Thread: Lonely Lies the Crown (Annabeth & Khaos)

RE Lonely Lies the Crown No longer than it takes you to change into a gambeson and don the rest of your armor, she called out, voice chattering slightly in the cold despite the fire against the outer wall. Though talk has it you come out of it quickly enough if there's a pretty peasant about that you fancy, she teased. And don't you dare touch it! she warned in a stern voice. Last time you played hand maiden the silk caught in your callouses and it was all snags. That dress was only good for rags after, Seraphine vreux exaggerated. The snag had been the tiniest of things, but when Rennes grumbled it was best to grumble back, or else sweetly flatter him and play up her innocence. He never seemed to catch on either, or if he did was too devoted to her to let Seraphine know. You need not remind me, she said curtly and swatted playfully at his head that peeked around the corner. Absolutely no sense of shame was felt at Rennes seeing her but partially clad. It had been such ever since her birth. No man spent more time with Seraphine than Rennes and his vow to her father and by extension to her was absolute. It was so accepted that Seraphine had no idea of how her transformation into a young woman may have tormented her bodyguard, from the first budding of her breasts to their final form or the darkening of the cleft between her legs to match the tresses piled atop her head. Dressing, bathing, sleeping in summer's heat or snuggling against his chest while riding twin on his horse across terrain too rugged for a carriage, Seraphine was free with her body around him. Rennes never seemed distressed by it either, though Seraphine thought he looked at her rather more differently the last few years. Or was it only her imagination? Every day is an important day for House vreux of late, she countered, but finished dressing with more than normal haste. Stepping out she motioned for the ladies in waiting to come forward and finish adding jewels and armbands and to fuss about her hair. Stunning in royal purple and muted blue-gray, the gown clung and covered at the same time, showing her youthful and lush body beneath it but emphasizing her quiet dignity that she wore as faithfully as Rennes wore his armor. You are dismissed, she told them and waited until they left to speak further with Rennes. They say they are noblemen of the court of the Prester John and authorized to negotiate in his name, Serpahine said but doubt was in her tone. Yet none have seen the - any - Prester John in a hundred years. Some say his throne is empty. Prester John, fabled Christian ruler in the Eastern lands beyond Holy Jerusalem, beset on all sides by Saracens and other infidels. If he existed, if his house still ruled, forging an alliance between her beloved France and his kingdom might give France the edge it needed to crack the nut of the Holiest of Cities and finally expel the Saracens for good. Sure of an ally in the East, they could march together and crush the heathens between them. If he existed. If they could form an alliance that wouldn't crumble. And they insist on a private audience. My father and mother and the Chancellor. Myself and no more than two guardsmen. One of whom would be Rennes, that was never in doubt. They say they fear spies overhearing their plans. Eyes the color of early winter seas looked worriedly into Rennes'. Stay you close to me, she said, it sounding like an order but as they were alone it was more of a plea.