[M] The Ladies of Versailles {IC}

[Extraordinaire.]

Bonjour, Chérie

The Palace of Versailles was a very restless place. Whether it be an international conference, a disturbance from the press, or a family conflict gone viral, it was a monument of hectic activity. And if there wasn't chaos breaking loose, then there was a brief moment of piece that would only be a preparation for a great tragedy to come. Which is why, after a rather uneventful weekend spent lounging around the castle, Queen Adelaide found herself attending their weekly tea alone, anticipating the news that she would soon announce.

A black-vested waiter served her her traditional tea, soaked in honey and lime, fizzing with sugar cubes. Stirring the drink with her lips puckered sourly, she stared at the grand facade of sweets blamefully, disappointed in her daughters' lack of punctuality. Their Sunday tea had become a sacred tradition, something that had only ever been attended with the Queen and her daughters, for generations past. And although in reality they literally sat there and filled up on pastries before dinner, the mother had become accustomed to it and even looked forward to the bonding opportunity.

It was a lovely arrangement, after all; there were levels of miniature red velvet cupcakes and chocolate chip muffins showcased on a black iron frame. Lean slices of angel food cake were scattered, decorated with sliced strawberries and spritzed with cream. Frozen lemon sorbets sat in chilled glasses beside every plate, accompanied with a glass of iced water. Vibrant macaroons sat in silver trays, arranged as orderly as sardines, with a flavor as playful as they looked. Wedges of cucumber sandwiches on thin bread were around the center table decoration, a glass-warped swan, smeared over with creme cheese. Pastel Pettit Fours in wax-paper holders created intricate swirls around the grand table, line with a cotton-white table cloth that poured over the edges into a floral design. And on either side of the table, the spouts facing the centerpiece, laid an identical pair of vintage tea sets. The tea cups were placed on the table mat of every spot and each person was given their own specific blend, along with a miniature jar of honey, equipped with a sterling silver Tiffany utensil, that was cleverly shaped like a bee-hive. Taking in the full extent of the scenery, the Queen eyed one of the guards while slowly sipping her tea.

"They're late," she said bluntly, although the daughter's still had a good ten minutes to spare and on that single observation, five separate guards were sent into the castle, each to retrieve their own princess. Taking another sip of her tea, her lips spread into a thin, aging smile towards the remaining men. Staring out past the men, to the vast maze-gardens, fountains, and the flowers that drowned the land, she felt more sure than ever of her decision. It was a bold movement she was about to make, revealing to her daughters that they literally chose their own fate, but there was great reasoning behind it. They were all going to show their true colors and their devotion to the throne. She was unaware of the hell that would soon break loose, but that was mostly because her only involvement was getting the opportunity to sit back and watch it play out. "It's a special day, indeed..."

[Anastasia]

"Dress! Dress!"

The voice shouting from her bedroom was soft, sweet and melodic. It was one filled with hope, and distinct undertones of frustration. The room she inhabited was filled with gold, whether it be ornaments on the mantle or simply the trim of the room. It was truly something beautiful, a life of luxury, something so far beyond compare. Yet it was entirely taken for granted by the girl who lived here. She was a Princess by trade, and always acted like one. Right down to the last. Spoiled some might call, though the young Geneviève preferred to think of it as privileged, gifted, perhaps even lucky.

"Jeanne! Now, please! Mother is going to kill me. I'm late... though perhaps it would be fun for us to watch her suffer, non?"

The Princess grinned at the thought. Geneviève was a twin. Together with Sicilia they were the first born children, though Sicilia had the distinct privilege of being born first. Had she only had one daughter, the young lady remarked to herself. Sighing ever so greatly, the thin girl would run through the room, hair almost done, make up complete. The dress set out for her was white, form fitting, and descended halfway below the knees, sleeves cut off just below the shoulder. It was appropriate for the situation, or so her maid had told her. Slipping into it, her raven tresses flowed freely down her back and spilled over her shoulder. Adorned with the proper jewelry, she thought she was ready.

Jeanne had been her principal maid since she was six, when the last one had resigned unexpectedly, many had suspected it was due to the simple fact that Geneviève was less than warm and less then cooperative. Perhaps this simple servant knew more about her than anyone else. She had known of all the Princesses secret boyfriends, of her midnight matches, to watching her cry for just about any reason.

"She never takes kindly to such things, but we all know I'm not the favorite anyway... If anything I'd say Noëlle... Or worse, Sicilia, n'est-ce pas? Oh la la..."

"Highness, is that really appropriate given how late you are..."

Jeanne had subtly reminded her that now was not the best time to complain about these things, their mother was waiting for them after all.

The princess was hardly out of breathe when she was met with nothing but silence, her maids dare not challenge her, they all had distinctive memories about what happened the last time they dared such a thing. It wasn't pretty for anyone. At last Geneviève was ready, it took long enough, many had thought of the poor girl. She would thrust open the doors to her room and descend down the gilded hallways, which she hardly noticed and toward the area in which her mother, Her Royal Majesty had awaited. She would never hear the end of it, she assumed.

Almost as soon as she had turned her first corner, she met with her guard who had been sent to retrieve her, she smiled and bowed her head politely, taking her arm in his.

"Matthieu, you shouldn't have come all this way just for me. She must be fuming, isn't that right? Oh I can just imagine her tapping the perfect silver against the delicate china, impatient."

The young princess kissed his cheek and pulled him faster along. As the guard turned red, she was well aware of just how inappropriately she was carrying herself this morning.

"If I'm any later, it's on you, okay?"

She would have him escort her down to the tea. It was something she dreaded, each and every week. How painful these engagements were. Her mother, Adelaide, was tireless in her endeavors, before long, she had arrived and would bow her head before her mother taking her place at the table.

"Please forgive my tardiness, maman."

She stated, almost sarcastically, having made the conscious decision not to curtsy before the Queen.

[Girly Woman]

As Adriana watched her smiling Tommy calmly speak in rabid Italian to two far-less amused Italians whom she was told were the King and Queen of Italy, Adriana reflected that it had been one of the weirdest two days in her life. She's had some strange things happen in her life, but this was stranger than everything combined. It started with Tommy driving to the wrong airport, which turned out to be the right airport. There was an incredibly fancy private jet waiting to take them Italy. She'd spent the flight wondering just who the heck this man was! She'd briefly worried about the mafia rumors, but figured if he had planned on hurting her, he surely wouldn't have taken the expense of bringing her on this flight. Besides, she was a Jersey girl and could smell those guys a mile away. He annoyingly refused to answer any of her questions, so she eventually refused to speak to him at all. She instead focused on the attractive man who kept bringing her lovely things to eat and drink. She especially loved when that nice man walked away...

Anyway, so, here they were, in the royal palace of Italy. As they freshened up from the long flight, he'd finally told her that his real name was Tommaso Moretti (he'd gone by Tommaso Rossi in the US) and that he was the youngest brother to the king of Italy. Now, she didn't understand a word of Italian, but she was fairly certain that Tommaso had failed to tell his sibling that she would be here. The king and queen were obviously not amused. They clearly didn't think Adriana was worth hiding their negative feelings underneath a fake veneer of politeness. So, the argument continued, the king and queen angry and gesticulating towards her, Tommaso laughing and turning to wink at her.

She sighed and looked at her recently-done fake nails. She supposed she understood. Tommy was royal and she was a Jersey girl whose parents ran a pizzeria. It was the best in town, but still... Adriana had gotten dressed up in some of her best casual clothes, but even Bebe pants and a Guess shirt wouldn't be good enough for royals! She looked down at her clothing. They had been purchased by the various wealthy men whom she'd dated. She'd had every intention of marrying rich, which was why she continued going to school rather than attempting to get a job. However, she'd discovered that she was actually intelligent, so now she was thinking that she'd marry rich, but also continue in academia. However, she glanced up at Tommy, this was a whole new ballpark! She still had no idea why they were in Italy. She got the impression that this wasn't just a pleasure trip.

[Isis]

Four... five... Just a few more inches...

"Princesse Noëlle?"

"Merde!"

In a matter of seconds, the youngest French princess descended from an almost perfectly executed spin to a tangled mess of limbs on the ground. Two weeks. Two weeks of attempting this; six pirouettes to one beat, her right leg pulled up behind her back, and she'd ruined it on a startle reflex. "Zut," the young woman groaned. Where she'd fallen on her right arm, it ached, pressure applied into an odd angle. It would shake out in a few hours but for the moment she'd have to live with discomfort. "Zut."

"Princesse?"

Oh, right! Noëlle glanced up at the person who had interrupted her, still busy sorting herself out. Towering above her, six and a half feet in height and more suited to the job of a mafia hitman than a princess's personal guard, Thomas Defarge was doing his best to look at Noëlle without looking at her. That was fair, she supposed, considering she only wore a leotard. Her mother would have a conniption if she knew.

"Oui, Thomas. What is it?"

"Sunday afternoon, Princesse. Your mother is calling for you."

Before she could stop herself, Noëlle swore again. In a half-panic, she pulled at her bun, soft brown hair cascading down around the princess's shoulders. Rushing around the ballet studio, Noëlle exchanged her pointe shoes for flats, pulled a coat over her leotard to maintain some semblance of appropriateness. Abruptly, she paused. "You won't tell Maman, will you Thomas? About me swearing?"

He chucked at the girl he'd guarded since she was three. "Of course not, Princesse. I never do."

"Thank you, Thomas!" Noëlle threw her arms about the guard's neck for barely a second before she released him, dashing off back towards the palace. Very rarely had the youngest princess of the five ever thrown a tantrum or demanded something unreasonable. However, her ballet studio was one of the exceptions. Despite at least two perfectly good ballrooms and a practice room to boot, Noëlle had absolutely insisted upon her ballet studio remaining separate from the palace. Thought it could be inconvenient when she was running late, Noëlle had never regretted a second of that fight. Even the months afterwards where she'd been beyond the least favorite child. Noëlle's ballet studio provided a sanctuary like no other.

Bursting through the servants' door, Noëlle almost collided with another woman, going in the opposite direction as she. They spun, but managed to avoid contact. The dank shade of a servants' corridor proved quite a letdown from the bright sunlight Noëlle had sped through unthinkingly.

"Princesse!"

"Arielle!"

Another fixture Noëlle had insisted on. A combination of her accepting nature and general inattention towards the specific identities of servants had led to Noëlle's help changing near-constantly. As her sisters, particularly Geneviève, grew bored or annoyed with any specific help, one of Noëlle's servants would be switched out to appease that particular sister's whim. Not Arielle, though. She needed at least one familiar face in the small army of personal assistants.

"Princesse, your makeup!"

Back to running, this time with Arielle dragged behind her. "Is it really that bad?" Noëlle giggled. "I'd think my hair would be worse."

"I can... Princesse, please! I can pile that on your head just fine. But there's nothing to be done for your makeup."

The pair of them stumbled into Noëlle's room, whereupon the princess immediately stood still so that Arielle could more easily help her. "If we just brush on some eyeshadow, it should be fine." Heedless of modesty, Noëlle pulled her leotard off, stretchy fabric sliding over her shoulders and hips to fall on the floor. Near-immediately, it was switched for a "simple" - as in full-length and designer - dress, the princess's hair pulled up into an "intentionally" messy bun and green shadow swiped on her eyelids.

"Bien." Her mother wouldn't see her feet anyway. "Merci, all!" Noëlle resisted the urge to blow a kiss to her maids. While Arielle would be amused, the others wouldn't understand, would perhaps tell her mother she was a lesbian. What a falling out that would be. Queen Adelaide wouldn't even care that it wasn't true. Just that someone had thought it. And on that optimistic note, Noëlle hurried down the stairs, her skirt swishing around her legs.

Once in twenty feet of the tea room, however, she slowed. Back and neck straight, but eyes cast demurely down, Noëlle adopted the serene pace of a lady, right down to her hands behind her back, one overtop the other. When she raised one small hand and knocked on the door, the sound reverberated officiously. The thud in the silence was so great, the princess knew she would not hear her mother's exactly pitched permission to enter. That in mind, Noëlle slipped in.

She wasn't so late as she feared. Only Geneviève sat with their mother, the confections festooning the table as opulent as ever. Pastries and fruits winked like gems under coats of glaze that sparkled in the light thrown off by the overhanging chandelier. Cakes and truffles imprisoned by those tiny iron towers bespoke an earlier age, one where Queens had the power to help or hurt... but often, ignore. Noëlle only ever partook lightly of this spread. Year after year she'd demonstrated that her digestive system did not respond well to lactose, wheat, or excessively rich things. Year after year her mother had demonstrated a near-endless capacity to either not notice or not care.

"Maman." Noëlle inclined her head, curtsied; the expected gesture of respect compounded by something extra that her mother would probably see as due based on the shocking and disgusting crime of being underdressed. Delicately, Noëlle wafted into the seat beside Geneviève. Often, she sat at the end of the row, the place of the youngest, but Noëlle knew she'd need a little extra fortitude today. One always did, when making requests of their mother, and stranding herself at Queen Adelaide's mercy with only Vivienne as a buffer did not appeal in the slightest.

[Girly Woman]

"So...it's like The Bachelor: Royal Edition?" Adriana asked Tommy in the limo on their way to the palace at Versailles. Tommaso laughed and said, "That is about it." Adriana said, "Wow, that is messed up. Those poor girls." Tommaso said, "They're princesses; I think they'll be okay."

Tommaso had not told Adriana what he had said to his brother and sister-in-law, but he had suddenly grabbed her and instructed her to pack up what little they had unpacked to freshen up from the plane ride. He had explained much more to her on the brief plane ride from Rome to Paris. He first told her more about himself and then explained the purpose of this trip. He failed to tell her why she was here. However, it wasn't like Adriana had any way of getting home, so she sort of had to stick it out. Besides, living in a palace and watching royal reality television play out right in front of her own eyes sounded entertaining.

After a short ride through the countryside, they arrived at the city of Versailles. Adriana quickly grew silent and looked out of the windows. Seeing the historic and picturesque buildings made all the strangeness of how she got here fly from her mind. She'd dreamed of visiting France for as long as she could remember. She'd read fiction books about France, travel books about France, art books about France, and, well, pretty much anything about France other than history. She was openly enthralled and enchanted with everything she saw and kept pointing things out to Tommaso excitedly. Tommaso had, of course, been to Versailles many times before, but it was fun to watch Adriana be so openly enthusiastic about everything, unlike the royals, for whom being blase about everything was considered a necessary royal trait. To make the contrast between Adriana and the royals even more stark, Adriana suddenly opened up the sunroof and stood up to have a better view of the passing scenery.

When Versailles came into view, Adriana was breathless. It was so...pictures did not prepare her for this. It was something that she didn't have the words to describe! The golden gates opened to admit their car. Something in her mind told her that maybe she shouldn't be standing halfway outside of the car when pulling up to a royal palace. So she finally sat down and gaped from inside of the car.

There was a line of servants waiting to receive the arriving guests. The car pulled up to the line of servants. A richly uniformed servant opened the door for Adriana and offered her his gloved hand. She said, "Oh no, thank you, I'm fine." She got out of the car herself and pointed towards Tommaso. She said, "That old man probably needs help." Some of the servants sneered, others held back chuckles. Some wondered who this young woman was. Others wondered WHAT this...creature...was. When Tommaso emerged from the car, without any help, thank you very much, it made sense. She was his latest toy.

Other servants took their luggage and the car drove away to leave room for the other arriving guests. Adriana, openly gaping at the palace, failed to realize that cobblestones and stilettos can be a lethal combination. Tommaso grabbed her arm just as she almost fell. As they ascended the stairs, Adriana said in what she thought was a quiet voice, "Oh my gawd, I almost fell on my a-- in front of the palace. How embarrassing would that have been?" Tommaso chuckled, noticing the various repressed facial expressions of the servants. He said, "Certainly more embarrassing than if anyone heard what you just said!" Adriana nodded and said, "Yeah!"

[I'll leave them on stairs outside for now if anyone wants to start an interaction there. If not, I'll non-interactively post again and get them to their room.]

[Bia]

"...Clarisse, are you paying attention?"

Nicoline practically had to snap in her maid's face to get her attention. The poor thing could barely stay awake. Nicolie sighed inwardly, trying to hold back her annoyed tone. True, it had been her fault that Clarisse was lacking sleep. But could you really blame her? Inspiration for art struck when it willed, and it just happened to strike at 3 am this morning. Nicoline had no choice but to wake up her favorite maid so she could start immediately.

Gesturing back to the canvas in front of her, Nicoline continued, "As I was saying, I'm going to need new tubes of paint in these colors I've written down here" Nicoline handed a elegant piece of personalized card stock with a sizable shopping list on it to Clarisse. Clarisse took the list, looking it over, reading some of it aloud, "Cream white, colors that match the palace bouquets, colors that match the family's hair..." Clarisse looked up at her, "Are you planning another familly portrait miss?" The tone in Clarisse's voice indicated that she didn't dub a family painting a big enough deal to be woken up so early for.

"No, no" Nicoline said waving her hand dismissively. Grabbing a pencil she turned back to the canvas, making a few quick sketches to explain to Clarisse her idea. "I was thinking it would be an interesting perspective to paint a bird's eye view of a palace meeting." She made a few squiggles roughly in the shape of the tops of heads, "It would be more of an impressionist painting though, with the colors bright and blending, and the shapes a little off kilter." Sighing happily as she imagined it, she looked excitedly to Clarisse, who was sitting there looking at the blank canvas, a little blankly herself. However, Clarisse had always been her number one maid when it came to help with paintings, and always knew exactly what to say. "Well, miss, your paintings always come out beautifully. So I'm sure this one will too."

"Thank you Clarisse." Nicoline said, adding a couple more colors to the list. "Who knows, if all goes well, this just might turn out to be a bird's eye view of a royal wedding..." She looked up at Clarisse slyly, smiling like someone who knows a juicy secret. Clarisse just shrugged and took the list back, sticking it in her apron pocket. There was a hasty knock at the door and Nicoline recognized it as one of the palace guards, even before he pushed his way in. They always announced themselves, but never waited for an invitation. Especially when on orders from Mother.

"Princess, you're wanted at tea."

Nicoline looked up confused, "What time is it...?" she said to no one in particular, craning her neck to the clock on the bedside table. Nicoline's bedroom was large, the closet itself would probably match the size of a middle-class master bedroom. The color theme was cream, gold, rose pink, and slate gray. It wasn't necessarily Nicoline's idea to have those colors; her mother had picked them when Nicolie was too young to give real input. The room was made her own only by the paintings that dotted almost every wall. Nicolie's favorite, the portrait of her beloved horse Niklaus, was hanging it's huge girth above her bed. On the right wall was a large painting of all her sisters. Nicolie particularly liked that painting because instead of the typical sitting and staring straight ahead pose, she had had all her sisters look in different directions, wear whatever they want and bring whatever props they had wanted. The result was really quite comical and they had had a blast creating it. It was one of Nicolie's more pleasant memories of her family. The other walls all had flowers, abstract art and a couple of Nicoline's favorite landmarks. Nicoline's paintings were hanging all around the castle really. It was hard to find a room that didn't have a portrait she'd done. Even her sister's rooms all had at least one portrait of themselves, some even had paintings that Nicoline had done as birthday gifts. That's all they were though, portraits. Mother rarely allowed anything else to be hung. All the "fun art", that Nicolie didn't keep in her or her sisters' rooms, was sold. Not that it didn't sell for quite a pretty penny. She just felt disappointed her mother didn't appreciate anything she painted that wasn't classic, by the book, exactly how it looks in real life. For Nicoline, portraits were just boring. If you wanted something to look exactly how it does in real life, just take a photograph.

"Oh my! I totally lost track of time!" Shooting to her feet Nicoline hurried to her closet, calling a thank you to the guard who left to wait outside her door. "Clarisse, get Milly to brush some powder on my face." Stepping out of her silk robe and grabbing a pale pink dress from the "tea" section of her closet. (If there was one thing Nicolie's closet was, it was organized. By type, by color, by designer, by occasion, by fanciness.) She pulled it on over her slip and fell onto the round ottoman just in time for Milly and Clarisse to start on her hair and makeup. Clarisse took her 3am-ponytail'd hair and rolled it into a hasty french twist. Milly brushed on translucent powder and dabbed her cheeks with a nice blush. Dabbing on some lip gloss they both announced they were finished.

Jumping up again Nicoline slipped on a worn but comfortable pair of jeweled flats. "Thank you ladies!" she said, hurrying out to meet the guard. They both set off down the hall, Nicolie setting a brisk pace. "I'm not the only late one am I?" she asked the guard. "No Princess, when I left no one had arrived." Nicoline bubbled with laughter, "Oh I can only imagine what Mother's thinking. She probably thinks we planned this..." Shaking her head and forcing her smile down, she tried not to think of the face Mother was inevitably making right this very moment. Oh well, hopefully she wouldn't be the last one there.

They got to the door and Nicoline didn't stop to knock, it's not like they weren't expecting her. Only Geneviève and Noëlle were there. "Good morning Mother." Nicolie said politely stopping to briefly curtsy, "I apologize for my tardiness but I was distracted by an idea for a new painting. A new portrait." She didn't mention the fact that it was a nontraditional, impressionist portrait. She hoped the idea of a new, by-the-book painting to hang in her room would make Mother a little happier and therefore less likely to scold her. Inclining her head towards the two others, "Good morning sisters." she said, taking a seat next to Noëlle. She eyed the red-velvet cupcakes hungrily, hoping the others would get here soon so she could start 'elegantly nibbling' as fast as she could. She was pretty good at eating a lot while still passing Mother's manners inspection. Sometimes her and Noëlle would even make a game of it. Seeing how much she could eat without getting a disapproving look from Mother. Because of Noëlle's allergies she never ate much and Nicolie's reasoning was that she was eating her share too. Noëlle would help by taking food on her plate and slyly slipping it to Nicoline. A few weeks ago Nicoline managed to eat 9 cupcakes in a row and would've gotten more had she not gotten braver and piled 4 more on her plate. They both had gotten a good laugh afterward.

[-Hades]

"Oh God, I'm late!"

The second hand ticked each time Sicilia looked at the clock. She wasn't even dressed properly. Nor did she know what was going to happen if she continued to be even more late than expected. "Mother always disapproved of us being this late." She muttered to herself. She wondered if Genevieve was already there though chances of that were probably slim to nothing. She was almost like a rebel when it came to mothers little gatherings of all the girls together.

Quickly, Sicilia pulled on her corset and squinted as the maid pulled tightly. Being hard to breathe as it is, it was even harder to do so in the corset. The flownel dress went down to her ankles in which was more so than appropriate for the princess' to wear simply because it was not a casual day. Sighing heavily, she looked at the clock again. Another minute has gone by. Another mintue to where she was even more late than usual.

She looked around and pulled her hair back up into a bun that was tightly secured around the back of her head. A couple of curls hung down past her cheek bones, though it was normal for her to have them. Natural curly hair, though of course it was more wavey then curly. The curls came uninvited.

Sicilia stretched slightly, and covered her mouth while she yawned, then rubbing her eyes just a little bit. "Princess, are you ready?!" The voice was deep, but light. A shadow had grown over her own figure a bit when she realized that it was her bodygaurd. Her own bodygaurd. Sicilia looked up over her shoulder towards Nathan and nodded slightly. "Yes, sir." She took another breathe and started walking towards her door.

Down the corridor, through the lounge room and into the Queens surroundings she looked over at her mother bashfully and then smiled. "Mother, I'm sorry I'm late. It won't happen again. I promise you this." She took a seat across the other side of the table and placed her hands in her lap, while adjusting herself slightly to be comfortable.

[Extraordinaire.]

The Queen's mood, although no satisfied, lightened as the girls began to file in. Geneviève shockingly took the lead, although her sarcastic remark was over-looked as her youngest daughter, Noëlle entered. Unlike the snide remark Genevieve gave, Noelle curtsied as if to excuse her absence. However, to counter-balance the only proper gesture, her daughter had been more late and more likely than not, had rushed here from her personal dance studio. As all of her daughter's entered with another excuse relating to the talent's that she had each given a pretty penny to pursue, she felt torn between pride and regret. Should she scorn her daughter's for not making family a priority, or should she praise their devotion to what they loved so much? Not wanting to get tangled in details, she changed the subject as Nicoline walked in. "Well then. Scone, anyone?" the Queen smiled as she ignored the third child's excuse, which wasn't a remarkably bad thing, compared to her addressing it.

A few minutes later Sicilia scurried in, making yet another unfulfilled promise. The queen looked at each of her daughter's, bitterly judging the condition they were in; they were a scraggly bunch, clearly unprepared for the tea and as a result, having thrown together the ensemble that they all so boldly wore. But despite their composure at the moment, they were ladies at their finest, each holding a composure where those noses were stuck in the air, their shoulders broad and level with their hips. Their backs weren't arched in the slightest and sitting there, each coordinating in the most hideous ways, still looked royal. It was almost a deja vu of one of Nicoline's family portraits, where each girl was expressed in her personal way, despite where she stood, or what she was doing at the moment.

The queen plucked a strand of thinning honey-blonde hair, twisting it back behind her ear. Although the Queen scarcely groomed herself in public, she found herself growing anxious of the news she was about to reveal, not that their tardiness had helped to ease it. Waiting not a minute longer for Vivienne's arrival, she decided to carry on.

"As you know, a royal ball is being held tonight, in a masquerade fashion. I am very honored to have the Queen and King of Italy attending from Caserta, along with their immediate family," she smiled pleasantly, with a strain of anxiety dimpled beneath her mouth.
"If you recall, a few years ago you had a... Falling out with their first born, yes?" she asked, looking expectedly at each of the four faces. By a falling out, she was referring to her humiliation when the prince, whom had the ball in his honor, had arrived with a noble on his arm, who now held the title of his wife. Taking a sharp breath in, she sighed as she started to sharpen the point.

"A few of you are coming of age, to find a husband and to carry out the family's throne. Which is why this evening you will be introduced to the second prince of Italy, Joseph Costanzo Moretti, as a possible suitor," she smiled, hoping to let the feelings settle before continuing.
"Joseph will be staying with us for two weeks and in that time, he will have the opportunity to personally know all of you, before making his selection," she said rather bluntly, no longer making it sound like it was a waltz of love, but rather a handling of objects.
"Whoever he decides, will be betrothed to him that day and will become the Duchess of Versailles, holding the rights to the throne."

Meanwhile....

The fourth princess pinched the netting-fabric between her fingers, pressing the decorative gold thread against her thumb. Visualizing where the fabric would be of use in her design, she steadied her hand over her sketch book and began to frantically continue the sketch, as her pencil hastily licked the paper. Entranced by the design, she didn't take her eyes off of the fabric until she was done and after outlining the rough sketch, she had nearly finished the second layer of her dress-in-making. Placing the fabric beside the linear stash of fabrics that she had laid out, in order of the directory she had drawn on the side of her sketch. Sure, maybe it was something that only she understood, but it would be simple enough to explain, granted that she ever finished making the rough-designs of her first line of clothes. Dropping the pencil and the mahl stick into a porcelain cup, she set the sketch book aside, as she only worked for a few minutes at a time, afraid that she may grow bored of the design and move on.

Walking over to her curtains, she drew them back to release an intense burst of light into her bedroom. The day was evening, so the sun was uncomfortably at eye level, making her squint as she opened the pair of french doors, walking out onto her balcony. The balcony was made of some sort of stone, with thick baroque columns, each resembling a queen in the game of chess.

She watched guards scatter from the tea room, looking as if they had lost something and were trying terribly hard to find it. Not putting the two together, or more or less trying to ignore her duty, she walked back into her room, pacing across the rug that her wood floor wore, a family heirloom from the fourteenth century.

Looking around the room, she slumped onto her silk mauve-colored bed, the skirt of it bunched into dramatic ribbons. Hoping to find some sort of inspiration, she studied the white victorian design, against the subtle eggplant walls. Her windows were drawn and pinned with bronze-cast suns, whose rays were thin and wiry. The backboard of her bed was almost an olive-creme, the wall behind it stretched with a tri-part of tucked champagne silk, long tuffs accenting the length. Several feet above her, more golden silk was draped against a stage that hung off the wall and either side had a cloth that didn't reach a foot out, creating a miniature curtain around her bed. Her bed itself was on a raspberry leveling and scattered around the room was a armoir, a vanity, several vintage-cushioned chairs, along with a number of portraits from her sister. She filled the space in with little memories, in the shape of seashells, glass ornaments, tickets to the theater, and flower vases.

But the most wonderful object in her room, by far, was the gold-crested harp isolated in the corner. She had only rolled off of her bed, taking a curious step towards the instrument, when she heard footsteps in the corridor, soon followed by a knock.
Dashing into the bathroom, she shut the door in synchrony of the knight letting himself in, who called out her name. "Bloody hell, she sent out reinforcements," Viv thought to herself, knowing that her mother had probably manipulated the whole situation by leading her maid off to do some ridiculous task so that she couldn't remind the princess and then having guards sent after her, to only further the blame on her tardiness.
"I don't see the importance in me attending, except to ridicule me," she thought to herself, as the guard called out once more.

"Um, one moment please! I'm not decent!" she yelled through the thick door, relieved for her privacy as he left her room once more. Although she was dressed casually, she was still wearing a dress and she could easily redeem herself at the ball tonight, with an outfit that was sure to impress.
Pulling her subtle waves into a high ponytail, she curled the roots of them and pinned them back, so that they were dramatically parted in the center, curling out in both ways. Although she had little eye make up applied, her face had already been powdered, so with a dap of some lippy she looked for more ways to stall.

Liv's room was already the furthest from the tea room, so a simple distraction could easily knock off minutes of time that would otherwise be spent hearing another one of her mother's lectures.

"Pardon, but before we go, could you help me find Leo?" she asked, who after her frequent misplacement of him, was known as her cat throughout the castle. The guard knew how demanding the Queen was of deadlines, but although they had already exceeded theirs, she was standing there innocently, not burdening anyone, and looked too fragile to surpass.

"As you wish," he nodded his head, quickly checking under the bed, in her tub, throughout the incredibly over-stuffed closet... After finally retrieving the chat, who had been curled up in one of her open drawers, he looked so anxious that she wondered if he had to use the toilet.

Following him through the labyrinth of a navigation, down many levels to the tea room, she shyly slipped in, hoping not to draw too much attention to herself. Everyone was already seated and the Queen seemed pleased with whatever she had just said, only glancing at Viv out of reaction, before turning away.
Surprised that Genevieve had broken their usual seating arrangements, now sitting closer to Noelle, Vivienne gave her a funny look as she sat at the corner of the table, the farthest from the Queen.

"Pardon my absence, my time management must have left with Gloria," she smiled, addressing her strangely absent nurse, "did I miss anything?"

"Oh, nothing that concerns you," the Queen said self-righteously, daring anyone to speak against her.
"Well I'm glad," Vivienne smiled, trying as always to ignore the Queen's rude bluntness towards her.
What the fourth princess didn't realize, was that her sister's had all just become each other's sudden enemies.

[Anastasia]

The princesses filed to the table, one by one. It was entirely to Geneviève's great surprise that she had been there first. In her heart of hearts, she knew that it made her mother cringe, how terribly the woman whom the world called Queen had wished for one of her more precious darlings to enter first, and on time to boot.

Their darling mother had just dropped a bomb shell on them, something so horrendous that they could scarcely truly imagine the horror that would be waiting for them. It was worse than she had feared, in a single moment her sisters went from being delightful creatures whom she barely tolerated, though had nothing but love for to mortal enemies. They were competing for everything, it suddenly did not seem to be about the man, it was almost as though he didn't matter. When in reality, of course he did, one wouldn't want to be trapped in an unhappy marriage. How these two weeks would crawl by at a glacial pace that not even Geneviève could stand.

This was suddenly about their livelihood, fighting for the Crown and Country all at once, Versailles wasn't big enough for five, but for one, the one and only child to become the next Monarch, it was something that she had long dreamed of, but never felt she would achieve simply because it seemed as though her own mother, the woman who birthed her, did not actually care about her daughters. How it infuriated it.

Her hand squeezed tightly around the perfect silver tea spoon as she took a deep breathe before deciding to speak on the matter, in a way that was so defiant, hardly she could even believe the words coming out of her own mouth.

"Ahh... Maman, le jour de gloire est arrivé, n'est-ce pas?" (1)

The audacity of which she had to use their own anthem against her own flesh, but she wasn't done. Geneviève had only just begun to get started.

"You must have been keeping this from us for a long time, non? Competition, you'd pit your own daughters against each other. Have us destroy one another, simply because you aren't brave enough to make a choice yourself. You'd hate to make a mistake, wouldn't you, Maman? The child you pick disappoints you again, and the nation cries... if you had just kept your......"

Even she could not bring herself to finish the sentence, she smiled politely, her posture corrected to be the most formal possible, her ankles crossed, back straight, her hands rested firmly in her lap, she nodded her head in affirmation of what their mother had just done to them, everything was about to change, and she could hardly handle it, take the entire situation in, and what choice did she really have in the matter... in her final act of insurrection for the day, she looked at her mother, and gave her brightest smile, before looking at her sisters, particularly Vivienne whom their mother had turned away... Her eyes fell to Sicilia, her twin, and it was as though she smiled with them, fighting to hold back her tears.

"Tu as perdu ta tête..." (2)

Geneviève whispered to herself as she looked down to the tea cup before her head, her head would move down to lean on the shoulder of Nöelle, who sat beside her.

1: Ahh mother, the day of glory has arrived, isn't that so?
2: You have lost you head.

[-Hades]

Sicilia looked at her mother in shock. It wasn't unusual that she would do something like this. In fact, it was almost like she had it planned all along. To get all of the sisters to rival against each other to win the prince over. Of course, in time each of the princess' had to be wed. It was a given that they would rule a kingdom with their beloved king. Unfortunately this wasn't the way that the sisters had it planned.

"Mother, how could you spring something like this upon us?" Sicilia said quietly. The thoughts running through her head were unbearable. Having to believe that she might have to rebel against her twin. The one that she was the closest to. She looked over at Genevieve and with her almost sad eyes, she sighed heavily. It was like she didn't even know her sister anymore, her face looked like it was almost pale. Though she was sure that her face was pale as well.

A competition indeed it was. Sicilia was now disgusted with the idea of having to compete against her own blood-- but more so disgusted against the Queen. "How dare you treat us like a pack of lions that are trying to get the last piece of food. Why would you do such a thing?!" The enraging in Sicilia's voice was now quite noticeable. Her hands were now clenching the fabric of her dress just above her knees. Though it was still mid-afternoon, she was feeling rather tired, drained, knowing that in days to come it was all or nothing.

Sicilia then looked down and started to tap her fingers lightly on the glass table. Her eyes looked even more sadder than before. Her lips were parted just a little bit, and parts of her curls from her hair were hanging in front of her face hoping to hide the fact that she was flushed from being angry with her very own mother.