#angerrot

lune supposes, through the constantly grappling of logic and presented precedent, that the path from trust to despair is a straight line ... and often paved with good intentions. it is in this knowledge that she feels wary of monoco, not for any failing on the gestrals part, but because lune feels compelled to believe in him ... despite the howling of better judgement.

she can feel the corner of her lips tug as she witnesses the way he stands upright, shoulders back and spine straight, staring directly into the bastion that stands in the way of their expedition.

he steps forward and so does she, shoulder to shoulder — a dangerously self-assured smile brightens her face, one that she shines up towards monoco without hesitation.

@angerrot , putrice & the prince !

trumpets reverberate throughout the old king's castle, announcing an arrival to the esteemed estate. it dawns on him after a second or two later, the prince scrambling to his feet and to the royal hall in anticipation that his future queen, at last, has arrived. he slows to a stop to collect himself before he makes himself known, hands brushing off his velvet doublet, to the ashmores three that stand just within palace walls. then there's tadius, who appears to reluctantly reveal the prince's bride-to-be, putrice, front and center of her escort.

the prince, of course, remembers the ashmore sisters at his ball. when he attempts to call to mind the mysterious maiden that graced him with her presence, all that remains is the fiery image of starlight in his mind-- not putrice. but he had been terribly drunk! and he realizes, then, that he might have been slow to greet his guests. a large and charming smile appears on his lips, and his arms sweep out to gesture their luxurious surroundings.

"And perhaps you aren't thinking about it enough." She's got maps and various official papers strewn about her desk. She's been looking over this for what felt like ages now, all asking for her approval or dismissal. She knows what her mother would choose, but she was still figuring it all out herself.

"a lot can." it feels like an oversimplification — how many more years would things continue to happen? how long would the day-to-day of their lives be controlled by something the people of lumière never asked for? but such thoughts are not new for gustave, so he nestles them away, lets his attention focus on something better: sophie. mechanical fingers reach out on instinct, stray flower petal plucked from her hair. "lots of things that don't, too. things that could."

IT HAD BEEN EIGHT YEARS SPENT IN SUBTERFUGE, living a lie. acting on orders of another to keep the queen safe from harm. though while you miss home there is no regret for the time lost. this task was an important one, or so you were told. life spent as a subordinate, you had fallen easily into the role of ordinary chamberer, though it did never quiet your tongue.

but a new situation had arisen. you had gotten too close. the press of her lips to your cheek still burn / still chase away sleep in favour of memories and of thoughts that cannot be. sabran would not tolerate treachery in her court / a mage even less. had faced down dragons but cower at the idea of what that kiss could have meant. besides, your time with her was running out, the prioress would not maintain her thin patience, you would be demanded back into the fold no matter how important it was that you remain.

your face remains impassive to the questioning, have no succinct or right answer to give him. promoted to lady of the bedchamber / sleeping in the queen's bed, a hard woman to read. a woman in mourning / about to lose her queendom. no time for sensitive conversations. you do not know what she means to you -- let alone the queen's own feelings. your head shakes / clearing thoughts.