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Thread: [M] Jusqu'à Ce Que La Mort Nous Sépare {Nachthexe x Breggo13}

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    Default [M] Jusqu'à Ce Que La Mort Nous Sépare {Nachthexe x Breggo13}

    Rated M for suggestive themes and violence

    Paris, France, 1572

    Keeping entirely focused, Tristan gazed out the frosted window of the palace quarters. Despite his presence it remained perfectly quiet and sublime. It was a rare moment of solitude that would very quickly be shattered by the evening's planned events. The annual Winter Ball and it was no mystery that it was one of the year's most important events. It allowed the nobles from all over the country to unite and engage in what was quickly becoming known nationwide as an event of entertainment and debauchery. More importantly, though, it was a means to an end - a means for eligible bachelors from all over the country to meet prospective wives.

    Prospective wives.

    That, of course, remained the one hang-up for the young man who, despite maturing, remained unmarried and arguably one of the most desirable men in the country. It was no mystery that the countrywomen swooned over him. He was handsome, yes, but he remained selective about whom to spend the rest of his life with. Very selective. Surely it was unbecoming of somebody in his position, leading him to predict that sooner or later his own family would choose out a suitor for him. Instinct and countless rumours told the man that tonight's events would be used for exactly that.

    "Oh God, if you love me so please do not pair me with a total shrew." He uttered under his breath, still keeping his focus on the snow outside the palace walls as he slid a heavily worn Rosary through his fingers. An exercise in both prayer and patience perhaps, something he needed plenty of in the coming days if those surrounding spoke the truth. It made the near silence almost welcoming, yet it was soon interrupted by a knock on the door coming from the other side.

    "What is it?" He answered slowly, setting down the Rosary on the windowsill. "Venir." The door opened, revealing one of the palace servants. Come in.

    "It is time to leave, sir. The carriage is waiting." The servant chirped in her warm voice that always brought a smile to her master's face. He nodded, stood up, and straightened out the flawless suit he was outfitted in for the evening's festivities. It was all the latest Parisian fashion, complete with the powdered wigs that had recently become "in". It was a trend that left a bit to be desired with the constant itch that took over the man's head, but tonight he had an impression to make. His own father had ensured it.

    "Merci. I will be down shortly." He finally responded as he kindly dismissed the servant, allowing her to wait just outside the doorway. Once she was absent and out of site he stepped over to the window once more and stared out at the landscape beyond. It was rapidly whitening with with snowfall that continued to spill from the sky. Just beyond, obscured somewhere beyond the pale, was the heart of the city of Paris. It was there he was headed tonight, bringing a wide smile to his face. The city of love was about to be greeted by just one more hopeless romantic who awaited the opportunity to swept off his feet by the perfect woman. It was a fantasy that frequently entered the man's mind, but surely it was exactly that: a fantasy.

    Fantasy or reality. The man knew he had to distinguish between the two tonight for fate possibly had a very different ending written for him. It was an ending that he finally felt ready to confront as he exited the room and closed the door behind him. With hardly a second thought he began to follow his servant down to the carriage. It was time to write the story that would potentially define the rest of his life.

  2. #2
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    Mademoiselle Bourbon, votre père voulez que vous allez au le grande bibliothèque,” Anora frowned into the mirror, looking at her maid as the girl - a native from La Rochelle - blushed an interesting shade of pink. “If it pleases you, milady, I will finish your hair but we must hurry.”

    “Tell me Katherine,” the young noblewoman absently twirled an ivory comb in her fingers as the younger girl twisted her blonde hair into coils, intertwining it with blue ribbons of silk. “Did my father say why he was in such a rush to see me?”

    Non, mademoiselle,” Katherine shook her head, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she started to pile up her mistress’ curls up into an elaborate hairdo, pulling a bit to make the shape they had both envisioned and the girl was now trying to recreate. “Though I overheard M. Chevalier mention to the Viconte deFer that it was her Majesty's orders that all young women attend this ball. With your sisters being quite a bit younger, the Duke doubts that they will attend Queen Jeanne this celebration but he did believe this was a good chance for you to….” suddenly, the young girl blushed. “I beg your pardon, milady, I overstep.”

    “Oui, that you do,” Anora tossed the comb back onto the vanity table and glared at her own reflection. Katherine was bold in her desire to share the news but it wasn’t the young girl’s fault that what she said was true. At seventeen, young princess Eleanor de Bourbon, the daughter of Prince of Conde, was a rare example of nobility, her upbringing and charm equal to that of the ruling house of Valois. She had learned grammar and the classics, history, Holy Scripture and - under Queen Jeanne’s rule - the writings of Luther and Calvin. She could speak Italian, Spanish, and Latin and was rather skilled with her words, often writing poems and anecdotes. To finish it off, she showed mastery of dance, horsemanship and the lute. It should have come to her at no surprise that, much like the Queen Mother in Paris kept her l’'escadron volant, the Queen of Navarre would want to show off the kingdom’s prestige with an entourage of women just as beautiful and of true modesty and virtue. For young Eleanor, that would mean an evening of countless suitors, boring conversations, false complements and political tension. Even hidden in Château de Condé, a two week ride from Paris, the young woman was not oblivious to the wars that her father, uncle, cousin and the Queen fought.

    “All done, milady,” Katherine stepped back, giving Anora a curtsey and waiting patiently as the blonde looked herself over in the mirror, tilting her head to get a look at different angles. “Anything else?”

    Sighing, Anora moved her skirts so that she was sitting to look at the younger girl. Katherine de Remi was the daughter on a new nobleman, her family barely out of their previous life of poverty and struggling to adjust to the life of nobility. She was hardworking and timid, scared to make mistakes but dedicated and loyal to the family that took her in as a lady-in-waiting to the young Princess of Conde. Reaching out for her hand, Anora smiled.

    “Don’t hold a grudge, little one,” she said, looking into the other girl’s hazel eyes. “I’m frustrated at my father’s demands but it’s not fair to take it out on you.”
    “I….your highness….milady, I could never,” the girl blushed deep red but with a sigh, squeezed Anora’s fingers. “I owe you my loyalty and I will never give that up. I’m glad that all that pressure passes me by.”

    “We’ll have to find you a husband to make your life more exciting,” Anora teased, laughing lightly when Katherine paled and made the sign against evil.

    “Milady, you have my heart but please, spare me the joys of court,” she mumbled, terrified. Getting her joy under control, Anora stood up, smoothing out the skirts around her.

    “Don’t worry, I promise to find you someone far from court so that you may enjoy a life of carelessness, grow fat and love your children,” taking a matching fan of blue and white silk, laced with the golden fleur-de-lys of the royal house, Eleanora smiled. “The life of intrigue, politics and power - I never know who truly wants that.”

    Katherine simply smiled, knowing that words would be extra. Within a few more moments, the two women left the bedroom, making their way through the smaller Paris chateau to the grand library, one of the biggest rooms that was often favored by the older Conde princesses, the smaller serving as their father’s office. At the door, Katherine curtsied lightly, leaving Anora to her own devices. Nodding and taking a breathe, she pushed the door open, walking into the room with the fireplace blazing and the rest of her family sitting in comfortable armchairs. No, not everyone - the youngest of the Bourbon girls was missing, still getting ready for her first true ball. Smiling at that, Anora gave her father an appropriate greeting before lowering herself down into the empty chair, giving a few genuine compliments to her sister Cecile and her cousin Catherine who had come to join them before the party. Her mother, Queen Jeanne, and older brother Henri prince of Navarre have already left to the Louvre, allowing the twelve year old to keep company to Rosalie, the two youngest girls being the same age.

    “Where is your sister?” The duke raised an eyebrow, a delicate crystal glass of brandy in his hand. A servant offered the young woman a glass of mulled wine, similar to the one the fifteen year old Cecile was sipping, eyes downcast.

    “Getting ready, I presume,” Anora replied, accepting the cup with easy grace. Catherine looked with a bit of lounging at the offering and sighed, having to be contained by the watered down apple cider that was reserved for the young ones. Louis raised an eyebrow. At forty one, the man was still a sight to behold. He kept his beard trimmed and orderly, spending at least a quarter of an hour each day bringing it to perfection with a tiny pair of scissors or whatever it was men used. His long nose was a bit wide at the base but that didn’t take away from the charm that he had. His eyes - dark like his two younger daughters - were sharp and easily found the smallest mistakes. However, Anora had seen those same eyes that usually caused even some of the bravest young men look compassionate, loving, distraught and, on a rare occasion, even shed a few tears.

    “We need to leave soon - especially since the Queen is hoping to have an entourage tonight,” Louis sighed as he twirled the brandy in his hand, watching the liquid move and change different shades due to the fire in the background. Anora didn’t reply, taking a small sip of the delicate dessert, the wine warming her up from the inside and bringing a charming glow to her pale cheeks. A silence settled for a few minutes, everyone simply enjoying the last few minutes before the grandiose occasion that the King and, later on the Queen, hosted every year since their coronation. As the years went by, the event became more and more pompous, becoming the earliest event of the season for matchmaking, exchanging lovers or gaining influence at court. While most nobles prefered to spend Christmas in their own estates, all were required to assemble back at the Louvre come the Ball d’Hiver.

    “Papa, I am so sorry I’m late,” the doors flung open and Rosalie’s voice echoed down the hall. Catherine’s eyes grew large and Celine covered a smile behind her hand, feinting to cough. Anora watched with amusement as her father raised his eyes up to the ceiling, seemingly wanting to say all that he thought of his youngest daughter’s etiquette, timing and much more. Taking a breathe, Louis made a tremendous effort and swallowed his response, glancing at the princess of Navarre and his own daughters.

    “You may wanna fix your skirts,” Anora pointedly looked at her sister’s dress, the top layer having hiked up and revealing the inner skirt. Sticking her tongue out at her sister, Rosalie quickly fixed her appearance.

    “The carriages are ready, your grace,” the manservant of the house offered, bowing and saving the awkwardness of the situation. Louis nodded and stood, fixing his tunic before offering his hand to Anora. Gracefully taking it and letting her father help her up from the chair, the young woman leading the way with him, Cecile in the middle while the two twelve year old girls giggled behind her, whispering about something or other. As the servants helped them into their outer clothes, Anora saw her father giving her a curious look, his eyes far away as he thought of something or other.

    “You look beautiful darling,” the duke said in a low voice as he approached her, making the young woman raise an eyebrow. “Your mother would be proud. And so am I.”

    “Merci papa but why the melancholy? You aren’t losing me tonight,” Anora smiled, waiting for the others to get dressed.

    “Quite right, ma petite,” the man agreed, watching Cecile gently scold the other two into behaving. “Let us go and enjoy Their Majesties’ celebrations.”

  3. #3
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    As the carriage hobbled down the road that would eventually lead into the heart of Paris itself, Tristan remained lost in thought once more. Just what exactly would tonight bring? Would he, like so many others, be officially betrothed? It was not exactly a mystery that his family had been eyeing suitable women for some time now in sheer desperation to finally marry off the last of their children. Of course, they wanted him to marry well and marry into a family that would leave him with a lasting influence. They did not want their arguably favourite son to fade into obscurity, even if it was never stated outright. No, they wanted him to be remembered through the ages and perhaps even happy.

    Happiness, of course, was rarely a guaranteed outcome and the young man knew it. As he gazed upon his bright azure coloured eyes in his own reflection he sighed. There was no arguing that he had the looks of somebody handsome, but he wanted happiness. Most of all, he wanted a wife that he could trust with every aspect of his life. Was that not one of the defining characteristics of marriage? It was stuffy little ritual that he barely even understood, yet nearly his entire future was about to be determined by it.

    "Sir, is it just me or do you feel a chill in the air tonight?" The servant spoke, breaking the eerie silence that seemed to had taken over the entire interior of the carriage save for the beating of the wheels against the cobblestones below. Tristan simply nodded. He supposed it was a little cold, but it truly seemed to be the poor woman who was shivering enough to be noticed. He turned towards her and wrapped an extra shawl around her.

    "It will be warm inside the palace I'm sure." He remarked with a smile. It was one quickly reciprocated by the woman, which in turn displayed her fondness for the man she so loyally served. Since childhood they had known each other, being forced into very different positions as dictated by their births. Yet, it had not prevented a friendship from developing between the pair. However, tonight, the man, despite being far from superstitious couldn't help but to take the cold as something more - something sinister perhaps. A bad omen for what was to come? It gave him a chill just thinking about it. Whatever it was he only hoped that the dark haired woman directly beside him was not dragged into it.

    All Tristan's fears, however, seemed to leave him as the carriage came to a halt in front of its destination. His eyes immediately lit up as he gaze on the grand sight to behold that the palace was. It was no joke that tonight's festivities were some of the biggest of the year. It seemed that the palace's occupants had spared no expense in decorating and lighting up the place for what was to come. It was festive and rather inviting, even allowing the man to briefly forget the nip in the air that bit him the second he stepped out of the carriage. Promptly he got to greeting the other guests that had arrived, his servant fully in tow behind him.

    It was when he was finally inside that his jaw dropped. The event's extravagance knew no limits and its guests were no exception. All around him were men and women outfitted in all the finest fashions Paris had to offer. The countless scents of perfume and appetizers wafting through the air filled his nose just as the melodic orchestra's performance began to fill his ears. It was all overwhelming, even for a member of the minor nobility. "Well I cannot say I am disappointed." He uttered as he turned towards his servant before dismissing her entirely.

    Once alone Tristan began to float between the crowds, spotting any familiar faces he could. He wondered if the king himself was present, but he figured that the most important man in France would only make an appearance on his own terms. It was still early in the evening, allowing for much to occur yet. The man himself knew that he was just getting started, but he was already rather intrigued. His eyes met those of a woman, and a rather beautiful one at that. He instantly recognized her as one of the Bourbon girls, forcing a rather warm smile onto his face. "Bonsoir, madam. Shall we share a dance?" He asked, bowing towards her and holding out his hand.
    Last edited by Nachthexe; 03-20-2019 at 06:25 PM.

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