Thread: Rags, Riches, and Rumors [ Bear & LordBesar ]

Of all the things to put young Ermine in awe, it was not the lords and ladies that surrounded her in their fine clothing that she had only previously glimpsed in passing, but the flowers that had been arranged. Unlike the rest of the kingdom, the castle was like a piece of land stuck in time from before the plague had struck. The flowers were lovely, not just for their vibrant colors but for the luxurious size that the blooms had grown to. Most were fragrant, though not as strong as the flowers that her father carried in his pocket for when he had to walk the streets often. Like the flowers, her family to be was also in very good health given the situation, their skin clear of lesions and bright from frequent baths. Their eyes were just as bright, curious at the oddity that was the commoner girl. Ermine had always been taught that it was rude to stare, but apparently when you were born into riches the rules were quite different, as the people had no opposition towards staring at her as if she were some oddity that they had never spied before. Her husband-to-be was not exempt from the legions that were staring, his eyes held captive on her as if he were spellbound. Ermines skin crawled from the attention, her cheeks taking on a hint of a blush from so much blatant scrutiny. A bitter thought crossed her mind at that point - If they paid this much attention to the rest of the kingdom, perhaps we wouldnt be plagued with such a curse from the gods. No. How awful a thought that was. She scolded herself internally for thinking such a thing, though it was awfully true and she knew it to be so. If they had perhaps cared more about the people that they ruled then they wouldnt be in the predicaments that they had on their hands. Ermine might have been naive but she did hear the whispers among the common women as they washed clothes, had heard what the young men were talking of braveries and facing the knights. The king would have a large problem on his hands if he didnt stop the anger soon among the people and assure them that he cared. The king himself lacked not in lavish attention or politely worded things, far more skilled in the art of the tongue than she could ever dream to be. She bowed to him gently, Thank you, my king. She was not without her own manners, My family is honored to have been chosen. Her mother kicked her ankle gently, a sharp pain spiking up her leg. She bit the inside of her lip before speaking again, at her mothers quiet admonition of daring to speak for the family. Her hands were still trembling the slightest when she was urged to join the king now, her hand releasing her fathers arm as she approached and closed the last of the space that would now forever separate herself from her family of origin. She took his right hand gently, doing her best to make her own be still and urging her racing heart to calm itself or she would surely fall out in the middle of the throne room. The first thing that she noticed was that his hand was surprisingly rough in comparison to what she had expected of a man of royalty. Rough hands were usually reserved for men that did physical labor or fought in wars. The king was expected to do neither. However, his hands bore calluses that were a slight comfort to her knowing that he did not simply sit upon his throne as a fat cat would lay in the sun. I would be honored to know you more, my lord.