exhale;

alexander took use of the nice weather outside and spent a while practicing his sword skills. he has always believed that there’s room to get better at everything, and besides, it was a nice way to clear his head a little. other than that, he spotted a few ladies sitting on a bench near, and he would be lying to himself if he would say that the thought of impressing them didn’t linger in his head. he stood there, twiddling his sword in the air, and with one quick turn he nearly sliced a person that approached him. he instantly took down the sword. “dear lord!” he said, sighing with relief a moment later. “i truly apologize.“ he said with a concerned look. “perhaps it would be the time to quit the sword for today.” he said in a lighter tone.

Pierre squeaked as the sword swung as him, book tumbling from his hands as he cowered reflexively. it soon became clear that he wasn’t about to be chopped up during his afternoon stroll, though, and he let out a light laugh in an attempt to ease the situation after the prince’s apology, though his heart was still pounding and his breathing audibly shaky. 

There had been much to think about, from the propaganda plastered across the walls of the palace to the whispers that had been circulating about the princess he loved. All of it did little to give him peace of mind, though that seemed to be the only thing he was craving at the moment. Reading usually transported him to another reality, but he was quickly realising that he couldn’t focus enough for such a thing to happen, the same two sentences he’d been going over the past few minutes still not making much sense to him. He let out a sigh before he noticed a shadow above him, and he lifted his head to see if it was anyone he knew.

The library was a kind of sanctuary, books a means of escape into a wider world that was not diseased, a world where freedom leapt off the pages and kept him, (for the most part), sane. today, however, he was not alone. pierre had seen the young italian prince reading before and had quietly retreated, but an uncharacteristic rush of boldness bolstered his nerves and he stepped forwards, bowing respectfully out of habit. 

 gregoire walked through the gardens with his head low but his eyes scanning, he was more vigilant than ever before now with the propaganda surfacing about the palace walls. he was listening for anyone supporting or encouraging such acts of revolution. he slipped past most unnoticed due to him keeping a relatively low profile within the palace walls. most who knew of him passed him off as a simple duke, and those who knew him well enough to know he was a man to be feared, he was almost certain were too afraid to be an issue for him. being relatively unknown to anyone outside of france allowed the duke to overhear some interesting conversations for the most part, but now he was looking for solid proof within the whispers in the halls. as he walked he seemed to only be searching the faces of those he passed as if to greet them rather than reading them for any sort of off behavior. 

Pierre had always felt that he had the constitution of a poet, though regrettably little of the talent. poetry, nature, art - these he tried to use to distract his mind from the horror of it all, drinking in beauty as though it were the antidote to all ills. thus, as he walked through the garden he was not observing the characters of the people he passed but the characters of the flowers, head lowered, scrawling scraps of pedestrian verse into a ragged notebook - that is, until a voice startled him from contemplation, and the pencil fell from his fingers.