Marqiuse and Maquis de Valois: The Gardens
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(((OOC: Approachable

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

Octavien
 

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bella - Gardens - Insomina attacks
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Octavien
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Octavien - wedding
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

paintedgray, Elektra, where are you guys?


Also, it's now Afternoon. ))

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

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

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

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

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

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

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