#hltcevent03

     Smoothing a hand over her skirts absently as they walked, absorbed in the scenery, she soon returned her attention to the person by her side.  “Austria is beautiful, is it not?  I will never tire of it, much like my own dear forests.”

And of course, he had sustained an injury. It was nothing so serious, but his leg gave him great pain and tonight he could not dance. His pride was wounded even more greatly, and he sat on the outskirts of the revelries with his teeth clenched tight together, a mug of ale his only companion. He hated to lose, and he hated to be proven bad at anything. When a figure threatens to approach, he offers a tight smile. “I hope you had not come to request a dance, for my leg is being most uncooperative.”

There wasn’t a moment to think before rough hands were urging the prince away and in the direction of another apartment. They weren’t his apartments nor Amelie’s. His panic turned to anger as he tried to turn his head, looking over the shoulders of the armored guards. “Amelie!” He shouted, shoving into one of them. He had to find Amelie. She was all that mattered in that moment. “Amelie!” He shouted again as the guards moved him against his will. Before he could get to his sister, he was shoved into an apartment, the heavy door locked behind him. His foot connected with the door. “AMELIE!” He shouted once more though it was pointless. His hands pounded against the door, demanding it be opened though he knew it would not be. He was the heir. He had to be protected, but why the fuck could they not put him with Amelie? She was just as important. 

The prince slid down the door to the floor, his hands moving to grip his hair. He could not lose Amelie. He could not protect her in the room he was forced into. His chest tightened as he cursed the French in his head over and over. He grit his teeth, his entire body tense as he sat on the floor just beside the door. 

HAIL MARY, FULL OF GRACE ––––––––––– In an act of generosity and in requiem for the late Archduchess, His Supreme Grace the ruler of Austria has invited neighbors near and far to commemorate the sinless soul of Madonna in a Catholic ceremony known as the Assumption of Mary. Accompanied in the ceremony will be celebrations and merriment hosted by the Archduke himself, little expense spared to publicly highlight the pomp and pageantry of the Austrian court -  bringing to the forefront of European politics the small country’s ability to govern without the patronage of the Holy Roman Empire underneath a guise of strict piety. Royals are expected to sojourn in Vienna for as long as a fortnight, and are welcomed to festivities, gambling, matchmaking, and grandeur underneath the brise-soleil of Austrian resplendence.

She knew better. Of course Matilda knew better, but she had to find Henriette. After being locked in a room with Ingrid, she longed for the company of one of her truest friends. She needed to know Henriette was alright, for surely she was feeling many emotions, considering her family’s responsibility. Her own family safe and accounted for, the English princess navigated her way through the Austrian halls, her eyes scanning every direction for the familiar blonde hair. 

The moment she saw her, her pace quickened. “Hettie!” She called, her arms wrapping tightly around her. She hugged her close for a good minute before pulling away. “Honestly, what the fuck.” She still hadn’t processed the entirety of the siege. She wanted answers, but not from Henriette. The infanta was not at all to blame. “Please tell me you’ve been well treated, I never thought I’d be happy you’re French but here we are.” She sighed, taking Henriette’s hand and pulling her further out of sight from anyone else. “Please tell me you’ve been well-treated, I have much to tell you, this mess at least afforded an opportunity for interesting conversation, but if you’re at all hurt it can wait until we tend to you.”

There is a brief moment when panic settled in Madeleine’s veins. The panic was not for the chaos surrounding her, as she was no stranger to war, as loathe as she was to admit it. It was for her children. She had allowed them the freedom to leave her side, to indulge in the finery and lavish entertainment afforded by the Austrian court. Now she found herself unaware of their location, and it concerned her as a mother. Her children were wise, clever, and strong, but it did not stop her from wishing they were beside her. Instead, her sides were flanked by Austrian guards wearing concerned expressions. They hurried her through the halls, and she gave no protest though she did not understand why they had not led her to the guest apartments given to the Swedish party. 

She took a breath as the door was opened and she was not so gently pushed inside, the heavy door locking once more behind her. She willed her children’s safety to the protection of the Lord, as she could do nothing from her current constraints to protect them. It was not something that pleased her, but Madeleine was far from a weak-willed woman. She would not yield to her fear, she would manage it. She moved to sit, knowing that it would be pointless to not make herself comfortable. It was a matter of time now, time and persistence as to what would befall the battle. A flicker of anger filled her, but she pushed it down. The anger was entirely at the absence of her children and husband. She wanted them beside her, though she knew Einar and Valdemar could handle themselves. As much as her son fought his father, he was as strong as the man she had married, and it made her proud. But Ingrid, her sweet rose, she worried for her more. It reminded her of her childhood in Estonia. Men had marched on her home when she was very small. She remembered hiding with her mother. Her mother had sang and embraced her, hand smoothing her dark curls until the fear left her. She longed to offer the same comfort to Ingrid, and resented Louis and Klaus alike for the circumstance. 

Madeleine looked to the woman who shared the foreign apartment with her, surprised to find it was Louis’ mistress. She had met the woman only once before, and it had been a pleasant conversation. Mistress or not, she had held herself with grace and dignity. “My lady,” Madeleine’s words were soft as she sat straight, “Are you unharmed?” She asked, praying that the woman was. She did not delight in needless bloodshed. She preferred peace. But she knew now it was the time to be brave, to hold herself respectably in the company of Marguerite.