[open] Orpheus, claim me.

[duke]

Sebastian was alone, something which was unusual for the darkly handsome duke. He had been supping with one of his more regular...companions...before she had been called away by her frantic servant, the maid spouting that the noblewoman’s husband was looking for her. Sebastian had been annoyed at this interruption of his evening, especially as he had cleared his schedule for the somewhat attractive lady and now found himself alone and in the gardens. It couldn’t have been past the 8th or 9th call of the nightwatchmen, and the night air had a slight chilly edge to it, making the duke close his cloak a little tighter around his broad shoulders.

The garden was almost deserted, being populated mostly by both courting couples and the servants that trailed patiently after them, ready to do their every bidding. Sebastian himself had dismissed one of his manservants for the moment, sending him back to the duke’s quarters to place warm coals in saucepans under the bed so that the mattress would be warm. He looked forwards to going back there and snuggling into the comfortable linen, however, the thought that he would be spending his night alone gave him considerable annoyance, causing him to audibly cluck his tongue in irritation.

“Marcel, go and get me a drink would you? And make it a strong one, not that weak wine that some of the other men like.” Marcel, Sebastian’s second manservant, bowed hurriedly and strode off purposefully back to the castle to retrieve a refreshment for his master. The duke absently wondered if the man even knew where to get strong liquor; he was a new addition to his servile ranks and he was still a little shy about his position. Unlike Sebastian’s main servant, an older man named Javier who had obviously been a handsome man in his youth, but now was slightly bent over although still well built. What was his wife called again? Anastasia? Alexandra? Anamaria? Sebastian sighed and clucked again, irritated that he couldn’t remember her name.

It suddenly struck him that his birthday was merely weeks away, which made him even more morose. He would turn twenty-five; many years over the age of majority and definitely overdue for a wellborn and quietly obedient wife that would bear him a couple of heirs before he eventually retired to the country. The thought disgusted him. He was unimpressed with the meek and docile women that littered the court, knowing that many of them merely disguised the fact that they were wildcats in order to fit in.
He was fairly apathetic to the idea of marrying a woman who wanted nothing more than bear his children and look after a household (although the thought did appeal to him at the same idea – he couldn’t be childless forever) whilst harbouring her true personality. He wanted a woman with spirit. Excitement. The idea of pure boredom scared him more than the idea of being a grandfather.

Suddenly Marcel returned, nursing a pewter goblet in his hand. The medium sized affair was quaintly carved, and obviously belonged to the communal kitchen area of the nobles kitchen; it certainly was fit for a royal dinner or some such. But nevertheless, Sebastian was grateful for the distraction from his increasingly melancholy thoughts. He wished that he could slip into a daydream without worrying. He nodded his thanks to the servant, before the man melted into the background to silently await any further commands from his master. Sebastian took a sip from the goblet and smiled – it was definitely strong liquor. Thank god for that.

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[kismet]

"Get off of me!" Roesia exclaimed, batting away the lady-in-waiting's hands. "Sit still," The woman ordered, much to Roesia's annoyance. She sat, but continued fiddling with whatever was in her hands--a comb? The Hell? How could something so bejeweled be made for the hair? She sighed, looking out the window. She found little consolation in the view of the setting sun, however; huffing, her eyes fervently turned back to the room.

"WHAT are you doing to my hair?" She asked, her eyes growing large in the mirror. She was a princess, yes--but her hair had never been fashioned so weirdly; never in her life! Not even when she had lived in the palace. Back then, it had been braids or nothing. Yet what the woman was doing to her brown locks... the effect was breathtaking, yes... but at the same time, very frightening. She cocked her head sideways. The woman smacked her, her voice laced with exasperation. "Stop fidgeting, and SIT. STILL." Roesia rolled her eyes, but resumed her sitting position. Why the Lysian Hell did she have to go through all of this? Why couldn't she just come up to her damn cousin, and stab him in the eye? That would certainly solve some things.

Marsilia, her maid (the one who had remained with her throughout the harsh years), entered through the wooden doorway. "Princess, do as you're told." Her voice was harsh, but her smile was welcoming. "Why must I go through this?" Roesia whined. She might have been eighteen--but she was still, in many respects, a child at heart. For the past twelve years of her life, she had been raised quite roguishly. She had never had to worry about dresses, collars, powder, hair, ribbons--or any of this, for that matter. She sighed. Though the situation was a tad arduous, at best, she could bear it--if it was for the sake of her nation, she could bear anything.

Standing up, she observed herself in the mirror. The corset was far too tight, and she felt as if she couldn't breathe. Marsilia approached her frame, taking the pearl-encrusted comb out of her hand. Placing it adjacent to her well-fitted bun (which played fair in her hairstyle--her hair was long; the most of it was gathered in a bun atop her head, stray curls framing her face), she gave a large grin. "You look beautiful." She said the words proudly--as if Roesia was her own daughter. Roesia's stomach crumbled onto itself; she missed her mother so much. Bloody bastards! She would make all of them pay for what they had done to her family.

"I can't breathe," She said, straining against the corset's tightness. Marsilia laughed. "The price of beauty, your highness, was never cheap." Roesia's violet eyes glowed brightly in the dim light of the flickering candles. She knew quite well that she was attractive, with or without the get-up. But as they said--when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Roesia patted down the skirt of her dress. It was a lovely green hue in color, with blooming flowers stitched into its silk fabric. A sort of overthrow was around her--a beige in color, it was tied at her breasts. The thing was long-sleeved, too--the long sleeves being far too bothersome for her. A necklace with a large emerald was strung around her neck. A prized possession of her mother's. She still couldn't figure out where they'd gotten the money from--the money to pay for the room, her dress; her new belongings! But she didn't ask. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Slipping on her pale green slippers, she exited the room. "Roesia!" Marsilia called after her. Roesia attempted to ignore her friend's fervent calls; but soon they got closer--and before she knew it, Marsilia was by her side, huffing and panting. "A lady, much less a princess, cannot walk around alone... at night." Her face was painted with an incredulous expression. They had come to a halt right in front of a lovely garden; the wind was a tad bit chilly--but otherwise, Roesia felt as if this was the perfect place to stop and think for a while.

She rolled her eyes. "First off, no one knows that I'm a princess. Second off, who cares?" She kept on walking, attempting to put distance between her and her maid. "Look, let us make a deal." Her eyes turned to pleading. Marsilia sighed--she was still vulnerable, even after 18 years, to that very expression.

Roesia inwardly smiled, knowing that her charm worked. "Please go back to my room--there is some stitching for my undergarments that still have to be completed. I just... I just need to think for a while. That's all." Her maid hesitated for a moment. After another look equivalent to that of a puppy, she left, defeated. Roesia grinned in victory afterwards.

Walking several steps forward, then turning around, she twirled through the air. Ah, freedom! Even the stifling clothes she was adorned in could not make the love for the wind flee out of her.

[/justify]

[duke]

Sebastian was quietly brooding into his cup of strong liquor, savouring its bittersweet taste and the warm sensation it gave him as he swallowed it down, gesturing for a refill as Marcel hovered nearby. The servant exited, leaving the duke staring at the fountain in front of him with a bored but astute eye. The water was crystalline, reflecting the pale moonlight two fold in its shimmering depths. A school of koi swum lazily around, nit picking at the tiny areas of moss that had grown in the pond since it was last cleaned and staring curiously as the large man who was staring at them through the water. He saluted them sarcastically and then rubbed his hand across his face – here he was, the Casanova of the palace and he was gesturing at fish?!

All of a sudden, a commotion drew his attention away from the fish and he turned his head slightly, vaguely interested to see what gossip he could glean from the outburst. He could barely hear them, but he could make out a few words in what seemed like a fiery debate. “.... a princess. Second off, who cares?..” Sebastian snorted slightly; this was definitely not one of the meek and docile women that he was used to seeing around the palace. His curiosity piqued, he turned around fully to where he thought he could hear the noise coming from the stared hard into the darkness, trying to make out the figure of the lady.

“I just need to think for a while. That's all.” Ah, another brooder like he. He made a mental note to find out who this woman was before turning back to the fountain, his hands clasped behind his back as he once again turned his gaze to the shimmering water... which was when suddenly someone crashed into the back of him. Stumbling slightly, Sebastian was unable to right himself before toppling heavily to the ground with an ungraceful thud. Growling an impolite curse, he sighed in defeat and placed his head firmly upon the soft grass, quite comfortable atop it.

”Pardon me.” He murmured before snuggling his face a little further into the grass. It was an almost comic sight; a man who towered easily over six feet and dressed in the latest fashionable (yet also practical) styled, the self proclaimed lover extraordinaire of the palace, lying face first in the lawn near the fountain. Despite his odd position, he was still painfully handsome, in spite of the grass stains he was sure to have upon his clothing. If one looked closely, they could see the tiny emerald stud in his right nostril glinting in the moonlight, a comment to his noble and somewhat foreign heritage. Sebastian was uncharacteristically and unfashionably dark, with olive skin and mahogany hair that was almost black. The only reprieve from his brooding good looks were his eyes, a gorgeous shade of bright turquoise green that shone beneath his level eyebrows and tanned skin.

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[kismet]

Roesia had been far too gone in the moment to really notice her surroundings--foolish her! She proclaimed herself to be righteously correct in all areas; yet, she was naive enough to not watch herself in a place infamously known for its wanderers: the royal gardens. Therefore, it was no surprise that the person standing behind her--right near the wonderful sound of flowing water--escaped her notice until she very literally bumped into him. Everything happened so fast. She was unprepared... and this worried her. She would soon enough make enemies in this palace, especially after her status was revealed. She could never let her guard down--what would happen if one of the Silian king's servants simply came up to her, caught her off-guard, and killed her before she could utter a cry for help? Then her purpose would have gone unfulfilled; that damn bastard would have probably gone on to conquer more countries, imprinting his tyrannical fingerprint, doubtlessly, on all of them; and her country her would end up being without hope for the future.

Of course, it was only a mind such as Roesia's that could jump to so many thoughts in but a few seconds. Brought back to reality with a sharp stab of cold, she twisted her body quickly, knowing full well how to make the impact less painful. She had, after all, been trained--and trained herself--for ten years, now, in all of the arts of combat and killing. She knew how to dodge, how to stab, how to jump--she was better off in that area than the average man; if not the above average man. Still, she should have been more aware of her surroundings...

Instead of falling on her back, as she should have, she ended up with her hands on the grass, her body raised slightly above the man's. Her hair, luckily, stayed firmly put in her bun; she was surprised to feel the comb still there. Her large, amethyst-purple eyes stared into his green ones. Her eyes were challenging and afire with the flames of passion. They were always like this, however, as Roesia was one to never hold back any of her feelings--something she would certainly soon have to learn to change about herself. She was thankful for the grass on the ground; if she had fallen on rock, she would have most likely cut her palms... and that would not have gone over well with her maid, or her guard, for that matter.

She felt the corset of her dress pushing into her breasts and chest, making it difficult to breathe. The stray curls were carried slightly by the wind--back, and forth, back, and forth. "Who are you?" She asked; she was about to ask, 'what are you doing here?', before remembering that this was, indeed, a public place. Her tone held no remorse for her actions; she supposed that she should apologize, however. It was her fault, after all. Perhaps afterwards. She hadn't known that a man was so close--practically in earshot of what her and Marsilia had been talking about. That information was classified. If he'd heard anything, anything at all... her hand ran down automatically to her calf; she felt around, but found her daggers missing. Several hushed, rapid curses fell off of her tongue like slick honey. Damn. Since when had she gotten so careless as to forget the weapons that her life depended on?

"Well?" She asked. Giving him one more last glance, she raised herself up to a standing position. She had noticed that he was quite handsome in appearance; she wondered what he was doing out at such an ungodly hour, all alone, in the royal gardens. Wasn't this the sort of place where passionate love scenes were set--the ones that were enacted in secret? No? Well, perhaps then it was just her wild imagination.

[/justify]

[duke]

(Sorry it's a bit random; I just woke up and my brain is like fuzz =P)

Sebastian could vaguely see that the woman now lying just above him was a pretty little thing, a little young for his normal tastes but still a beauty nonetheless. He didn’t recognise her and was immediately annoyed; as this was starting to become a habit – he needed to keep better tabs on who was coming and going in the palace. Her hair was a glossy brunette, which he approved of wholeheartedly, but it was her eyes that captivated him for a split-second. Hot amethyst clashed with lazy emerald and he immediately sighed inwardly; he had better be polite and act like a proper gentleman.

The passion in her eyes didn’t surprise him; knowing that it was probably the surprise and adrenaline of ending up in such an awkward situation that made her blood pump so fast. She looked... worried? No, that was the wrong word. Tense? Possibly. He saw her reach for her thigh and immediately he raised an eyebrow sardonically as she muttered a few foul mouthed curses - perhaps this was the lady whom he had overheard announcing her fiery temperament to all. He hadn’t yet made the connection that she was a princess; instead he had merely assumed that she was talking about one. Certainly no true royal princess would act in such a fashion?

“Who are you?” She didn’t sound nervous, which surprised Sebastian greatly. Normally women (and me) grew a flutter around him, even if they weren’t aware of his position as a duke, as his appearance generally warranted it. He was arrogant, and he knew it, and thus could get away with it easily. As the girl raised herself into a standing position, he unwittingly glanced at her décolletage and the beautiful necklace that sat there – so she was obviously a noble of some sort. Thank god. He was about to answer her question, when she blurted out a second comment: “Well?”

Sebastian sighed and once again settled the back of his head on the soft grass, staring upwards into the sky with a slightly bemused expression upon his otherwise handsome features. Unhurriedly, he rose gracefully to his feet and dusted off his clothes from stray leaves and grass before returning his attention to the woman. “I think the better question, petite mademoiselle,” His voice was like melted chocolate, with soft vowels and a husky edge. “is who exactly are you?” He hadn’t meant to sound rude; rather he was inquiring as to why a strange young woman was wondering around (unchaperoned to boot!) at such an hour.

He glanced down at her from his height of just over six feet and then bowed his head slightly before introducing himself politely as one would to a woman whose station he is unaware of: “I’m Sebastian, the duke of Avignon. I was also once in the army, an officer in the cavalry regiment. My middle name is Alexander, and I once had a dog named Wallace.” His tone was completely serious as he answered, and nothing but his eyes showed the teasing and sarcastic nature of his response to her somewhat rude question. There was a lot of implied sarcasm behind his words, but Sebastian’s poker face hid it superbly well.

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[kismet]

Roesia could see it already--the lecture she would receive when she came back to her quarters. It would be an endless one given certainly from both her private guard and lady-in-waiting. She was not at all looking forward to it--but she knew that her actions right now were deserving of a good scolding. She wasn't acting very polite--she was no stranger to etiquette, mind; she simply chose to ignore most of the rules that were expected of a lady--and further, of a princess. She hoped against all hopes that this man was not the sort for gossip. She had only just arrived the night prior--and the palace was already ablaze talking about her. They wondered who she was; for she proclaimed herself simply as Lady Roesia of Lys. It would not be long before her cousin came a'lookin' for her... she was sure about that. Roesia was not a common name--and the fact that she came from Lys was also uncommon (most Lysian citizens, at this time, were poor; though the country was fairly rich--economy-wise--it kept its citizens starving under her uncle's rule)--as only a rich noble, one rather high up in the ranks, would have been able to afford to travel to Regina. Was she naive enough to believe that no one would make the connection between the "dead" Princess Roesia of Lys, and the Lady Roesia of Lys, who had the old king's brilliant purple eyes? No, she was not. In fact, her entrance had been keenly planned--in order to spark said rumors. She had set up a trap for both the Silian nobles and her cousin; awaiting them to leap, so that she could snatch them up... so that they could, once and for all, disappear into oblivion.

Her eyes slanted at him in suspicion. She perceived others' true intentions easily. Having had lived with gypsies for twelve years, it was understandable; gypsies had the slickest tongues out of all people; she herself had often been nicknamed "Silver Tongue" for sprouting lies. She had grown good at it. "And what else?" She asked, not bothering now to apologize--his well-hidden words of sarcasm were not so hidden to her; and the only thing she hated above rudeness was perhaps what he was doing now to her--underestimating. Just because she was a woman? Bastard!

"You forgot to mention the fact that you are also quite a clumsy gentleman, and sarcastic beyond repair. Well-learnt people learn to hide their purposes more gently, your Grace." Her eyes were crystal clear in the fair light of the moon; the moon itself seemed to cast a shadow on her, putting alight her porcelain white skin, and her deep, rosebud lips. Her expression was far from docile, however; she was obviously fired up--in every respect. "Oh, but pardon me, I seem to have forgotten my manners." Every word was said with an edge of contempt; sarcasm was laced freely throughout. The way he was glancing at her... assets, did not help either.

She curtsied slightly, eyes bright, a small smile on her lips. "I am... Lady Roesia of Lys." She purposefully left out her position; thought it was quite obvious from her posture, the way she held herself, and her clothing, that she was far from poor--and far above a mere baron, or count's, earnings. "I sincerely apologize for bumping into you like that..." She addressed him coyly. "Would you like a hand to help you up?" In a respect, it was as if she was putting herself above him. Still, she did manage to put out her hand with some sort of reservedness; soft and nurtured, her hands were long-fingered, with delicate fingernails. The only signs of her poor upraising were the now-faint calluses. She challenged him with her eyes--dared him to take her hand. Would he prove himself a prideful man by refusing her hand--or would his actions speak out to the contrary? What he would do next would certainly decide the position he held with the small-boned, curvy Princess... for Roesia rarely gave anyone a second chance.

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[duke]

Oh, she was a feisty one all right. Sebastian managed to hide his smile fairly well as he watched the lady bristle with what seemed like anger. Apparently his sarcasm had hit the right note; which was exactly as he had planned. Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, he replied shortly: “What else? Why, my lady, I had no idea you were so fascinated with my history.” He fluttered his eyelashes ridiculously, purposefully playing up the scene with an edge of cool confidence. He knew that he looked ridiculous, and it didn’t concern him. This chit was young, and she needed to learn to hide her temper better.

“I have a sister called Lydia, and her now deceased husband was named—if I recall correctly, I never liked the man—Mathias. She also has a hunting mastiff which is affectionately named Baby, although I believe its breeder named it Artemis.” He raised an eyebrow at her as she burst into a line about his sarcasm and how he should learn to hide his ways better; his eyebrows shot up and he gave her a look that seethed humour at her hypocrisy. He was quite enjoying watching his pretty thing get all bridled up, fluffing out her feathers like an offended chicken. The thought made him smile.

At her apology, Sebastian also seemed to ‘remember’ his manners and he lifted himself onto his elbows and inclined his head. Her pause at her position was not lost on him, and his eyes hardened as he fought to understand why she was being so secretive. Surely a woman who was so uncontrolled with her anger could not hide a secret for very long? As she reached out her hand to help him up, Sebastian glanced at her eyes, his turquoise orbs glowing with humour and also a little respect.

He accepted her hand and lightly jumped to his feet, making sure that there was not alot of strain on Roesia’s hands – he didn’t want her to fall over. Not that she looked weak; far from it, in fact, but no gentleman would ever overexert a lady. “Why thank you, my lady. That’s very kind of you. Would you care for a drink? It would warm the blood on this chilly night.” He waved Marcel over, who looked thoroughly confused, to await her response. Sebastian would never force her; but he was intrigued to see if she was too much of a ‘lady’ to take a strong drink, or if she could sip it like a proud warrior like she seemed to be.

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(Sorry it's so crap, I had to write it really quickly :<)