#versaillesstarter

Alistair had always found a certain comfort in surrounding himself with nature of any kind. Something about the freshness of it all, about being surrounded by life in its simplest and purest form, had always allowed the Crown Prince somewhat of a peace he hadn’t seemed to find elsewhere. When the world got too loud, the expectations of his station too much, or the uncertainty of the future too prominent, the Scot found himself seeking the tranquility only nature could provide. Despite the chill of the night air, the Prince had risen from his bed, unable to sleep and determined to clear his seemingly unsettled soul. For the better part of half an hour he’d been wandering the palace grounds, searching for the gardens he’d heard so much about. Having reached his destination, Alistair found himself footing lightly through the darkened paths, the moonlight and glimmering stars above his only sliver of light. The rustle of leaves and the sound of approaching footsteps drew him from his peace, though he displayed no irritation as he turned slowly, smiling at the other. “Lovely night, is it not?” He asked, tipping his head to take in the sight of the stars. “It was always my foolish belief that the most beautiful of the stars hung above Scotland. Now, however, I have been forced to rethink such a stance.” Alistair returned his gaze to his companion. “If I may be so bold, what has brought you to the gardens at such an hour?:” @versailleshqstarters​

aurelin && juliette in the halls of versailles.

hel && ulf in the throne room.

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the pool of blood beneath her was growing as her assassination attempt on the tsar’s life was unsuccessful. but he had gotten his due in return, wounding her greatly on her side. she had just finished fending off someone coming after her to kill her. but the viking princess was not going to let them get the best of her.... but it didn’t help her wound, only worsening it. “i’m sorry...” she looked up at her brother. “i failed.... and i won’t go to valhalla with you it seems...”

Location: Throne room

Who: Your muse could either be the injured or the attacker, & either be the one who started it or was actually attacking in retaliation or to defend or avenge someone else whom the other had injured beforehand. Or someone that sees Albert going between the current pair & either wants to help Albert or side with one of the parties or someone who needs albert’s flying talent...anything your creativity decides! <3

Despite his arguments, grumblings, sulkiness and high reluctance, in the end, Albert was still forced to make his presence known at Versailles. Even if he balked whole-heartedly at the whole concept of arranged marriagies, even if he found flaws in the elaborate scheme of the Sun King to unite warring kingdoms through forced unions with the promise of a gift of greed and ambition in the end to the participants, even if he was still secretly grieving over what he had feared had most likely happened to his beloved , for her letters had stopped arriving long before the Sun King’s announcement was made, as a Tudor Prince, he was still greatly coerced and under heatedly pressured obligation to go through with this farce of a union laid before him. 

Thus it was with grudging footsteps that Albert found himself making his way to the wedding venue of the Sun King to the Habsburg Princess. He was already a few days late to France due to his protests to the whole affair, and he was also very late to the grand wedding of his host. Though to those who knew him, punctuality had always never been his strongest suit. ‘Many long apologies would have to be uttered later, however he was here at last wasn’t he? ‘ he thought dejectedly.

so instead of mingling, which she really didn’t want to do, and avoiding her father trying to introduce her to her betrothed; the crown prince of austria. ; she rushed to the dining hall. she wanted to scream and pull out all her hair on the way over when she was told she’d be married before the month is over. she didn’t want to marry. she’d rather die old and alone. or in battle.

sitting at the table, she stared down at the food. grabbing a plate and helping herself to the feast, she dig in, only to stop. “what is this... slop?” she growled, other princesses looking at her like a barbarian. taking her spoon, she glared at the perfect princesses before dripping the slop- actually fancy delicious french soup; into the dish before flicking it at them.