"  what  was  my  stylist  thinking  ?  "  priscilla  muses  ,  pausing  in  her  apparent  attempt  to  dig  tracks  into  the  hallway floor  .  "  i  look  like  a  cake  topper  .  "  she  crosses  her  arms  over  her  chest  ,  looking  to    @moltengcld  @hcrexcellency  @effervcscents  for  guidance  .  or  comment  ,  at  the  very  least  .

"Annaliese!" Jacqueline bellows, by way of greeting. The thick of her voice managing to cross the threshold of the garden. After a week of recuperation and a steady few days tending to affairs, the Queen is back in the public eye of court. This time, looking like the entirety of herself, as well as her state. Her clothes now properly fitted, allowing full view of her stomach. She is slow to approach, and Jacqueline could nearly roll her eyes back at the speed. For a woman of such agility, this new and slower pace felt like an intolerable existence. "I know. I know." She chuckles, gesturing to the look of her. The pair hadn't seen each other since the coup, and she looks and feels entirely different now. What a difference a few short weeks make in this state. "There is no denying it now. I am a mother-to-be."

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 giving her little sister time to the things smooth out for both of them. Despite being really angry with her, changed her sister for that douchebag of her husband. Either way, she would never step on the Liechtenstein quarters ever again. Her grey-bluish hues were locked into the fountain in front of her, there were two things in her mind, one was how much she missed Gizella, and the second was what she should wear to the meeting? Or is it a date? For the Count of Prussia, Xavier. She was wondering what kind of dessert she should bring to their encounter, in which she was excited. She recognizes that footsteps… It's the one and only… ❛ Hi Gi. ❜ Barbara didn't even turn to see her sister when she guessed it was her, and then she finally turned in front of her. She clasped her hands together. ❛ Before you start. I'll admit, I was a little curt. I'm sorry for that. ❜ Their last time, the way Barbie blasted, even scared herself. She hardly explodes the way that she did, if not almost never. She troubles acknowledging her own sentiments.

There are promises he made Isolde - to love her forever, to make her smile in her darkest days. Hell, he'd sworn off the heavy drink for her. But this is one promise he never made to her. Even if it was implied in their exchanges, and Isolde's willfulness to allow her family peace in these last few years. She is the love of his life, and she deserved to live the remainder of her days with the totality of her sibling's love. If Javier knew then what he knew now... He'd wish to know earlier, and make the most of this time.

No love lost between them, but Javier decides to start with Joanna. The Stuart girls are famously tight-knit, yet somehow he knows that Joanna is willful enough to see past the heartbreak of his news. A hope that, at the end of it, she can find it in her to bring light to Isolde's days. He awaits by the apartments of her in-laws-to-obe, preferring this to the outskirts of the Stuart's apartments. "Joanna." Javier calls for her, his voice gravelly and uncertain. It is serious, and the smiling King with the debonair attitude is reduced to a man with a broken heart. "We need to talk. It's about Isolde."

What an odd thing it was, to be back at royal court. Gabriel almost forgot the smell of gold and hypocrisy, ever-present in these formal avenues. And though he lusted for the former, he desperately loathed the latter. Even the ground itself was a peculiar thing; steady, polished, clean. So unlike the tried-and-true snake of the seas, who'd just come ashore after King Diego's pardon. In his possession appears a measly lot - a single bag slung over his leather jacket. Whatever else he needed for his stay in France, he intended to take. He's rounding a corner, holding a glass of expensive whiskey and brimming with satisfaction. Ah, to be a Prince once more. But he takes pause at the familiar sight. One that has his lips curve from a smile to a smirk, brows lifted in acknowledgement. "Your Highness," he says with a mocking, formal air. "Christ, Maria. You look like a Princess now." And though his words may sound like an uncle, jesting at his niece, there's a cruel air behind it. One only Maria would know, from their longstanding history. "When did you grow up so proper? Don't I get a hug? Tio is home."

Whenever he needs to ground himself, he think of the reasons why he stays. The reasons for why he is King Elias of Liechtenstein, rather than Lord Elias with a simple property far away from the borders of Schellenberg land. The list changes, depending on the day and state of affairs at the Schellenberg household. But there's a constant, one he never anticipates in his early years, and it's enough for Elias to do away with the help offered by the healthier members of the search party. There's a surging pain in his right elbow, twisted out of its proper joint and covered with a large red-and-purple patch. But his legs are capable of carrying his misaligned weight, however fragmented the view was. He just needs to get to her, and even as he bids the eldest Lorraine a quick word of assurance, Elias' eyes and searching for the bright spot of blonde hair and blue eyes. "Ella!" He calls out, thinking he sees her through the haze. Did they take her? Did they hurt her? A million questions, and he stumbles past a passing guard, and nearly knocks the wind out of her as he pulls her into his arms. "Wife, are you hurt?"

It is grave news, to be sure. The rulers that were once considered theirs, lost and nowhere to be found. But one aspect of Kinghood that Elias learns is the importance of perspective. The Holy Roman Empire is a real threat - but it is in the distance, and seemingly aimed for the Bourbon's. Yet Liechtenstein's newfound alliance with Scotland? The union of the Stuart's and the Schellenberg's by marriage? It is in his reach, in-hand and secure. And though Elias is not one to grasp for power and ego, he arrives in the early morning with a spring to his step. A flush of confidence and self-satisfaction that is never more apparent, than when he meets Gizella's questioning eye with a cocky grin.

"My beautiful wife. You should be filled with pride." Elias boasts, energized despite the lack of sleep. From the engagement party to a search party, to the exchange with King Graeme and Reuben himself. Much is accomplished in the nighttime hours, and Elias grins down at Gizella, jumping into the bed beside her. "I have such wonderful news, that whatever wry comment on my absence from our bed will wash away." He regards, quick to circumvent the routine bout of crisp words Gizella can provide. Especially when energized from a night's sleep. "But first - know this. I have told Reuben to be kind and respectful. Well, as kind and respectful as my brother can be."