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A slight chuckle escaped his pursed lips as she responded, her tone rather brave to be speaking with a king who was not her brother. Luc settled back against his seat and folded his hands, now very interested in what could give her such boldness. “A ball?” he asked, mulling the thought over. While he thought that the idea seemed a bit callous, he understood that her thoughts were in the right place. Slowly, he sat up and pulled his ledger toward him. “I will gladly match the offerings of your brother and the other kings,” Luc said, making note with his quill before he looked up at her, “and as long as I am to be kept here, you can count on my attendance.”

Eleanor moved to sit down, before she too lifted a brow, “It is I who have come to inform you, not my brother.” She shook her head once, before she took a deep breath and sat up straight, “I plan to organize an…event of good will, for those who died and were injured during the siege, and in doing so, a sum of supplies and money will be given to the families who lost their men and women.” Eleanor then shrugged her shoulders briefly, “Of course the event will be in form of a ball, and I’ve come here to invite Your Grace to contribute and attend.”

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update: the interns are still idiots today. i have no hope for them.

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Lucien affixed his signature to a letter as Eleanor made her way in. He looked up briefly before putting down his quill and gesturing to an empty seat in the room at her bidding. “Your brother sends you to inform me of matters?” Luc asked, eyebrows lifting with the assumption. Settling back in his chair, he rested his arms at his sides. “Continue, then.”

Eleanor watched the advisors of the French King leave the room that she waited outside patiently. She drew in a deep breath walked in, before she met the King’s gaze fleetingly and lowered her head, curtsying, before she stood straight again, “I wished to ask your opinion of matter, Your Highness, or…inform you of it.”

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A hearty chuckle escaped his lips at her assessment. “For a moment, I believed you might say ‘Only a Frenchman would wear’ and, if I’m honest, Princesse, I was wounded,” he said, clutching at his chest in drama. 

“I believe I am speaking with the King of France? I would assume with the room you’re in… The food around you. And… Your sense of jewelry.” Lucretia said to him, folding her hands together. “Only a King would wear.”

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Realizing her status, Lucien rose from his seat to stand behind the table as she entered. “Nonsense. Your apology is appreciated but unnecessary,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Had I made myself readily available, you could have made such introductions in due time.” Rounding the table, he bowed slightly as the young woman introduced herself. “Pleasure, Princess. No doubt you know with whom you visit?”

“Sorry that I may have arrived in such sort notice, your Grace.” The Princess said, curtsying before she spoke further. “It is my duty to introduce myself to all of the royals in court of when I arrived. And I am very sure I have failed to introduce myself to you. I am Princess Lucretia.”

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i’ve finally got my muse back slightly for everyone. of course, i’m an asshole and don’t post on the weekends, so much good that did. but i’m mobile and i’ll try and find some time to get replies if i can’t. but i’m here all day on all these idiots and the main.

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Squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, the King let out a heavy sigh. He’d spent the better part of the week in his chambers with his advisors as France had begun to deteriorate. His people were growing restless, taking the news of the failed siege in Switzerland as a sign that Luc did not plan to give in to their demands. Leaning back in his chair, he dismissed his advisors and turned his attention to who entered next. “What might I do for you?” he asked, hoping for a distraction.

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i still haven’t done my replies. dishonor on my family cow.

just under a lot of stress. i’ll try and get them today

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ughhhhhh this project at work makes me want to punch myself. also, someone let me lick colin o’donoghue in the face.

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Her careful movements and actions earned Luc’s respect. His face softened more as he relaxed, turning to direct his kingsman to the aid of some men in the courtyard. “Please let him know that I am at his disposal. I am quite sure he finds himself busy in such times,” he said, distractedly settling his eyes back on the princess. “My travel was not eventful, I am glad to report.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Eleanor bowed her head in gratitude - before she stood straight again, just like her mother taught her when in presence of a King, respect and grace and humility all components of her perfect posture. She nodded once, “I will have him arrange a meeting as soon as possibly fit.” Eleanor breathed in, “Have you had a safe trip to the castle, Your Highness?” Eleanor started, launching into the routine welcome she trained herself to do. She could not let her sorrow affect her King’s image in the eyes of others.

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“Then I am, indeed, pleased to hear it,” Luc answered, pleased to finally come upon someone level-headed about the mess. He took in the man’s appearance, studying for a moment, the wound on his head. “Did you gain this in battle, sir?” he asked, gesturing to the cut.

This kingly fellow did not look like the kind of man who mopped. Coby faltered for a moment, amid the detritus and ruin strewn about that he was setting steadily back into order. How did he fare? The cut on his temple was still red, but scabbed over and showed no signs of evil infesting it. He did fare well. “Aye,” Coby said, flicking his eyes up and down this man. He bowed his head, deciding that would be wise enough. “Milord.”

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Lucien was taken aback -- he even leaned away from the young woman as she spoke, his eyebrows raising to what he imagined to be his hairline. He cleared his throat after a moment, reminding himself of decorum. “Perhaps you should take your time to mourn privately, Princesse,” Luc said with a chilling calm. He did not recognize her features, but he had heard talk of the causalities of the siege. “I am sincerely sorry for your loss,” he added, tone softening only slightly as he mentally added But do not forget your place. He was beginning to question how the castle had gone so long without imploding on itself if maidens and queens were allowed to speak in such tones as they wished.

"Unless you are able to turn back the clock and save my brother, save your breath," Giovanna said coldly, her eyes narrowing. "My worse nightmares came true during this siege. How do imagine I faired?"

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Luc let out an inaudible sigh. While he was sympathetic to the loss and fear that the castle had experienced, he could only hope that his fellow Kings were not as rattled and incapable of discussion. He licked his lips and looked down at the girl as she continued to speak, lilting off as she waited for an introduction. “King Lucien Renaud Duval -- of France,” he answered with a slight, stiff bow. “Please allow me to offer my assistance in any way you need, Reine.” 

Isabelle had been wandering the halls after the attack; long after, actually, as she had spent many hours deep inside her chambers, recovering from the thoughts of such a violent siege. Luckily, the queen herself was not physically harmed, yet the mental scars were inevitable as she had seen firsthand men being killed, or others lying dead in her path. Finally she had deemed herself ready to face the public — due to the image she put forth about herself during her queenship, she’d only felt it’d be fitting for her to make sure everybody was safe — or, at least, most were. Suddenly, a stranger approached her, though she’d seen him from the end of the corridor. “I am as well as I can be in such times,” she responded, her voice tense but lightly spoken. “One cannot expect to be fully well, but in due time I believe we all will recover. And how are you…?” Her words trailed off, intending to get a name from the man.

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Pursing his lips, he looked down at her and shook his head. “Not to worry yourself, Princess. There is no offense,” Luc reassured, holding up his hands so as to convey his words as genuine. Though France had not gotten on well with England for much of his lifetime, he bore no ill-will to the forlorn princess before him. “Will you let your brother know, then, that I must speak with him at his earliest convenience now that I have arrived?” He didn’t care to hear the reason for her sorrow -- and assumed that she did not care to tell him.

Eleanor peered up at him, frowning a bit, “I still plead you forgive my audacity, I meant no offense to your Highness.” She breathed in slowly, “I’m Eleanor of England, your highness. You needn’t address any matter with my brother. I assure you I will not do so again.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

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“As am I, Colette. France will always be in need of its King,” he smiled a bit, hinting at his attempted joke. While Luc often followed the ideal decorum and expectations, he didn’t much take himself too seriously. All he really wanted was to be a good king for his people. “France is -- mon dieu -- it is well. Not as bad as here, I’m happy to report.” His shoulders relaxed slightly as he began to walk again, beckoning her along with him.

“I am glad you have made it unharmed, Uncle.” Smiling softly her hands interlocked together. “I am well, a man made sure i was taken to safety when the fighting had gotten worse. Have you been well? How is France?” Colette feared a little that the rebels would tear through the streets when they heard that the King would not be there. There was already at least one in the castle that she knew of, if he was still in the castle since she traveled here.