immaclte​:
Her eyes flitted down from the stranger’s mask, actively searching for his sash that’d announce who and what he was. Though his eyes were unfamiliar, there was something common within him. Some manner of how he stood and spoke mirrored someone she knew. So, before his lips began to move she assumed it was some English lord, a friend of her brothers, who’d come to think that Bounty was just another English Rose. As he watched her and she him, Elizabeth quickly found herself fancying a dream of who he was - her mind racing ahead as if she were stuck for time as the two stood together, amongst the many pairs of feet and hands that launched into a dance made for the celebration.Â
So lost in her fantasy, that she almost missed the sudden volume that came from his mouth - teeth and tongue exposed as a thick French accent launched her into a sort of terror; a terror found in shipwrecked souls or troublemakers who were just caught out. If she had known that the French were loitering at le Chateau Vert, perhaps Elizabeth would’ve acted with more care. Running her tongue along the back of her teeth, the Princess stood straighter, her mask hiding her inherited features - perhaps he was a friend of the Prince? Or a partner to some English noblewoman, a pair trying to mend the schism that was the relationship between England and France.Â
“Amorous and Bounty are surely a pair made for mischief. If you give amour without limit you are certain to cause heartache. But if you give and give without love, what does that make you? Ah, I fear I chose a complex virtue tonight, monsieur!” Elizabeth answered, a natural flutter from her eyelashes causing her cheeks to redden from beneath her golden mask. Within seconds, she wished for her ladies-in-waiting to save her.Â
“And who else has caught your eye this evening, Amour? Beauty, surely?”
He noticed her eyes, first. Curious and bewitching, enough to latch onto and flash his own wolfish gleam-- and were he clever enough to know the laws of attraction transcending time and space, perhaps his fascination with her eyes was hereditary. His father, the king, was drawn to Lady Anne Boleyn’s eyes - dark, mysterious, full of wiles and intellect that he could’ve easily been lost in. Yes, hereditary. But currently, this concealed damsel before him was no daughter of two titanic figures who impacted a multitude of clustered countries within Europe. She was intriguing enough with the lilt of her voice, a sharp wit accented with the soft bat of lashes. And Charles, a slave to his very own Virtue he played so expertly- amorous- couldn’t help but succumb to his near hedonistic flirtations around her.Â
Thus, he tilted his chin up toward the fine-scaffolded Hampton Court ceiling, fingers brushed back golden de Valois locks, and he let out a slight laugh at her words. “We need each other, then, my lady in order to survive against all vices. I suggest you keep up with me, and I’ll ensure your bounty is full of as much love you could ever hope to think of in one evening.” He winked, offering her his arm as he motioned toward the flurry of dancers.
But then, she asked of who caught his eye. He peered around the room as much as a lion spoiled, surveying the territory. Stifling a full-chested laugh at the notion he would fall fo Beauty - his sister, of all people, that he was sure for he knew her better than the words to prayer. “Only the superficial virtues would flock to Beauty for a first dance, though I am positive her heart is as beautiful as is the Virtue’s appearance.But as per my favourite Virtue I’ve seen this evening,  I don’t want to bloat the ego... Nor tell her the tinge of her hair is what drew me in first, nor her eyes second. I’m rather troublesome, you see, but I do believe I’m in fa more trouble than I’ve realised just coming across her, because I want to know all about her.” Peering down at her, smile grows as the music begins. “Particularly as we begin our first dance.. And you? Which virtue do you wish to bless with your attention this evening?.”Â
