Thread: Lonely Lies the Crown (Annabeth & Khaos)

He'd made Seraphine wear the poison needle ring for three years with an uncoated needle before switching it out to the poisoned one. That had proved prudent as she'd been barely into the second month of it when she carelessly triggered it and scratched one of the lap dogs kept around to keep fleas on them and off people. Then again less than a week later when she poked it into her own thigh while doing embroidery and being so careless as to trigger it. It was almost scary how far he thought into the future where her safety was concerned and the pains he went to guarantee it. It sometimes made things a little awkward though. For all she was, of course, chaste and a virgin, Rennes was neither and had the needs normal to all men. Thus, when he needed release, Seraphine was within earshot and sometimes his sight, though never that of the girl he was coupling with. Girls plural one time, she remembered and flushed. Rennes had certainly, ah, serviced them well judging from their noises and the careful way they walked the next day. They never spoke of it, by mutual agreement after some very awkward questions Seraphine had posed before her first moons. Rennes had tried to relate it to the horses and swine, leading to quite a bit of confusion and a few pretend weddings in the stables between a stallion and a mare with a very puzzled priest presiding over them and Rennes staring hard at the man every time he faltered. Now she just ignored it when it happened and would do her needlework or read, or sometimes just stare out the arrow slit of a window in the room Rennes normally used for his amorous liaisons. Bouyed by Renne's touch on her face and the kiss, she took reassurance and confidence from her bodyguard as she had so many times before. Closing her eyes Seraphine breathed out deeply, then in so much her breasts lifted high, then out deeply again. When her eyes opened again her face was totally calm, her body a picture of posture perfection, and her eyes beguilingly serene. It was a trick Rennes had taught her, how to hold and convey herself and project a presence of unshakable calm and dignity. Crowds would part before her, miscreants knuckle their brow and slink away, and even the snippiest of barbed comment courtiers be silent behind her back. An arch of one thick eyebrow indicated her wishes to Rennes and he opened the door, first scanning the hall outside then stepping out. A flick of one finger indicated to her it was safe and she glided out, skirts swirling and flicking behind her but her head absolutely level and her shoulders immobile. It was as if she glided rather then walked. It was a long walk through the corridors of the palace, made longer by Rennes ghosting ahead and checking that the way was safe. She didn't pause once, never altered her stride, but it had to be purposefully slow so that he could do his duty. The side effect was that her passages about the palace were always stately which added to her dignity of station. Eventually they reached the private audience chamber and it was opened by her father the King's own guardsmen. A courtier announced, rather quietly than normal, The Princess Seraphine, Keeper of the Swans and daughter of House vreux, sole heir to the Kingdom of France and Beloved of the Blessed Virgin. Seraphine curtsied low to the two figures seated on thrones at the end of the room, her arms spreading and lifting her skirts like a butterfly's gossamer wings, and held the obeisance longer than necessary. It was no act, no pretense Serpahine loved her parents and held them in genuine esteem. If that meant she curtsied a few heartbeats longer than needed as a way of showing her love, then so be it no matter what others thought of the act. They'd see it as sycophancy, most of them. The court was such a disaster of plotting and petty insults and equally petty schemes. Daughter, the emissaries of the Prester John, the King said, his ring encrusted fingers gesturing to where a small group of men stood. As Seraphine looked over, the audience chamber door shut behind them and she heard the scraping thud of a heavy locking bar slide into place. Rennes no doubt. Serpahine repeated the curtsy to the foreigners, though this time she held it for just the amount of courtesy due them and no more. Sayyidah, the leader of them said, his voice heavy with the accent of the heathen lands. He stepped forward and made an odd gesture, touching his fingers and thumb to his head, then his lips, then his heart as he bowed. His right hand, she noted. Peace and mercy be upon you and your family for all your days as God wills it. Another step forward, his eyes flicking nervously to where Rennes stood and watched, then he reached out and took the hand Seraphine had offered, her palm to the floor. He kissed the back of it then stepped away. What did one say to that? It was beyond her experience but it never showed in her face and she faltered not one breath before replying, As God wills it. She followed up in a similar fashion. And may God light your path as you return to your lands and wives and children. It may not have been entirely what they were expecting, but the young Princess projected holy sincerity so they accepted it as if being offered wine-tinged water at the end of a long journey. Thank you, Sayyidah, he answered. Though if our Lord's birth in Bethlehem was shown by a shining star in the East, surely Sayiddah is the shining star in the West to show us the way to our allies in Christ against the infidel. It would be blasphemy to accept such a compliment, Seraphine said but with a smile on her lips showing she did accept it and was greatly flattered. Will you sit? she said and gestured towards ornate chairs near the thrones but lower in height. Seraphine took her usual spot on her father's right hand side, sitting on a small stool and resting her hands, one atop the other, on the arm of his throne. From time to time, as audiences would progress, he would lean over to whisper questions to her or to let her in on his counsel about the matter at hand, teaching her. Rennes had no place, or rather had any place he wanted. Oft that was standing behind her but he was free to roam anywhere in the palace. In the Kingdom. Soon her father and the leader of the emissaries, one Da'oud bin Acre, were feeling each other out in terms of armies and manpower and political will and alliances. Seraphine listened, noting every word, but her eyes roamed the strange men and their strange clothing. It seemed to mirror that of the heathens, the Saracens, and she supposed there were any number of practical reasons. Certainly they were no odder than the people from the far, far North, the Sami people with their bright clothing and rounded faces and exotically slanted eyes. And they were most decidedly pagans, worshipers of trees and rocks and other silly things. Saracens, at least, believed in the one true God as did the Jews and Christians. They just got a little muddled up after that and strayed from the path of Jesus. Two of the men in the back of the group slowly worked their way forwards, each time for a legitimate reason such as providing a word of knowledge or fact, but something seemed rather odd about them. The others looked like them, but seemed almost afraid of the two men. Only Da'oud was oblivious to all of it. Without warning anyone, Seraphine calmly but clearly recited the third line of the infidel call to prayer, only changing the name of the prophet from Muhammed to Jesus. Ash-hadu anna Jesus-Rasulullh , she called out, voice as pure as an angel's song. The interruption shocked Da'oud and her father into silence but brought a wholly different reaction from the two men. Shrieking in the heathen tongue, so fast and so angry Seraphine had not a chance to understand them, they drew twin swords with crescent shaped blades and charged!