Post by Deleted on Nov 9, 2015 19:40:31 GMT -5
True to her word, Antoinette was in one of the more intimate dining chambers of the southern wing; the evening sun having already fallen, all the better -- for this chamber, with it's ceiling to floor windows, drapery flung wide, looked all the lovelier when the sconces were lit; providing the corridor with an almost ethereal ambiance, haunting in a way that pleased Antoinette's more macabre senses. The pathways from the distant gardens were lit as well, although guttering now; as a light rain was falling, dripping along the panes.
Each detail of the room -- the timing, the location, the decor, even the meal, not yet set -- had been selected by her with purpose; with a deep, innate sense of forethought. She was creating a scene; if only because there was little she could do to predict the remainder the evening. Oh, of course the Princess Royal's greatest talent was control -- she could work around lesser beings, twisting conversations and situations to the ends she demanded. That had always come easily; at times, it even bore her, the lack of effective resistance.
But not tonight. That was not her plan for the evening; and so Antoinette's natural inclination towards control had to be fully absorbed in the setting, for her impulse to pull strings for the remainder of the night would be kept, somewhat painfully, in check.
She hadn't done it with Kattalin. She wouldn't with Zorion. Some things had to be made plain to test the strength of them; this was the same. Antoinette did not so much want to entice the Marquess, or lure him, to put in effect Nicolette's desire to create their matrimonial link between Estersea and the Crown; she wanted to extend her hand, and see him take it of his own volition. She wanted it to be clear this would be beneficial for them both, when the time came around for such discussions. They should partake of this step with clear eyes. But would he?
The night would prove -- interesting, if nothing else.
Usually to such gatherings, Antoinette permitted herself a customary few minutes to arrive late; commanding attention, and slight discomfort, from those who had to wait on her; to wonder where she was -- but this evening she was early, making sure the last touches of the dining hall were set. She, herself, was wearing royal colors; a gown that exposed her slender collarbone, cinched at her waist with -- oddly -- a black sash, which fell in long lines down the back of her layered skirts. A blood-red gown had been considered, but this initial meeting was diplomatic, and called for house hues. Her blonde tresses were braided along the crown of her head, tucked into an intricate bun at the nape of her neck; scattered with dark gemstones, hidden till they caught the glinting candlelight. She was bereft too many baubles, for once; a singular pendant laced along her neck, a thick, dark gem on the middle finger of her right hand.
Without saying a word, Antoinette looked towards her elder sister and turned her hands, palm up, at her sides; her eyebrows lifting ever so gently on her forehead -- mutely seeking the nod of approval, of gratification she needed from Nicolette.
Tell me this is a worthy pursuit. Tell me I will prevail.
Kattalin Ibarra Zorion Ibarra Nicolette Deveraux
Each detail of the room -- the timing, the location, the decor, even the meal, not yet set -- had been selected by her with purpose; with a deep, innate sense of forethought. She was creating a scene; if only because there was little she could do to predict the remainder the evening. Oh, of course the Princess Royal's greatest talent was control -- she could work around lesser beings, twisting conversations and situations to the ends she demanded. That had always come easily; at times, it even bore her, the lack of effective resistance.
But not tonight. That was not her plan for the evening; and so Antoinette's natural inclination towards control had to be fully absorbed in the setting, for her impulse to pull strings for the remainder of the night would be kept, somewhat painfully, in check.
She hadn't done it with Kattalin. She wouldn't with Zorion. Some things had to be made plain to test the strength of them; this was the same. Antoinette did not so much want to entice the Marquess, or lure him, to put in effect Nicolette's desire to create their matrimonial link between Estersea and the Crown; she wanted to extend her hand, and see him take it of his own volition. She wanted it to be clear this would be beneficial for them both, when the time came around for such discussions. They should partake of this step with clear eyes. But would he?
The night would prove -- interesting, if nothing else.
Usually to such gatherings, Antoinette permitted herself a customary few minutes to arrive late; commanding attention, and slight discomfort, from those who had to wait on her; to wonder where she was -- but this evening she was early, making sure the last touches of the dining hall were set. She, herself, was wearing royal colors; a gown that exposed her slender collarbone, cinched at her waist with -- oddly -- a black sash, which fell in long lines down the back of her layered skirts. A blood-red gown had been considered, but this initial meeting was diplomatic, and called for house hues. Her blonde tresses were braided along the crown of her head, tucked into an intricate bun at the nape of her neck; scattered with dark gemstones, hidden till they caught the glinting candlelight. She was bereft too many baubles, for once; a singular pendant laced along her neck, a thick, dark gem on the middle finger of her right hand.
Without saying a word, Antoinette looked towards her elder sister and turned her hands, palm up, at her sides; her eyebrows lifting ever so gently on her forehead -- mutely seeking the nod of approval, of gratification she needed from Nicolette.
Tell me this is a worthy pursuit. Tell me I will prevail.
Kattalin Ibarra Zorion Ibarra Nicolette Deveraux