Lady Sabine
Member
Howdy y'all. I'm Sabine, and I'm in the mood for one particular idea. I figure there's not really much point in wasting time, so let's get right to brass tacks. I'm going to put my intro down below, and if you like what you see, you write up a PM that has the introduction for the king/prince in it. What is his name? What events caused the wedding? Why is the arranged marriage important? I don't know; that's all up to you. If you want to ask a question feel free, but don't be afraid of making assumptions. I want you to make assumptions. I want you to be bold. If you aren't a bold person, I could set up the events instead. But I do like bold people.
Seriously. PM me. Don't be afraid.
The face in the mirror was not her own. It could not be. There was a girl of sixteen sitting at the vanity, but the face of a woman stared back at her, beautiful as anything Eodrah had ever seen. Fussing and adjusting, the maids and ladies bustled around her, tutting and complimenting in equal turns. Such pale skin, clear for once of pimples and blemishes. Such lustrous hair, hanging in dozens of perfect curls to frame a delicate face. The round jaw, perhaps, was hers. It was still girlish, hints of baby fat having not quite melted away yet. But those eyes! Dark with kohl and larger than she had ever noticed before, they were weighted with velveteen lashes and shone wetly like river stones when they caught the light. Were those her eyes? They had never held that quiet mystery to them before.
She was a stranger in her own body. It was, unfortunately, not a new sensation. Her first monthly blood had come as a complete shock, even after having to let out the chests of certain dresses. A woman grown, a woman to be wed that very day? What a great jest. She felt closer to playing with dolls than coddling a child. The years had passed in solemn solitude locked away in her chambers, studying and reading and learning everything she could... of academic subjects. Of dancing and laughing and interacting with her peers Eodrah hadn't the first clue. What must this prince think of her! She had made a proper fool of herself at his arrival yesterday.
Even thinking about it her cheeks flamed. Unable to meet his eye, she had stumbled over the ritual introductions, made only more difficult by the fact that she had needed to use the Common tongue for it instead of her native Navric. Her curtsy had been clumsy enough to send her tiara tumbling to the ground, and her hand trembled so much as he kissed it that it would be a miracle if his lips weren't bruised. The poor man, clearly, had not been expecting someone like her. To be fair, she had expected no one like him either, if only because she hadn't a clue of what to expect. Her two little half-brothers were the princes she saw the most of, and they were scarcely out of swaddling clothes. As for Roiben, well, her elder full-brother spent more time asea than at the castle, and his interest lay more in wine, women, and tall tales than her own. This prince, she hoped, would share something with her. Perhaps he was an architect! Or maybe he played the lyre as well. They were foolish hopes, the dreams of a girl who didn't know the first thing about starting a conversation with a man.
Unfortunately, he would expect more than mere conversations from her. The poor fellow was expecting her to be a wife, a queen even! No doubt her father had promised him a lovely and intelligent young woman who had learned everything there was to know of history and had books of etiquette memorized. It was all true, but it was all theory. No application, no practical experience. The thought of speaking with him alone was terrifying; the thought of addressing an entire court not even worth considering.
Fortunately brides were not often expected to say more than two little words. I do, and her life would be changed forever. I do, and she was no longer her own woman. I do, and she could never take it back. But what choice did she have? This alliance was Navrin's only chance to stop the Empire from conquering their land, slaying their soldiers and sailors, burning the ships and libraries, and enslaving the women and children. She fancied her odds as a slave slightly less than her odds as wife, dismal though they were, and that was before thinking of her bold brother Roiben, who would doubtlessly demand to captain the first ship to see combat. It was for him, and his sailors, and all of the others in the kingdom that she consented to this. If taking his ring and saying just two syllables would save even a single life, how could she justify not saying it? A princess lived to serve her people.
And a wife lived to serve her husband. A husband she could not keep waiting. Hurriedly she took the pearl and sapphire tiara, perching it atop her curls as daintily as she could, while the matching necklace was clasped about her neck. It was a beautiful piece, very expensive- she couldn't recall having seen it before. A gift, perhaps? Or had she inherited it? Eodrah never had the heart to look through her mother's jewelry. Only a whore relies on jewels to make herself pretty, the nut-brown queen had chided her one time before heading off on a voyage. A real woman's beauty needs nothing but good eyes to see it with.
Well, that advice was all well and good, but the proper ladies of the court had never liked Rriada. Not that they were especially fond of Eodrah... still, no reason to goad them by refusing to wear the pieces. They were doubtlessly more expensive than anything else she owned, certain rare tomes possibly excluded. One of them lay open on her desk, and she cast it a lingering glance as she was shuffled out of the room, wishing she were reviewing the proper angle of a rudder for a caravel instead of marching off to the altar. Geometry made sense; weddings did not.
The rustling of linen from her dress was soon drowned out by music as they approached the temple, and she did her best to swallow her nervousness. Breathing deeply, Eodrah did her best to wipe all emotions from her face, trying her best to present a mask of calm serenity. Her reflection was caught for a moment in a window, and for the first time in her life Eodrah truly understood why they called her the porcelain doll princess. A small girl, she was no more than a fingersbreadth or two over five feet, with perfect curls and delicate ivory skin... a porcelain doll indeed, with the vapid gaze and rosebud lips to match.
Those lips tightened slightly as she took her father's arm, steeling herself for what lay ahead. He murmured some words of encouragement, but the blood was roaring in her head louder than any voice, and then the music began. The ancient bars that announced a march solemn and timeless as men marching off to war. A beat as steady as a housewife's heart. And before she could even properly register what was happening, she was standing at the altar, pale as a ghost, her face a solemn mask.
He must think her a proper fool. Oh gods, was that it? Was that her line? No. No, not yet, she chided herself. The priest would need to drone on for a while longer before he was ready to let them say those two little words and seal their fate forever. She was certain the vows were beautiful, but there was a single stray hair clinging to her groom's shoulder, and there her eyes stayed. It was easier than craning her neck to meet his gaze, she reasoned. And less terrifying.
Seriously. PM me. Don't be afraid.
The face in the mirror was not her own. It could not be. There was a girl of sixteen sitting at the vanity, but the face of a woman stared back at her, beautiful as anything Eodrah had ever seen. Fussing and adjusting, the maids and ladies bustled around her, tutting and complimenting in equal turns. Such pale skin, clear for once of pimples and blemishes. Such lustrous hair, hanging in dozens of perfect curls to frame a delicate face. The round jaw, perhaps, was hers. It was still girlish, hints of baby fat having not quite melted away yet. But those eyes! Dark with kohl and larger than she had ever noticed before, they were weighted with velveteen lashes and shone wetly like river stones when they caught the light. Were those her eyes? They had never held that quiet mystery to them before.
She was a stranger in her own body. It was, unfortunately, not a new sensation. Her first monthly blood had come as a complete shock, even after having to let out the chests of certain dresses. A woman grown, a woman to be wed that very day? What a great jest. She felt closer to playing with dolls than coddling a child. The years had passed in solemn solitude locked away in her chambers, studying and reading and learning everything she could... of academic subjects. Of dancing and laughing and interacting with her peers Eodrah hadn't the first clue. What must this prince think of her! She had made a proper fool of herself at his arrival yesterday.
Even thinking about it her cheeks flamed. Unable to meet his eye, she had stumbled over the ritual introductions, made only more difficult by the fact that she had needed to use the Common tongue for it instead of her native Navric. Her curtsy had been clumsy enough to send her tiara tumbling to the ground, and her hand trembled so much as he kissed it that it would be a miracle if his lips weren't bruised. The poor man, clearly, had not been expecting someone like her. To be fair, she had expected no one like him either, if only because she hadn't a clue of what to expect. Her two little half-brothers were the princes she saw the most of, and they were scarcely out of swaddling clothes. As for Roiben, well, her elder full-brother spent more time asea than at the castle, and his interest lay more in wine, women, and tall tales than her own. This prince, she hoped, would share something with her. Perhaps he was an architect! Or maybe he played the lyre as well. They were foolish hopes, the dreams of a girl who didn't know the first thing about starting a conversation with a man.
Unfortunately, he would expect more than mere conversations from her. The poor fellow was expecting her to be a wife, a queen even! No doubt her father had promised him a lovely and intelligent young woman who had learned everything there was to know of history and had books of etiquette memorized. It was all true, but it was all theory. No application, no practical experience. The thought of speaking with him alone was terrifying; the thought of addressing an entire court not even worth considering.
Fortunately brides were not often expected to say more than two little words. I do, and her life would be changed forever. I do, and she was no longer her own woman. I do, and she could never take it back. But what choice did she have? This alliance was Navrin's only chance to stop the Empire from conquering their land, slaying their soldiers and sailors, burning the ships and libraries, and enslaving the women and children. She fancied her odds as a slave slightly less than her odds as wife, dismal though they were, and that was before thinking of her bold brother Roiben, who would doubtlessly demand to captain the first ship to see combat. It was for him, and his sailors, and all of the others in the kingdom that she consented to this. If taking his ring and saying just two syllables would save even a single life, how could she justify not saying it? A princess lived to serve her people.
And a wife lived to serve her husband. A husband she could not keep waiting. Hurriedly she took the pearl and sapphire tiara, perching it atop her curls as daintily as she could, while the matching necklace was clasped about her neck. It was a beautiful piece, very expensive- she couldn't recall having seen it before. A gift, perhaps? Or had she inherited it? Eodrah never had the heart to look through her mother's jewelry. Only a whore relies on jewels to make herself pretty, the nut-brown queen had chided her one time before heading off on a voyage. A real woman's beauty needs nothing but good eyes to see it with.
Well, that advice was all well and good, but the proper ladies of the court had never liked Rriada. Not that they were especially fond of Eodrah... still, no reason to goad them by refusing to wear the pieces. They were doubtlessly more expensive than anything else she owned, certain rare tomes possibly excluded. One of them lay open on her desk, and she cast it a lingering glance as she was shuffled out of the room, wishing she were reviewing the proper angle of a rudder for a caravel instead of marching off to the altar. Geometry made sense; weddings did not.
The rustling of linen from her dress was soon drowned out by music as they approached the temple, and she did her best to swallow her nervousness. Breathing deeply, Eodrah did her best to wipe all emotions from her face, trying her best to present a mask of calm serenity. Her reflection was caught for a moment in a window, and for the first time in her life Eodrah truly understood why they called her the porcelain doll princess. A small girl, she was no more than a fingersbreadth or two over five feet, with perfect curls and delicate ivory skin... a porcelain doll indeed, with the vapid gaze and rosebud lips to match.
Those lips tightened slightly as she took her father's arm, steeling herself for what lay ahead. He murmured some words of encouragement, but the blood was roaring in her head louder than any voice, and then the music began. The ancient bars that announced a march solemn and timeless as men marching off to war. A beat as steady as a housewife's heart. And before she could even properly register what was happening, she was standing at the altar, pale as a ghost, her face a solemn mask.
He must think her a proper fool. Oh gods, was that it? Was that her line? No. No, not yet, she chided herself. The priest would need to drone on for a while longer before he was ready to let them say those two little words and seal their fate forever. She was certain the vows were beautiful, but there was a single stray hair clinging to her groom's shoulder, and there her eyes stayed. It was easier than craning her neck to meet his gaze, she reasoned. And less terrifying.
