When she returned to her chambers, her maids were busy packing everything up. Their shock was nigh complete when she informed them that they were to cease, as she was to dine with the prince that very night. Serenely, she ignored everything they then said; pretended to take into account their suggestions and advice, and then sent them into the marketplace to follow through on their advice by shopping for the purples and oranges and yellows which are for her so unbecoming. They left, chattering animatedly; and she? She got down to work.
If Scarlett O'Hara can do it, so can she. A certain judicious snooping resulted in finding some lovely summer-weight drapes of silken texture and navy hue. While no expert seamstress, any princess over a certain age can sew a relatively fine seam, from her end of the continent; a simple robe's created, draping loosely from her frame and gathered in only slightly at the waist. There's not a frill nor furbelow to be seen, with gracefully puffed sleeves and cuffs that are still loose, but gathered in slightly. A tailored effect, in short. Her hair is brushed out until it gleams like silk, two braids done to either side of her face in miniature while the rest hangs down her back to mid-thigh. And her reflection is eyed critically. To do or not to do? Finally, Anna settles on a small vial of mixed essence : tomato flowers and leaves, bits of the petals and leaves floating in the oil, which is a mixture of almond and vanilla. A mild dab is applied here and there, the vial restoppered, and just a touch of gloss applied to her lips and her eyelids, and nothing more.
And then? Then Anna leaves her room and quietly, lies in wait. Magic is called upon, a few simple cantrips; one to tell her when her attendants have returned, and one to find her sister. She can find anything, if only she puts her mind to it. It's what makes her so excellent a librarian.
Her sister is found first, and while she may not be small, she can move quickly and quietly when she puts her mind to it. The excess material of the drapes has been cut into useful strips. Grabbed from behind by the hair with one hand, Anna quietly and ruthlessly stuffs silk into her sister's mouth with the other. The girl's wrists are bound, and her ankles tied to her wrists. "Now, sister dear, so you know that I do actually hold you in more esteem than you do me," she tells her younger sister cheerfully, "I'm going to put you into a storage closet rather than leaving you for the satyrs to find. No diplomatic issues; I might not be getting married any time soon, but I'm saving your reputation by not having the diplomatic incident be all attributed to you! Don't worry; whenever I'm done, I promise I'll bring you back to my chambers. We can talk, then, about untying you."
One down, two to go. Her cantrip lets her have ears in her own chamber; mindful of the time, one remains while the other goes searching for her charge - only to receive similar treatment to the younger princess, and a similar lecture. "This closet's getting rather full," Anna remarks. "I'd best go back to my chambers, don't you agree?"
And back at her room, well - this time she hasn't the advantage of surprise. "No, I haven't seen Lady Gertrude," she fakes surprise. "You say she's looking for me? Well, no doubt she'll catch up. Oh, could you do me a favour and get down that parcel from the closet? I'll be right with you and then we can begin." Quietly, advances behind her attendant - but this time, the lady notices something amiss, whirling around. Anna, with an expression of ineffable regret, drives a palm strike up under the lady's chin, knocking her back and into the closet, then proceeds to pounce. The ensuing struggle sends her hair into considerable disarray, but at the end, she emerges victorious; the lady is tied and gagged, and stowed in the closet, which is barred by a heavy trunk. She has just enough time left to straighten her hair, and then she arranges herself to await her guide.
"My attendant? Oh, I'm sure she'll catch up with me," Anna answers the question demurely as she's led. "They're rather harum-scarum, I'm afraid. But it's very kind of you to show me the way. She'll be along in just a few moments; I'm sure of it." With that face, she lies like an angel...
The messenger that was sent to you was (and still is) an officious young fairy. Young is a relative term here, of course. He's probably around a century of material realm years. Were he to care at all for the material realm, which he most assuredly does not. He is not a herald or messenger by trade. In fact, he is a valet, as his rigid just-so stride might tell you.
The library, he explained, is where the prince has chosen to dine, the library being the prince's favorite chamber. You received courtly gossip of the most courtly sort. Of the prince's reputation as a scholar and commander, of his impeccable character. All things which you might very well think for yourself but the valet feels earns repeating. When you mention the absence of your attendant, it draws only the upraise of a single, silver, silken eyebrow. Indeed. "I may have one provided for you, your highness, if you feel it is necessary. But given the prince's character, I have no doubt you are quite safe from lechery. This does not go to say that the prince is by any means a prude..."
After which, he mentions that the prince has had many admirers but is held to be a gentleman by all...
The library doors are large and stately. Much care when into their carving and estate. One can only imagine what the interior is like. You do not have to imagine for long. The valet is opening the doors...
And through them?
You see a large hall filled with rows upon rows of books with a large seating area with fine chairs and sofas. A small dining table has been moved here, and is arrayed with the finest meats, cheeses, meat and fruit pies and anything else you might desire in a meal and an assortment of fine wines and brandies. The library is lit with oil lamps that create a suffuse glow about the place -- there is plenty of lighting, but it is of the soft variety. There is an upstairs, great sweeping staircases that lead to upstairs galleries and, yes, even more rows of even more books.
The prince stands not far from the table, near a hearth where there is a fire even though it is summer. He is dressed in the same midnight leather and velvet of before, the jewels catching the light of the hearthfire and gleaming. But this time the tunic is unbuttoned, revealing the woven layer that is beneath it. A seadragon's head peeks fully past the crewneck collar of the undershirt (which is more royal blue than midnight), its vivid colors and stylized visage seeming quite alive.
As he hears the valet's voice, Iowerth turns, closing the small book he has in his hands with a snap and pivots to approach the table. He gestures for you to take a seat. "Thank you, Iovis," he says to the valet. "That will be all for now."
Iovis bows: "Of course, your grace. My lady," he says to you and with no more than that the valet takes his leave.
"Out of concern for your health, since you mentioned fainting I believe before, I thought we would eat before taking the tour," Iowerth continues, his stride meandering slow as he heads to the table. "And this... this is for you." The book he promised. "May it lead to many adventures on the high seas," and now he is smiling. "Be mindful of pirates, Princess Anna."
She listens, with every appearance of grave courtesy, but with something of a lilt to her eyebrows which has made more than one courtier suspicious that she is somehow laughing behind her eyes. She observes everything as she is conveyed. "I am confident that my reputation shall be unharmed by my time spent with the prince," Anna remarks merrily, "but I thank you. You need go to no effort on my behalf; my attendant shall undoubtedly turn up in due course." Later, rather than sooner, she hopes; but she is prepared to deal with such consequences as may come.
Everything is noticed, but little remarked upon; she allows information to be granted her, she absorbs it all, and is shown in, in due course, to where you await her. The attendant is granted a smile as he makes his departure, and she reaches out to touch his sleeve. "Thank you for talking to me," Anna tells him gravely, "and for your courtesy and directions. Do have a good evening, won't you?" Iovis' sleeve is released, and her attention is all yours, now. "Your highness's concern for my health is indeed noted, and appreciated, though I promise you, I've withstood worse dangers in the past! Your table as your library looks very lively. I would comment on your appearance but I am endeavoring to distance myself from the specter of my sister," she tells you with merriment again in her eyes, "and thank you also for remembering, about the book. I'll save it for when I'm out of your august presence, though I assure you, it will take an effort; no prince can entirely compare with the lure of something new to read."
She assumes her seat, folding herself down into it at an unselfconsciously comfortable angle, one leg bent in front of her with the other foot tucked behind that leg's ankle. "Oh, as to pirates, I am ever mindful of those, and I have my ways of dealing with them. Why, I have dealt with no fewer than three this week alone!"
Pirates? Under my very nose? You can see by his look and the slant of his smile that he doubts you mean actual pirates. They would never be so bold. The book is set upon the table beside you and he takes a seat at hand once you are settled. "And you look more comfortable in your skin, Princess. Now that you are rid of the ...awesome weight of those bows. We should give them to the centaurs. No doubt they would be amused." Or offended. But either way, likely worth the gift for the no doubt priceless expressions.
"Brandy or wine?" For himself, he is pouring a brandy. It smells of apricots and cinnamon. He chuckles, his laughter is easy and rich, quiet. As if it knows far more than it ever says. "Yes, well... even the most literate of princes knows he's far outmatched by even the simplest pamphlets. I am no exception. But," he leans toward you with a grin, "... delay the inevitable for a while yet. Give me my little delusions. There is roasted fruit there," he indicates a silver dome with the tilting of the bottle in that direction. "Plenty of roasted meats and vegetables, pies, whatever you might like. Don't hesitate on propriety's account or you'll go hungry." Settling back with a grin and a sip of the brandy, Iowerth looks to you: "The men of my family have legendary appetites."
Take it as you will...
"And there is nothing we like more than to see a woman who enjoys appetite as much as we do." Sitting forward again, he waits upon your drinking pleasure. His plate stands empty yet; he will wait for you to serve yourself. No servants here to fill the plates. Just you and he. "How was the rest of your afternoon? Pleasant enough? I should think you and your delegation may remain a few more days before returning to your kingdom. You should avail yourself of the market. There is a woman there... she carries the most exotic elixirs and perfumes. Another, hand woven carpets, spices and incense. Make your sister carry the bags for you." Iowerth grins again, that slanting, conspiratorial smile.
"I'll try the brandy. I rarely get brandy, at home." Anna gives you a puckered smile as she accepts the idea of being rid of things which simply aren't her. "As for the ribbons and bows, if I didn't think it might give the populace the wrong idea, your highness, I'd offer it to you as a new standard to fly from your mast! But after your man has just spent so many words telling me what a chivalrous gentleman you are, I'd hate to do anything to dent your reputation. My own," she confides, "may not survive half so well."
She leans forward to begin helping herself to the food, taking you at your word, though the dark eyebrows go up with a delighted astonishment that has her mouth puckering upwards again. "Legendary, hm? So I suppose I shouldn't mention the cooking lessons I've sneaked? Our chef's lemon meringue pie was always so good when I was younger, I bullied him tremendously until he taught me how to make it myself. My father was disappointed. He couldn't say that he had under his thumb the only person to make such good pie anymore, and princesses aren't supposed to cook for themselves."
Meat, vegetables, pies - she helps herself to some of everything, and there is no sign that she is being restrained because of your presence. No sign, either, that she ever did have lunch; she was too busy working up an appetite by tying up other women. Once she is done serving herself, however, without being asked, she begins to serve you, gesturing with the utensils and an inquiring eyebrow if this, too, is a dish you would care for, or how about that. "While I would dearly enjoy seeing what the market holds, I suspect that after tonight, my retinue will not allow me out at all, let alone without an army in tow. As for my sister, well..." Anna's smile is one of pure mischief; it lights up her entire face. "I don't believe we'll be talking for a little while. She /is/ here, after all; my hunch was quite correct. I thought it might be."
"A woman who can cook, discourse on sailing, prefers reading to most other activities and who isn't afraid of showing her appetites. Tell me, princess," he is grinning now, "... are you certain you have not been coached by my brothers or ... perhaps Iovis?" A fiery eyebrow goes skyward like a comet as he chuckles, nodding to where you gesture. Yes, one of those. Two of those, his fingers second. And he goes about pouring another brandy. This, for you. "You're not making it fair for the other girls," comes the teasing tone. As if a woman who really wanted to be queen would.
The glass is poured and the fragrant liquid is offered to you. He is studying you again, as if taking second and greater notice of you. "You have a wonderful spirit about you," Iowerth speaks after a moment or more of studious silence. And in this light, your skin takes on an exotic color, a deeper resonance. Now he is looking at you as if you did really have a chance after all.
Could she be a queen?
"Actually, three of those," he murmurs, nodding to the small beef pies mixed with mincemeat. Yes, he like his father can decimate a plate of beef pasties. "Did you want any?" he chuckles suddenly. If so, you might want to load up now. "It sounds as if you have been up to mischief. Seeing as you are alone," Iowerth grins, "...you appear to have been successful. I won't ask," lifting his hand, "... I do not want to put you in a precarious situation with your staff by 'knowing too much'."
He listens to you. He seems a good listener, really, smiling as you mention your 'gifts of persuasion' with your father's cook. "Is there anything you cannot do or persuade others to do for you?" He is beginning to think not.
And he likes it...
Inclining his head, Iowerth takes to studying you again. Though you call yourself 'plain', and while you may not be traditionally pretty, you are quite attractive. Differently. I have an explorer's eye...
He begins eating only after you begin. The beef pasties are done for. While he is not ravenously ploughing through his plate, items begin disappearing all the same. He swirls the brandy in the glass and swallows it, refreshing his glass. He refreshes your glass as well, once several sips have halved your portion. Setting the glass aside, his napkin returned to his lap, he watches as much as he eats.
"Why, your highness, do you really think that I - I, of all people - would lie about who I am? I'll lie about many things, and I admit it to you, see, I'm playing fair - but who I am is sacred, and I won't change it for anyone." Anna laughs, though her cheeks darken, dark eyes dipping downwards. You've embarrassed her, just a little. With your gaze as much as or more than your words.
She dishes out food fairly, sneaking a beef pie from the serving platter though before tipping the rest onto your own. You get a quick, glimmer-eyed look, merry with her amusement. "You can ask. I can't possibly get into more trouble with my staff than I am in already, unless I were to do something like spend the night in your bed. That, I concede, might upset them even more - but anything less, and I promise you, their present annoyance will remain steady."
Her lips twitch at that, and she accepts the brandy with a nod of her chin and a slight lift of the glass; a salute, of sorts. A sip is taken, and the goblet set down, her fork picked up. "Oh, there are many things I can't do," Anna admits readily. "I can't lift five hundred pounds; I can't wrestle a steer to the ground; I can't convince my sister that it doesn't really matter that she thinks she should've been born first, there's no point in making our lives miserable over it. I won't ever be able to sing like an angel, or dance the tarantella, or grow wings - though as for wings, I tried, yes, I did! When I was twelve, I slept a whole year with pegasus feathers under my pillows in the hopes I might wake up with wings." She laughs, unselfconscious of her own childhood nonsense. "But ... I have confidence that an inquiring disposition and an attentive mind will make up for many sins, your highness. I might not be able to get half the attention of young men that my sister does, but that's alright; if all they can talk about is the colour of her eyes, I grew tired of that conversation half a decade ago."
She smiles at you, a certain warmth in her smile. "You are doing an excellent job of persuading me to talk of myself, your highness, but not so much telling of yourself! I realize that I am the one in need of being interviewed, but from my perspective - though I needn't add, not the court's - I am to interview you just as much. Tell me, what do you hold is a woman's proper place, if she is a princess? Besides, you need to talk more - so I can eat!"
There was laughter for the pegasus feathers. He might have done the same had he wanted to fly in that manner. Of course, he can fly as birds can fly... that is, when he is a bird. "Look at it this way, it's one... no, two fewer things to worry about fixing in the morning," he drolls. There was no embarrassment about you being in his bed, nor anything that might be taken as propriety. There was a quirk of his lips for that -- yes, that would make a whole host of people of set, you have no idea how many.
With a pie in one hand, and his glass of brandy in the other, Iowerth settles back as you query, giving you a moment of quiet to let you eat. And he takes a bite of the pie with a look of some consideration. Setting the beef pie back on his plate as he swallows, the prince nods. "A woman's proper place, princess or no, is not so different from a man's. If you are wondering how I stand on the subject of the rights of women, married or single, or how I might wish my wife to be... I am looking for a partner, primarily. Someone who will, yes, bear children for the health of the crown and family, but also take part in shaping the kingdom and Kingdoms in a positive manner. My mother is a strong woman," he smiles at that, "and provided me with an excellent education on 'Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better' from a woman's perspective." He is educated and progressive. "I do not want a pretty plaything princess who wants nothing more than to be put upon a pillowed pedestal and mew for attention. I desire someone who wishes to work for her future, hand in hand with me. Who will share my vision, and help bring it to fruition. Strength, intelligence, patience. These are the traits, first and foremost, that I have on my mind."
He keeps mentioning patience. Is it more than a virtue? With a smile, Iowerth returns to decimating, quite subtly, the beef pasties he was given. They begin disappearing, one by one, along with his second brandy.
"If I were to choose you," he posits quietly, his gaze palpable, intense, "... what sort of crown princess and queen would you be, Anna of River's End?"
She listens, but she is eating with both hands; she's quite ravenous, having not gotten a thing to eat since early morning, and only a few crumbs then! "This is excellent bread," she manages, voice a bit muffled as she forces herself not to talk with her mouth full - unprincessly that'd be! "Your mother seems a very interesting woman. I have to ask, I hope you can forgive me - is it true that when she met your father, she threatened his manhood before they even exchanged names?"
Gossip does spread, but this is a marginally more privileged piece of gossip. But - servants do talk, don't they? Especially fairies. If there is anything to match the buzzing, jostling, whispering, rustling crowd of them, you might shudder to see it. You receive another wide smile. "Well. I'm told women do like to feel appreciated, and can wilt without some attention, your highness - but I'm not a hothouse flower or a clinging vine, as a rule. I had my brush with high romance and it quite stifled sentimentality before it could crawl out of the cradle. I like what I can come up with for myself; relying on someone else for satisfaction seems a poor, thin way to live a life."
She settles back a bit, eating more slowly now, conscious of your gaze with a slight reddening of her cheeks. "You shouldn't tease," Anna protests, a hand coming up to swipe at her braids. "As to what kind I'd be? I couldn't say. To be honest with you, I haven't really entertained much fantasy in that line. We were all terribly shocked when the invitation arrived; father was excited, my sister was jealous and disbelieving, and I? Well, I went on with planning my garden and did my best to resist the efforts of the court to dress me in pink and purple plaids. Someone thought you might be partial to it, I've no idea why. I determined then and there, though, that I'd be myself and as much myself as I could stand to be - because the odds were against me to begin with, and they weren't going to get any better for trying to pretend I was anyone else, even someone thirty pounds lighter. A pretty hard thing, I'd say, carrying on a pretense like that for any length of time! It'd add twenty pounds directly to my hips, just in the number of cakes I'd have to eat to relieve my frustrations."
She smiles, though, a little less merry but not unhappily. There's a thoughtfulness to her gaze now, and she meets your attention squarely. "If I were to entertain such thoughts, your highness, I'd probably tackle it the same way I tackle everything else. I'd learn everything I could about it, figure out what parts I like and do as much of it as I could, figure out what parts I don't like and try to find people who do like those bits and get them to do as much of it for me as I could, and attack the rest rather the way I attacked organizing the library when we first got to it : rolling up my sleeves and diving in as much as I could. I won't say I wouldn't like a little romance in my life, sir, but romance isn't for a steady diet, and no amount of shadowy corners and moonlit nights is going to turn me - or you, or anyone or anything else - into something it isn't."
"It's not as if you're an ogre," he chuckles softly, "unable to come out during the day." He shakes his head at you. No, no you are not. "You are not Mirvayne of ... wherever she was from," he makes a dismissive wave, as if it matters, "... but neither is she, you. I am not a man who dismisses someone simply because of superficial appearance. Brainless nitwits will be excused far, far earlier than good girls from decent coastal kingdoms who can rub two thoughts together coherently and who remember, in all of this courtliness, to laugh. Give yourself some credit, Anna. You're the only one I've met thus far who I've bother to break bread with."
Course, there has just been the one other and a handful of girls he knew before the escapade of marriage (and festival it is, too) began. But still, a compliment is a compliment, and truth is truth.
Iowerth slants a smile as you tear through the food. You're mannerly, if hungry. But perhaps you just need more... activity. The smile smoothens as he thinks without sharing his thoughts, and the star shimmers against his skin, lighting in falling stars within those lavender eyes. "You should not starve yourself or deny yourself. Or worse still, let others deny you. You are a princess, claim your right to your own dignity, your own spirit. Let the others be hanged. Your sister is not your queen. I dare say that one as clever as yourself likely has little trouble getting around what issues she may cause you. But I'm sure your father is excited," he chuckles a little. "I would be too if my daughter where having dinner with the crown prince. I will be sure to let him know how charming and lovely I found you to be, and what a credit you are to his own wisdom and his kingdom, that he should send his best and brightest."
"I do not know what sort of king I shall be, much less what sort of crown prince I shall be. It is a work in progress," Iowerth admits, his hands interlacing against his stomach. "But that is the purpose of life, oes? To reveal those things to us, about ourselves and the world, and the world we make in our own actions."
"I don't starve myself or deny myself. Sometimes, others do get in the way, though." Anna laughs a little. "Father has hopes," she admits readily. "Diane has her own hopes - Diane is my sister. But seeing as Diane is currently bound and gagged in a closet," you get an amused, even impish look, "I promise, I don't let her control what I do." Oh, her sister will be furious...
Your look combines with the brandy to make her a trifle self-conscious; dark eyes lower to her lap for a moment, a hand again coming to comb against those braids. "While I thank you for the compliments, your highness, I'm not quite sure how to take them," Anna tells you with some dignity, "so I'll just thank you and file them somewhere else and not take them out to look at again until we've parted ways. It's very kind of you; I'd offer you words in return, but it always seems to me that following a compliment with a return of compliments sounds somehow insincere. I'll have to wait a while after digesting yours before I can safely compliment you without cramping."
"Life is ... well, it's life, isn't it? It's this big, wide ocean of possibilities, and we can swim or we can sail or we can drown or we can walk along the beach and maybe get our feet wet. But it's a shame to do nothing but look at the water and talk of how nice it'd be if only there weren't sharks and jellyfish." Anna sets her goblet aside; she's had enough, she seems to decide, lest her tongue get quite away from her. She curls up in her chair, hands folding on one thigh with a smoothing of silk. "By the way," she says suddenly, "...who would I talk to about the palace decor? I had to ah, 'creatively misappropriate' a set of curtains, you see, and I don't want to get some maid in trouble for theft when it was me all along."
Periwinkle eyes show his amusement quite plainly. "They wouldn't be the first to meet a bad end. Simply leave a note in your chamber as an I-O-U. I will let the chambermaids know they are to order new curtains for your chamber." His hand makes a wave, dismissing any real cause for concern. "So... your sister is locked in your closet. And your maids?" Iowerth is laughing quietly. When his laughter does not sound, paused upon his tongue, it shows in the brightness of his eyes and the intensity of his attention.
"I suppose as long as they have air, you should be fine. But perhaps we should start the tour now, before your captives discover a way to knock around on the floor and walls to get some passerby's attention." Setting his napkin on his empty plate and once more taking up a glass of brandy, Iowerth rises. He offers you his free hand. "The library is quite large. We will need some time to get through the major sections."
Iowerth does not seem to mind the lack of compliment. Perhaps it's a relief to not have a woman fawning over him. You are tall; he is not so much a tower as he would be to most women. His hand and arm offered to you, he remains beside your chair, his gaze upon your face. "Would you like to see some of our books on nautical knots and how to tie them? Anchoring knots can come in handy in a .... variety of applications." His mother (and his brother and his lover) might furiously blush at such a subtly scandalous turn of phrase. Variety of applications, indeed.
"When tying captives, you want to make certain that any struggle will only make your knots that more efficient." Now, the prince is grinning with a wicked and delighted turn.
"Not my closet, actually," Anna corrects with a whimsical, rueful look. "I found her in a passage on the seventh floor. She's tucked away there; one of my maids, on the fifth floor. The other maid is in my closet, yes; I thought it best not to put them all in one closet, they might help one another escape. But you're quite right, your highness; and I shouldn't want to monopolize the entirety of your evening, anyway!"
She moves to take your hand, allowing you to help her up. She isn't a weakling, though not so strong as you, of course; but strong enough. A hint of colour darkens her cheeks again as you talk about knot-tying, her free hand again coming up to fuss with her braids. "I'm always interested in learning new things," Anna declares, striving for a nonchalant tone of voice as you tease. "I'm hesitant to inquire as to where you think I might find these useful; hopefully I shall not have to tie my sister up all the time, after all." Her chin lifts, and she tosses her head back, laughing suddenly and brightly. Your hand gets a brief little squeeze. "I hate to confess anything which will sound so base," she admits candidly, "but I am enjoying this far more than I expected to, your highness. I will actually be sorry to see the evening ended!"
With that, she quickly looks forward again, taking in the library with its multitude of promised delights. "Now, o nefarious prince, lure me in among your stacks, so that I might dump you for some other promised delights. Ones which won't leave me sighing with regrets, later!"
Posted by rowan at August 10, 2006 09:36 PM
