearly, and if anything, the past two days had made him realize just how much. If there was competition, he would not give up without a fight. No matter who, or what for that matter, the competition was. Even if it had been the King himself, César would not have backed away.

Thus, when he stepped through the Palace doors, the sun just peaking over the horizon behind him, there was a determination in his stride that guided him straight to the door of the de la Valliére suite, without him really registering anything that was going on around him. Not that there was much, except for the odd servant scurrying about in preparation for another busy day.
But, it was an assertive stride that came to a near screeching halt, when the door swung open and his eyes landed on Joséphine's sleeping form, alone and seemingly tiny in the giant bed. He didn't know why, but it felt as though suddenly all the determination drained from him, and he all but turned and left. Mental images flooded his mind, of her in another bed, and not so alone. Octavien's bed, with his arms wrapped around her slender frame, much like César used to wrap his arms around her, even in his sleep.
It was a visual that was too hard to stomach.

And yet he knew he couldn't turn back now. He just couldn't, because the chances were if he turn back now, he might not ever muster enough strength and courage to ever deal with it, and if left to fester, there was no telling what it would do to him, and to Joséphine.

Therefore, he finally managed to will himself into motion again, though the determination remained missing in action. Instead, there was a caution to his movements while he quietly closed the door behind him, and walked over to the comfortable chair standing a few feet away from the bed. Lowering himself into it, with his eyes locked on the peaceful expression on Joséphine's face, almost as though he was mesmerized by it, he prepared for hours of waiting for her to wake up.

César and Joséphine - de la Valliére suite
 

(((ooc: Come on people, WAKE UP! *shakes fellow RPers* Nothing will happen if you don't make it happen! )))



Much like Joséphine didn't know how long she had been asleep for, César didn't know for how long he had been sitting there watching her. With thoughts and feelings swirling round and round in body and mind, the concept of time had been lost to him, and even the slowly moving streak of light cast upon the carpet through a narrow slit in the curtains had ceased being any kind of indicator that the minutes, maybe hours had been ticking by. His eyes had remained fixed on Joséphine, though her face had drifted in and out of focus, as sometimes what he saw, was not in the room itself, but in his mind. Memories and mental images conjured by the anger, the hurt, but most of all the anxiety and guilt: they were all still claiming every inch of his being, it seemed. Ruling supreme.

Every time Joséphine stirred however, no matter how small her movements were, his gaze would immediately re-focus, anticipating the moment those warm brown eyes of hers would flutter open, and provide husband and wife with the chance of maybe, hopefully, sort out this whole... mess, though the word hardly seemed sufficient. Several times it happened, before, at last, she truly did awake, leisurely stretching her limbs underneath the warm, comfortable covers, and rubbing her eyes into giving a clear vision. Once clear enough, during the usual sweep across the room that the eyes usually do when one has just woken up, they fell on the chair nearby the bed, or rather the person in it. Hardly surprising, Joséphine had apparently not expected to find César there, and the discovery was one that seemed to startle her at first, as she sat up and pulled the covers to her chest, as though trying to instinctively cover herself up. But no matter how understandable, it still caused a tiny, dissatisfied quiver in the corners of César's mouth. Signs of fear at the sight of him was hardly what he had wished to see spilling across Joséphine's lovely features. He had wished for something rather more encouraging, but for that, he would be made to wait.

"César...", his young wife started slowly, apprahension filling her voice in a manner similar to the way it did her eyes. "How long have you been there?"

'How long?' Now wasn't that the question they both yearned to have answered. How long had he been sitting there? How long had she known about his affairs, and said nothing? How long had her affair with Octavien lasted?

Though he didn't get a chance to reply, nor did he even try, before Joséphine continued, finally granting him that tiny shred of encouragement he needed in order to know that the decision he had made over the past two days, would hopefully not be one made too late, a lost cause;

"Are you all right?"

This time, there was concern in her voice. While apprahension still lingered, the feeling ruling her tone was that of worry, of true emotion and not of anger. Painful though it had been, perhaps staying away this long had been the right choice after all, so that they could both calm down. At least a little bit, even though the feelings that had cast their shadow over their last two encounters were still stirring beneath the surface.

Neither this question, despite holding something he had so longed for, recieved an answer however, as he had words of his own yearning to be spoken. His head over the past two days had been filled to the brim with one big tangle of thoughts and emotions, but even in all that confusion, there was one feeling, one phrase that had permeated them all, and now pushed past his lips. Softly, tiredly, dejectedly, but honestly.

"I love you", came his weary voice out of the dimness still looming in the room. "I need you to know that."



(((ooc: Couldn't find what colors her eyes are, and it was really hard to tell from her picture, so... I went with brown, but please correct me if they're not.)))

Baroness Adele Rosseau || Her Suite
 

((OOC: Ugh, that was an extremely long post. Is this good enough Ghanima? If I have to add or change anything, let me know ))

Not a sound was made as Adele tossed and turned in her bed the next morning. A smile crept upon her face as she looked around the room. Her thoughts traveled over to the Marquise de Valois, whose son kindly took her took her suite when the night was over. She thought of them as friendly people, not at all unkind as she imagined everyone to be when she first arrived at the palace. Surprisingly she felt calm this morning, for she was beginning to feel less and less overwhelmed as the days slowly passed by. But as peaceful as she felt, her calm emotional state was interrupted by a loud rapping noise on her door. Clearly awake and annoyed, Adele steadily walked over to the door as the rapping failed to cease. Yet when she opened the door, a shocked expression emerged on her face, only to be replaced by anger a few seconds later.

How could she have found me? The thought swirled in Adele’s mind, along with many others which caused questioning. When she finally moved out of her father’s house, she believed she was safe from the wretched woman standing just outside her suite. She found it highly unlikely that she would ever seek to find her, thus making her feel as if she no longer had to constantly look over her shoulder, waiting for the woman to come after her. But she was here, just as she had imagined for years and years. Yet what had she come for would shock Adele in more ways than one?

"I have come for my money," she said simply, gazing at Adele with intense eyes. She gave the woman a confused look, wondering what she meant by her money. Surely she didn’t mean the money that she inherited from her father, no it just couldn’t be possible. Could she no longer sway men with her flirtatious ways, and had to resort to her for money? Or was she simply doing it to spite her? Either reason seemed possible. The money was hers, and there was no chance she was going to give it up, especially to the woman whom she felt made her life difficult.

"What money?" Adele asked. "You’ll be getting no money from me, be sure of that."

"I’m not asking for money," she replied with a slightly amused expression on her face. "I’m claiming it." A small chuckle escaped Adele’s pale lips, and she gazed towards the woman once more. "What do you mean by your money?" Are you daft? That money is rightfully mine, you were no longer with my father when he died. Adele shook her head in complete amusement. None of this money belonged to her, she had no right to just come into the palace and try to take it.

"Please," she said. "I would not be here if I did not have a reason to. I deserve some of that money. I stayed with that drunken old fool for quite some time, I think I deserve something for that." Adele then stepped outside with her, while the woman gazed with a smile on her face. "Besides, I may not have been with your father at the time, but that does not mean I was not married to him. The young woman found herself at a loss for words. She tensed up and looked at the woman with angered eyes. It was possible, that her father had forgotten that he was still married to that horrible woman, but how on earth could he forget something as important as that. He had no will when he died, which meant that there was a chance that she could get her money back.

"We can settle this the hard, or the easy way Adele."

"You will address me as Baroness," she snapped, looking at the woman with pure disgust. "How dare you come here and expect me to give you money, which you claim is yours. How am I to know you are not lying about it all? You have lied many times before." Even if she did deserve the money, there was no chance she was going to give it to her. After all the toil she was put through she was not just going to give the woman money and have that be the end of it. What if she left for a while, then came back asking for more money? She had seen it countless times before. This woman was a liar, and she would refuse to believe that she was still married to her father.

"The money was never yours, and will never become yours! All you are doing is lying to me, in hopes of gaining money! I am not the little girl you used to torment, and I will not let you lie and cheat your way to riches!" Adele came close to the woman, her gaze staring straight into hers. "I suggest you leave now, for you are no longer welcome here."

The woman, who appeared to be quite angry at this point, walked over towards Adele. "I will be back Baroness, she said, giving a smirk. When I come back I expect to see my fair share of money, or I will tell everyone about your dark past." Out of pure frustration, Adele snapped again. "Leave."

The woman laughed, then looked towards her one more. "Believe me Baroness, I know more than you think I do. If you had any common sense, you would give me the money and get on with you life. You don’t want me to cause a scene when I return, do you?" Tears trickled down Adele's cheeks and landed onto the floor. How could this have happened to her? She couldn’t be telling the truth, there was no way she was still married to her father. She needed to do something, anything, from keeping that woman from ever entering the palace doors again. But she couldn't do this by herself - no, no, she would need some help. Desperation overcame Adele, and she found herself willing to do anything to get rid of her father's second wife. There had to be someone - anyone, willing to help her. She looked towards the woman once more, wanting her to leave. But she would not go away, but instead stood there with a smirk.

Octavien
 

Octavien, although intelligent and intellectual, was by no means a politician. He had the mind of one, but not the heart. He could act for the greater good, sacrifice his own possible happiness if needed, as proven by recent events. He was diplomatic, charismatic, and just had an air about him that made it hard for others not to like him, once they had met him in person. But, he lacked the ability, or rather the will, to listen to logic alone, and deafen himself to the desires and feelings harboured by his heart. When agreeing to marry Adalita, the grand benefits of all the power, wealth and fame that came with becoming Prince, had not been his only motives. They had been part of them, but there had also been the closeness to Isabella that it would mean to be living on the same floor in the royal Palace; to have an actual official and unquestionable reason to be near her, and to spend time with her. He had known that there was a chance that things between them would not last, but if they didn't, well, then at least he would still have the wealth, the power and the fame; the very thing he had come here for in the first place.
So yes, he had many of the qualities of a politician, but he was not one.

However, apparently, he had just married one. Like him, Elena was intelligent and intellectual, but where he insisted on having his heart be in on the course of action, she had been simply pragmatic. Until she realized it was the completely wrong way of going about things with him. Or rather, until he made her realize it was the completely wrong way of going about things with him. Then she had changed from pragmatism to diplomacy, perhaps in the process further realizing that it was indeed no mere pawn she was dealing with. Her new husband didn't simply follow orders and expectations unconditionally, he saw to it that he was part of conducting the actual game. And she adjusted accordingly, much like many politicians would, all for the sake of achieving their own goals further down the road, even if it meant changing their tactics. For Octavien was still not convinced she was doing it out of agreement with the points he had made, or based on emotion, rather than out of simple necessity.

Nevertheless, she had chosen to accomodate him, and regardless of whether or not it was genuine, it was a start. Though he had to admit, that the further their conversation had gone as the moon slowly drifted across the night sky, the more genuine she had seemed in wanting to form at least a friendship with him; something Octavien himself would like to see happen. He would be wary of it, of course, until it had been proven beyond a doubt to be real, and not just a facade to keep him from being too difficult to handle, but he would do what he could to help it along. Within reason, of course. For despite what his actions this morning, day and evening might have lead Elena to think, he did realize the benefits of the two of them being on the same side. There was much they could achieve, with forces and efforts joined.

Why, come morning, it was already somewhat under way, as despite having teetered on the verge of enmity at first, they had eventually ended up resolving the delicate matter of 'evidence' of a marriage consummated, together and in agreement that it would take the pressure off of the both of them, so that they might indeed get to know one another a little better at least, and thus perhaps 'inspire efforts' at a later time.

Though after the morning ritual of their privacy being invaded and their sheets inspected, as Octavien was making his way outside to the gardens for a stroll to mull over everything that had happened over the past two days, he found himself wondering that with Elena's lacking interest in him as a man - and quite frankly, his lacking interest in her as a woman - did she still want to go through with it? After all, she no longer had to. Everyone thought the deed was done, Octavien, if asked, would vouch that she had been a virgin, as had the sheets already done, and so there really was no need for her to share her bed with him again. If she wanted an heir, or her 'needs' tended to, she could just take a lover, a man she actually wanted in her bed. Of course, there would always be the risk of rumours leaking, or her affair being downright discovered, but still... Octavien could end up having to claim fatherhood of a child that was not his after all, despite the one which he had originally planned to do so with, having perishied with it's mother.
Oh, the irony.


(((ooc: Short and rambly, possibly not making much sense, but in short, he's in the gardens, and is approachable.)))

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

She caught up on her sleep. Finally and completely, she caught up on her sleep. Bella’s conversation with Josésphine the previous night had proved most intriguing, for the young Marquise not only seemed like Bella herself, but she also seemed so possess a most engrossingly philosophical mind. Well, Bella believed that she had seen the hints of such a rare – or rather rare in the fact that it was acknowledged by it’s owner – mind behind the comely exterior of the Marquise.

Though, it was a conversation. It did not involve frolicking about the grounds or any dancing and hence, Bella had had the pleasure of simply sitting down and granting herself physical rest while her mind was given no such thing – and this, given the pleasure of the conversation she’d had, Bella had little regret over. Though since then, she’d retired to bed and subjected herself to enough sleep to more than compensate for the past two days. Thankfully.

Therefore, she rose, a little later than usual and was soon ready, and dressed in a luxuriant black and red satin gown while her soft brown hair was coiffeured to a distinctive and yet flattering style. That and she looked considerably better than she had the previous day, the colour returning to her faint olive complexion and the rosy hues of her lips back at their very best. Rather, best of all, she felt rejuvenated.

Though, she was anxious. She simply wandered about the room waiting for the morning post, waiting to see if Jean-Louise had heard anything, sent anything as a result of her letter to Berini’s family. What if her plan did not work? What would she have to do then? Worse yet, what if she was found out? Well, that was slightly a distinct possibility, but it was a possibility nonetheless and then what would she do? And hence, much to the worry of Grace, she paced the room insistently, almost wearing a rut into the floor.

“Anything?!” she snapped in impatience – more at Jean-Louise and Berini’s family than Grace herself – as her maid finally reappeared through the door of her suite after a period of disappearance to hunt down any letter that may have been ‘misplaced’.

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid, my Lady,” the other woman admitted, much to the annoyance of Bella who simply emitted a sigh of frustration as she lowered herself onto the settee, her face buried into her hands.

“I want you to keep an eye out for anything,” she instructed as she raised her honey eyes to the maid. “Anything at all. And keep an eye on Juanita. Don’t talk to her, just keep watch.”

With that, she refused to resign herself to the constrains of her suite any longer; waiting and waiting would simply drive her mad at this rate. Waiting for Elena to summon a meeting, waiting for news of her father, waiting for Jean-Louise to reply. Waiting and waiting like a sitting duck; she could do it no longer and so she mustered up the strength to venture out of the palace and onto the waiting gardens… where her eyes promptly fell on the tall form of a blonde man. Octavien.

While she did not want to know the details of his relationship with Elena, she could guess that one of two scenarios would have played itself out to perfection; either Elena brought out her charms to their full effect and Octavien was simply lovestruck by his bride or things went quite badly. There was real chance no middle ground and Bella had no idea which side to put her money on and thus she just kept out of that entire contemplation unless the occasion really called for it. Though, that said, here was an opportunity for Bella to keep Elena’s interest in her and her father and of course speak to Octavien, whose company she had actually enjoyed, just as with Josésphine.

“Your highness,” she called softly in her smooth voice as she approached him, her warm smile spreading its effects over her artfully mould features. “Good morning.”

With that, her smiling honey brown eyes threw their gaze cross the luscious green extending as far as she could see before returning her look to Octavien carrying the very same amicability. “And congratulations, of course. It was a splendid wedding.”

César and Joséphine - de la Valliére suite
 

There. He had said it. He had said the one thing that in all this had been the only constant of which he was certain; that he loved her. He could doubt Octavien's friendship, he could doubt that the Adèle and Angélique were his own, but there was no doubt, not an ounce of uncertainty, that he loved Joséphine, more than life itself. Despite everthing he had 'done to her', as she had called it, she was so very dear to him. It was not something he had told himself, just to try and somehow justify his affairs by downplaying their importance, the awkward reasoning of 'yes, I'm sharing my bed with them, but it's her I love'. There might be alot of truth to it, but it had not been an excuse. It had been a fact, but never an excuse, never something for him to hide behind. And he needed for her to know, partly because his affairs had apparently hurt her more than he'd thought they would if ever she found out about them, they'd hurt her to the point where she had been questioning his feelings for her, as though she thought his affair and his love for her were somehow connected, that his affairs was a sign that he didn't love her as much as he had always claimed.
But, he also needed for her to know, because he couldn't stand the though of her not knowing. Even if she wanted to part with him, he needed her to know that he had been genuine whenever he had expressed his love for her, that it had not been just a pretend game to keep her satisfied and oblivious.

And now that he had said it, now that he had told her, from what he hoped she would recognize as the bottom of his heart... his deepest hope was that she would say it back. For as long as there was still love between them, the rest could be sorted out. Right? Didn't they say that in the end, love conquered all? It was such a cliché, but clichés did come from somewhere, did they not? In essence, they all had a certain amount of truth in them, or else they would not have become clichés in the first place.

César so needed this one to be true, but he was so very afraid that just when he had been made to realize that he had done what he'd never thought himself capable of doing, and hurt his darling Joséphine, he would not get a chance to try and make things right. That her outburst the other day had opened up a Pandora's box of feelings she had obviously kept locked inside, at least around César, and that now it would refuse to close, washing what was left of their relationship with bitterness and anger that would not go away, no matter how hard he tried to make amends.

Therefore, when at first she didn't say anything, when the deafening silence settled once more, he could barely bring himself to look at her, out of fear of seeing something in her eyes that he did not want to see. Much like a child would, he sought comfort in that if he didn't look her way, if he did not see it, it was not there. At least not until she would put it into words, and make it inevitable. He had tried at first, but as the silence grew longer, and the only sign of a reaction was tears welling up in her eyes, a single one spilling onto her pallid cheek, he could no longer bear it, and his gaze dropped to the floor by the end of the bed, locking itself onto the intricate pattern of the carpet underneath it.

Mostly out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her approach, but did manage to keep his eyes on her long enough to realize that she seemed to come in peace. Considering the reaction his words the other day by the lake, of caring for her, had gotten, he had been unsure of what to expect now. Perhaps saying he loved her would cause another eruption of angry words... He doubted it, but then again, he had been rather dumbstruck by how he had seemed to only antagonise her even further by the lake.

Though not even when she knelt by his side, and he felt her dainty touch upon his arm, was he able to keep his gaze on her for very long. It did make his heart skip a beat, and his eyes to land on her hand, and then briefly on her face, but eventually guilt and dread compelled him to look away once more. He just felt so very... defeated. And the irony of it all was that it was he himself who indirectly had defeated him, simply because none of this would've come to pass, had he not sought the attention of other women.
Or would it? He still didn't know just how far back Joséphine's affair with Octavien went, and how deep her feelings for him ran. Women did tend to care more in casual relationships than men did, and so to think that Joséphine was having an affair with Octavien, could mean César had far more competition than Joséphine had ever had. Truth be told, she'd never actually had any competition. In the end, it had always been her. But with her and Octavien...? Knowing how passionate a woman she really was, César couldn't help but wonder... Did she love him?

"I know", came her gentle voice from beside him, filled with honesty and reassurance as if she had sensed the very thoughts running through his head, momentarily shattering those very fears, and drawing his gaze back to her once more as those had been words to infuse him with a little bit of hope.

However, the feeling didn't last, as even though when she continued with words that filled his heart with warmth and relief, she ended with words that rammed a jagged pole of pure ice violently through it.

"I love you too", she said, "more than you know. What I said the other day... it was anger speaking, I've always loved you and always will. That is why I too have something that I need you to know: the truth, all of it. I don't want us to lie to each other any more."

'The truth, all of it'... Even his face turned away from her at the sound of those words, as though a slap had just landed on his cheek and forced his head to turn. Clearly he dreaded what 'the truth, all of it' would entail. Judging by the sounds of it, there seemed to be far more to the story than what César had witnessed between his wife and his friend. So then, would his worst fears turn out to be true?

Obviously, he didn't say anything. He couldn't, for more than one reason. The first being that she had indicated she was already about to tell him, and so he couldn't refuse her to do so, no matter if he wanted to. The second was the fact that he felt downright physically unable to speak, as an iron band had been cast around his chest, and was slowly tightening around it, slowly suffocating him. And the third?
He had to know, even if it killed him. For if he was to be left wallowing in uncertainty, it surely would kill him.

Thus, he finally managed a faint nod, signalling that he was waiting for her to say what she had to say, and tried to brace himself for whatever it would be, so focused on doing it mentally that he didn't realize he did it outwardly as well. His grip of the armrests tightened, and just ever so slightly, he pressed himself back against the chair, much like one would when trying to keep oneself steady.



(((ooc: Jesus Christ, I turned him into Octavien. *rolls eyes at self for all the overly sensitive and emotional crap* Sorry if I didn't give you much to go on, Ghanima, but I just could think of something for him to say. :/ )))

Octavien and Bella - Palace gardens
 

No more than a few minutes had he been roaming the gardens, aimlessly following the well tended paths with the sceneries of green sprinkled with patches of every other color imaginable stretching out in all directions, than the Prince's pondering - this morning revolving around what Isabella had confessed to him the previous afternoon - were interrupted. He had been right in the middle of musing to himself about how an illegitimate child with Isabella could pose an obstacle to any son he might have with Elena. Assuming, of course, that they did eventually end up sharing a bed for more than simple conversation. The way things were at the moment, with the King and Queen without a biological heir, should the King pass away, Octavien did have a claim to the throne. He had been the future Queen's chosen one, but as she had passed away, and there were no other biological heirs (yet), Octavien was one of the likely candidates to assume the throne. Especially now, due to his union with Elena. For while the union itself had helped form an alliance between France and Spain, having their Spanish representative possibly assume the French throne as Queen would surely help strengthen Spain's loyalty, whereas having her husband, and thus by default her as well, overlooked in favour of some distant relative of Edouard's, might end up a thorn in their side. An insult even.

If Isabella did end up having the child she claimed to be carrying, however, that child would end up the heir of the throne, thus pushing Octavien, ironically it's own father, out of the running. Not that Octavien minded too much, since he was quite content where he was. At least for now. But still... It would be so very ironic. Octavien's illegitimate child robbing any legitimate one that he might produce with Elena - a thought that had started to actually grow on him; well, having one, he still had issues with the actual making of one - of the throne. And, the irony would stretch even so much further, if Elena really did end up taking a lover and having his son instead, in which case Octavien's child, who would be believed to have been fathered by the King, would push Elena's lover's child, believed to have been fathered by Octavien, out of the running.

Ah, it really would be quite the typical ancient Greek drama, wouldn't it? Or a modern French farce, even. Yes, indeed, it was such a humorous scenario, that Octavien couldn't help but to grin to himself.

And it was at that very moment, when at the height of his musings, a soft voice cut right through them, beckoning him back to reality.

"Your highness."

The faint smile still on his lips, Octavien turned his head to see who it was, only to have the smile widen ever so slightly when his eyes landed on the approaching form of Comtesse Devine.

"Good morning", she greeted upon arrival, with a smile of her own having formed on her rosey lips. "And congratulations, of course. It was a splendid wedding."

Having noted with amusement her lack of the customary deep curtsey, and wondering if it was a sign that she had taken his words at the Opera to heart, about having wished to be 'just' Octavien, her comment about the wedding made some of the mirth, just a tiny fragment, fade from his smile and bring it to a brief freeze, as the two events offered memories of very, very different natures. Though the reaction lasted only a split second, and so before the look had even had a chance of manifesting itself on his noble, youthful features, the gusto returned to his charming smile, and he offered a courteous nod.

"Good morning, Comtesse", he said. "And thank you. I hope you found it an event as enjoyable as you found it splendid."

With that, he glanced towards the gravel path ahead of them, his hand following in an indicative motion.

"May I have the honor of your company for a morning stroll?"

Bella and Octavien - Gardens
 

There were two ways to look at a particular part of life; on its own or in context of everything else in life. Both outlooks had their advantages and disadvantages. Looking at something on it’s own gave complete clarity governing that situation, a sort of freedom to think without the wires attaching the single occurrence to everything else that surrounded it. However, it robs the chances of seeing everything in context, to see the consequences that it would cause. Similarly, looking at something in regards to the big picture allowed the envisagement of cause and consequence, while it gave no freedom to that purity of thought for the single event.

Truth be told, she enjoyed Octavien’s company. She truly enjoyed his company when he had been ‘just’ Octavien – the fact that he’d been so original itself enough to obscure the fact that he had lied by omission – in the ballroom, she’d truly enjoyed the time at the Opera with Joséphine and César as additions to form even more delightful company. She hadn’t spent that much time socialising for one thing always came first; her father. She’d always been on the move and thus had had little opportunity to form lasting or significant friendships since then. And though this was not a lasting or significant friendship as it stood, it had the infancy of one, just as Bella had felt with Joséphine at the banquet.

Though, in the big picture, it never could be that simply, could it? Cruel that the first two chances she was given at actual amity in recent times were both to be damaged by the one single event that gave her those very opportunities in the first place. If it wasn’t for her arrangement with Elena, she would not have travelled back to France, she would not have arrived in court to happen upon that chance meeting with Octavien and she would have not met Joséphine either. Though, that very fact dampened to Bella the possibility of true friendship with both of them; she was to spy on Octavien and Joséphine was, as he put it himself, a dear friend of his. So, though Bella would have gladly accepted either of their friendships, it was likely to have its backlash of tainted guilt upon her.

Though, unavoidable, was it not? And rather advised too, a friendship with Octavien, for it would give her an opportunity to earn his trust, to learn more of his secrets and relay them onto Elena for information regarding her father. There was another problem, that if she truly did befriend him, she could not possibly completely betray his trust. For cunning though Bella was, she was not without conscience. The only thing that could possibly help was that if Octavien was particularly unpleasant, giving her enough reason to plot against him. Though, it seemed that there was no chance of that, given his agreeable countenance.

Life could be so very poetically twisted.

"Good morning, Comtesse,” he greeted cordially, turning to face her with a smile widening over his lips. "And thank you. I hope you found it an event as enjoyable as you found it splendid."

"May I have the honor of your company for a morning stroll?" he asked, his eyes and hand gesturing towards the pathway etched out before them. So, business or pleasure? She couldn’t have both and she couldn’t reject both.

“It'd be my pleasure,” she answered warmly with an amicable smile. She had to choose between the two, but she herself did not have to make the choice. She refused to. She would instead have Octavien make it for her. “And it was indeed an enjoyable event.” Then, she added, with swift, yet slight gaiety masking her inner unrest: “The French certainly held their own in splendour; our Prince looked magnificent."

Moving the topic away from his wedding, one she knew that he had little control over and given her own experience with Elena, one that would solve no problems for him, she continued on.

“You looked very thoughtful,” she commented, then remembering with an appreciative smile that was quite exactly what she’d said to him the first time they’d met. Well, it seemed that he was a very thoughtful person then, though it’d be quite worrying if he wasn’t, given the recent events of his life. “Again." With that, the slight amusing nostalgia in her countenance diminished a little, giving some concern to whether she was imposing this time around. "I hope I wasn't interrupting this time either?”

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

Marie-Elisabeth - Wandering about
 

(((OOC: Approachable. My muse is still MIA but I dragged him back kicking and screaming. Oh and I mentioned a Vid I was going to make MUCH earlier. Well I was using Casanova for it, but I hit a wall because of the lack of footage of the girl for ME. Well I decided to use tudors instead....and it's going marvelously. You guys will love it *grins*)))

When Amelie opened her eyes again, the only trace left beside her was a wrinkled bedspread. The usual cold loneliness hit her again; she never thought that marriage to Ralph would cause so much bitterness.
She got up and occupied herself by requesting a few maids in to help her into an outfit suitable for the day. She'd never adjusted to wearing full, prim gowns and avoided doing so. Her dress was breezy and elegant, made of the softest, palest pink fabric and laced with white. Over the many other layers was a veil of white, with a corset worn under. Amelie admired the cuffs especially, it had been laced by hand, and the bumpy texture was fun to touch. The maids and she talked; she told them of her past and husband and they taught her more about the palace and its courtiers, also that Amelie and Ralph's new suite was ready for them. When her hair was all done up and loose ends fitted into place, she dismissed them and put on some jewellery - including tiny earrings that Ralph had given her once, and her mother's necklace. Reaching down, she wound a simple gold necklace around her left ankle - A habit of hers on a blue day; it was just a little personal touch, nothing that others would see.

Ready, Amelie slipped out of the room, wanting some fresh air to clear out her mind and think over the new changes. She knew she'd reacted badly on the night they arrived, and it had probably worried Ralph. As soon as she had left the palace doors and was outside, her heart felt calm and peaceful. She could see flowers and trees in the distance, past the old fountain. Amelie leisurely skipped along, just enjoying the sun and how beautiful the workers kept the gardens.
It didn't occurr to her at all that there might be someone else there. Amelie hummed, her fingers running through the rows of greenery and flowers beside her.

Stopping abruptly, Amelie's face shot up and turned crimson, to see an unfamiliar face. Her eyes unable to meet the other lady's, Amelie babbled an apology.
"Good morning, madame. I'm sorry; I didn't see you there."

Octavien and Bella - Palace gardens
 

These day at court, there were few people that made Octavien feel truly at ease to be around. Isabella had gone back to her family's estate, the King was still somewhat of a stranger, most of the courtiers were courteous and pleasant, but still had Octavien wary of their agendas, and the two he knew for a fact did not have hidden agendas, César and Joséphine, well... Needless to say, at this point, things were very much up in the air where their friendship was concerned, and any hope of feeling the least bit relaxed in their company any time soon was non-existant.

Then, there was of course Elena, his new wife, and the myriad of possibilities and problems it all was currently spreading at his feet. There was the still the unconsummated wedding, the near disasterous turned fairly friendly encounter between them, the prospect of children, and everything else he had already mulled over to the point of doing so obsessively. But, there was also the matter of his slight deception, of holding back on his wit. Last nights events had seen him throw that minor charade out the window quite willingly, in order to make his stance, and at least part of his strength known, and he wasn't quite sure how Elena had really reacted to it, as what he had said had taken precedence. Though granted, even if she had thought he was a bit slow, only to realize that he was not, there was no way for her to know it had been an intentional move of his to have her think he was a bit of a simpleton. It could just as well have been inhibition caused by reservation, uneasiness or absent-mindedness. He had after all had every reason to be somewhat distracted, overwhelmed by the inner ponderings of what his life had turned into within such a short period of time.

However, with Elena, the things to be pondered didn't end there. In addition to all else, there was also her initial, and quite possibly lingering, preference to handle the marriage much like one would a business deal. Emotions set aside, even downright dismissed, in favour of unfeeling logic. Clearly, the two of them had very different opinions of what an ideal alliance was like. For even if Octavien was to take a more pragmatic approach, it would never be one without emotion. Indeed, human feelings were fickle, but when used properly, they could form shackles so strong no amount of threats or blackmail could break them. And the best part was, to most they wouldn't even feel like shackles in the first place.
Therefore, as far as Octavien was concerned, an alliance based on, say, friendship was a far more trustworthy alliance, than one based on need or coercion, because in the case of the latter, as soon as the other party saw a chance of breaking free or stabbing you in the back, they just might take it, whereas in the case of a friendly alliance, they would rather point the situation out to you, and help you resolve it.

But, right now, these were exactly the kind of inner musings he needed to get away from, if just for a little while, and that, that was partly why he was so happy to come across Bella. For even though trust was still something to be established between the two, hers was a friendly face without a massive tangle of tension, uncertainties and guilt hidden beneath the surface. There was yet no history to complicate matters, no involvement in any of all the things that currently weighed heavily on Octavien's mind. Or so he thought. To him, she was a new acquaintance whose company he enjoyed, and who seemed to enjoy his as well, and not only because he was the Prince, as she had seemed to enjoy it even before she found out who he was.

With everything that was going on around him, it was a relief to encounter her again, to see her friendly, smiling face and be offered a bit of an escape from it all, to think of something else for a change. Her easygoing and lighthearted mien was a breath of fresh air he felt he could really use, partly as a way of taking his mind off of things, and it was why he had not hesitated to ask her to join him. And much to his satisfaction, she accepted the offer much in the same manner, without hesitation.

"It'd be my pleasure", she said with a warm smile, and then continued as he extended his arm for her to accept before they started along the gravel path. "And it was indeed an enjoyable event. The French certainly held their own in splendour; our Prince looked magnificent."

At that, Octavien merely smiled and offered another small nod in humble recognition of the compliment, as she apparently had more to say yet, and he didn't wish to interrupt.

"You looked very thoughtful", she said, changing the subject from the previous day to the present, while her thoughts clearly travelled back to one slightly further into the past; the one of their first meeting, and she added with another smile forming on her lips; "Again."

Though the amusement therein soon faded slightly, and instead a faint look of concern entered those warm, brown eyes, as though another thought had just occured to her.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting this time either?"

At that, Octavien couldn't keep from giving a soft chuckle, both at the similarity this very moment shared with the first time they had met, and at the irony of her apologizing for something he was in fact most thankful for.

"One always does interrupt something when approaching another, does one not?" he pointed out with a jovial spark dancing in his bright sapphire eyes, despite still remembering that his first words to her ever had been somewhat of a contradiction to what he said now. "Be it thoughts, deeds or conversation. But it was nothing important, no, and even if it had been, I would still only have been thankful, for I do believe I tend to ponder too much for my own good."

That said, he then offered her another glance, realizing that most of the conversation they'd had, had seem to mostly revolve around him and his title, and that at this point, she knew far more about him than he did about her.

"And I also do believe that between the two of us, there is beginning to form a most unfortunate history of one always tending to have the other at a disadvantage", he added. "I had you at a disadvantage when first we met, regarding my title, and now you seem to have me at a disadvantage, as what I know about you consists of little more than the fact that your timing is impeccable, your clemency enviable, and that the other night was your first visit to the opera. Though neither is to be forgotten nor disregarded in any way, I can not help but to feel further equality is possible still, and I would very much, with your help and permission, of course, like to attempt to achieve it. What say you?"



(((ooc: Sorry if it seems scatterbrained, because... well, I am. *s*)))

Bella and Octavien - Palace Gardens
 

When Bella had given Octavien the choice – albeit silently – between her treating him as a potential friend or treating him as the target of investigation, she had given him she had given him the opportunity to influence two things; her future as well as his own. It was risky, to say the least, to make someone choose between two things that weren’t necessarily even apparent to them and then further base an important decision on a choice that may have been made through flippancy, not given the weight it should have been.

However, there was the point of looking at a particular feature on it’s own without the strings attached to everything else. Making a decision just how you would make it without all strings that tangled thought apparent to give that purity of deliberation. But it was impossible, was it not, to truly delude oneself? Did one not always know in the back of their mind that they are their own victim? This Bella only knew too well, the inability to truly look past everything without dark shadows whispering in her ear and thus, she had turned to someone who truly did not – could not, for the lack of the knowledge regarding the sordid situation – possess the same shadows; she’d made Octavien choose for her.

There were two scenarios, the first being that Octavien could turn out to be very unpleasant – this being the least likely of the two given what she knew about him – and thus giving Bella enough reason to spy on him for his own arrogant disposition rather than just through Elena’s employ. And she’d feel better for it, at having taken him down a peg or two even if it was in secret and through his wife. However, that truly was a stab in the dark for an excuse for her own misdemeanour.

The second scenario was that Octavien remained as pleasant as he had always been and offered her his genuine amicability, and thus she’d have no excuse to continue her selfish selflessness. She’d have no illusion of justification, only that she was violating the privacy of a man who’d been nothing but civil towards her to say the least, a Prince no less and thus setting herself up for treason. Worse yet, she was setting herself up for failure far before then; for the guilt of betraying a friend – if things ever got there – would surely get to her first.

"One always does interrupt something when approaching another, does one not?" he pointed out in jest, cleanly choosing the second scenario, leaving Bella to be either elated or dejected. She opted for a reserved mixture of both, hidden behind another amicable smile as she took his arm to join him on the walk. "Be it thoughts, deeds or conversation. But it was nothing important, no, and even if it had been, I would still only have been thankful, for I do believe I tend to ponder too much for my own good."

She had to admit, if circumstances were any different, her appreciation of his charms would have been made far less grudgingly.

"And I also do believe that between the two of us, there is beginning to form a most unfortunate history of one always tending to have the other at a disadvantage,” he declared after a moment of giving in to his ponderings once more. "I had you at a disadvantage when first we met, regarding my title, and now you seem to have me at a disadvantage, as what I know about you consists of little more than the fact that your timing is impeccable,” to this, Bella had to exude an amused chuckle of her own, a bashful glance thrown at him. He had a strange definition of ‘impeccable’. “your clemency enviable, and that the other night was your first visit to the opera.”

To all this, Bella kept her amicable countenance, giving only a small, amused and contemplative tilt of the head to accept his observations in slight jest to add to the apparent light-heartedness of the conversation.

“Though neither is to be forgotten nor disregarded in any way, I can not help but to feel further equality is possible still, and I would very much, with your help and permission, of course, like to attempt to achieve it. What say you?"

“Well, you certainly have my curiosity,” she declared with an accepting look and with that, a slightly puckish challenge crept into her eyes. “I say we have agreed terms in you offer me similar aid?”

Well, he had said that he wanted to be ‘just Octavien’ for a while, had he not? So, here was her chance to see the man behind the Prince once more, for whatever reason.

“My name is Isabella Devine,” she started, adhering to the terms by purposefully leaving out her title the way he had done in the ballroom, before proceeding to make one more request: “Please call me Bella.”

“However,” she began finishing off. “I must disagree that you ponder too much for your own good. I think it's the sign of a very healthy mind...,” she confessed, a shy smile spelling itself out once more as she turned her glance to the lawn before them. “At least I hope so.”

And there it was, her first donation of the help he’d asked for, the admission that she too was prone to lose herself to her thoughts. Though, really, given what she’d said to him in that ballroom, it was probably a realisation he’d already reached.

(((OOC: Works fine for me, Atropa Also, hope this makes sense, I think I rambled a little… okay, a lot :D)))

Marie-Elisabeth & Amelie : Gardens
 

César and Joséphine - de la Valliére suite
 

When waiting for Joséphine to wake up, César had not been sure which would turn out to be the worst; the anticipation of her waking up, not knowing how long it would be before she did, or coming directly face to face with her, anticipating the confrontation that was inevitable, and knowing he would be mere moments away from hearing things he dreaded, things that had kept him lying awake for large portions of the last two nights.

Now he knew. These moments, with her about to speak what was on her mind, although so very few, held far more distress to him than however long he had spent waiting for her to wake up, while wallowing in regret, hurt, and anxiety. Compared to this, it had been a cakewalk. Yet no matter how strong the urge to stand up and walk away to escape whatever it was she was about to tell him, César remained determined to suffer through it. He owed her that much, to say the least. He knew that, and he really did want to sort things out. And there was no way they would ever accomplish that, if he would or could not allow her to say her peace.

Thus, he willed himself to remain in his seat, staring blankly at some random spot on the floor, as Joséphine began to speak. Though within moments, as she confessed to there having been just one other kiss aside from the one he had seen, his eyelids descended over his weary eyes for a few seconds, in what might have been the sign of relief, but which might also just as well have been an increased effort to brace himself.

The truth of the matter, was that it was a little bit of both. It was indeed a tremendous relief to hear that there had been just one other kiss, no matter how hard it was to hear that months had passed since, without neither Joséphine nor Octavien breathing a word about it. But he still could not shake the feeling that there was more to it all than that, and so he had remained as prepared as he could possibly be, for something far worse.

When it didn't come, and instead reassurances of her love for César and none - at least not of a romantic nature - for Octavien flowed from her lips, joined by the gentle touch of her other hand upon his other arm, and a plea for him to believe her, his eyes opened once again, to find her on the floor infront of him, looking up at him, with that same plea written in her eyes. Gazing down at her, now unable to tear his eyes from her face, where before he had been unable to look into hers, how could he not believe her? If the fact that she confessed to something he would have never found out about if she hadn't wasn't enough for him to trust her words, the genuine emotion and sincerity in those darling green eyes was. Overcome by relief, though now feeling twice as guilty as his own indescretions had gone far beyond two mere kisses shared with the same person, César reached for her, cupping her face in his hands and leaning forward to press his lips against hers in a fervent yet somehow slow and light kiss. It might not be a welcome gesture, considering he himself had yet to apologize or even explain, but he couldn't help himself. Right then, there were no words to express what he could possibly want to say, and so his actions had to speak for him. Even though some doubts still lingered, the past two days having held ponderings far too intense and dark to be easily dismissed, at that very moment, what mattered most to César was that Joséphine did indeed love him, and not Octavien, and that she too seemed willing to try and sort things out.

Seconds later, when their lips parted, César did not recline back in the chair once more, but instead kept Joséphines face gently cupped in his hands, his forhead resting lightly against hers as he struggled to put his own thoughts into words. It seemed he had so much to answer for, he didn't know quite where to begin... and so the first thing to come over his lips, was the first thing to appear tangible, to stand out from the rest;

"I have not touched her."

'Her', of course, being Marie-Elisabeth. After having had the accusation of 'traipsing around the Palace with that Comtesse' hurled at him, he realized what Joséphine might have been thinking when for two night in a row he had forsaken his marital bed, and in this moment of clarity and insight, he also realized how it had to have made her feel, to have a 'rival' so very close, living under the same roof even, and so as it was one case where he was (fairly) innocent, though ironically more thanks to Marie-Elisabeth than himself, he needed for Joséphine to know.
And, once he had started, the rest just seemed to pour out of him;

"I will not say that the thought hasn't crossed my mind, because it has. But... she wouldn't..."

There he interrupted himself, as he realized Joséphine might not be all that interested in hearing details, considering the general idea of what she felt he had done to her had seemed painful enough. And so even though Marie-Elisabeth deserved to have him tell Joséphine that she had, in a manner of speaking, turned him down, it would just have to wait.

"I'm sorry", he thus continued, withdrawing ever so slightly to be able to look Joséphine in the eyes. "It has never been my intention to hurt you, I've never done what I've done with the intention of doing it to you. It's never had anything to do with you, or with us, and... and so I guess I never realized it would hurt you like this."

Amelie finally dared to look up at who she'd bumped into. She took a long gaze at her elegant white dress and smooth facial features and silently gasped. It looked like she was going to have a tougher time fitting in than she'd thought.
“You really ought to watch where you’re going more carefully miss. You never know who you’ll run into out here. I'm Marie-Elisabeth, Marquise de Valois by the way. And who are you". She said, and Amelie could pick up that she was annoyed by the interruption.
Gushing again, Amelie cleared her throat quietly, hand on her chest, and spoke up.
"Uh, my name is Amelie. Baroness de la Rougemont Chateau; my husband and I arrived a few days ago, madame. So sorry to interrupt your day, Marquise.." Weakly she offered a hand to shake, knowing not where to set her eyes or if that was appropriate. It was the first noble she'd met since arriving, and she was already embarrassed of herself.


((OOC: Haha, awkward turtle!))

Marie-Elisabeth & Amelie : Gardens
 

Octavien and Bella - Palace gardens
 

Making his way along the path cutting through the large patches of fresh green, in a slow-paced stroll, with Bella by his side and her arm resting daintily upon his, Octavien was starting to allow himself to relax. It was a beautiful day, with a bright clear sky above, showering everyone that set foot outside with sunlight, with life, and despite all his troubles, he couldn't help but feel as though they were all being washed off of him. He knew it was only temporary, as his troubles had yet to be resolved and it would not be easily done, but that only made him appreciate this moment of solace even more. It gave him room to breathe, to take a step back and gain some perspective and objectivity for when he would be forced to throw himself back into the tangle of troubles, duties and expectations.

What he didn't know, however, was if it was in fact the sun and the surroundings that flushed his mind of all deep and for the most part sombre thoughts, or the company. Probably a combination of the two, as one seemed to only heighten his awareness of the other. Bella, though they had only met twice prior to the current encounter, did come across as a most down to earth young woman, with an all around amiable way of expressing and carrying herself. The Prince was still wary, of course, but that was not really due to Bella herself, but rather to the experiences and wisdoms recently gained. Octavien had learned his lesson about taking an immediate liking to someone, the most unsympathetic Duc d'Lorraine and the treacherous Baroness Flight being two prime examples why he shouldn't. But even though he tried to remain careful of what he said or otherwise revealed to her, he did find it difficult not to be drawn in by Bella's affability, and the fact that she was a new arrival, and as far as he knew had yet to make friends with... well, anyone really, let alone someone who didn't think very highly of him, and/or could risk making his life difficult if they decided to try, put him yet a little bit more at ease around her. Furthermore, she also did not seem to judge him for every single detail he might be doing wrong, neither, unlike some. In fact, she seemed like the type that rather than stand around and raise an accusatory eyebrow if he did do something wrong, but not a finger to actually help, she would be the type of person to smooth things over somehow, by pretending not to notice, or even do something to make his own deed seem most appropriate.

Of course, this was all speculation on his part, and he had learned by now that his gut instinct about people was no longer to be trusted at all times, like it had been once, but... He just couldn't help but to hope that instead of constantly having his bitterness fuelled, there would be an exception somewhere. Isabella had been one, but with her gone, he really did need another to keep his head above the surface, and not sink deeper into bitterness and cynicism. And right now, he was hoping that exception could be Bella.

"Well, you certainly have my curiosity", she replied to his suggestion, then added with an ever so slight sparkle of mischief in her eyes; "I say we have agreed terms in you offer me similar aid?"

Being a gentleman, and one currently trying to form an equal and mutual friendship, Octavien wouldn't dream of asking to recieve without being willing to give in return, and so to that question, he swiftly offered a nod of agreement, as a silent way of saying 'why, of course'.

"My name is Isabella Devine", the Comtesse said, willingly taking the first step into their friendly little game, though knowingly or not, doing so without really offering something Octavien didn't already know. But she did offer one of the most undisputed forms of friendship; the permission for him to call her not only by her first name, but by what seemed to be her nickname; "Please call me Bella."

It was a gesture which he genuinly appreciated, as it obliterated the reserved distance usually lingering even between people who had known eachother for years, but never put aside their titles.

"However", she then continued. "I must disagree that you ponder too much for your own good. I think it's the sign of a very healthy mind... At least I hope so."

Accompanying those last words was a slightly bashful smile, indicating they reflected on herself just as much as they did on her perception of him, and a warm smile spread onto the Prince's lips in return. Ah, that's right, during their first meeting, she too had hinted at a tendency to lose herself to thoughts and ponderings of the past, present and future, just like the ones he had alluded to during the first couple of minutes of their initial conversation. Apparently, he wasn't the only one with a troubled mind. And quite frankly, it would have been most extraordinary if he had been. Everyone had their cross, or even crosses to bear. And, he had to admit, it did spark his curiousity even more, making him wonder what hers was. Though they were still quite far from being comfortable enough that it would not seem improper to pry, and any guesses would be wild stabs in the dark, for there was no way for him to possibly know even a fraction of what might be troubling her, nor had she given him a whole lot to go on. Her name, that was pretty much all he had to go by, and not even that told him very much, despite the fact that as a royal, he really should be a little more up to date on the who's who of European nobility. He did recognize the name, Devine, but could not really place it more precisely. When first they met, she had introduced herself as a Baroness, meaning it most likely originated from the Divine barony, an area not all that far from where Octavien himself had his roots, but he wasn't quite sure exactly how far it was. That's what he got for not paying too much attention to matters of little concern to him. Or rather, they had been of little concern to him growing up, as he had been quite preoccupied with other things. It was only once he had been sent off to court, and re-arranged his priorities, that he had started taken an interest in the nobles around him, and in Europe. And given the size of the task, it would take a while before he knew as much as a Prince would be expected to.

Though in all fairness, most Princes, most any royals really, had advisors, and other people to keep track of the nobles for them. Octavien, still left to fend pretty much for himself by the King and the Duc, had no such informant. César would have made a perfect one, he knew these things. Ever the socialite, he had always made a point of keeping track of the what's and the who's of the French nobility, as well as a few of the other European ones. But... Needless to say, now would not be a good time to ask him to share what he knew...

The thought made a faint shadow steal briefly across Octavien's face, as he was once again reminded of the one thing that was currently troubling him more than any other, but as he was determined that he did need a break from it all, to better evaluate the situation later, he soon forced it all out of his mind, and the smile back to his lips, where once it settled it returned to it's usually soft, unconstrained appearance.

"Well then", he conceded. "I shall not argue. And since I am to call you Bella, I must insist that you call me Octavien, even though I suspect there are certain people who would deem it most improper. However, should someone dare to fault you for it, just tell them I insisted. I doubt they'd be very surprised."

Having spoken those last coule of words with a certain degree of sarcasm, his tone of voice and the slightly acidic look in his eyes then changed, and he was once again back to his amiable self.

"Now, I must ask you to please forgive my ignorance", he continued, "and myself for prying, but there is something of which I can't help but be curious. When first we met, you introduced yourself as Baroness Isabella Devine, and because you did not know me, I got the impression that your stay at the Palace had been only hours long, a day at the most. Yet by the next morning, the King bestowed on you the title of Comtesse, for 'excellent services to Country, Court, and King'. While I in no way doubt that you are capable of such services, it does seem rather... sudden, for such a promotion so soon?"


(((ooc: slytherin - It was great! Very well done. Though the history itself bums me out, cuz Anne's always been my favorite. And he had her killed. :weep: (And yes, I know this all happened almost 500 years ago, but bleh. Still don't like it. *s*) )))

Bella and Octavien - Palace Gardens
 

It was a dangerous game to play. It was the art of tightrope walking, the very act of passing through the parted sea, waiting and waiting for the rope to break or for the sea to close in, devouring. Well, it would have been rather well earned, would it not? For Bella was under no delusions about her own actions – she knew why she was doing what she was doing – but she could not help but wonder whether she was somewhat delusional about the consequences that her acts carried.

The advantages were obvious. Of course, gaining the favour of the Princess was more than simply advisable. Elena would simply not accept a figurehead position and would aim for significant, if not absolute, power in some way. Thus, in her pocket, so to speak, Bella stood to gain appreciably and not just regarding the whereabouts of her father. Yes, that was the primary goal, but Bella possessed a mind that moved to see alternative opportunities for itself. If it came to a point where her father’s status ceased being the prominent indicate of Bella’s arrangement with Elena – for reasons for which the Comtesse refused to ponder over – it would not be the case that Elena simply let her walk away.

Bella had given her a taste of what she had to gain from such a conspiracy with another courtier. Furthermore, Bella had been on excellent form so far, giving Elena little reason to regret her offer or her decision. Egocentricity aside, it would be difficult for Elena to secure such an affiliation with another courtier of Bella’s accomplishment. She would probably manage, but it would be difficult nonetheless and the waiting period would probably be something Elena would rather avoid. Leaving the deal would also prove detrimental to Bella in other ways, for Elena would simply hold this over her forever. Hence, the only way was to contemplate what else Bella stood to gain from this.

The disadvantages were frightening. First and foremost was the fact that Octavien could discover their arrangement so easily. A note in Bella’s handwriting or a letter with a name mentioned, something amiss. Her Excellency was his wife after all, he could accidentally find something so easily. That would turn so easily catastrophic, for a modest Prince or no, Octavien was not likely to take such apparently flippant betrayal easily. There was also what Bella would do in this, for even if his discovery did not take the course of serendipity, if she were to befriend him, there would be the element of give and take and surely she ran the risk of telling him something she shouldn’t have. One cannot know another without the other knowing them at least a little.

"Well then,” he replied having rid himself of the small shadow in his eyes, evocative that a similar triad of thoughts had torn through his mind. "I shall not argue. And since I am to call you Bella, I must insist that you call me Octavien, even though I suspect there are certain people who would deem it most improper.”

It had been Bella’s personal opinion that many favoured Octavien for his socialist approach to the court. After all, no-one liked being reminded that they were less important. However, it seemed that the man himself had different ideas, appearing almost constrained by his own position when it came to his freedom with amicability.

“However, should someone dare to fault you for it, just tell them I insisted,” he advised to which Bella gave an accepting nod. “I doubt they'd be very surprised."

There was the slightest tinge of bitterness to that, that he knew he wasn’t conforming to the precedents, that he knew it raised considerable eyebrows and evidently he was standing his ground regardless of their invective. Yes, he was evidently rebellious at that, but it wasn’t that he didn’t care – for obviously, it had affected him somewhat. And it seemed to be something he did not wish to show, for as soon as the acerbic tenor manifested, it was banished.

"Now, I must ask you to please forgive my ignorance,” he moved on as Bella watched and listened with interest. "And myself for prying, but there is something of which I can't help but be curious. When first we met, you introduced yourself as Baroness IsaBella Devine, and because you did not know me, I got the impression that your stay at the Palace had been only hours long, a day at the most.”

Bella turned to the path before them, a knowing smile growing upon her features. Yes, that question regarding her title change then? Granted, he was quite right at being curious, but in all honestly, the only answer she could present him with was that she did it out of flippancy. Yet, it was more to do with raising her own profile within the court – networking was so much easier when everyone was already curious.

“Yet by the next morning, the King bestowed on you the title of Comtesse, for 'excellent services to Country, Court, and King'. While I in no way doubt that you are capable of such services, it does seem rather... sudden, for such a promotion so soon?"

“I simply wanted a change of title,” she admitted, turning to Octavien with slight sheepishness, a matching smile becoming her lips. “For myself, to mark my arrival at court. I know, it’s rather flippant of me, but…,” she trailed off, her eyes turning to the gravel path for a moment in search for the significance that it held for Bella herself rather than her purpose here, before she gazed back at him. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

“I hope you don’t think me too intrusive for asking,” she began slowly as a question born of her own curiosity crept into her mind. “What made you choose life at court?”

(((OOC: Hope this works for you, Atropa So sorry for the delay!

Robyn, will watch the video as soon as I get my beloved laptop back, but meanwhile, just want to say, I love Anne too! It's quite ironic that she was the only wife that gave him the type of heir he wanted. Joke's on Henry VIII )))

César and Joséphine - de la Valliére suite
 

As a young man of his time, César had learned that in life, there were many things a man could do, and would do, that a woman could not. At least not as openly as the men could. Already as a child he had learned that men, to a certain extent, did not have to marry until they wanted to, that they had the freedom of going places without a chaperone to watch over their virtue, that they could speak freely and have their opinions listened to and respected, and that they could own land and businesses without it being the result of much fuss, or tragedy of some kind. All these things, he had been told by his father as a child, and then grown up to experience them first hand himself. And he had realized that his father had been right.

It was no conundrum then, that there were other things César had observed men do, his father in particular, and taken them too to be correct, to be part of a man's life and rights, even though they were sometimes things his father had not discussed with him in great detail, or even at all. César was an observant young man; he watched, and he learned, and though he often questioned as well, as alert and inquiring minds tend to do, the answer, if lacking something more tangible, sometimes ended up being that his father did it, and seemed to be respected for it by his peers.

Such was the case of his father's extramarital affairs. Not that César blindly believed everything his father did was right, but when no one objected to what was done, but rather seemed to view it as an accomplishment, and even César's mother accepted it, it was only natural that César himself started viewing it the same way, and saw all the things that justified it, and very few of the ones that condemned it. Therfore, once he married he, much like his father, continued to appreciate the beauty of other women, and doing it up close, without feeling it had anything to do with his relationship with Joséphine. He was a ladies man, he always had been, even before he married, and so since he had the 'right' to keep appreciating women even as a married man, he did, and never really saw the problem with it. He loved his wife, she loved him, and their marriage was thriving. The only reason why he kept his affairs from her, was because he had learned that women tended to be jealous creatures, and didn't like to have 'rivals' be mentioned or seen, even if they knew they existed.

It was something César had understood, logically, but never emotionally. He knew some of the mistresses he'd had, had kept other lovers as well, and he hadn't really cared, though he did of course prefer if they didn't, for the simple convenience of it, and of succeeding to bed a woman others didn't. But jealousy? No, that was a feeling he had never known. Until he had seen Octavien and Joséphine kiss. Then, and only then, had he learned what jealousy truly was, and what it did to the human heart, and soul.

It had turned things upside down for him, tossed around his values and arguments until he no longer knew which end was up, and so when Joséphine's heartfelt question spilt from her lips, pleading for an answer as to why he had done what he had done, at first he could do nothing but simply look at her, with no answers to give.

"Then, why?" she had asked, gazing intently at him, but her tone devoid of the anger it had held when last she had asked that question. "Why did you?"

Indeed, why? How did he explain to her, now that he had felt what she must have felt for years, that he hadn't thought it was all that important, that he hadn't seen the harm? That he had thought of it as his privilege as a man? That a part of him still did? Changing one's beliefs because of a single event, no matter how earth shattering, was not something easily done.

"I don't know...", he said eventually, and reclined against the back of the chair with a defeated sigh. "Because it had nothing to do with you, or us. Because it didn't make me love you any less. Because I wanted to, and didn't see that it mattered. Because I could, and because I thought I should."



(((ooc: Have no idea if any of it makes any sense. Had a splitting headache when I wrote it. :/ )))

Amelie felt herself blush all over when her hand was politely ignored. She quickly pulled it back to her waist, and folded her hands together stiffly.
“You’re certainly lucky to have your husband at court with you.” She smiled sadly as the Marquise mentioned her husband.
"I'd like to think so, yes... Oh, so I heard. Unfortunately my husband and I seem to have missed it." Amelie hastily changed the subject, continuing the conversation. "So what are the people like here?" Looking down, she laughed shyly. "To be honest, I've never been the best at settling to new people and places." She was still rather red, and calmed down her anxious mind by gazing around at the beautiful scenery. Amelie wondered if Ralph would be gone for the whole day. This wasn't the Ralph she first knew - He'd changed since a short time after their wedding, and Amelie didn't know why.. She was just starting to feel lonely again.



((Bleh/Wow, tiny post, still getting used to things.. Haha poor Amelie & Marie-Elisabeth. What an awkward conversation!))

Marie-Elisabeth & Amelie : Gardens
 

Octavien and Bella - Palace gardens
 

Gaining a title, Octavien knew, was not an endeavour easily accomplished, and the lower rank you had to begin with, the harder it got, as the higher ranking ones were already the favored ones. Perhaps not the the nobles themselves, personally, but their families, the name itself. Many of the lesser nobles thus usually remained where they were, unless they truly did service their country, court and King in a way remarkable enough to deserve official recognition. And that was not a thing easily done. Granted, Octavien himself had succeeded, and not just in rising from one rank to another, but in actually gaining a rank to begin with, something most would deem even more impossible. But, it had been a rare occurance indeed, and would never have happened, had he not had the good fortune of coming across the Queen herself, lost in the forest, and graciously guided her back to the Palace without commenting on that very observation. And, even though it had sparked a most... interesting friendship, Octavien wasn't quite sure why she had seen to it that he was knighted; because of his deeds, or because she could not allow herself to take a more personal interest in a lowly commoner? For no matter how wealthy he and his family were, they had still been regarded as commoners.

However, while somehow earning the favor of a royal was the way most likely to earn you a promotion, it was not the only way. There was also the simple and somewhat tasteless matter of money. Bribery, really, if one was to call things by their rightful names. It was amazing what a small donation to the royal treasury would do for your career and status.

So, the question on Octavien's mind had been in what manner Bella had gained her title as Comtesse. Had she been of service to the country, the court or the King somehow before arriving here, and come to accept her reward? Had she, in that minute period of time she must have spent in court and out of Octavien's company, managed to somehow perform a deed which had impressed the King or his close friend the Duc enough for them to decide she was worthy of climbing the ranks? Or, had she simply bought her title? It did seem the most likely one, judging by the answer she gave, and while Octavien, even when still a commoner, had never considered doing it for himself, he couldn't blame her if she had.

"I simply wanted a change of title", she said, shooting him a somewhat bashful smile. "For myself, to mark my arrival at court. I know, it's rather flippant of me, but... It just felt like the right thing to do."

Hmmm... It did sound a little odd, to want a title to mark an occasion such as that, as those who bought their titles usually had quite different things in mind. Increased power, recognition and influence with as little effort as possible being the most common ones. For Octavien, that had not been an option. For him, earning a title had been the way to go, as it would give him a sense of truly deserving it, of being given something because of what he had done, and not because he simply had the money to buy it, as though it was just another commodity, and make it worth little more than a commodity.
But, he didn't judge Bella for doing it, for he was well aware that it was no more easy for a woman to climb the ranks, even if already a noble, than it was for a commoner to be granted a title. And he did doubt that 'marking her arrival at court' was the only reason for her to spending such an obscene amount of money. But as that was the impression she seemed to want to leave him with, then he wouldn't question it, for now, and so simple allowed her to continue;

"I hope you don’t think me too intrusive for asking", she said slowly, as though she was choosing how to properly word the question that was apparently to follow; "What made you choose life at court?"

At that, Octavien's thoughts immediately danced back to touch on the rather heated conversation he'd had with his parents a couple of weeks before coming to court, and the reasons behind it, and he couldn't help but to give a soft chuckle.

"I didn't", he said with a candid smile. "My parents insisted, and left me very few pleasant options if I did not bow to their will."

Glancing around briefly, he then leaned somewhat closer in a playfully conspiring manners, as though he was about to share a secret no one else was to know;

"It seems I had started earning myself a reputation", he said, with his sapphire eyes twinkling with amusement. "One my parents didn't particularly care for. Nor did some of the villagers."

Having said that, he straightened his back once more, and glanced around again, this time taking in the scenery rather than checking to make sure no one was around to eavesdrop.

"I, of course, decided to regard it as another adventure, and thus eventually agreed", he concluded. "And though it's lead me down a path with far more troubles than I was used to, and would like, I can't say I regret it."

App - Jérémie Tison
 

Name: Jérémie Tison
Title: none, page/manservant at the Palace of Light and Air, currently serving Marqés Slazar.
Age: 16
Bio: Since the age of six, Jérémie has been a servant at the Palace of Light and Air. It was only natural that he would be, after all, as he was born the son of one of the kitchen maids, with a father unknown. He was brought up around the Palace kitchen, where he was taught the various chores, and was then put to work as soon as he was deemed old enough. As a child working in a place where he was constantly surrounded by splendor and riches, but always denied them himself, Jérémie decided early on, with the usual stubborn determination of a child, that one day, he too would have a life of wealth and power, with other people waiting on him hand and foot.

Of course, as the years passed and he started maturing, he realized that such a day might never come, as a servant rising to fame and riches was unheard of. But while it did make him lower his goals a bit, it did not dampen his ambition. Oh no, quite the contrary. He was still determined to make life better for himself, one way or another, and he soon learned how. He was an intelligent and observant young man, who watched in secret the decietful games played among the courtiers, and eventually found himself be part of them.

It all started when one afternoon the Comte de Brissac set eyes on the light strawberry blond angel-faced youth, and took an immediate liking to him, demanding that the boy be made his personal manservant. And as servants had no say in the matter of their own fate, Jérémie did not object, nor did his mother. Besides, it WAS a golden opportunity for him to escape the dirty and hard labour of the kitchen, not to mention an opportunity for a slightly increased trickle of money.
However, as it would turn out, there was a darker side to the Comte's liking to Jérémie, and the boy soon discovered that in this case, 'manservant' involved quite a bit more than was the norm. From the first day, the Comte seemed rather friendly towards his lowly servant, and it wasn't long before friendly turned into TOO friendly. Within a week, Jérémie found himself a regular but oh-so-very secret element in the Comte's bed. Against his will, of course, because again, a servant, and especially one so young, was in no position to object. Thus, he suffered the abuse without a word, and as a way of surviving it, eventually got used to it, to the point where he now no longer minds it, and might even, under certain circumstances, appreciate it. Life is after all what you make of it - a lesson he learned early on - and when you realize you have no choice but to suffer through something indefinately, you often adapt to it, you make it work.

Now, to call the relationship 'love' would be a vast overstatement, but there was a certain degree of affection, on the Comte's part. Jérémie, on the other hand, could appreciate his master, but whatever signs of affection he gave, would be a game of make believe. He had long realized that if he wanted to achieve his goals, there was only one person he could afford to care about, and that was himself. Anyone else would just be means to an end. Since becoming the Comte's manservant, Jérémie had gotten a better view of the games he used to observe, a front-row seat one may call it, and he watched and he learned, slowly molding himself into a master of deceit, and exploitation.

About two years ago, the Comte grew restless, and decided to travel to Italy to visit some old friends. Friends who shared his predilection for men, and with whom he consequently did not have to constantly watch his back. Sadly, while in Venice, he fell ill and passed away shortly thereafter, leaving Jérémie with no way whatsoever of getting back home. Or so it would seem. Jérémie had grown into a resourceful young man, and considering the company he and his master had been keeping, there was sure to be someone willing to take him in, either until he had earned enough money to make it back on his own, or until they themselves decided on a visit to the French court. And he knew just where to start; Marqués Alfredo Slazar, a friend of the Comte's, to whom he had spoken rather highly of his young manservant. Needless to say, Jérémie soon found his way into the Marqués' bed as well. However, he soon discovered that while there had been a rather immoral side to the Comte's interest in him, it was nothing compared to how the Marqués sought to avail himself of Jérémie's services. Behind those dark eyes hid a scheming, vengeful mind, seeking to gain leverage on any and everyone that might possible be of use, even his own friends. And in that, Jérémie proved a most useful tool, as he had long ago learned the game of seduction, and to play it so well that the target would be under the impression that it was them that seduced the young man, and not the other way around. All Jérémie did was to plant the thought in their head, and play along when they decided to act on it. Consequently, the Marqués gained the knowledge of a few dirty little secrets that just might be of use later on.

However, Jérémie only stayed in his service for a few weeks, until the Marqués decided to travel back to Spain. Passing through France, the two parted ways and Jérémie returned to the Palace of Light and Air.

Since then he has continued working as a manservant, mostly to temporary guests at the Palace, and as servants often know alot more about what's going on within the walls of the court than do the courtiers themselves, Jérémie's 'secret' is a secret no more among his peers. Thus, whenever a noble rumoured to share the Comte de Brissac's preferences is visiting, Jérémie somehow finds himself in their service. As taught by the Marqués Slazar, he now keeps other people's secrets in the palm of his hand, and will not hesitate to use them to his own benefit, when the right opportunity presents itself. Though sometimes, if he gets impatient, he will create said opportunities himself, scheming and plotting to get what he wants. Indeed, behind the angelic face resides a devious mind of a young man who would not only sell his mother for a nickle, but probably end up stealing her back only to sell her again.

Now, as of a few days ago, he once again finds himself in the temporary service of Marqés Slazar, as the Marqués is now a guest at court, having arrived to witness the union between his cousin Elena and the Prince of France, and decided to stay around for a while, to 'keep an eye' on Elena.


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(((ooc: Sorry for the double post. And Ghanima, if there's something that needs correcting, please let me know.)))

Bella and Octavien - Palace Gardens
 

It had not escaped Bella that what she was supposed to do and what she was doing were very similar. The goal was, and always had been, to gain Octiavien’s trust, for whatever reason. Now, the preliminary reason had been Elena’s commission, but however, Bella had not reckoned on how Octavien himself could sway where her loyalties rooted themselves by being the complete opposite of what she had expected; a rather pompous royal, she had surmised, but a very courteous young man she was presented with.

However, her loyalties had never lay with Octavien, but they had never lay with Elena either. To put it in simple terms, Elena had given reason for Bella’s loyalties to take her interests into consideration. That all aside, the only place where Bella’s loyalties lay –even in the times she refused to accept the fact – was with her father. Finding him had been the steadfast priority for the past… for however long, for calculating the hours simply made her lose hope.

So, everything Octavien presented her with was currency where Elena was concerned. However, here Bella had something that was more dangerous than simple orders – something that made her envy someone like Juanita at a time like this – for she had choice. She wasn’t bound to betray Octavien, she chose to; her reasons, however compelling, had led her to make a choice.

And that choice happened to be one that was never complete. Every moment it threw itself up at her, making her question it again, every time he told her anything at all, it asked her again whether she was right – not justified, but right – in relaying it onto Elena. Here was such a moment.

"I didn't,” he admitted with apparent frankness, which again was secretly stabbing at Bella for her own deceitfulness against his seeming lack thereof. Did her honest smiles look hollow in comparison to his? "My parents insisted, and left me very few pleasant options if I did not bow to their will."

"It seems I had started earning myself a reputation,” he elaborated, having somewhat playfully scouted the perimeter for spies – the irony of it not lost on Bella – the blue of his eyes suddenly light with youth. "One my parents didn't particularly care for. Nor did some of the villagers."

Somewhat of a public scandal? Well, that did tie in rather well with what Bella had heard regarding Octavien’s youthful misadventures.

"I, of course, decided to regard it as another adventure, and thus eventually agreed,” he admitted with pride, seemingly refusing to accept that he’d been ordered to go to court – rather a similar way to Bella, though for different reasons – raising an entertained smile from the Comtesse.

"And though it's lead me down a path with far more troubles than I was used to and would like,” he carried on, to which Bella turned to him, eyebrows raised in interest. Troubles? He had risen to the position of Prince and well, yes, he had most likely married Elena against his will, but she was hardly a wife that men would pity him for. But still, it intrigued her to hear that he considered his journey thus far riddled with dilemma. “I can't say I regret it."

She gave him another warm smile in appreciation of his resilience and her own hint of understanding that it was indeed difficult. Granted, life at court for a young man – and even a young woman – on their own, cut off from family is not an easy road to take and despite where he was now, she could not argue that getting here had been effortless.

“Troubles,” she started somewhat contemplatively before an equally playful look in her eyes flashed at him over the next two words outlining the condition, “once solved, are our best mentors.”

“After all,” she began concluding her perspective with a genial smile and a small tilt of her head. “They serve to shape us, do they not?”

(((OOC: Hope this works for you, Atropa and yay! Jeremie!!! :D

Lol, Octavien, always the fashionista, he even matches the decor Nice pics, Robyn :D)))

César and Joséphine - de la Valliére suite
 

César de la Valliére was, in many ways, a very lucky young man, and in almost equally many ways, he knew it. All of his life he had been loved by those around him; parents, friends, and now his darling wife and daughters as well. He'd been blessed with wealth, good looks and charm, had been desired by women and envied by men, and had never had to suffer the hurt of a truly dire betrayal. He had hurt others, through careless words or actions, but never really been made to answer for it by someone whose methods would actually get to him. Because the only methods that were likely to do so, were those of someone he cared about, and none of the people he cared about had ever confronted him for the sins he had committed against them. Granted, he'd had his fights with Joséphine where he'd been made to eat his words, and Octavien had on occasion let slip some dissapproving remarks regarding something César did, but neither had lead the young Marquis down the path of actual hurt. Which would explain why he'd had some misconceptions regarding how he sometimes made others feel, and why when it finally happened to him, he hadn't been prepared for what it would do to him, and thus also why he had reacted so strongly. Hurt, and fury fuelled by hurt, had struck him like lightning, and he'd lost every trace of self-control. He had learned then what betrayal felt like.

Later, when he had been left to wallow in the, quite frankly, self-induced misery that lasted for almost two days, he had finally realized that he and his deeds must have made Joséphine feel much the same way. There was still a difference, in that while César had never touched any of the women Joséphine might consider friends, she had kissed one of the closest friends he had. Though in a way, that would probably make the severity of each their betrayal somewhat even, as the gravity of her choice of 'partner' measured up to the sheer number of his.

It had been a most brusque awakening, to say the least. But even though he was beginning to understand what he himself had done to her, regardless of the fact that he hadn't been aware that he was hurting her, nor ever meant to do so, and even though the realization might have caused his reasoning to go through some changes over the past couple of days, it did not erase the past, and the way he had viewed the matter then. And so, when she had asked for for his reasons for doing what he had done, he'd had to answer what his thoughts had been then. Honesty had been silently agreed upon. César had decided to stick to it, and not just because he thought what he had to say - that his infidelity had had nothing to do with her, or their marriage, and thus was not a sign of him loving her no more, or lacking something - would come as a relief to he. If they were going to sort things out, they did need to stay open and honest with oneanother. But, that in no way meant that he had not thought his answer would've caused at least some small sense of relief in her, because he had. He had indeed thought it would easen the burden for her to know that none of his affairs had made him love her any less, and that what he had done, he had done because of reasons that did not include her in any way.

So then, imagine his surprise when his words brought only an even sadder look to her face, and seemed to make her her downright unable to even look at him.

"I used to think I was the reason, and it frightened me", she said with a lowered head. "Now I almost wish it were, for then at least I could influence it."

At that, César was almost about to cut her off to protest, but just then she raised her gaze to meet with his once more, and what ended up getting cut off instead was the breath he had been drawing in order to speak. If this was how she felt, he had to allow her the chance to say it. But did she really not see that influence it was what she had already done? By revealing to him that she knew about his affairs, and how much she was hurting because of them, she had already caused a change in his way of viewing it all. No matter if he'd been hurt or not, or rather because of it, he had been taught his lesson, and he doubted very much that he would ever look at another woman with that desirous appreciation, and not see the image burnt into his mind's eye, of the look on Joséphine's face down by the lake the other night, and of her tears.

"I know I cannot force you to be faithful", she continued, "and if I tried you'd only find other ways to conceal your mistresses from me. If it must be, know now that I prefer honesty. I won't lie, or pretend I don't wish you were mine alone, yet that is a decision only you can make. More than anything, I need you, César, not only for me, Adèle and Angélique, but because it's very likely that someone else will soon need you too."

While speaking those last couple of words, her hands found their way to her abdomen, and César's eyes followed, coming to rest there for a few seconds, before finding their way back to hers. He wasn't quite sure what to address first; the fact that she seemed so unaware of how much it pained him to know he had hurt her, that she thought he actually intended to carry on like before, sans the various 'excuses', or that she seemed to fear that for whatever reason, he would not be there, a child on the way or no.

"But...", he started, still not quite sure what to say, until it was coming out of his mouth. "Joséphine... I'm here. Don't you see that? I'm here, and I always have been."

Though a moment later he fell silent, in what appeared to be contemplative and somewhat guilty afterthought, since obviously according to her, he might not have been.

"At least I've tried to be...", he added slowly.

Octavien and Bella - Palace gardens
 

One might think that after his recent experiences with various people, Octavien would be hesitant to speak about his somewhat colorful past, and the near scandal that had been the reason why his parents had decided that spending some time at court to mature and learn about responsibility, among other things, would do him alot of good. But, in that case, one would be wrong. Octavien knew that, especially as Prince of the kingdom, trying to hide or deny the rumours that were already circulating back home, would be in vain, for sooner or later, they would reach the court somehow, had they not done so already. Rumours did tend to travel fast, and with him now rising to be part of the royal family, the gossipers back home would spread what they 'knew' of the new Prince far and wide, telling it to anyone who would listen. And besides, given the current circumstances, there wasn't much those particular rumours could do to harm him. In fact, if anything, they would be likely to do quite the opposite.

So, while it might seem as though he was sharing a little more than most would deem to be wise, he still remained rather heedful of what actually passed through his lips. He had learned his lesson, and he had done it the hard way, and so would not put his trust in the first person to come along. No matter how beautiful and amiable they might be. However, that did in no way mean he couldn't be genuinly friendly, or enjoy good company, as well as ever so carefully test the waters with those he could see himself befriend on a level that went beyond mere acquaintance, should they prove to be worthy of his trust. For eventually, someone who proved that there were exceptions to the mass of conniving, backstabbing courtiers, did have to come along, no? And hopefully, it would happen sooner rather than later. Because Octavien really did appreciate Bella's company, very much. She was gracious, humble and down to earth, and one could actually hold a perfectly casual conversation with her. Indeed, she seemed a gem amongst rocks already. She seemed to be not only aware of the troubles paving his way up to the point at which he was now finding himself, but acknowledging them as such as well; the rise from being an untitled man to being the Prince, all within a mere few days. Having been at court for only a couple of months and thus not having had time to form solid friendships before advancing so far that now every new acquaintance could not be trusted to not harbour ulterior motives. And, of course, the death of his first wife, followed so soon by the marriage to his second. Indeed, it was not hard to see that Octavien had every reason to consider his existence a rather troubled one.

"Troubles", Bella started after giving the subject a few moments of thought, and continued while giving him a glance similar to the blithe one he had shot her when revealing his reasons for coming to court, "once solved, are our best mentors. After all, they serve to shape us, do they not?"

The last couple of words saw a warm smile claim her lips; one that drew a similar, albeit just a hint more melancholic one from Octavien's as well. She did have a point, he had to admit, for while he didn't necessarily enjoy his troubles, he did have enough sense to appreciate them, to a certain extent, as they did leave him with valuable experiences, regarding life, other people, and most importantly about himself.

"That is true, Comtesse", he said, and gave a slow, contemplative nod, as if even though he agreed, it was not in full. "That is true. But, unfortunately, it's not always for the better."

((ooc;; Heyy everyone x]] I know I've been gone for a while now, but as real life has calmed down some, I really want to get back into the Court. Recently, I've had a lot to get on with, as well as moving house to a different part of the country. I've missed it here, and as soon as I'm finished taking some pretty pictures in-game I'll have a new app up.

I've definately missed it here, and because the Court never seems to quiet down I don't think Roseline will be coming back, so I'll know as little as someone new xPP

Glad to be back guys x]] ))

Bella and Octavien - Palace Gardens
 

It was a sort of a dawning feeling that in the basics, everyone was the same. That time had progressed for too long to continue its originality and hence all that was will be again. In that case, what were troubles? Small diversions, small acts of randomness to food everyone into thinking that perhaps they truly were that different? Just momentary tributes of despair then, to prove, against all logic that this time, against all odds, things were completely exclusive and thus, perhaps irredeemable.

However, though the impossibility of elucidation in the case of problems themselves was a thin myth, there was an element that did indeed give the events a worthy existence of their own, inimitability. The people involved were always inimitable. The single traits they possessed were often shared with countless others, but the compilation for the whole was one with no match. Hence, though each problem had repeated itself countless time before, the players were always different, and hence, the outcome was beyond the reach of monotonous prophecy.

Octavien, to Bella, seemed to be the most delightful young man, and her words to Elena, ‘the People’s Prince’, were truly justified. He was modest without being embarrassingly humble, approachable without desperate invite, dignified without grandiosity. He was everything a Prince should be without everything Princes were feared to be. Yet, it was a small trick of life that perfection, where it was, often hid a darker element. Octavien could not have risen to his position without a few tricks, Bella knew. The question lay in what these tricks were and whether he knew truly what they did.

"That is true, Comtesse,” he gave slow concurrence with a poignant smile, Bella noticing silently that he had reverted back to using her title. "That is true. But, unfortunately, it's not always for the better."

This drew a small flash of curiosity within her eyes, that he had considered his changes – granted, judging the ones she knew of – being for the worse. Ascension to the throne – albeit currently incomplete – was hardly a matter for lamentation. Though, perhaps it was not the end itself that he begrudged; perhaps it was the journey. After all, the journey could often change the goal, or at least the taste of victory, could it not?

Though, Bella’s contemplations regarding his personal circumstances aside, she considered his words in a more universal perspective. Yes, indeed it was true that not all change was for the better, in fact, she knew that all too well. After all, sometimes she felt that it simply wasn’t worth it anymore to search the ends of the Earth for a man who simply did not recognise that such a search was effected, or worse yet, revelled in its avoided fruition… such thoughts were quickly dismissed; Bella was in too deep to give up now.

Hence, there was her strong belief that with change, though the incipient storm could be devastating in it’s wrath, the calm following offered renewal.

“Very true,” she conceded with a slight tilt of her head as she reflected the words once more before deciding that her feelings over it stood firm and her agreement with his beliefs were not absolute. “At least, not at first.”

(((OOC: Hope this makes sense, Atropa, basically wrote it on a burst of inspiration (:D), but not sure if it's even vaguely coherent...)))

Brigitte De Royan [App]
 

Name: Brigitte De Royan
Title: Untitled [Baron's Daughter]
Age: 23
Bio: The middle child of a well off, and overtly ambitious family, Brigitte was often left looking after her younger siblings and always in the shadow of her older ones. Overlooked during her childhood, Brigitte took the ability of blending into the background onto her adult years. None of the influencial nobles that her father had pushed his three beautiful daughters on remembered the middle child, and Brigitte, to her dismay when she allowed herself to dwell on the fact, had gotten used to it. Though she had, perhaps more than any of his children, inherited her fathers great ambitions Brigitte found that she couldn't act on them in her small town in western France.

Other than the small dark spot on Brigitte's life, she had a privelleged childhood. She had as many toys as she could imagine, and her siblings were always avaliable to play with. The children could be found all over the large country estate that her father owned, and Brigitte often imagined him suiting the role of someone of a higher class, something she later grew to realise as what he wanted to portray. All five were educated, and the three girls were spoilt by sharing their brothers' tutor for many years. She adored being able to dress up in gorgeous and extravagent dresses for the many parties her father held, and then later for the many balls that she was taken to. Now, with both of her sisters married off to influencial men, and her brothers gaining work Brigitte found herself the only child left in the country home. Not for the first time, she had a burning desire to get out and become something more. Not for the first time, she wished to go to the Court of Light and Air.

Now, Brigitte faces her bright future at Court, a dream that she has had for many years. Yet, do as she might to cover it, apprehension clouds her vision. Though she has buried it deeply, the self-doubt that came from being second, third, forth and usually last to be mentioned, ever nerved her. Her mothers parting word to her had been to be confident in herself, and she knew to succeed she must portray it. But the seed of doubt of herself was there and she realises she must cover it, completely to survive, and make it at Court.

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