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The Duke & the Daughter


Xarkly
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Daphne Helvets sat cooped up in the house like an exotic bird. She though briefly about her eldest sister Henrietta - or was it Fran? The memory seemed to be slipping her mind…

 

A cloud of denial surrounded the youth. 

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Finishing making up a guest room in the Nikirala Prikaz, the Queen-Mother would place one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her forehead. She too was cast from her family upon her own betrothal. She knew exactly how her future daughter in law felt. “Vy will gain a new family, just as I have.” She murmured faintly into the empty room. Swiping her hand over the plush comforter of the newly made bed, Annika would look around, satisfied. “A room fit for a Prinzenas.” 

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HRH Marus Aleksandr rubbed at his temple after missing the majority of these recently developing due to getting his beauty sleep in. Rain or shine albeit, the young Prince set off to comfort his betrothed before their wedding on the same Saint's day. En route to knock on the room to her guest room, he toothily smiled and held a rose between his teeth. "What's cookin' dobry lookin'?" @PerfectlyPeachy
 


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Ser Ailred heard news of the shake-down within the Orenian lands, hence he left the luxury of his family and unhung one of the multiple swords from his armoury. Whatever quandary the Koeng had, was now the the dutiful problem of the Ser. Passing through his keep and leaving tracks in the heavy snow towards Karosgrad, the elderly, retired Marshal uttered those glorious words, "Krusae Zwy Kongzem."

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Quietly, a woman whom had done much to raise the Lady Henrietta reminisced about the passing of this day's events. Or what she had heard of them, rather.

 

She stirred a cup of strawberry tea as she thought about the ongoing quandary as she thought about the rumors she had heart of Cathalon. She recalled how Henrietta had initially begged the King not to get involved in this manner, how his own brother had even done so.

 

Alas, honor was a fickle thing, a concept she understood all too well. But need the exchange truly be handled in this way? And for what, to humiliate the Duke of Cathalon? He was an imperfect man in an imperfect world. There were some Haeseni lords she could think of off the top of her head who had emulated him in the past.

Having newly turned to religion, she would move into her chambers and simply kneel before her bed to pray.


"Lord God, do watch over Henrietta as she sleeps tonight. Watch over the Helvets lads and lasses, as they suffer through this most terrible time for their family. But most of all, please watch over the future, and let it be a promising one that we may behold beyond this turbulence."

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The Archchancellor had spent the better part of the day pacing the halls of Selm Palace, being cautiously mollified by a flock of advisors civilian and military alike. Each of them had told her the situation should not be escalated, and from all her rational mind told her, they were—unfortunately—right.

 

But they had not been there. Even for those who had been there, they were not ultimately responsible for overseeing their meeting with the King of Haense, as he danced and sang; played the bagpipes over her retinue, his own mother even! Her blood boiled at the thought.
 

Josephine Augusta realized then that she had crushed another cigarette, too preoccupied to roll it properly. She sighed. Was there something different she could have said? Should she have called the King to Providence instead, or left as soon as he made it clear a show was to be put on? Or was the outcome fixed from the moment she arrived—perhaps even from some earlier time, beyond her sight?

 

At last, she went to bed (nearly forgetting her prayers). She dreamt fitfully of smirking Savoyards and the ominous closing of the gates of Karosgrad.

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Laurentina wept bitterly for what had happened to her father. Why would those Haensemen come to their home? Why is her oldest sister and mother-figure Henrietta gone? Why is Pa so paranoid and why were iron bars in front of all the windows? The Helvets was too young to understand any of that - and perhaps she never would. For now, she sat in her room and drew things on expensive parchment she had found in her father's desk drawer.

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Atop said loyal pony rode August Barclay, sallet barely fastened to his helm as his masked visage eyed the very distant walls of Providence with his cousin, Viktor. His gloved hand comfortably rested upon his shortened scabbard, fit for a boy his age. “Repaid, ja.” He spoke, offering a solemn shake of his head as his pony cracked on its heels to ride him back to the Cathalonian Manor.

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Klara Elizaveta urged her pet screowl, Bruce, further with each toss of the small ball she'd brought outside, the animal eagerly bringing it back to his mistress each time. What happened at Cheval Hall, the toddler could not understand, for her own father had only ever treated her with love and kindness. "Maybe the world am niet as dobry as Karosgrad is..." 

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Alexander Novikov would have been informed about the dealings in Orenian lands by a comrade, he would take a moment to consider, leaving himself in thought as he pondered. Whatever he would have thought about would quickly escape his mind, he would simply adjust his beret, his hand then lazily resting over the hilt of his blade as he turned to his comrade, gesturing for them to mount their horses as they passed through Haense lands, the young soldier, his eyes showing naught but determination would mutter the very words that had been engrained into his being, "Krusae Zwy Kongzem,".

Edited by Armod
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