regal silence

"  it's  a  triumph  .  "  isra  matches  the  king's  grin  with  ease  ,  a  breathy  chuckle  escaping  her  .  "  thank  you  ,  "  she  murmurs  ,  quieter  out  of  humility  rather  than  anything  else  .  the  throngs  capture  her  attention  once  again  ,  as  she  looks  at  the  attendees  thoughtfully  .  "  i  am  glad  to  be  here  ,  for  you  .  and  a  change  of  pace  is  appreciated  every  once  in  a  while  .  "  even  if  she  would  rather  not  be  parading  about    as  the  setting  requires  .  she  can't  recall  whether  she  always  preferred  being  on  the  sidelines  ,  surveying  the  scene  ,  or  if  it  serves  as  a  byproduct  of  her  training  and  past  missions  . "  i  do  look  forward  to  the  meteor  shower  the  most  ,  "  she  admits  .  whether  she  considers  herself  a  believer  in  magic  or  not  ,  there  is  something  truly  enchanting  about  even  the  mere  prospect  of  stars  dancing  across  the  sky  .  to witness it for herself is all the more delightful . "  so  i'll  surely enjoy  it  all  the  more  ,  then  ,  with  your  company  .  "  

They looked down at their worn copy, the fabric on the cover sun-bleached from the summer they were fifteen and would hardly read anything else. Traces of jam and honey still lingered on the pages of the second act, remnants of an easier time, lying in the grass, having a picnic, basking in the sun that lingered above the horizon late into the night. “Romeo and Juliet?” Nell repeated, a bit taken aback. They’d made so many assumptions about the king, and it would be a lie to say they weren’t a bit embarrassed to have seemingly been so wrong. They flipped through the pages, considering the story. “It’s one of my favorites as well. I loved it as a young girl, but for entirely different reasons than I do now.” They glanced back up at the king, a bittersweet feeling falling over them as they thought of it. “The tragedy was always the love, when I’d read it then. It was terrible because they loved each other and died for it. Now,” they paused mid-sentence, considering how to word their thoughts in a way that made sense. “Now I see it’s about the tragedy of youth. Being forced to either adapt to the cruelties of the world you were born into, or be exiled from it entirely.” They looked down for a moment, then back up to Ramses. "Or maybe that's a bit melodramatic."

He paused, glancing at the book in her hands. "Now, I see it as a commentary on the innocence of youth and the inevitable clash with societal expectations and familial pressures. The tragedy lies not just in their love, but in the circumstances that forced such young hearts into impossible decisions."

Light trickled through the windows of the library, with one beam of light falling perfectly on Papango’s table, illuminating the aged pages in front of them. They’d taken to the library that afternoon in search of Brazilian books about Madagascar, curious how their histories could differ from Madagascars. Their Portuguese wasn’t strong, but they’d been in Brazil long enough that they could pick their way though the book, running on context clues from the words they recognized. A steaming cup of coffee sat next to them- contraband in a library like this. It had been easy enough to sneak it in, and they’d purposefully picked a home in the most isolated corner of the library, but they still kept it concealed with a carefully arranged pile of books. Papango was just bringing the mug to their lips when another approached. “Shit,” They mumbled, placing the cup down and glancing up at the person before them. “Is it worth pretending I didn’t know about the ‘no beverages’ rule, or should I just leave?” 

where: the cells

Hisashi needed to get out.

He had too much experience to believe it when he was told this would not last long. Prison had been his home for years. It was a place he had promised himself he would not end up in again. He had thought his father's lands and titles would protect him. What was the use of them if he could end up back here?

He pressed himself up against the bars, calling to a guard's retreating back. "Name a price to let me out! I can barely even speak French! Ask anyone who knows me, they will tell you I have neither the intelligence nor the patience to be involved in any of this!" There was very little he would not offer, few he would not betray, to get himself out of this mess.

As the guard vanished he lashed out, kicking at the bars and swearing at the sharp pain that followed.

Colette stood in the dimly lit corridor, her eyes narrowing as she observed the commotion. The shadows clung to her like a cloak, and her presence went unnoticed until she chose to make it known. She stepped forward, her voice soft yet commanding, cutting through Hisashi’s desperate cries. “Such theatrics,” she remarked, her tone laced with a mix of amusement. “You should conserve your energy, my lord. Panic and desperation are the enemies of reason.”

— Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov.

Léa Seydoux as Lady Margot Fenring

He considered the princess's words, reflecting on the truth behind them. Titles and lands often came with expectations and responsibilities, but they didn’t guarantee wisdom or compassion. He had seen many wield power without the insight to use it for good, prioritizing ambition over the well-being of those they governed. Considering her desire to leave. “If you feel it’s best to go, I won’t keep you." He stepped back slightly, allowing her to make her exit without pressure. "Your Highness" he said softly, his tone filled with sincerity.

Andromeda’s eyes widened at the story, his words conjuring a scene that would surely inspire absolute terror to actually experience. It was not a particularly comforting story, though she’d been assured theirs was likely to be a smooth journey. “A pod of dolphins?” She repeated, genuinely astonished at the tale. “I hope you kept contact with them, should we run into a similar situation.” She gave a playful smile. “Was that the largest storm you’ve experienced?”

If she’d thought it through a bit more, she would have seen his question coming, but she’d been so focused on maintaining her composure that she hadn’t thought it through. She did carry a great number of stories, but they all belonged to the life she had before- something she tried to keep out of casual conversation. “Oh, captain, my life is not nearly as interesting. I’m sure any story of mine would pale in comparison to the life you’ve lived.” It was a weak attempt at a avoiding the question, but she didn’t want to seem too eager in her own evasion.

Cedric chuckled softly at Andromeda’s astonishment and fast joke. “Yes, a pod of dolphins! They were leaping alongside the ship, almost as if they were guiding us through the storm. It was a beautiful distraction amidst the chaos,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with the memory. When she asked if it was the largest storm he had faced, he nodded. "No, that storm wasn't the largest, but it certainly left a lasting impression. The sea has a way of humbling us.” The sea had indeed been a cruel mistress at times, taking more than just ships—it had claimed friends and comrades who had sailed beside him. 

“I was raised on a farm. Roughly a day’s walk to your native Lyon, actually.” It was bittersweet to reflect on his early life. He missed France deeply, and thought often of the idyllic, pastoral life he could have had if he’d ignored his restlessness and never moved to Paris. That dream was always shattered at the memory of how miserable he’d been, but it was nice to consider before then. “We always had a horse, for taking produce to market, plowing the fields, that sort of thing.” He was always a bit embarrassed by his aversion to riding, and chose to keep those thoughts to himself. “I don’t ride much, though. I have a rather energetic mutt that needs a great deal of attention and exercise, so any time I could spend riding is spent walking her.” Max used the word mutt with great affection, even if he was using her as an excuse. He turned his attention to the stallion Cedric was attending to. “And who’s this? He’s absolutely stunning. Did you bring him from France?”

Cedric's thoughts drifted back to Lyon, a place that held his heart despite the many years and miles between them. He missed the rolling hills and the lush vineyards that stretched as far as the eye could see, the scent of fresh bread from the local vendors wafting through the narrow cobblestone streets to name a few. Lyon beauty was unmatched and its charm unforgettable. "It’s a pity we never crossed paths before," Cedric said, looking at Max with a thoughtful expression. "given how close our homes are," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But I'm grateful to have met you now, after all these years. It's rare to find someone who understands that pull of home so well."

He listened attentively to Max's story, nodding along with understanding. Curiosity evident in his expression. "Your dog sounds like quite the character. What's their name? And what kind of adventures do you two get up to together?" He smiled, clearly enjoying the conversation and eager to hear more about Max's life outside of their current duties.

Instinctively, he looks up. A raised brow, now piqued in curiosity. "It is not state related." He repeats, deducing the intent between his words. "What consumes you then, my friend? Matters of the heart? Trifles with other advisors?"

Ignacio chuckled softly, appreciating Antonio's relaxed demeanor. "A part of this family, you say? I must admit, I feel more like the honorary uncle at times," he replied with a warm smile. The king's easy nature always disarmed him, making the burdens of his role feel lighter. "Thank you, Antonio. It means a great deal to hear that." He chuckled softly at the mention of titles. "Old habits die hard, Your Majesty."

“Always so eager,” she teased. Winifred settled into his presence, the nerves settling as she readjusted to being near him. After years of letters, she’d grown used to him being a voice in her head, and being near him always put her off-balance. If any of her previous lovers saw the fumbling way she acted around him after so long apart, they likely wouldn’t recognize her. She was always confident around her romantic prospects. Domineering and flirty, not coy and timid, as she felt she was around Ignacio. But that was just it- there were no stakes with the others. They were placeholders, entertainment, keeping her company until everything fell into place with the only one she truly wanted. 

Winifred’s cheeks warmed at his words, and she regretted applying rouge before she left. With any luck, the dim lighting would conceal how scarlet she’d turned. “I’m doing well enough, all things considered. It's been a difficult year, but everything seems to be improving.” She’d been faring far better than she expected on the extended trip from home, with all the responsibility that came with it. “You look wonderful, Ignacio.” Her words came out with a soft affection. Maybe it was the light, or her adoration, but he was practically glowing. “Is there a woman in your life, hmm? Is that what’s to blame for that twinkle in your eye?” It was teasing, but she was desperate to know if his heart was still free before she got her hopes up. 

He chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Always eager, indeed. I suppose some things never change." His letters to Winifred were a cherished escape from the demands of his life. Even as children, he found solace in putting pen to paper, crafting words that could bridge the distance between them. Each letter was filled with playful anecdotes, reflections on their shared dreams, and the occasional philosophical musing. As he wrote, he couldn't help but marvel at her keen mind and vibrant spirit. Each time he penned a response, he found himself eagerly anticipating her thoughts, her laughter captured in the flow of ink. It was through these exchanges that he began to see her not just as a friend but as someone who stirred something within him—a fascination that grew deeper with every correspondence. With time, Ignacio's fondness for Winifred evolved into something more profound. He wondered if the sentiment was mutual.

Andromeda nodded slowly, serenely. His words resonated with her, especially as he spoke of refuge. Her trips to the cathedral were not something she mentioned to the people around her, preferring to keep them separate from the rest of her life. It was one of the last remaining tethers to the woman she was before. One of the last things she had in common with her. It was personal, a way to sit with herself, far more than it was religious. The last thing she wanted was to be known for her trips there, or to be seen as particularly pious. “I agree,” she mumbled quietly, admiring the ornate works around her. 

“Though I must admit, I feel more at home in a humbler setting.” It was relatively rare for her to express an opposing opinion, especially one that required vulnerability, as this did. “The glimmer and opulence is beautiful, but it feels as if it only stands to remind us of God’s power. I sit here, and I feel awed by the magnificence.” She faltered for a moment, unsure if her words were wise. “The God that lives here its a wild, proud lion. Something untouchable, foreign. In the small, country churches, I truly feel in his image. As though he could be sitting among us.” She shook her head, a bit embarrassed. “I suppose that’s the beauty of it. That he can exist as both at once.”  

Ignacio listened intently, her words painted a vivid picture, one of connection to spirituality and the contrasting atmospheres of grandeur versus simplicity. "You express that beautifully," he replied, a warm smile softening his expression. "I understand what you mean. There’s a certain honesty in the humble spaces where we can truly feel ourselves. The vastness of a grand cathedral can sometimes feel overwhelming, almost like a reminder of our own insignificance in the face of such power."