she held the world upon a string

this is a lesson in empathy. this is a lesson in maturity. this is the way toward a bigger, more generous heart. aurelia valmont the bleeding heart

[aureliavalmont]

i will walk through the fire | a playlist for things yet to come

1. i would give you / every last breath ‘til there’s nothing left /// 2. why can’t you hold me on the street? / why can’t i kiss you on the dance floor? /// 3. i have to speculate / that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes /// 4. when i go into that ground / i won’t go quietly / i’m bringing my crown /// 5. the way the waves wash empty words away is opportunity / he nods / we need to bridge burn /// 6. help i’m alive my heart keeps beating like a hammer / hard to be soft / tough to be tender /// 7. we’re starting over / or head back in / there’s a time and a place to die but this ain’t it /// 8. i’ll never pick a side / you’re my mothertongue /// 9. i’m only human can’t you see? / i made, i made a mistake / please just look me in my face /// 10. you said you’d wait forever but i blink / and the world was gone /// 11. you’ll never know what hit you / won’t see me closing in / i’m gonna make you suffer

LISTEN.

[aureliavalmont]

✧ KITHRI ✧

Though she was careful to not tread into the waters of out-and-out treason – at least, for the time being – Kithri found herself increasingly unable to smooth her features into something imperceptible, or to clip her tone into something polite. She sneered and scowled and grit her teeth, and sometimes allowed her voice to betray the extreme fire or extreme ice that undercut it. The mage knew that it was unwise, but the alternative was too suffocating to endure. She was not a politicker, and though it was to her detriment she was nonetheless proud of the fact. Kithri did not want to belong to that crowd of manipulators and liars.

Still, she could not simply ignore the call of the Princess at her back – though to do as much would’ve felt remarkably empowering. She pivoted her body to offer half of her attention to Aurelia: a subtle gesture, but an obvious sign of disrespect that she doubted the Princess would chastise her for. The youngest of the Valmonts appeared to pride herself on her humanity and compassion; Kithri struggled to believe that it was wholly genuine. Her brow furrowed when the Princess suggested she had followed after her only to check after her well-being, though she did not comment on it outright. 

“Is that so clear, Your Grace?” 

Turning her body to fully face the Princess, Kithri pointed with her free hand to one of the torches which lit the stone hall. “Tell me, Princess – if you were to pull this torch from the wall, and drop it to the hem of your skirts, would your fine dress not catch with flames? I imagine that it would – and by no cause of magic, you would burn.”

Kithri, she’s discovered over the years, uses her impoliteness as swiftly as Captain Saif swings a sword. She uses it to push people, to make them uncomfortable, to make them doubt and distract them and a thousand other things. She cannot help noting it, for how often the trick has been used on herself. Your Highness is the proper word, but of course, she will only sneer if Aurelia corrects her, so she holds her tongue. Titles don’t matter, not really, though she does worry if Kithri uses that tactic with Reynaud, for he may try punishing her instead.

She also insults Aurelia’s intelligence with her explanation, but then, that might simply be a reaction to the royal family’s historically poor treatment of mages. ❝ It is clear to me, ❞ Aurelia says very quietly, ❝ as someone who has spent my life trailing after court mages. No natural fire catches so quickly, as it did with the three we lost. ❞ Her voice and features are as grave as they have ever been. She isn’t interested in pretending they don’t both know what happened; her focus is entirely on making sure Kithri isn’t taking the fall for it.

❝ Those thoughtless deaths... that’s what makes me sure it wasn’t you, ❞ she finishes, her voice small. ❝ Yet in the wake of a threat to his life, my father has become justifiably paranoid. So I ask again: ❞ They have come to nearly a whisper, now, Aurelia looking up at Kithri grimly. ❝ Are you alright? ❞  

[aureliavalmont]

✧ REYNAUD ✧

He’s practically insulted any guard or staff or anyone out of his chambers by now. Barrages of insults, of objects thrown at those who try and know what’s best for him against the orders he gives should paint the hint very vividly of how he is affected by these recent events. The crown still lays crooked on the floor from where it clattered, each ringing sound that echoed off the walls of his quarters a harsh metal symphony of anger and frustration and fear. There are whispers among those who have seen him these past few weeks, growing louder now more so, suggesting the deep furrow of his brows do not meet his eyes. They are hollow. Reynaud knows not how long it will take to fill them again.

He’s not sure how long he can stew in this. There are many things he wishes to do, starting with tearing down every bit of stone used to forge the false pedestal Valeria has been so unjustly placed upon. Victory belongs to those who have actually done something. His trophy was turned into a consolation prize, a moment of pride turning to a moment of humiliation. When once he ran with his cousin, grass beneath their feet, he would charge at her now without a moment’s hesitation. Envy crackles the mud still caked beneath his fingernails.

The nails dig into his palm at the sound of a familiar voice. His sister, ever the wannabe peacemaker. His teeth grit, wondering what songs she wished to sing, what words she wished for him to give to help her craft her fantasy world. Weak, he thought her softness was. And yet, the people loved her for it, loved her weakness because it coddled them, made them feel better about their pathetic lives or something of the sort. Envy makes the crescents in his palms.

“And yet you were complicit as you always are. I hope you took a great loss on it,” Reynaud rants, mostly to himself as he finally stood up to approach the door, though he doesn’t do much at all to control his volume. She wasn’t sorry. If she was sorry, she wouldn’t have placed that crown upon his head. She would have regarded his achievements as just that, achievements, not something to be mocked at the hands of his cousin and cheered on by the lips of his father. He opens the door, leaning against it as he glares down at his sister. “What is it that you want?” He demanded to know, allowing the door to open further, if only for the chance his bruised ego could receive something to help the swelling subside.

The words hurt, muffled as they are from the distance between him and the closed door. Complicit. This is her entire life of late. If she does not do something soon to handle her father, she is complicit in his acts. Every moment, every execution, makes her complicit in the horrors her family commits. Yet she cannot appease them. When she makes nice with Valeria, Reynaud is angered. If she is on good terms with Reynaud, she is on poor terms with Prue and Valeria as well. Perhaps the puzzle has no solution, but Aurelia has never given up, not on anyone. She won’t start now.

So she straightens her spine. Of the little fire remaining to her, out from the shell her body feels like, she manages some heat. ❝ As you always are, as well. Or have I missed a moment you refused our father’s demands? ❞ It takes all the strength in her, those two sentences, before exhaustion sets in again. He does it on purpose, she thinks grimly, he pits us against one another like dogs he’d like to see fight and prove who’s strongest. The victor will never be her. Aurelia has not the kind of strength that her father, or Reynaud for that matter, would understand.

She rubs at her eyes when he opens the door, frustrated that he will have known she’s cried. He already tells her how weak she is, how much worse can it be? Yet every tear feels like damnation with her brother, as though she’s broken some unspoken rule. ❝ I wasn’t told until the crown was in my hands, ❞ she whispers. ❝ I know it’s not enough, but to refuse him in public... ❞ She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. Reynaud may not agree with her decision, but he well knows what the consequences would have been had Aurelia acted in a way their father did not approve of. 

She flinches at the way he looks at her. Perhaps she should learn to school her face, but she has always been vulnerable with her family, always shown them the best and worst parts of herself.  ❝ To talk. To apologize, because he never will, and someone should. ❞ She has heard of how bitterly he’s treated the guards and servants lately, and their whispers reaching her ears means that they will look to her to remedy this, if she can. ❝ Yell at me. I’m the one your anger should be directed at. The others... are merely placeholders for Valeria and I. So whatever you need to say, it should be focused on those of us that deserve it. ❞

[aureliavalmont]

✧ WRAITH ✧

Aurelia is a surprising thing. She always has been, to them, ever since she was a tiny child dressed in bows and toddling around the castle on round little legs and they were a brand new addition to Septimus’ court. They never understood her fascination with them, but neither did they question it—perhaps that was just what it was, to be treated like a member of the court rather than the unwanted snake slithering along its tiles. She is a thing so warm and bright it is impossible to be cold in her presence. 

Much like the warming potion she’s brought, which Wraith takes half out of respect for the king gesture and half because it is fucking cold out. Just because they are no stranger to discomfort or to cold does not mean they are fool enough not to accept relief when it us given. They nod, a quiet little thank you, in her direction, and swallow it down in one go, feeling it warm them from within.

     “The odds are interesting, the reasonings even moreso,” they observe, their focus on her but their gaze still out on the crowd. Events like this are a reprieve from normal secrecy; it is so easy to garner information from everyone in the court without needing to hide at all. “No one can seem to decide whether to bet in loyalty to their Prince or in preservation of their own coin.” 

They grin, a bemused expression crossing their face, and while it is hidden behind the mask across their face, they’re sure Aurelia can read it in their body language anyway. It has been years since anyone at court saw their face, but those who cared to had learned to understand their expressions just from the way the material of the mask warped and the way the rest of their robed body responded. 

     “No, Princess, I haven’t placed any bets. There are some who would accuse me of using my powers to cheat, should I somehow wind up winning, and I wouldn’t want to stir any pots on a day so glorious.” 

You would think that spies were fonts of gossip, and you would be correct, though it usually went directly to her father’s ears. Harmless things, though, those might be shared for the fun of it, and it was harmless things she focused on within their presence. They would and could share anything with her, but being so close to her father... it was undoubted that much had been taken, perhaps without their realizing, or perhaps at their behest. Aurelia was not her brother or her father; she refused to be a taker when she could be a giver.

Wraith didn’t ask for much, anyway. They never had. More often it was she trailing after them, asking too much, asking them to define things better left to vaguery. She opens her mouth to respond, but they continue their thought, and it turns her words to laughter. ❝ My coin is Reynaud’s as well, so I suppose I make his own bets for him here. ❞ In truth, she would waste the entire royal coffer if it would earn her brother’s affections, but she’s well aware it never could, so the point is moot. ❝ No one has faith in him? Even after... after Koldam? ❞ Her breath catches as she speaks of it, the slaughter still fresh on her mind, and as she says the name her eyes fill with sorrow.

Blink, and it’s gone, as so many other thoughts of hers follow. She’s pleased to see them smiling, not on their face but in the way their shoulders round a fraction, their eyes smaller from where they’re visible, crinkled around the edges. She raises a brow in their direction. ❝ Is it not the point of betting on these things, to cheat as much as you can? I’ve seen all sorts of chicanery so far, though I confess my only sin is placing my bets on the dark horse. ❞ She sighs, following their logic. ❝ Ah, but everyone becomes a saint when they decide they’ve marked a sinner, no? ❞ In spite of her rueful grin, her eyes show her true feelings: there is genuine sadness in her, to think of how differently they’d be treated due to their magic and their position at court. A person is either a cheater or not, regardless of what abilities they possess, and yet... 

Aurelia reaches out a little, catching a few perfect rain drops on her palm. They cling to her everywhere, but she studies them as though they were snowflakes. ❝ Cleric Francis is a fan of the weather as well, ❞ she admits, thinking of their earlier conversation, ❝ which I am convinced is simply because neither of you will need to dry your petticoats later. ❞ It’s said with mirth, not bitterness, as she wrinkles her nose to remember the musty smell the last time she looked in on the process, but they must be dried, then washed, then dried again. Something about taking care of the fabric.

[aureliavalmont]

✧ FRANCIS ✧

when: 6th of the 10th month, morning where: the tourney grounds closed to: @aureliavalmont​

The King does not stay for the entirety of the service. It is not a shocking discovery, but it does not go unnoticed, either. Septimus’ distaste for the Undying God appears to grow more obvious by the day; he has always been a careless man. Francis knows this, and Undeath knows it, too. By the time they have uttered their final blessing, it is only Aurelia and Valeria who remain in the seats of the royal family.

Later, at the tournament, Francis sits beside Aurelia. ( They do not hold high enough status in the court to be invited to this portion of the stands, but no guard turns Francis away. It would not do to deny a Cleric of the Undying; especially not one such as Francis, who has never had an ulterior motive in their life. )

“It’s a lovely afternoon,” Francis comments as the rain pours heavily onto the earth. Already, the dirt of the arena is turning quickly into mud. They do not seem to notice. 

“The Undying has blessed us with the gift of purification,” they say, reaching a hand out in front of them. Droplets of water hit their skin and they smile serenely before bringing it back toward their body. It was in the midst of a storm that Francis first heard the voice of Undeath, and since then, they have had a particular fondness for rain.

“The water may bring us new life,” they continue, turning to catch Aurelia’s gaze. “If new life is what you desire.”

Though she knows they have no standing to be sat beside her, Aurelia does not begrudge Cleric Francis the honor, choosing instead to turn to them with an approximation between anxiety and optimism. While religion itself often intimidates her, Cleric Francis is one of those who is less intimidating, in her eye, which makes them an excellent person to start with if she wants to feel closer to Undeath.

As always with a Cleric, she wonders if their tastes follow the path the Undying has chosen for them or if it’s genuine affection for rain that inspires their words. ❝ I suppose it must be, for loveliness is always beholden to the observer. I personally find the rain to be soothing, but the mud to be less pleasant. ❞ She smiles and hopes they will not be offended. In truth, she does like the rain... from her window at the castle, more than on her skin, but alas.

She watches them with no small amount of curiosity as they cup the rain in their palm the way Aurelia cups the face of her sweet cat. ❝ The water may also bring death, ❞ Aurelia points out, thinking of flood and famine should it continue into unbalancing the natural state of their seasons. Not that she fears it will, but if it did... sometimes water can do more harm than good. ❝ In that way, it mirrors Undeath quite perfectly, does it not? ❞ It’s hope in her expression, now, hope that she’s correctly seen parts of her own religion that she’s always been wary of parsing. Balance, equanimity, those things are both sugar and poison in her life, and she’s never quite sure where she stands.

[aureliavalmont]

aurelia + personality types

[aureliavalmont]

afternoon 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖞 with @vasylia​ 

       𝓞ne of her favorite places in all of Tyrholm, the Library has become a sort of refuge, of late. Aurelia was never permitted to oft leave the castle itself, but having her imprisonment become an official decree has done nothing to buoy her spirits. Now she retreats to the worlds written by others, vast empires and long-dead battlefields, none of which she may ever see before she is once again cradled in the arms of the Undying God. She has just put her most recent selection away, and her fingers trail over the well-worn spines among this shelf with a wan smile. Nothing new, unfortunately; by now, she has read her way through a quarter of the library, and still, there is so much more to see.

She turns the corner and her hand stops on the spine of a book she’s seen before, but never thought to read. It’s tucked away and forgotten, else her father likely would have had it purged entirely, and she takes it before she can think better. The Noble History of Koldam, it reads, and her heart flutters at the speed of a hummingbird as she gives the book to Petra, the lady-in-waiting at her side today. ❝ Bring this to my quarters, ❞ she whispers, cheek pressed to Petra’s as if only to give affection, ❝ along with a few others, whatever suits you. Let no one see it. ❞ She leans away with a pleasant expression, as though she has told nothing more than a girlish secret, and Petra nods. She has assisted with such matters since Aurelia was twelve; she is long since used to this.

She disappears, and left alone with her thoughts (her Coterie waits outside the library, guarding her in the halls but leaving her to her own devices within the library itself), she goes to take another turn, nearly running int Vasylia. ❝ My Lady, ❞ she breathes, hand over her heart, ❝ you give me quite the fright. ❞ Would it not do to announce yourself, if you are standing so close? She doesn’t say it, but the words do come to mind. She wonders, abruptly, what Vasylia might have heard, when her back was turned. Still, nothing to be done for it now. Perhaps she can coax the answer out through conversation. ❝ Have you come to escape the castle through words as I have? I find it to be quite diverting. ❞ Her words are distant and polite, but her eyes are sharp as they track Vasylia. She wishes she could figure her more plainly, but then, Aurelia’s never been able to tell what Naenia or Levana are thinking either. Necromancers, she says to herself with wry amusement, the corners of her lips twitching upward.

[aureliavalmont]

mid-morning 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖕𝖊'𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖘 with @calliopevalmont

       𝓢he’s not meant to disturb Mama while she works, or at all, really, but it is difficult even for the meanest of guards to deny her shining eyes, her lip trembling with stubborn love as she holds her present behind her back. ❝ Jus’ for a second, ❞ she whispers, and they smile down at her, gauntlet brushing her cheek so her lower lip will stop that dangerous trembling. They comfort her, for they know not how to proceed. Anger their Queen, by disobeying her wishes? Bring tears to the eyes of the Princess, who is only six years old and yet may still order them as she pleases?

I see no harm in it, one of them argues, and the other nods, relieved not to have been the first to say it. Shiny tears in her eyes forgotten, Aurelia smiles and curtsies at both with one hand, still holding her present in the other. It’s a little wobbly, but so precious as to soften even the hardest of hearts.

The doors are opened to her, and she skips through them, sure that this time, Mama will not send her away. This time she has brought a gift, something so pretty as to match her Mama, who is the most beautiful person in all of Tyrholm, to be sure. She locates her at once, writing some missive or doing something at her ornate desk, and runs in that small child way, near tumbling over at any moment.

There are many lessons she’s learned, over the course of her life, about how to approach Mama. She must comport herself as much as she can, and she cannot be loud, or crass, or overly giggly, all of which would disrupt her work. She will politely skid to a stop three feet or so from where Mama sits, curtsy as is proper for the Queen, and ask with as little lisp as she can, ❝ Good Morrow, Mama. Can — ❞ she pauses, knowing she’s got it wrong already. ❝ May I inter — in — ❞ Her face turns red the longer she struggles, embarrassed as she remembers a new word. Disappointment. The longer she goes on, the more she becomes a disappointment. She stops again, taking a deep breath. ❝ May I? ❞ she asks, and hopes that will get the point across. Her lip is trembling again. Don’t send me out, she thinks so hard she feels it must reach Mama’s brain. Don’t send me away, don’t make me go.

[aureliavalmont]

late late at night 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 with @maidenhoods​

       𝓐urelia cannot sleep. Her nap outside her father’s Throne Room has certainly done a number on her, and when she last looked in the mirror, the circles under her eyes had purpled to an unflattering degree. Her teeth chatter in her nightgown and robe, but the greenhouse is kept warm even in the dead of winter, and it’s there she’s headed, for some semblance of peace among the flowers and green earth. 

She turns the corner and spots a figure across the hall, and for a moment, Aurelia worries that she will be asked to turn back. It’s not safe for you to be out, Princess, they’d murmur, not in times like these. However, as she gets closer, she realizes with relief and delight that it’s no one of the sort. ❝ Hello, Maiden, ❞ she greets, drawing near with the candle held in her hands and an exhausted smile on her face. No matter how bad she feels, Aurelia can summon a smile for a friend. This is what it means to be a Princess.

In spite of that, she knows it must be obvious that she feels ill. The headache from earlier, likely a result of her many tears, has not faded, but she is not tired, either. She meets Maiden in the middle of the hall and feels drawn out, half-flesh half-spirit in the mix of moonlight and flickering fire. ❝ What are you doing this late? Haunting the halls? ❞ It’s said with a teasing air and a touch of concern, for although an attack on her father is different from an attack on a mage, that doesn’t mean she isn’t worried about who else might be caught in the crossfire. Her Coterie does not accompany her; in this moment, the two women in the hall are the only things which stand between each other and a would-be assailant or unforeseen circumstance.

[aureliavalmont]

morning 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 with @bardglory​

       𝓤nlike the harp, the only other string instrument she knows, the lute requires finger muscles she does not possess. She has been trying, under Armel’s tutelage, to grow those muscles, but it has not been easy. Now, she strums with melancholy as she stares out over Tyrholm, anxiety a thready drum within her ribs. There is no way to gather the city she views into her arms, to take the kingdom itself and whisk it away somewhere her father can never find it again. She thinks, as she has for days, about how miserable one must be to want to die simply to know that you took someone with you.

The thought fills her with lingering, heavy dread.

A discordant noise comes from the lute and she frowns, staring down at her fingers as though they’ve betrayed her. Normally she would dangle her legs over the edge, but with all that’s happened, her Coterie has recommended she sit more safely. She turns the instrument over and over in her hands before settling it in her lap once more, plucking away her melancholy as though it will give her succor.

She doesn’t notice her tutor himself until she’s almost upon her, but she turns to him with a wan smile when he’s close enough to swim into her vision. ❝ Morrow, ❞ she greets, for it doesn’t feel particularly good. ❝ You’ve risen early today, Armel. Is it a miracle, or trouble on the horizon? ❞

[aureliavalmont]

early evening 𝖗𝖊𝖞𝖓𝖆𝖚𝖉'𝖘 𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 with @emperorvalmont​

       𝓣here is no guard with her now. The closest member of her Coterie is around the corner, listening for her shout but otherwise not close enough to intrude upon a conversation between a Prince and a Princess. Leaning against the threshold, Aurelia gathers her courage. Memories flash through her mind: of running toward her brother and throwing her arms around him as he returned from Koldam, heart in her throat as she looked for any sign of injuries, and of the way he pushed her to the cold stone beneath their feet. Of taking Valeria’s hand and being set back on her feet, and permitted an awkward, unsure hug from them in turn. Of how badly her heart has ached for Reynaud and how little he has cared whether it does.

Taking a deep breath, she knocks three times on the door to his rooms. ❝ Reynaud? ❞ she asks quietly, clearing her throat. She knows he must be mad, but she’s given him the day to cool off. She would think he might be able to put this behind him considering the events of the previous day, but knowing his pride, it’s not likely. ❝ Brother, please, ❞ she says a fraction louder, just against the door. 

She can’t tell if he’s not in or if he’s just not coming to the door, but she speaks against it, just in case he’s listening. ❝ I’m so sorry. ❞ The lump in her throat is hard to speak around, but she does her best. ❝ I promise I bet on you. Every penny. ❞ She lays her forehead gently against the door, eyes closed. ❝ I always do. I always will. Please let me tell you properly. ❞

[aureliavalmont]

breakfast 𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 with @achillesgrieves​

       𝓛istless, she goes through her rounds with the guards at breakfast with half her normal enthusiasm. Luckily, considering the attack on her father, it’s understandable that the Princess with a bleeding heart would be soul-weary in its wake. She feels as though she floats through every step, too ghostly, still remembering how warm the blood was as Viktor cut the would-be assassin clean in half. She had her dress burned, the blood making her nauseous whenever she saw it. Too close, she thinks, death has come too close. 

Aurelia should spend more time in the Sanctum. Maybe if she felt at peace with Undeath, she would also be at peace with the death portion. She could seek out Naenia, who might even answer her, but it doesn’t feel right when she knows it would only be an avoidance of the Sanctum itself. She vows to go, but not right now; right now she’s too busy nearly walking into someone.

❝ My apologies, ❞ she says automatically, if a little distant. She looks up to see Guard Captain Andros standing before her, and her throat goes dry. She’s there again, as fast as that, following him through a crowd of confusion and shouting in order to escape the masses and re-enter the castle safely. She feels the rain splattering them, the blood still warm on her cheek, and she freezes, eyes wide. ❝ I apologize, ❞ she repeats, then feels stupid for doing so, but her brain feels stuck on an awful loop. She should go. She should stay. She does nothing but stand in front of him. What is she waiting for? Censure, that she hasn’t yet acted? Pity, that she’s never been so close to the bloodshed her father is so fond of? Anger, that she has never been enough to stop them? No, none of those, or all of them. They would certainly fit her washed-out mood.

[aureliavalmont]

during jousting 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖞 with @meraudazenari​ 

       𝓜ore’s the pity, she thinks, hiding her smile as she watches Meraud being sprayed with mud. She plans to be more charitable, really, with Tasmin so nearby, but she’s gone by the time Aurelia finally finds her way over to Meraud herself. She isn’t smiling, but there’s laughter which dances in her eyes as she takes in the scene, her own servants ensuring no mud even so much as dusts her hem. ❝ Hope that wasn’t your prized favorite, ❞ she says, all politeness and honey were it not for that suspicious gleam in the corner of her gaze. Without saying a word or so much as a shoulder shake, it’s obvious to such a courtier as Lady Meraud that she must be laughing at her. Is she speaking of the rider, the horse, or the dress? 

No evidence toward laughter or condescension. That would be far too crass for those trained in such niceties as the two of them.

That said, where Aurelia stands conveniently blocks the crowd behind her from witnessing any more of Meraud’s humiliation. She may be here on purpose, but she makes sure that the woman before her won’t know it. There’s something about letting Meraud see the soft parts of her that twists her stomach, not always in unpleasant ways, but always strongly. Shaking her head, she looks morosely at the expanse of ruined fabric. ❝ Truly, ‘tis a shame. Would you like to go in? I would be happy to send one of my Ladies in with you, to help you change into something more... respectable. ❞

[aureliavalmont]

late evening 𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒 with @viktordaegal​

       𝓟rincess or not, Aurelia is not permitted to follow her father into the Throne Room, nor is she permitted to hear his decrees. She is not, however, properly banned from the area either, and thus she has remained, waiting for her father to emerge for what feels like hours but is probably less than thirty minutes. Her hem is ruined by the mud it was dragged through during their hasty retreat, Guard Captain Andros ensuring their safety all the while. Tears track ruddy and ugly down her cheeks, and her Coterie stands out in the hall, adding to the King’s already stringent security.

She doesn’t know when she falls asleep. She only knows that when she wakes, the night is dark around them, and her Coterie must be exhausted. She thinks, at first, that it’s them waking her, and she looks up with a moment of vulnerability before realizing that it’s not her trusted guards touching her shoulder. but someone she trusts not at all. Aurelia freezes, every bone in her body seeming to stiffen before she relaxes one breath at a time. Suddenly self-conscious, she rubs at her red eyes, ignoring the pounding in her head and the rough feeling in her throat to address her father’s principal guard.

❝ Good evening, Guard Daegal, ❞ she says around the frog in her throat, straightening from where she’s been slumped against the wall. The unintended consequence of privilege: if you’re the Princess, no one feels able to move you without your express permission. ❝ I’ve been waiting to meet with Father. Is he — ❞ she stops short, something in his expression drawing a black shroud around her heart. ❝ He will not meet with me. ❞ She doesn’t say it as a question, for she knows the answer all too well. In spite of herself, those foolish tears well in her eyes again, and she turns away, refusing to allow him the honor of seeing that far into her being.

It only takes a moment. Swallow. Breathe in and out, and again, and again. When she turns back, she has collected herself and put on the armor she’s so accustomed to hiding behind. Hurt may remain in her eyes, but she’s already flinched before him once, and if she does it again, something within her with shatter entirely. ❝ Why send you? Has his paranoia strode so far as to make him fear his daughter, also? ❞ There’s a bitterness to her tone that’s rarely felt, and she looks at Viktor as though she actually expects an answer.

[aureliavalmont]

afternoon 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖞 with @serpentcrown​

       𝓣here seems to be no end to the rain, and she can see her servants growing tired. Unlike her Coterie, they are not used to the awkwardness of such conditions, and Aurelia takes pity on them, reaching out to one and squeezing her arm. ❝ I would appreciate if you would ferry me to that corner, ❞ she says, pointing toward where Maiden plies her wares, and nearby, where the Prince of Serpents waits. Oh, yes, she knows that name, for she hears much of it in the missives she isn’t supposed to receive, but that’s neither here nor there. Lady Zoya Nathair is here as a court Noble, though she’s positive there’s plying of wares to be had as well. Who says you can’t do both?

No one who has met Lady Zoya, that much is certain.

Her tired servants escort her over to the correct spot, with little mud to be had and the presence of Lady Zoya’s company. ❝ Thank you, both of you. Now please, step inside for a moment and be warm. Anyone who asks, you are to retrieve something for me from my chambers. ❞ Aurelia smiles with a perfect mix of indulgence and mischievousness, nodding toward the castle. ❝ Go. I will be content with Lady Zoya’s company until Father calls for me, I assure you.❞ The path from here is relatively straightforward to where she must be to watch her cousin and brother compete, and with little mud to speak of. If anything, her Coterie can assist her getting there unblemished.

Servants gone, her two Coterie members settle in perhaps ten feet behind her, and she turns to smile in Lady Zoya’s direction. ❝ Is there much business to be found, with all this to distract them? ❞ Aurelia asks out of curiosity, making simple conversation. It’s rare she has an opportunity to talk one on one to the Prince of Serpents themself, and she’ll make the most of it while it’s within her grasp. ❝ Or are you perhaps taking bets? If so, I should dearly like to place one. ❞

[aureliavalmont]

mid-afternoon 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖞 with @shadowrcith​

       𝓐urelia purchases four of Maiden’s warming brews with a friendly smile, checking every so often that Wraith remains where she last spotted them. They stand rooted to the spot, as if impervious to the cold, but she’s sure that can’t quite be true. When she takes their arm (which is more often than they’d like and less often than she’d like), they have human skin, warm to her touch just like anyone else’s. Two are given to the servants who’ve been tasked with holding her skirts aloft when necessary, to ensure they aren’t stained with mud before the showcase her father has planned is fully commenced. The members of her Coterie escorting her are encased in warm cloth beneath their armor, and decline her offer, but the servants gulp it down gratefully.

She had given the option, earlier, to most of her Inner Circle as to whether they wanted to approach the crowd or wait where it was dry and warm. Most declined to join her, and Cleo herself is embroiled in something during a portion of festivities as well. Thus, she approaches Wraith as alone as a Princess ever is, smiling as she stops a foot away to look up at them. Her eyelashes immediately catch drops of rain before they can tumble into her eyes, but she doesn’t mind, holding one little potion bottle out to them. ❝ Unless I’m mistaken and you’ve already partaken, you look a little freezing, my friend. ❞ 

Priding herself on her observational skills, it’s not hard to notice the way the servants shrink to stand behind her, or the way her Coterie almost instinctively reach for their blades before stopping short of actually doing so. People often have a less-than-appealing reaction to Wraith’s presence, but whatever dark aura surrounds them has no affect on her. Perhaps she became immune when she was a girl, barely old enough to walk and tumbling, laughing, in their direction, but she has no memory of intimidation in their gaze. They are just... Wraith. Not her father’s spy, not her father’s hound, just her friend, and she will be damned if any reaction from anyone keeps her from seeking them out. 

She turns, forcing the servants to turn with her simply to hold her train, and stands shoulder to shoulder with them, watching the others mill about and compete as the King wills it. ❝ Have you placed any bets? I, of course, have chosen Reynaud to take it all, as all good sisters must. ❞

[aureliavalmont]

✧ KITHRI ✧

TIME/LOCATION: late evening; just outside the dining hall STATUS: open to all!

To be an inferni was to be constantly aware of the ticking hand of time; to feel the cold embrace of the Undying One grow a little tighter each day. Kithri had accepted this inevitability long before she had stepped foot into Castle Tyrholm, but it was a reality which often lurked in pre-consciousness: never forgotten, but occasionally ignored for favor of more pressing thoughts. In the wake of the failed attempt on the King’s life, the thought of death had leapt into full consciousness and inserted itself as her forced companion for the evening.  

It was not a question of if she would be accused, but when. The fire which had consumed the would-be assassins promised as much. The bulk of Kithri’s exasperation with this truth was not that her head might soon loose itself from her neck – though of course she was not fond of the idea – but instead that there was a possibility she would be unable to burn the castle and all of its blue-blooded leeches before that occurred.

She was not a politicker, but tried to play at one as she sat in her bed and awaited the guard. How would she avoid the accusation? How would she kill them before they killed her? When her mind failed her and no guardsmen appeared, hunger lured her from the humble dwellings and into the dining hall. The mage was quick-footed as she sought out some small foodstuff to take back with her to her room; she could feel eyes on her even as she found her bit of fruit and swiftly made her way from the space.

It was unsurprising when another pair of feet accompanied her footfalls – the only signal of alarm was the torches that lined the stone walls, which seemed to momentarily glow larger and hotter before dimming to their previous state.

“I have no need for an escort to my room,” the mage said, her tone already hard and hinting at latent anger. “Say what you will, and leave me be.” 

Kithri was one of Aurelia’s first thoughts when she thought of that fire. Not because she thought she had committed the act — personally, it didn’t seem prudent enough for someone who seemed more intelligent than that sort of stunt — but because she worried her father might. When she couldn’t find her, she hoped that she had gotten some space from the castle, giving her father time to cool off. It wasn’t until she popped down to the Dining Hall to chat with some of the guards and get a feel for the investigation that Aurelia spotted her.

❝ My apologies, Ser, ❞ she murmured to the person in front of her, hand brushing their pauldron in thanks for the words they’d whispered. ❝ I must confess to a prior engagement. ❞ She was off before they could ask more; people got awfully curious when she was around, mostly out of genuine excitement, occasionally due to espionage. Slippered feet dashed across the floor quite smoothly, Aurelia being practiced in the art of going fast without scuffing them and needing to send someone to the cobbler. 

She caught up to her in the nick of time, mouth open to speak when Kithri beat her to it. A sigh was repressed behind pursed lips, but she was not afraid or put off by the rising of the torches, noting them as she might note the crinkle of someone’s brow or the frown on their face. It was merely a sign of some emotion, just one more difficult to read than a facial expression. Such pride, she thought, but she kept that pressed beneath her tongue, concern for Kithri’s well-being outweighing all annoyance or frustration at her continued antipathy toward her Princess.

Two of her Coterie followed, but they kept to a twenty-foot distance, allowing them the illusion of privacy. Especially in the wake of such an attack, no royal should be without guards; especially the only royal with no ability to handle a sword and shield. ❝ I wished only to check that you were alright, ❞ Aurelia said softly, aware that it would not do well to be overheard. At the first sign of footsteps, she would switch the conversation to more congenial matters, if her Coterie did not turn away the interloper before they reached hearing distance of their charge. ❝ It is clear that someone with abilities similar to yours assisted in the attempt on my Father’s life. ❞ She didn’t say any more, but she didn’t need to, for she was sure her thoughts were echoed in Kithri’s own mind long before this meeting. 

She did sigh, then, for she was quite aware how unlikely it would be for Kithri to believe her. The Valmont line tainted her incessantly, but with few was she so tainted as in the eyes of her father’s Court Mage.