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Augusta Maria responded not, shrinking to Guinevere's feet. The woman wept at the base of the throne, hands held over the base of her neck as to soften the sobs which emitted from her throat. "We pray, cousin," She croaked, plunging to her knees in the center of the dais, rosary in hand. The proclamations bellowed, the noticeable woe dripping from them. This is all so foreign, so much that cannot be accepted, she thought. She pondered - pondered on the weapons that spill ichor and innocence onto God's lands, and no longer does she see the wonder and awe of a young woman. The gentlewoman remained silent, allowing the reality to keep her steady on the ground.  “Have you brought the Prince?" She broke the looming quiet, looking up from her clasped hands to the gaggle of men stood before her in the heart of the throne room.

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Our most Dear Sultan,

I pen such a letter to you with aching heart and agony of mind. Our good Princess, Amina Staunton née Kharadeen, has indeed bore our Prince Frederick a young girl of ten and six years, whom gladly waits to make your acquaintance should you wish. Concerning your Amina, I regret wholeheartedly to inform you that she has grown increasingly ill concerning complications during the birth of her first and only child. We have employed the highest ranking doctors we could find, however her condition grow increasingly concerning. I implore you to visit her in these coming months.

Signed,

Marie Therese, Queen of Courland

With trembling touch and wide, alarmed eyes, the Queen lay at Lisette’s side, overly aware of each breath and sigh from the small throng of people gathered at her back. Her heart had began to pound, quick as the patter of a bee’s wing, that she felt the throb in the tips of her fingers. Up the stairs the cadaver was carried, being laid to rest in her bedchamber with shut eye and wan complexion. Marie, petrified with such treacherous regret and a disarming degree of poignancy for the death of her kinswoman which she had only so recently grown to know fondly, found herself dolorous and dazed under a copse of willow. 

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The farmhouse creaked and moaned as a gust of wind passed through the wooden door panels, the Royal women waiting in anguishing silence. Just athwart from the confines of her newfangled bedchamber, young Marie is swept from the environs of her safety, armigers of new and old suffering paroxysms at the budding royal’s expense. With fettered appendages, the princess is unable to escape the inhumane acts against herself and her in-law, seeking comfort eftsoons in the memory of her distant son to the sway of her suspended prison, clutching a square of the boy's bearing sheet.

Marie, not stirring and scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush with sparkling eyes. “What will happen now?” thought she.

[!] All citizens are delivered a message in response, "The Royal Council of the Kingdom of Lotharingia rebukes such claims as groundless and invalid. Anna Sophia Horen-Pruvia holds no claim to the lands of the King or his throne. The line of succession shall continue with the rightful blood-born heir, Prince Hughes Pierre, being crowned as His Royal Majesty. The traitor's claims will be evaluated and addressed in full at a later point, in an official statement drafted by the Royal Council." 

13 minutes ago, BobRossPaints said:

"He's so hot," thought Charlotte.

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Charlotte floundered away from Ostwick, isolating herself from the crowds. All esperance for reconciliation came to an end. She lamented her brother, immersing herself in desolation as she pined after her lost brother.

3 minutes ago, Papy said:

i have a good website 4 u.

 

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On 10/8/2016 at 6:29 PM, Kingdom of Haense said:

Her Highness the Princess Charlotte Sophia nee Horen, Countess-Consort of Bihar.

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Charlotte Sophia and her ladies eye each other with odd looks on their faces.