The Peacock and Swan Descend [Closed]

by **Izzyshipper** » Wed Aug 21, 2013 2:25 pm

Night had descended upon the Grand Duchy of Capia-Elyne. Her silent, sweet embrace enveloped the islands, quenching light, summoning the beasts that thrived in the darkness and causing eyelids to droop. Silence was all that could be heard in Imarin, callously broken by the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the chirping of insects. Yet, in the centre of this little city, in the Grand Ducal Palace there was no such luxury as sleep in the night.

There was a silence there, yet it was one pregnant with fear and worry. In a little room few knew of, the Supreme Council had assembled. Albrecht Mardena, Baron of Heimsen and Lord of the Council, sighed a little as he looked around the table. These where serious men, the Grand Dukes may have came and went in rapid succession but they had remained constant, they were serious men but they were also anxious ones. They were but a few reasons why the Council would be roused from their beds at such a time and haste, none of them where good.

“Gentlmen,” Albrecht said, his hands resting on the table, “I come with grave news. His Royal Highness, the Grand Duke, is dead.”

Silence once more reigned. It would have been better, Albrecht thought, if they had suddenly burst into arguments and weeping. Yet they hadn’t, they just sat there thinking. Leaving a little time for the news to sink in Albrecht continued, “We are all aware of the implications, gentlemen, Alphonse was our last hope – the House of Verdona is no more. The question is, who will succeed it?”

There was a subtle change in the atmosphere in the room, the Councilors eyes suddenly lighting up with intoxicating ideas. Albrecht resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Gentlemen, let us not forget that none of us here have a claim to the bloodline. God’s breaths, The Grand Dukes haven’t married one of our lot for nearly four hundred years.”

The Councillor’s seemed to deflate a little at the reprimand, distancing themselves from each other as though the very thought that they would try and claim the title for themselves was ridiculous.

“So, what now?” someone asked quietly.

“Now,” Albrecht replied, his face heavy with fatigue, “We await for the vultures to descend. They are a number of claimants to the throne, my Lords, yet among them are two sovereigns - they alone will have the teeth and gold to make real their claim."

"A foreign King to rule us?" William, Count of Holzern growled. The man was an impressive specimen, over six feet tall and a powerful collection of muscle, his every movement seemed to be a repressed aggressive impulse.

"Queen, actually," Albrecht sighed, wishing nothing more than to be curled up in his study, a glass of wine in hand and his problems far away. "Two Queen's have the right to ascend the Grand Ducal throne, Sophia of Izzyshipper and Augusta of Evraim."

"A woman!" William snorted, his beefy fist pounding the table, "You expect the proud men of Capia-Elyne to be subjected to the rule of a petticoat government?"

"Unless you know of a way we can repel their armies that surely will sweep towards us once they learn of Alphonse's death, unless you wish to drag our peaceful islands into the bloodiest war in it's history." Albrecht replied with quiet resignation, with the certainty of someone who had been mulling over such scenarios for hours before hand.

"Do not wait for the snake to strike," Albrecht quoted, "Grasp it by the head. We can not wait for war to come to us, my Lords, send an envoy to both their governments. Let us pray to God that they obliterate themselves in their scramble to claim us."

~*~

Sophia, Queen of Izzyshipper sat comfortably in the small throne of her audience chamber. Reclined with the poise and carriage of someone who had from birth been trained in the exact manner to move and walk. She waved the fan of peacock feathers at her face, stirring the humid air of the palace feebly wishing for it to cool her face from the unforgiving mercy that was high summer in Izzyshipper.

The Queen's ladies in waiting where kneeling in well-stuffed cushions in a rough semi-circle, mirror images of their mistress as they waved their own less opulent fans in an effort to cool their flushed face and breasts. Sat beside Sophia, in much less formidable chairs, was Sir Alexander Hughes, the Minister for Foreign Affairs and Lady Mary Weaver, Secretary of State.

The three most powerful political potentates in Izzyshipper had gathered to hear from the envoy from Capia-Elyne, a surprisingly handsome youth. His copper hair matched the bronzed tone of his skin, his eloquent voice rich and melodious. He was a excellent candidate for a diplomat, Sophia mused as she sipped her wine, the sharp notes characteristic of the new wines imported from Sophiana. Pretty enough to be a distraction, for those foolish enough to ignore the sharp look of shrewd intelligence in his eyes.

Sophia snorted in derision at the thought, did the Capian's think her so devoid of political instinct to be swayed by the sweet words of a fresh faced boy? Perhaps they believed the throne of the Peacock Queen was so easy to maintain that she merely entertained herself with salons and soirées, wine and the attentions of favourites. They would learn, she vowed, to doubt the power of the Queen of Izzyshipper was an invitation to ruin.

"Therefore, the Supreme Council have heard of your Majesty's wisdom, your skill in command and the happiness you have brought to your subjects and the love they have for you." The envoy paused, as if hesitating to say something, before continuing with a merest hint of a stutter, "But they failed to mention the beauty of your Majesty."

Sophia smiled briefly, appreciating how well played the man's flattery had been. The right amount of internal debate, the slight embarrassment in his manner. Yet the words sounded too scripted from his mouth, there was not the tell-tale red tinge around the cheeks of those truly flustered.

"We thank you for your information, The Queen of Izzyshipper does mourn her departed cousin and we pray to the All-Mighty God for his safe passage and mercy on his immortal soul." Sophia replied, standing up, "We do ask you to retire to the apartments provided to you, so that we may discuss with our counsel on the matter."

The envoy smiled at her, with a small wink bowed before he departed. Sophia was tempted to call him back and show him the proper respect due to a God Anointed Queen. Yet she waved her irritation away, the thrill of political intrigue rapidly replacing the annoyance within her mind.

"What do you advise?" Sophia asked, turning with a swish of skirts and made her way back to her throne.

"Send our armies, we must secure our place before even a single stroke of Queen Augusta's pen replies to the Capians." Mary Weaver said, a fiery look within her eyes.

"We are reminded of the beauty of the scriptures in such an occasion," Sophia replied with a dismissive look, "Psalm 55:23, "Bloodthirsty men shall not see out half their days. War is expensive, Lady Weaver, with uncertain results. We do not wish to antagonise our friends in Evraim."

"They are our friends?" Sir Alexander replied, with a raised eyebrow.

"Those that have wealth and allies are our friends," Sophia replied sharply, "Especially ones I am not convinced we could defeat."

"Then negotiation is your best recourse," Alexander replied, with a wry smile. The Queen was infamously practical and ruthless in her politics. With no such constrictions of ideologies that bound most politicians, his protégé was was quickly outstripping her mentor in her political acumen.

"Send a message to our ambassador in Evrain," Sophia said, clearly deep in thought, her hand waving away a servant offering a refill for her wine. A clear head was always necessary for such times, wine was nothing more than a distraction. Running a perfectly manicured nail along the arm of her throne. "Inform him of the situation. He is to send our warmest regards to our cousin Queen Augusta, let her knows that the Queen of Izzyshipper despairs of the situation we are in and that an invitation for an envoy to our Kingdom is at her disposal."

Sir Alexander rose, nodding his head. He alone from the Privy Council was exempt from bowing to his Queen - aging joints and favorite status had earned him that privilege. "As you wish, your Majesty."

"As I command," Sophia replied with an amused smile - her retort softened by the hand placed lovingly on the octogenarian's arm. "Leave me, Lady Weaver, I wish for peace with my thoughts."

Lady Weaver nodded, leaving her Queen to her musings. Sophia sat alone in her chamber, her mind far away in the realm of possibilities awaited her - then a solution bloomed within her mind. The Peacock and the Swan where both the birds of Kings, the fruits of such a union where surely sweet enough for the title of Grand Duke.

by **Evraim** » Sat Sep 21, 2013 9:37 pm

Ha Saréyéstrín Sephína, the Summer Palace of Evéstre
Asiléa, the State of Irídár
Ha Duvénasíma Sayónæ ve Everayím

The messenger had been a sad eyed, graceful old man, sporting a miraculously full head of silver hair. He spoke with a polished accent, reminiscent of those educated at Oxford or whichever prestigious school the English were presently rambling on about, solemnly relating the details surrounding the death of their distant cousin. Veressa and her council listened in respectful silence throughout his speech, not bothering to ask questions or to interject with weeping or words of woe. When he had concluded his task, the envoy gave a polite bow and murmured his condolences. An eerie quiet, more stifling than the smog that clogged the mountain passes of Tyres, followed, unbroken for a long time.

"We cannot profess pleasure at these bitter tidings which you proclaim," the Queen replied diplomatically, "All the same, it would be terribly unseemly to neglect expressions of gratitude on account of the services that you have rendered unto us, monsieur. Therefore, we shall endeavor to do so, even as we mourn the untimely demise of our most valiant and beloved cousin." She glanced meaningfully at one of the men seated on her dais. He was rather young for a statesman, and more than passing handsome. A chestnut tumble of tresses fell down to his shoulders, and his cool, gray eyes flickered with the sort of wit and analytic intelligence that one would expect of a courtier. As she peered in his direction, Veressa noted with satisfaction how he averted his gaze. No person, not even one of the noblest blood, was permitted to meet a monarch's stare and survive, though this law had seldom been emphasized through the nation's history.

"Lord Idrissya will make arrangements for this evening's quarters," she informed him. Basile Athanos Maayim ve Corina-Idris smiled cordially, and rose to carry out the orders. "Your Royal and Radiant Majesty honors me," the young courtier said with a curtsy. They left together, the Inúra of Culture and the emissary, strolling down the length of the hall before vanishing from sight. In time, perhaps that one will become one of our favorites, the Queen mused, A clever boy, and predisposing. Pushing these dubious thoughts to the back of her mind, Veressa turned to her current favorite, the Earl of Cassimere.

He was toying with his curled mustachios, a gesture he tended to exhibit when hatching some cunning plot. "What ruminations consume you, our faithful Lord Cassimere?" she inquired fondly. Reuven grinned shrewdly, and, springing elegantly to his feet, sauntered towards the center of the chamber. "Our Royal and Radiant Majesty," he began formally, "Seven and seven times I prostrate myself before the sight of the Queen, and implore Our Royal and Radiant Majesty's leave to inquire of the Queen's council, and to make known our notions and rationalizations." Veressa surreptitiously rolled her eyes. At least, he didn't say, "may you live forever and prosper", she reflected with relief. Ancient and worn was that form of speech, a testament to the reverence the princes of Irídár felt towards their rulers, and their unswerving ability to belabor the point.

"Do as you will, our lord," she allowed, not missing his self-indulgent grin of smug satisfaction. Is he ever without a jape on his tongue? she wondered incredulously, squinting at the libertine courtier. "Seldom does fortune afford us such opportunities to acquire political capital at so meager a price," he said in that hypnotic voice of his, "It would strike me as most imprudent to tarry in asserting the strength of our own claim over that of the Izsérí Queen, and thereby squandering whatever advantage we may presently possess." Lord Cassimere let an electric silence hang pungent in the mid afternoon air for half a minute. During that time, Veressa watched with subdued amusement as her closest advisers squirmed and waited to speak. Balding Lord Ülmer was twitching in anticipation, and periodically wiping sweat from his sloping brow with a white handkerchief drenched in perspiration. Meanwhile, Lord Ichainar was fidgeting, tugging and pulling on the laces that bound his colorful cloak around his weedy neck.

"Caution is its own virtue," Reuven declared, "but I have never known caution to act as the foundation of greatness. If you would have a throne, my queen, you must needs take it, through valor and guile." Finishing his monologue, the Earl gave another dignified curtsy and strode back to his seat. Without delay, the Ravaú Kaséph, a stocky noble by the name of Frédéric Apollinaire Bertram ve Ülmer, who had a noticeable limp in his right leg, a souvenir from the wars against the Anarchists, sprang clumsily from his own perch. "Might I speak within sight of the Queen and Her Royal and Radiant Majesty's council?" he wheezed. "You may, our lord," Veressa replied, "but you shall do so without these perfunctory niceties."

Falling into his chair with an audible puff, the renowned military officer gathered his thoughts briefly before launching into his proposal. "I cannot say that Lord Cassimere is wrong," Frédéric babbled, bobbing his head as he spoke, "What's more, we could secure Your Royal and Radiant Majesty's throne with ease. Deploying a naval squadron might serve. It would compel the highborn princes to acknowledge the legitimacy of our claim, and all without the risk of this dispute escalating into an all-out war. Ground forces wouldn't even be necessary." Lord Ülmer smiled a mostly toothless smile of delight, and drew a map from his cloak, proceeding to demonstrate, with frenetic gestures and a quivering tone, just how his plan might be accomplished.

“May I speak, my Queen?” a mellifluous voice asked, cutting like a needle through the silk of Lord Ülmer's ramblings. Nyora. Her daughter sat to the left of the throne, the intricate play of light and shade that made this chamber so marvelous, flattering her winsome appearance. While the young woman's face was partially hidden by a thin veil of darkness, the radiance seemed to cling to her golden hair. There was something about how the subtleties and nuances of a room could transfigure mere loveliness into divine manifestation, a punch thrown to drive breath from the breasts of all onlookers. None would deny that we have mastered that aesthetic, the Queen reflected, as she glanced inquisitively at her eldest child, resisting the desire to chuckle.

Nyora was wearing a dress of cerulean samite, emblazoned with three frolicking swans crafted of shimmering pearls that matched her earrings and the twinkle of her eyes, which meant that she was scheming. She was predictable in that way. She was always at her prettiest when she wanted something. "You may make plain the burdens of your heart, sweet daughter," Veressa prodded, not missing the glimpse of affirmation that passed between her daughter and Lord Cassimere. So they're both in on this little plot, the Queen mused, It should be a prudent one then.

The girl smiled sweetly, though the gesture was somewhat tainted by the arrogant curl of her lips. She would need to learn humility soon, or at least how to feign it. Few among the gentry would tolerate such brazen self-indulgence, regardless of how charming she could be. "I have no intention of paying offense to the esteemed ravaú, who I know cannot, without superb condescension, name any man his peer when he departs the luxurious confines of civilization to strive against other nations and peoples in war, and to bring low the wrongfully exalted," she sang, "Nor would I ever be so perverse as to yearn to pay offense to His Excellency. All the same, I must inquire of His Excellency on one trivial point. Is not a triumph without the spilling of blood so much the sweeter for the blood is not spilled, so much so that the poets value a bloodless triumph one hundred times more intensely than one purchased by virtue of a single life?"

"It is so, my princess," the old officer replied hastily, "but I have no intention of harming the Queen's subjects. My thinking is that they'll acquiesce to a coronation when confronted by a small demonstration of our power." Nyora nodded again, apparently amused by this response. "Which is preferable, Your Excellency," she teased, "acquiescence to the will of an alien power or the autonomous acknowledgement of your rightful monarch?" Lord Ichainar arched an eyebrow at the question. "The latter, surely," he wheezed, ever the sycophant. Another voice followed his, stronger and more authoritative, and yet oddly gentle. A king's voice. "What is your plan, dear sister," he laughed, "I feel quite confident that these faithful nobles of ours are as tensed in anticipation as I, myself, am, at the prospect of hearing your no doubt brilliant counsel. Speak now, lest my heart gives out from the excitement of this prolonged pause."

Sigismund sat to Veressa's right, wearing a magnificent robe of gold and black, along with his trademark grin. His hair was a handsome Gordian knot of curls, black as night, that fell almost to his shoulders. A thin, unadorned circlet of beaten gold rested atop his crown, in stark contrast to his dark tresses, glistening as tendrils of light tickled the austere crown. His eyes were large and emotive, blue as a northern sky on the cusp of winter. He looked nothing like his sister, though their shared grace and beauty might have inspired some resemblance.

"I would prefer negotiation to warfare, my prince," Nyora said in her persuasive, husky timbre. "Specifically," she added, "I would consider dispatching emissaries of gentle birth and regal demeanor to our beloved subjects in Capia-Elyne, a prince perhaps." Sigismund's grin widened as his sister spoke, until it took up most of his aspect. "My sweet sister," he said with mock reproach, "One might fancy that you intend to have me shipped off to some den of treachery and deceit." Nyora's expression was stoic. Much the same could be said of Lords Ichainar and Ülmer. Cassimere, however, was flashing a wondrous smile. "Is our new province truly so different from the capitol, Your Most Sublime Highness?" the Earl chortled. "Not at all," Sigismund said flatly, "That said, I cannot imagine that the weasels of Capia-Elyne will have dug a burrow half so deep as the one that you have pawed out, my lord."

"I should hope not," Cassimere said mirthfully, "Else-wise, I might fear for my position here at court. Does this plan appeal to Your Most sublime Highness?" Sigismund pondered for a moment, and then gave a thoughtful nod. "Why, of course," he said, "I am in need of some adventure, and none will object to one so full of merit. I recall my father, the late King, once saying that a people cannot come to love a king who reigns over them from lofty palaces or seeks to govern them without knowing their hearts, and I am of a mind to agree with him. My one question is how we shall deal with our amiable acquaintances in Izzyshipper."

"If it would please the Queen," Nyora chimed, "I would perceive it as the greatest of honors to serve our people in this capacity." Of course, you would, Veressa thought, hiding her smiles yet again. Smiling could be a dangerous affair, but then her daughter reminded her of a certain country girl of aristocratic heritage, who had become queen. All that remained was to put the plan into action.

by **Izzyshipper** » Thu Oct 17, 2013 4:37 am

The Majestic Palace always gave an image of serenity from afar, an oasis of calm paired with the beauty of eighteenth century architecture in stark contrasts to the rest of its environment in the heart of the industrial capital of Vinera. Yet within the sculpted walls such illusions where shattered as like the serene swan that swims elegantly above the water, underneath much activity went on.

Sophia, Queen of Izzyshipper and her daughter Isabella, the Archduchess of Faranay, walked side by side as servants, ladies-in-waiting and minor civil servants where marshalled by the stern looking Mistress of the Bedchamber and her equally cantankerous partner in crime, the Master of the Household, in the task of preparing for receiving the Princesses of Evraim.

"So, the virginal daughters of Evraim have came to grace our court," Princess Isabella said, watching a octogenarian struggling to move an swan ice sculpture twice his size, "I do hope the gentle lords of Vinera can contain themselves."

"From what I have heard and seen of this Princess Catherine, Bells, I dare say that it is not the innocent maidens we should be concerned for." Sophia replied with an amused smile, gesturing with an wave of her hand to signal for aid for the falling ice sculpture. "No, Isabella, you shall be their host and keep them from such pretty distractions as the young bucks of the court."

Isabella smiled rather slyly, in her mind wondering who would be keeping her from indulging in such distractions. "Of course, Mama," Her obedient reply belied the indulgent thoughts within her mind.

"Excellent," The Queen replied, turning on her heels and with a look over her shoulder shot Isabella a knowing smile, "I trust I can count on your own virtue in such a task?"

Letting out a small laugh the Queen left Isabella to her red face and worried thoughts.

~*~

Isabella awaited in the gardens of the Majestic Palace, where a small pavilion had been constructed just for this occasion. A small table had been lain with sweet wines, fruits and pastries, and the floor had been arranged with large, overstuffed cushions for her ladies in waiting to lounge comfortably in the sunlight.

A waste, Isabella thought with contempt. Such expense to receive Princess Catherine and Susanna only for them to immediately be taken by Isabella to the Throne Room. Shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought, Isabella took another sip of her wine to quench the thirst caused by the scorching sun that still shone down in Izzyshipper even as summer had aged so near its death.

Isabella was wearing a dress of emerald green, with little sapphires sewn into the weave of the pattern, complimented by the heavy, pear shaped sapphires that hung from her ears. In her hand a fan of peacock feathers waved the air around her - the image of a perfect daughter of the House of Maddox, exactly the image Sophia desired Catherine and Susanna to see.

Cate, Princess Isabella's favourite and lady-in-waiting, pressed her lips to Isabella's ears. "The daughters of Augusta approach, Bells, by our most pleasing footman as you instructed."

Isabella patted Cate on her pale cheek, smiling, "You have done well, Cate, I shall wait and once we meet I suppose the game has begun."

by **Evraim** » Mon Dec 09, 2013 10:31 pm

OOC: Izzy, I apologize once again for the protracted absence. If you are willing to continue, I will have far more time to participate and post in the future. In fact, once the break starts, I plan to post on a semi-daily basis.

The Garden, The Majestic Palace
The Capital of Vinera
The Kingdom of Izzyshipper

Dame Miryam Skyronovski cackled disdainfully as the footman approached their coterie, wondering whether all aristocratic families were so foolish as to believe that a beautiful boy could undo machinations that had been meticulously planned for years. Perhaps this was the custom in the less elegant regions of the world, but the Everayím were a more discerning folk, and the Queen was mistaken if she supposed that two of her pupils would succumb to such lovely tricks. "This way, your highnesses, my lady," the servant urged them in respectful tones. His voice was sensual, most pleasing to the ears. Miryam would have to make a point of finding him later. After all, it would be most unbecoming to decline the hospitality of their gracious hosts.

As they strolled, or, in the case of the regal princesses, floated into the garden, the old woman stared intently at her charges. She had know Catherine and Susanna since they were babes on the breast, and their relationship was not altogether dissimilar from that which existed between a mother and her daughters. Looking at them now, Miryam could not help but feel the hint of pride on her lips. Catherine stood tall and proud, the same girl who had always slouched as a child. A cascade of honey curls, darkened by the drab winter climes, fell like a waterfall of sunshine down her back. She looked at once solemn and jovial with her plaintive emerald eyes and affable smile. Her dress was the darkest of violets, and trimmed with small pearls, adequate mourning garments for one of such high birth. A veil of similar design made a silhouette of her face.

Susanna, walking with impeccable radiance beside her sister, was all of fifteen, and as content as one would expect of a teenage girl coerced into wearing a cumbersome gown. Nonetheless, she concealed her frustration admirably well, beaming sweetly at the footman and telling him all about the mechanics of playing the Silvúçín harp. The princess could be oddly engaging, even when she discussed the most recondite of topics, and, for his part, the servant seemed pleased enough to be graced by such a conversation. Susanna was wrapped in an ebony gown, trimmed with night black fur, and the silk seemed to swirl and billow as she danced into the garden.

When they finally came to a halt at the pavilion, Miryam took note of the opulence set before them. If, as certain lackluster philosophers, wealth was power, then the House of Maddox was powerful indeed, or so it would appear. Many at court still thought it something of a joke that Queen Sophia's firstborn daughter, the Princess Victoria, had married one of Esau's children. What made it worse was that she had wed the disreputable Thomas Lalery, in particular. This had provoked incessant speculation on the actual fortune and strength of Iszerí monarchy, a discourse which had continued into the present, and which precluded future marital arrangements with them, much to her chagrin. How could a royal matchmaker perform her craft when whole families were bent on removing themselves from the game?

Isabella, or a woman whom she assumed was Isabella, was dressed lavishly in an emerald green dress weighed down with sapphires. The traditions of mourning are peculiar here, Maryam mused, feeling half-inclined to snicker. I'm well into my seventies, and yet I've never encountered so strange a manner of doing things. This must be a wonderful country. They waited for the footman to announce their names, styles, and titles, and then proceeded to greet the princess.

"Your Royal Highness," Catherine greeted Bells in her usual husky tones, "It has been quite some time since my eyes have played witness to unquestionable refinement and grandeur of Your Highness's aspect." She gave a very slight curtsy to express her respect, and then continued. "I do not believe that Your Highness is acquainted with the Princess Susanna," she said mildly, glancing warmly at her sister. "It is a sublime honor, Your Highness," Susanna sang in a girlish soprano, "Your Highness's gown is most beautiful, though not so beautiful as Your Highness's homeland, the crown jewel of the House of Maddox." The girl dipped into a modest curtsy, not unlike the one that her elder had just performed.

"So, the game commences," Miryam whispered pensively, in a voice too faint to be heard. The movements of her lips were concealed by a shawl, another vestige of the House of Reichart-Immanuel's deep and sincere sorrow at the passing of their cousin. Somewhere, a wind was blowing across an azure sea. That breeze would undoubtedly serve as a joyful companion of Prince Sigismund on his own voyage. After all, no war, not even one based in diplomacy, should be fought on one front alone.

by **Izzyshipper** » Mon Dec 16, 2013 5:47 am

"My Catherine is very beautiful," Cate whispered in Isabella's ear, a look of desire in her eyes, causing Isabella to give her a stern look.

"And by nature of her position unavailable to you, therefore becomes even more seductive." Isabella said with a faint smile, "Yet if I find out that you make any inappropriate advances towards her, Cate, it is not just my anger you shall face but the Queen's as well. I have enough to deal with the young bucks of court deciding that they want to bed a foreign Princess."

Cate pouted and Isabella shook her head. Cate's choice in lovers where both known and unknown at Court, and if not for Isabella's protection her family would have surely arranged a marriage by now to try and hide their shame. Therefore Cate would follow Isabella's command if she knew what was good for her.

Isabella smiled as the Princesses and their minder approached - it was touching to see such despair over the death of their cousin so close to them. She smirked at the thought, but after all this was politics - where words and gestures where more important than truth. Isabella wondered briefly if the Queen would do the same, she rarely missed an opportunity to show off.

"Your Royal Highness and Grace," Isabella said, dipping into a elegant curtsey towards the Princess Catherine, before doing the same for Princess Susanna. "Your Royal Highness," she said to the young girl, smiling at Susanna with the confidence of one who remembered what it was like to be fifteen and who was now definitely passed it.

"You honour the House of Maddox with your praise that falls from royal maiden's silver tongues like the sweetest wine," Isabella said, enjoying herself, " In turn as a dutiful daughter of my House I do extend to you my own well wishes, glad that The House of Reichart-Immanuel and Maddox can support one another in this dark time."

Isabella turned with a swish of her dress, "Her Majesty the Queen has spared no luxury for your stay here, you have been allocated apartments within the Palace itself, and a retinue of ten ladies to serve you during your stay here." Isabella said, leading the royal party through the gardens. Usually the gardens at the Majestic Palace was a hub of activity, with noblemen from every rank using the rare privacy for liaisons and conversations of a delicate matter.

Yet the delicate pathways that passed through the leafy gardens and water gardens where deserted. For this visit the Queen demanded nothing less than perfection. Eventually they approached the large double doors that was the main entrance to the Palace, fashioned from a beautiful polished mahogany.

The doors opened noiselessly as soon as Isabella's foot landed on the step, and she entered without pausing once. Walking through the polished marble of the entrance hall, which glittered under the soft glow from the chandelier above, and through the archway into the Throne Room, where court had assembled to see their entertainment for the day.

Indeed Isabella was surprised to see how well-attended the Court was today, even for a state advice. Everyone from the Chamber of Lords to the minor Barons of the Sevri Isles seemed to pack themselves into the Throne Room. Regardless, Isabella continued to walk forward her face not betraying that this was no ordinary sight. Finally stopping at the foot of Sophia's throne, Isabella turned to smile at her guests.

"Her Majesty will attend upon you soon, Your Royal Highnesses," Isabella said, knowing full well that The Queen would be waiting in the Royal Closet in the next room. Sophia believed in the theater of politics, and what actor didn't make an entrance?

"Presenting Her Majesty the Queen" A footman cried and as one the court turned to the slowly opening doors revealing the Queen's entourage. A collective gasp sounded through the nobility and Isabella resisted the urge to roll her eyes; while some may have been genuine she suspected the majority of exclamations where merely to flatter the Queen's vanity.

Sophia lead her handmaidens in a V-formation, her ladies dressed in pristine white, clutching fans fashioned from swan feathers. Isabella's lips curled, in Izzyshipper white was the mourning colour for virginal maidens and Isabella doubted less than a third of the Queen's ladies could claim such a title.

Queen Sophia herself, was clearly not to be outdone by her ladies. Clad in a dress of midnight black adorned with a delicate pattern of pearls sewn along the bodice and hem of her dress. a choker of diamonds clutched tightly at her neck, matching the heavy pear shaped gems dangling from her ears. Atop the Queen's fiery hair three large, black swan feathers blossomed outwards while she clutched a fan boasting the same magnificent plumage.

The Peacock Queen becomes the Black Swan, Isabella thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, A perfect homage to our guests, while still mourning the death of her dear cousin, well played Mama.

The Queen made her way to her throne, scanning the room slowly before taking the seat, clearly enjoying the attention. As she sat down, her ladies arranged themselves carefully around the throne, before falling to their knees of heavily padded cushions, reverentially prostrating themselves before the royal guests.

"Your Royal Highnesses," Sophia's voiced boomed throughout the Throne Room, "The Queen welcomes the esteemed daughters of our sister Queen, Augusta, and hope the humble generosity of the House of Maddox may meet the needs of her Cygnets, surely the brightest jewels that shines in the east."

by **Evraim** » Fri Dec 20, 2013 10:36 pm

The Garden, The Majestic Palace
The Capital of Vinera
The Kingdom of Izzyshipper

The shoes bit into her feet like a cat's claws until Susanna was almost certain that blood had been drawn, yet she gave no complaint. Ladies of noble birth had no business complaining. Catherine never gave any hint of discomfort after all, but then Catherine epitomized what it mean to be a lady, even if she had all the intelligence of a sea sponge when it came to calculus.

Fighting the urge to kick off her right shoe, the princess peered at Isabella's feet, intent on detecting even a slight sign of anguish. Unsatisfied, she forced a smile in place of the frown that threatened to mark her as a malcontent. I'll forget all about these stupid heels as soon as we meet the Queen, Susanna reassured herself, Vári says she's just like mother, so this should be a textbook case in political theatrics. Maybe I'll calculate the percentage of error exhibited by the formations. That's always entertaining. Well, as long as I don't get caught. Otherwise, they'll think me uncouth.

Catherine's pace seemed more measured than it had earlier, though only one familiar with the traditional regal gait would have taken note of the change, which was exceedingly slight. Her sister had always been naturally adept at posturing and controlling the motions of her body, with one notable exception. Catherine couldn't dance. However, as their procession strolled towards the palace, Susanna knew that their hosts would see no faults. This was good. Princesses weren't supposed to have faults. Everyone agreed on that point.

My movements are too rigid, Susanna observed anxiously, Too mathematical. I ought to adjust a little. After all, even too much perfection leads to imperfection. My gait ought to appear natural. Susanna had never quite escaped this problem. Whereas Channah was awkward and Catherine was elegant but relaxed, she was too cautious, too calculated. Her fascination with mathematics proved helpful when dancing or playing the harp, activities where she often out-performed her sister with ease, but the same could not be said of walking.

"It is kind of Your Royal Highness and of Her Royal Majesty to welcome and attend us in so genteel a manner, and becoming of the House of Maddox's reputation for the most fundamental of virtues," Catherine replied cordially, "And I cannot but concur with Your Royal Highness's sentiments. In times such as these, when misfortune hangs like a melancholy cloud over us all, we truly stand united as one House, inexorable in will and flowing with compassion. We weep the same tears, drink of the same wine, and pine for the same lovely dreams."

And that's the crux of the matter, Susanna mused, We want Sigismund or Albrecht to inherit the Grand Duchy, and the Iszerím possess the same imperialistic ambitions. The princess let the smile slip from her face as she contemplated the situation. Politics had never interested her, not in the same way that theology or mathematics interested her at least. All the same, she did care for the fortunes of her family. We'll emerge triumphant, Susanna decided, Catherine and I will charm the Iszerím, Vári will charm our new subjects, and mother will watch from a safe distance, coordinating everything.

The princess glanced around the garden, as surreptitious as possible, and found it eerily devoid of people. No lovers hid under the verdant shade of the orchards. No poets pined beside the numerous fountains, as they might have done in Evéstre. No handsome princes sauntered jauntily along the promenades, shooting flirtatious smiles to passing servant girls. It was so orchestrated, so devoid of life. Susanna could definitely sympathize.

As they passed from the garden, a pair of ornate mahogany doors swung open, letting slip the din of quiet conversation. Don't all palaces have wooden lips? Susanna smiled again. A subtle jape, but a jape nonetheless. It was a mild consolation. The muttering began to die down as they strolled towards the throne. Most of the court must have been in attendance, and many in their finest articles too. Furs, silks, and velvets of various hues leaped out at her.

More opulent still were the chandeliers and draperies that bedecked the palace like a woman's jewelry. Most royal courts came off as somewhat ostentatious, and, while no one would call this room austere, the Iszerím were a tad more elegant than most of their counterparts, a bit more like the Lucirím. Susanna, acclimated to wealth since her birth, never permitted her eyes to linger on the material objects, as tempting as it might have been. Instead, she smiled radiantly in the general direction of the courtiers and nobles, intending to appear as vivacious as possible.

My feet aren't hurting anymore, the princess reflected as they waited for the Queen to arrive. Then, with an almost inaudible creak, a door shifted to reveal Sophia and her attendants. The ladies-in-waiting were adorned in a snowy shade of white, a color representing purity, at least if Iszéra resembled the traditional Western societies in terms of their customs and symbols. They floated into the room in an arrow-like formation, with their mistress at the center. Political theater indeed.

According to Susanna's estimations, two or three of the ladies were out of alignment, but by less than a few centimeters. Nobody, with the exception of a mathematician, would have noticed or cared. All the same, Susanna almost giggled. Another memento to remind me of home, she told herself, When I'm a queen, I'll make certain the arrangements are perfect. Then, Susanna's eyes focused on their hostess, Queen Sophia, and she couldn't help but stare, albeit in a shy and polite way. That dress, she gasped, She's so beautiful, and she's channeling Tchaikovsky. There's genius afoot here. Mother would be more than pleased with such a display.

Catherine, on the other hand, seemed genuinely unimpressed, despite feigning tasteful admiration with her facial expressions. Catherine was seldom impressed by anything, though she often pretended to be polite. "Your Royal Majesty," her eldest sister answered, dipping into a slight curtsy, "These cygnets are more than honored by the ostensible esteem such generous words as these convey. We are certain that Her Royal and Radiant Majesty and Ha Duvénasíma would take comfort in the solace provided by the high regard and affection of Your Royal Highness."

At this brief pause, Susanna curtsied as well, ever reverent of tradition. "Your Royal Majesty," she sang, her voice simultaneously cheerful and mournful. Her accent wasn't a pretty as Catherine's was, and was more English than Lucirí. All the same, her greeting would suffice. "We have come to vocalize the condolences of Ha Duvénasíma at the loss of our dearest and most beloved cousin," Catherine continued, "and in the hope that we might ease the burden of despair and isolation that ever act as the residue of tragedy from the shoulders of Your Royal Majesty's people and regal personage."

by **Izzyshipper** » Mon Dec 23, 2013 6:12 pm

Sophia reclined in her throne, a perfectly manicured nail tapping off the arm of her throne as she reviewed her royal guests. As a woman who throughout her life had perfected the art of masking her own emotions and arranging her face to display the emotions she desired, the Queen seemed perfectly relaxed in the atmosphere in the court. The Queen was an excellent actress; for if you inherit a Kingdom bereft or money or friends then words where the only resource left available to you. Sophia was not a Prince who revelled in iron and blood but instead the careful manipulation of dynasties and alliances.

"My, my," Sophia said, the corner of her lip curling into a small half smile as though amused by something, "I see the salons of Evraim are not wasted by the daughters of Reichart-Immanuel, whom tongues are as sharp as the minds of their mistresses."

Sophia's chocolate brown eyes reviewed the Princesses, Susanna was quite a young thing. A fresh faced youth who seemed to have not yet learned fully the true harshness of the lifestyle and position she had been born into. She moved with a certain calculated coldness, too stiff to be considered natural.

Yet it was Catherine that intrigued her more - they had met but briefly before at Victoria's wedding. The Queen's piercing gaze penetrated the young Princess, and she sensed a the disinterest from her. It caused Sophia to smirk slightly, remembering her own youth and what it was like to know disdain for your elders and caring little for the wonders of life. Perhaps she would learn, in time, that the joy and wonder of the child would grow in appeal as the years advanced.

"The Queen thanks Her Royal and Radiant Majesty. While it is not of us to question our Almighty Father when He does call his children to His mercy, we can take solace in such tragedy together. Indeed we have already written to our daughter Victoria to inform her family in the House of Obed, and I am sure the Crown Princess has not delayed to inform the Imperial Regency Council of the Alcedina of our shared plight."

Sophia gave the Princesses a small smile, Let my words travel to Augusta. Let my dear sister-queen know that we have informed our friends that such an opportunity is within our grasp. Sophia mused with a savage pleasure, her spies having whispered to her that morning of the ships that sailed with haste towards the islands of Capia-Elyne.*

There was a small ripple of murmuring through the court at that one. Yes, the vultures had came to taste blood, yet Sophia felt no comfort in their approval. Her blood would taste just as sweet to their lips as the Everayí, sweeter perhaps to some of the more ambitious. "Let us speak no more of such sad times, your Royal Highnesses, at least until I have sated your hunger and thirst lest the Everayí noblemen mock and judge the frugality of the Izzyerian Queen."

The Queen gestured a casual wave, and at once the Throne Room began to empty. Such a small gesture was far too small for a crowded court to interpret, unless of course they had been commanded before hand to look out for it. It was but more theatre, the Queen knew that people must believe in your power for it to have an effect.

Eventually the Throne Room was empty but of the Everayí party and Sophia with her handmaidens. Servants had walked in carrying well padded chairs for the two girls to sit, as well as a well-stuffed cushion for their minder. Sophia had heard of Dame Miryam Skyronovski reputation and was determined that in her court, the woman would know she was but a commoner among her betters.

As the servants began to lay the table with tea, wine and sweetcakes, Sophia waved her fan carefully around her face, wondering how the next piece in this chess game would be placed.

*

I realise that you may prefer I didn't have this line in, will remove if you want.

by **Evraim** » Wed Jan 15, 2014 6:52 pm

The Garden, The Majestic Palace
The Capital of Vinera
The Kingdom of Izzyshipper

Catherine's eyes narrowed as the Queen mentioned her allies, but, in the same instant, she also smiled. It was a resplendent smile, the kind that would take someone's breath away. This was her saving grace, she knew. With that subtle revealing of her teeth, impeccable and glowing, a gesture which might have aroused indignation became appropriate and even winsome. Who could fault the princess if her eyes smiled when her lips did? You're correct, Sophia, Catherine thought with an amusement not too different from that which a cat experienced when playing with its prey, The salons have taught us well. I can hear the threat behind your saccharine words. I can perceive the emptiness of said threat as well.

New Edom, while possessing a more experienced and better equipped military than Ha Duvénasíma, also had far more enemies. The nation had barely managed to survive its recent civil wars and insurrections, making the exertion of force abroad a dangerous prospect for their government. Pahath-Moab would have been more suited to wear motley than the title of president if he believed otherwise. One misstep, one blow to his myth of invincibility, and his government would be teetering on the brink of anarchy. This went without mentioning New Edom's foreign adversaries. Cassimere would waste no time in building a coalition if a conflagration flared up.

The Kyndorhím, on the other hand, were a more credible obstacle. Their naval forces outpaced anything Ha Duvénasíma could boast to have in its arsenal. However, there were a few silver linings here as well. The House of Reichart-Immanuel had been intent on establishing better relations with the House of Alcedina, among other dynasties. Furthermore, the Lucirím had allies of their own, the Ganosians for instance. All things considered, the deployment of military forces, and the threat of violence such a deployment entailed, would be sufficient to discourage rashness. Besides, Catherine reflected, I have no intention of neglecting my responsibilities here. This is nothing more than a distraction. The real performance will take place in Ha Duvénasíma.

Glancing at Susanna, the princess quickly ascertained that the girl was completely entranced by splendor of their host. She's probably counting the number of stitches in the Queen's gown, Catherine thought with a silent snicker. Nonetheless, Susanna would prove useful in this exchange. She had both a charming personality and an appealing innocence. With doe-like eyes and tumble of soft brown hair, where highlights glowed like veins of amber, she looked more like a doll than a girl of fifteen. Her manners are immaculate, the older sister observed, I would expect nothing less from a prodigy.

"I intend no impertinence, Your Majesty," Catherine replied slyly, "but it appears to me as though Your Majesty has drank the fire of the garish sun, for each word Your Majesty speaks warms the fibers of my being. Who among the race of man can claim so high an honor as that which Your Majesty's words have affixed to the Queen? To praise is to be praised." Paraphrasing poems had its advantages, especially when it came to paying compliments to new acquaintances. No doubt, Prince Amarys would be pleased to learn that one of his works had finally been put to good use.

When Sophia offered food and refreshments, Catherine saw yet another conundrum. Eating in front of one's potential enemies had been a taboo of her people since time immemorial. After all, one feasted with one's extended family and networks of friends and allies. While the princess wasn't usually reverent of antiquated customs, this one in particular had at least some minuscule significance to her, perhaps more as a result of her own preferences than anything else. "Who could fault Your Majesty on the affairs of hearth and home?" Catherine said carefully, "Since our arrival in Your Majesty's domain, every conceivable comfort and kindness has been rendered unto us with benevolent largess."

"So much so," she continued, "That the Princess Isabella, the Queen's own blood, greeted us before the Queen's own gates, as splendid and calming as the moon, which gleams like a pearl amid the dark and lovely garments of Night. I cannot believe that the princes of Ha Duvénasíma would think Your Majesty ever so vile as to besmirch the Queen's honor through slights and misjudgments. Alas, I cannot aspire to the honor of dining with the Queen until tomorrow evening due to the mourning customs of my people, which mandate a protracted period of fasting and prayer in recognition of the passing of one's relative."

Now, I suppose it's time to let Sophia take her turn, Catherine thought, preparing to finish her own short monologue in praise of the hospitable conditions. "However," she added, "If it would not perturb Your Majesty, we might seek succor from one another's company, even as Your Majesty enjoys the afternoon's refreshments." The princesses gave their elegant curtsies, and, after the Queen acknowledged them, took their seats. Dame Skyronovski followed suit a few seconds later.

The Peacock and Swan Descend [Closed]

The Peacock and Swan Descend [Closed]

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