anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm @infantacardoza - Tumblr Blog

deaconxdelon:

“I can’t imagine why a member of my crew doesn’t know the answers to these questions.” A small smile reached his lips. Voice dulcet, low. Calm. She made a poor attempt to delay the action. As much as he would love to continue with the playful ruse, there simply was no room left to do so.

“I do know who you are.” Deacon pivoted– his back towards the cage, a step moved closer. Almost within reach. Pistol trained on Lecia. “I don’t think either of us need to go on., do we?”

Lecia kept the focus on herself while Maddox took advantage of the situation. He had managed to quietly grab the bolt cutters and waited for just the right moment, and… snap.

Maddox shoved the door open as Deacon spun around to face him. He made a grab for the gun. In a grapple with the Outlaw, he shouted: “Run, Lecia!” Get the fuck out of here.

Lecia should have felt afraid. That was what she told herself. She had seen what happened when guns were pointed at others, the aftermath of pulling the trigger, and yet when faced with staring down the barrel - as the saying went - she felt nothing at all. He could have been holding a toy. She was stuck in some strange in-between place where nothing felt particularly solid or real, and it was quite possible she was immortal. No matter what Jacob said.

She stared at the pirate man, not the weapon, as he began to close the distance between them. Talking about knowing who she was, as if he could possibly know anything about it.

“Maybe you are thinking - ” Whatever she was about to say was cut short by the clink of a broken lock, and the rustle of a cage door slamming open. Finally. She had been running out of ideas to distract the pirate man as he didn’t seem much of a conversationalist.

Run.

She did. Right toward the action. Lecia took a running leap, and launched herself at the aggressor. If Maddox could take care of the gun, she was certain she could manage the pirate. Her last fight with a man twice her size - in the little house in Germany - had been all but forgotten in the rage induced moment.

#deaconxdelon

deaconxdelon:

The pirate had been anticipating two instead of one in the room. But he had looked for her tonight. Recalling a memory years old.

Princesses never remembered such sideways meetings. Always another fête or a party to attend. It didn’t matter. Deacon remembered. In a flash, like a bucket of ice thrown in his face.

He remembered.

I am having this one all tied up, this is no worry. Eyes relaxed. He smiled. “I hope he isn’t causing trouble. Keyes is the ultimate traitor.” A glance thrown to the man locked away, hardened by the thoughts of years– not years spent with his family. The ones in which Maddox Keyes benefitted from ties to royals.

A Welsh queen set him free. From an English prison. The audacity.

A German king then kept him as a toy for a few years. Captor turned prisoner. Seemed appropriate.

And there were other rumors revolving around Maddox. A man who had once been a crew member. Someone Deacon trusted with his life on the ocean.

On land– it was a new story. He would end Maddox and all of the good fortune given by royalty in the next five minutes. No more medals, no more influence.

Back to the Portuguese princess. There were rumors about her too.

“You’ve done well in not letting him go, Outlaw.” She wished she was one. A wave of one hand, a quick flip of fingers with palm up. The other hand held a pistol trained on her since he had entered the room. “Come here, let’s pull the trigger together. I’ve waited years to be done with Maddox Keyes.” Maddox fucking Keyes.

“Together,” she echoed, hesitantly. Lecia glanced toward the makeshift cage where a less-makeshift brother was waiting. Well, he needed to stop waiting, she thought, and start doing something. Her eyes narrowed at the pistol. Softly, she exhaled.

A year ago, a month ago, she would have jumped at the opportunity. It would not have been the first time she had pointed a pistol at Maddox Keyes, and who deserved it more?

Speaking of waiting.

"Why you are waiting so many years for to be done?” she asked. Lecia was not sure where the cutters had landed, but the best she could do now was stall. She took a few slow steps forward. Get too close, and she’d become the hostage. Who knew if Maddox would actually come to her rescue then. It was really a toss up.

“You are not catching him or...? He is too well for hiding from the bullets?” A feat that was as much luck as it was anything else. Divine intervention. Their last night on the island had proven that. For some had survived without reason, and others caught in an unfortunate crossfire.

”I do not think he is being very fast now. It is too much time for him to lay on his prince bed - his king bed - he is not practicing for to run. This is how I am catching him. I am telling you the story.”

Another step forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she tried to cage how far she was from the table and the chair. One chair was all she needed.

“First we are being in the Marie Antoinette room. You see it, yes?”

#deaconxdelon

simonjager:

Valko made a good point, especially considering their current prediction. Marrying for love when so many were out to hurt you and your family was rather foolish. A perfect setup to repeat what happened on the island. A wife gone missing, never to come home. Simon winced and squeezed his eyes shut. His head hurt, his thoughts hurt.

So who was he in love with? Not someone he kept at arm’s length for protection, that was for sure. She had already experienced this danger, unlike him, and he supposed he was foolish enough to think she had endured enough. And yet, here they were. Damn the spineless calls for diplomacy, damn it all. Simon boiled with aimless rage.

His voice stayed low as if he was speaking to the floor. “I am in love with my fiancée. ‘Nice rack.’”

@infantacardoza

“What rack?” A disembodied voice floated in through a square vent on the wall. Somewhere in the background, Valko admonished the other prince - yeah, what rack, that's really disrespectful - while simultaneously refusing to contain his gleeful grin.

It had been a process, but she’d finally loosened the screws enough that she thought she could break through. Their talking had masked the sound of her poking about, but things were going to get noisy. Lecia squeezed herself around, hitting the walls of the vent several times. She positioned her feet toward the opening, and kicked it as hard as she could.

Once. Twice. Finally, on the fifth attempt, one side of the metal grate ripped free of the wall. She nudged it out of the way with her foot, and she shimmied through the opening. In a half-crawl, half-slithering motion, she spilled out of the wall.

She took one quick look around the room.

“Simon, I am looking for you everywhere,” she said, a wave of confusion passing over her features. From inside the wall, the prisoners had sounded as if they were doing okay. She had not expected to find one laying on the floor in a puddle of... she lifted her foot, and the sole of her oversized, borrowed, sneakers resisted. Something sticky, whatever it was.

She pulled a large knife with a ruby encrusted hilt out of her pocket.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. Time to get to work. She crouched beside Simon first, sawing away at the bonds that tied his hands to the chair. “You are both being lucky, yes? They use rope. Not the plastic bracelets or the metal. I do not like those. This is being fast for cutting.” True to form, the rope quickly began to fray.

“The door is locked or no?”

#simonjager

zaida-khatabi:

–

He thinks he can talk his way out of this. Answer a question with another question. Go around and around and around. It reminded her of the little carnival she worked at in the States. Las Vegas. Sparkle and searing blacktops in a scorching desert. Zaida would watch the arial dancers spinning dizzily high above the crowd, transfixing all eyes with craned necks forever looking upwards.

Zaida never got dizzy watching. She would not now either. Today was too important. To the Outlaws, to her stepfather, to the last remaining Tierney who gave a damn about this world.

“You may call me pirate. Pirata. Call me whatever you wish. If you want something to think about, think of your family here. With a gun pointed at them. Hope they do not talk as much as you.”

If the rest of the Cardozas were as chatty as this man, her counterparts might get an itchy trigger finger. “Speaking of your family– the children seem to favor you. They have your eyes.”

“Yes, they do. All of them.” Those same dark eyes watched her now. He had done plenty of thinking about his family at the end of a gun. Every day brought some new danger for the Cardozas, and today was about as far from their first run in with pirates as his current position was from the moon.

“What made you take notice of such a thing?”

Afonso did not expect an answer, but he asked all the same. It was a curious thing to remark upon, and she appeared to be a clever girl. Professional. Unfortunately determined. Considering the conversation thus far, it struck him as an odd comment to make off hand.

“If you do not mind this terribly, I think a proper name is better. You are more than a profession, yes? You are a person.” He paused. “Constança is a lovely choice. It is the name of my cousin’s wife who perishes on the U.N. ship along with my cousin. It is a good name.”

#zaida-khatabi

keyes-tothecrown:

–

How did she get into the… nevermind, Maddox did not have the time or patience to hear about the ceiling. Lecia had avoided capture at least. However, if she kept looking at him that way any idea of unity would fade.

“Why the fuck would I hide in a cage? And don’t look at me like that. Listen. I think I saw some bolt cutters in that locker over there.” He pointed. “That little box on the table has a small pistol in it. Don’t fire it, it’s not safe. Take it anyway.” She could at least threaten people a little more successfully than her tiny crinkled nose would.

An antique he nicked from a red roped display. Maddox wanted to show Aaron. Aaron. The name sent another wave of worry rushing through him. “Aaron was supposed to go back to our room. We have to find him, now.” Get the bloody bolt cutters, my knife, let’s fucking move Lecia.

Guns, prisoners. It was a nightmare. He didn’t care about Simon, but. “Where is our–” Papai. Maddox didn’t know the exact aim of Deacon’s. The Outlaw had said little, too busy patting himself on the back for the bizarre and unexpected raid. “Where did they take Afonso?”

She could be answering these questions and helping him at the same time. “Lecia, please. Quickly. Get me the bolt cutters.” For fuck’s sake time was ticking. Maddox certainly wasn’t going to rely on Lecia as their only hope.

She went for the gun first. Leaving the lid off the little box, she lifted the pistol with her finger resting on the trigger. She was careful to keep it aimed toward the wall (and not anyone barking orders in the background). He had called it small, but the gun fit perfectly in her hand. Almost like it had been made for her. Was it loaded?

“I do not know where is being anyone,” she answered, tucking the pistol into her pocket, “They are everywhere. I see some in the courtyard through a window. It is not one place for prisoners.” Case in point, he was in there all by himself. But, for what it was worth, that cage was a good hiding spot. She wouldn’t have thought to look there if she were on the prowl for hostages.

Lecia hurried over to the lockers. She opened the first, and rifled through it.

“I find a sandwich,” she called over her shoulder, and Lecia stuffed that in her pocket too. The second locker was empty. The third finally turned up the bolt cutters, and a nice pair of sneakers. She slipped them on her feet. Just a touch too large, but beggars could not be choosers. She grabbed the bolt cutters.

“I am having the big scissors!” she announced. Lecia made it about halfway across the room when the door opened. She tossed the bolt cutters in the direction of the cage, and whirled around. Her eyes flickered down from the newcomer’s head to his feet, and back up again - a quick once over before she said,

“I am having this one all tied up, this is no worry. He is not getting away.”

@deaconxdelon

#keyes-tothecrown

keyes-tothecrown:

@infantacardoza

The room was on the second floor. Small, out of the way. A room meant for the 21st century staff to store personal items as they worked the grounds. A row of lockers was on the opposite wall. A table sat nearby with Maddox’s suit coat and contents spilled on top.

Keyes had been shoved into a large walk-in chain link cage, another storage space in the room which had been hastily emptied by Outlaws. There was a last bit of cheesy, Hollywood-style villainy hissed at him: Sit tight, Keyes. We have special plans for you. Then he was left alone.

It wasn’t Tierney-level amateurs coordinating the night’s events, despite the failure of how they chose to secure him. He would be gone from the room in five minutes time. The worry was what unknown events might be playing out on the other side of the door.

He was interrupted. A common type of interruption for Maddox, but this time there was no scowl or roll of eyes to follow. “Lecia?”

Leaving the ceiling panel askew behind her, Lecia slipped down as quietly as she could. First onto the top of the lockers. Then hanging off the side of that to lower herself all the way to the ground. It required a bit of jump at the end, but she made it. No harm, no foul. She thought to go through the staffs’ cupboards to trade off her dress for something more suitable, but it was the pile on the table that enticed her over first. She scurried over. A discarded pocket square, a knife, a designer coat -

“Maddox!” she yelped, her hand still inside the coat pocket. Despite the urgency of what was going on around them, Lecia still found the time to greet him with her usual flash of irritation. Eyes narrowed. Nose scrunched up. But this was good news. Finding Maddox was one step closer to finding everyone else.

“Why you are hiding in here?! Aaron is here also? Do you know things are happening? I do not look at Simon for five seconds, and he is gone. Like this.” She snapped her fingers. “They have the big guns. There is prisoners everywhere, all over the palace.”

#keyes-tothecrown

zaida-khatabi:

Political ambition. Zaida craved stepping into such a discussion and a comment sat on the tip of her tongue. The man had the weight of a world class education in his hands. A navy of incomparable force. Money, wealth Zaida could never imagine. A crown.

Art, to the rich, was nothing more than an investment. He didn’t give a fuck about her commentary on a painting that honestly wasn’t remotely her taste. Zaida didn’t care for the lecture he was itching to give either. The king of Portugal wanted to distract. That was all.

He turned. Zaida kept the pistol in a hand steady with a true aim. Yes, she did paint. The next subject of a canvas would be an arrogant Portuguese king refusing to accept a moment of fragile powerlessness.

“Is painting really on your mind?” Old man.

“Should it not be?” He ignored the weapon.

Painting may not have been his focus, but Afonso would have welcomed the conversation. He enjoyed the fervent opinions of others almost as much as he enjoyed pontificating about his own. He also needed to know about this young woman and her entourage - as much and as quickly as possible. He studied her face for a brief moment.

“I assume you will wish to keep your true name a secret,” he said, keeping his hands at his sides. No sudden movement. “Because this a wise choice, and I see in your eyes that you are not foolish.”

Redundant, really. Taking over an event like this demanded a certain level of cleverness. Although it was entirely possible that one intelligent person had put together a plan, and a swarm of mindless grunts had followed along.

“What may I call you?”

#zaida-khatabi

simonjager

👣 for your muse and my muse exploring the garden maze. (lecia)

“Are you cold?” Simon asked at a whisper. To their knowledge, there was no one around in the garden, but it still seemed safer to be discreet. It felt like breaking the rules, being out this late. And yet Simon found it more exhilarating than dreadful. “You can have my jacket, if you want.”The words had just left his mouth when he remembered what he’d concealed in the inner pocket. A velvet box with a ring inside. It wasn’t big enough to be spotted just by looking, but the weight of it would probably be felt once Lecia donned the jacket. “I’m a bit chilly,” Simon added with an odd quirk of his brow, unable to formally rescind his offer. It was dark and Lecia was easily distracted, so maybe she wouldn’t… notice? If only he’d had the chance to actually give Lecia the ring earlier. Now Simon started feeling a bit ill.

infantacardoza

simonjager:

The enticing thought of skipping out on formal breakfasts and stuffy meetings temporarily distracted Simon from the impending panic of Lecia discovering the ring box in his pocket. He really liked the idea of shirking off their engagements for some waffles. It was unlike him. A very Lecia idea. Being with her made Simon much less concerned about his less interesting responsibilities like rubbing shoulders with other royals at events.

He’d been lost in thought about driving off to Belgium when Lecia asked about his pockets. “It must be my phone.” Was it? He might have shoved his phone in the same inside pocket as the ring. His phone was certainly not in his pants pocket so perhaps it would be a believable enough explanation.

“Anyway, if we are to do this trip for waffles, perhaps we should consider turning in for the night? So that we can wake up earlier than everyone and slip away unnoticed.” Simon managed a smile despite the nervousness he felt under the surface. It wasn’t often he did the thinking about sneaking.

A more reasonable solution, in Lecia’s humble opinion, would have been to stay up instead. Keep awake until that early hour when everyone else was dozing. But Simon was not the first prince she’d had to contend with over a particular beauty sleep regime, and she was grateful enough that he was willing to ditch tomorrow morning’s official itinerary. It was as the old saying went -

“You can gift to a horse its mouth,” she muttered, nodding sagely. It didn’t sound quite the same coming from her as it did when Brian with an i said it, but no matter. The original version had been equally non-sensical.

“Okay! But first I must say goodnight to a few people.” No sooner had Lecia announced the intention, but she was already marching back toward the entrance. She moved quickly. The sooner she said her goodbyes, the sooner she could go to bed, and thus the sooner she’d be awake again for a grand adventure. She called back over her shoulder,

“Do not yet leave the palace. I am finding you when I am done.”

#simonjager #[[End?]]

zaida-khatabi:

Zaida studied the profile of a king rather than the painting. The hooded eyes, the gray around the temples. A relaxed mouth, the barely there upturn at the corners fighting against hints of less worn frown lines.

“I don’t know.” She’d rather be at the d’Orsay looking at silhouettes and the high kicks of Jane Avril. However, Zaida had read every beige placard beside all the gilded frames in the room. A compulsion, eyes drawn towards printed material despite not being particularly moved by what she saw.

Interesting choice for a king to point out under the circumstances. “Why didn’t he finish. Did he die?”

“Eventually,” he said. As would they all. If Afonso was extraordinarily lucky, it would not be tonight for the people he loved most dearly in this world. He turned, slightly, angling in her direction. Not facing her head on, but enough that he could see her face. “But I believe it was his political ambition that inhibited the work on this piece.”

He wondered how had someone so young - another child born and raised in the profession? - had already resigned themselves to a life of crime when there were options now. Laws rescinded and a path cleared. The boat babies of this world had no need to follow in their father’s footsteps. Assuming whatever was happening her was pirate related. Now that would be the real shocker of the night. If for once in Afonso’s whole life, it was not the damn pirates.

“Do you paint?”

#zaida-khatabi

battleroyalehq:

The Galerie

Armed guards posted at every entrance dampen the experience of being in a roped off art gallery. The gallery is a relatively small room with high ceilings and portraits covering most of the gilded walls. Two sculptures break up the center of the room and there are no seats except for antique chairs behind display cases. The Portuguese king is corralled into the gallery at gunpoint and told to wait for further instructions.

@zaida-khatabi @infantacardoza

Anyone can start the thread. Please post on your own blog and tag your partner!

Despite all the precautions - refusing in-house accommodations, extra guards, and splitting up the family - here they were once again. Caught. With such precision that Afonso strongly suspected there had been help from the inside as there had been during the kidnappings. It seemed a set up from the beginning. He should have come alone, regardless of what kind of message that would have sent to the host or the other attendees.

On the inside, Afonso fumed. He rebuked himself for being here. He worried. He felt a cold rush of fear as he thought of every face he cared for on the wrong end of these guns, the pain and grief that seemed imminent, and his youngest son back in Portugal being left alone in the world to face these people on his own. But on the outside, this could have been an invitation to tea. He did not appear bothered in the least.

“Jacques-Louis David is the artist,” he said, his gaze fixed firmly on one of the paintings. The Tennis Court Oath was a historical work.

“But we see there is almost no paint on the canvas. He never had a chance to finish. I think this is what I enjoy about the piece. The potential. It is the sketch of a plan that could have changed at any time. What do you think it would have looked like if he had finished?”

@zaida-khatabi

#zaida-khatabi

theo-henriksen

😥 for your muse to receive a troubling text while speaking to mine.

The Danish prince parted ways with the smoking crowd to linger outside on his own. A string quartet performed for a dwindling crowd, just shy of midnight, until only Theo remained. The music was calm, relaxing on a night his blood otherwise boiled. To honor pirates with essentially participation awards was a new low for the monarchies. Thanks for playing nice with royals and not kidnapping anyone!! Fucking ludicrous.

By the time Lecia joined him outside much of his disgust for the night had burned away. He clapped with the princess as the quartet ended a long set and began to pack up for the evening. Theo felt the buzz of his phone in a pocket but wasn’t in a rush to answer. “I say we pretend to be one of the musicians and sneak out of here with them.”

Another round of insistent buzzing in his pocket. A curse was uttered in Danish as he found his mobile. So. Many. Texts. Could it not wait? He opened one message but looked up at Lecia before reading. “What was the bar we snuck into underage in Lisbon by telling them we were with the band?”

infantacardoza

theo-henriksen:

infantacardoza:

theo-henriksen

infantacardoza

Lecia clapped politely. Her soft gloves muffled the sound. She looked up at Theo, and pursed her lips, a silent judgement cast over the performance. She enjoyed the night air far more than the slow music. Granted, this was not a night out in Ibiza, but she would have preferred something a little more lively. The night was young. She was having a great time. Dancing was the order of the evening, and then maybe something to eat. Her stomach was getting a bit growly.

“This is the night after we try to sneak you into my school? Or it is when we eat the big cake that covers a table? I remember this more than once.” She glanced at his phone. That was exactly why she liked to set hers to silent without vibration. People could message as much as they wanted, and she would answer when it was convenient.

“I say…” She began, her lips turning up at the corners, “We should hide you in the case of the big violin. You can squish a little, yes? Fold the legs? Then I will carry the case, and be the musician.”

–

He thought for a moment. Maybe the name of the bar wasn’t as important. “It was both, I think. The cake was good.” So was a night spent in an all-girl’s boarding school. Too bad life wasn’t that simple anymore. Theo’s head shook slow. “I am not terribly squishy. Even so, you would not be able to carry me out. If anyone should climb into the case, it would be you.”

His smile grew wider. Theo would like to see Lecia climb into the instrument case. His mouth opened to continue the thought but he was interrupted once more by another text. “Sorry…”

A finger lifted and he looked at the phone. Rykard had begun to flood him with messages growing more frantic with every buzz. His brows folded tight. A spike of anger shot through his chest.

“My father is missing.” Because of fucking course he was. His thumb scrolled further and the simmering rage began to change shape. “Uhm.” He fired off a message back to Rykard. “Several people are… they can’t be found.” Another pause. “Could you message Simon and find out what is going on inside?”

“No, I am the musician, and - ” Lecia could only gap at finger asking for her silence for however long he needed to look at his phone. He just… he would put her in the instrument case, and then… and not he wasn’t even listening. Her fingers clenched into two tiny fists, and her head shook vehemently. She had called dibs. Not officially, but it had been her idea. If anyone was going in the case, it was him.

“Missing?” she repeated. What did that mean, missing?

She understood the word just fine. It was the context that was taking a moment for her to grasp - the why and the how and the who, beyond his father obviously. She wrinkled her nose as if an unpleasant smell had just wafted below it, and continued to puzzle over it. People stole away for a quiet moment in a back room all the time at these sorts of things, but missing was a whole different beast. One that she and Theo were both well acquainted with. The thought made her blood run cold.

Her head turned sharply, eyes narrowed at the shadows lurking among the tall shrubberies as she searched the courtyard for something. She wasn’t sure what. Something out of place. When she didn’t see anything, she quickly reached out to grab Theo’s hand.

“We go inside,” she said, “Now. Somewhere safe. I message for Simon on the way.”

–

I’m sure they’re fine did not make it to his lips. King Otto was one thing. The man went missing while physically present in a room more and more. Theo had run out of empathy. He had stopped answering each time his father asked why Kennet was always running late.

They weren’t fine. The jarring horror of history repeating itself couldn’t be ignored. A particular paranoia stoked whenever near any associate of a Tierney. There were pirates running around the gala all night. Honored in the most deplorable, deceitful manner. Not normalized but put on a pedestal–

“Yes. Let’s go inside. Tell Simon to meet us.” They were closest to catering. “In the kitchen. Tell him to come to the kitchen and bring whoever is with him.”

Theo checked Lecia’s expression for signs he might be too doom and gloom. She would tell him, wouldn’t she?

“I would never fit into the case. I’m the musician. You’re the cello.”

End.

#theo-henriksen

infantacardoza

👀 Watching a heated confrontation between two Heads of State.

Inside the Gallery of Battles, her father’s sharp tone could be heard rebuking the pitfalls of the English prison system. A well-decorated gentleman of similar age and stature responded accordingly, and the tangle of impassioned opinions echoed down the length of the airy gallery. Outside the room, Lecia had been looking for the next intriguing guest to entertain her. Naturally she found Maddox instead - a tall, imposing figure lurking in the doorway between her father and herself. Lecia crept up next to him, and peered around his arm.

“You are eavesdropping,” she hissed. I’m telling, implied.

infantacardoza

----

keyes-tothecrown:

“Yes, I think she liked me. She’s a lovely woman.” Maybe someone should keep a more watchful eye on their avó. Lecia would not be going through his pockets on this night. It was probably rhinestones anyway. He would verify later. Maddox said nothing more to her squint.

“Hazing is when sadistic children torture other children for some stupid tradition that is usually outdated anyway.” Rich people did weird shit. “Seeking revenge on the deserving is completely different.” A pause. “I was only kidding about the hazing. What did you do anyway?” Stole. Tattled. Spied.

She would not tell him. Maddox could call Sofia to find out.

“I start one small, tiny, secret party club. I do not file a official school charter so...” She sighed with a sad shake of her head. Bureaucracy. Like a mob boss arrested for tax evasion, paperwork had a hand in her downfall.

“Well and also I sneak a prince into the dormitory for a party. This is when they call Papai. And the year before that I am leading a protest. And I set off the water system on the ceiling when I am lecturing on safety.”

That was, perhaps, not the end of the list, but it was the highlights reel. Her record would have been much cleaner if Sofia hadn’t been such a stick in the mud the entire time they were away at school. Not spotless, but better. Lecia regretting inviting her sister to join the party club in the first place.

"You are getting a haze at your school? Or you are doing a haze?” she asked.

#keyes-tothecrown

keyes-tothecrown:

What a little bitch, thought Maddox. He’d like to shove the silver spoon in Nicolau’s mouth right down his throat while onboard that stupid yacht of his.

The satisfyingly violent images playing out in his mind were filed away for later. Maddox sent Early a text to let them know they had arrived. Lecia swept across the deck of the ship as easily as he’d seen her glide across a gala ballroom floor. The realization crept in: Maddox hadn’t actually seen Lecia on a ship. Except that one time in Hamburg when she pulled a gun on him.

Would they shoot the big guns? He cast a glance at the head of a different Cardoza. “Not today, we’d have to leave port. But we can have a look at them.”

Early did not have the same reservations (to put it politely) about Maddox’s new family. Cleary’s many concerns were different yet still a cause of worry for the stroppy son of Madeline Keyes.

But he was fond of Lecia. Maddox had not offered any solid reasons for Lecia joining the route to France or if it would be permanent. Hopefully answers would arrived on this visit. The captain emerged on deck with a mug of nursed coffee gone cold in a hand and instructions to not say too much in the company of the other Cardoza.

“Good mornin’.” Early lifted his mug with an eye squinted in the sun. A nod to the prince– the captain wasn’t being rude but did not know the formalities. Maybe Maddox could’ve bothered to tell him that much. Then, a smile for Lecia. “It’s been too long. Welcome aboard the Stagger Lee. It may not be fancy but it’s not meant to be, is it?”

Function over form. He began to walk towards the back of the ship, gesturing for Lecia to follow. Maddox could entertain his brother for a moment. “Did Maddox mention today is the 19 year anniversary with my beautiful significant other? We’re common law, so we count our first date as our anniversary. Although it wasn’t exactly a date. Iveliss had actually been coupled up with my best mate. And she had a strong dislike for me. Have I told you the story?”

Responding to the unspoken cue of the captain’s appearance, the young prince switched over to a carefully crafted persona meant for public appearances among the masses. Posture straight. Gaze politely attentive. The difference between this and how he might present at a royal engagement was subtle, but found mainly in a charitable smile on the captain’s behalf. Other royals didn’t require such charity.

Where did Maddox fall on that scale? Half-pirate, half-royal, half-related. Well, more than half on the pirate side initially. Yet more than half on the royal side in more recent years; he was practically an official member of the German court for god’s sake. Nicolau pondered silently as his sister and the captain left the brothers to enjoy each other’s company.

“No! You do not tell this. Maddox tells me nothing!” said Lecia. She shot a scathing look over her shoulder. This tidbit should have been the first thing on the morning’s itinerary. If she had known, they could have rescheduled. Planned around the big event. Although she couldn’t blame Maddox entirely. Early was a full grown man, capable of managing his own affairs. And yet -

“Why you are here, and not having a party?!” she demanded to know, “This deserves a big celebration. We must plan one, yes?” Lecia exhaled loudly, and muttered something about needing things. So many things. Decorations. Refreshments. Location reservations were going to be nearly impossible at this late hour.

Though it wouldn’t be as refined as either of them deserved, Lecia wondered if Early and Iveliss could be persuaded into hiring a party bus instead. That would take care of the location issue, and Lecia would drive it for them herself, naturally. She had plenty of experience.

“But first I wish to know the story. Start with the very beginning. Do not leave anything out. Why she is not liking you?” And how did he steal her away? And was he still friends with his friend that he clearly stabbed in the back? Lecia had so many questions, but she held her tongue and waited for Early to speak.

#keyes-tothecrown #featuring: early

infantacardoza

👀 for catching your muse in/leaving/entering someone else’s room. (Aaron hehe)

Lecia lounged across the bed in the Marie Antoinette suite. This was quite the set up. She had found it somewhat vexing that Papai insisted on staying elsewhere, away from it all. The only redeeming quality of her distant cousins’ home was that it happened to be a bit closer to one other particular guest (who had also chosen to lodge away from the palace). Everyone else got to enjoy all this as well as each other’s extended company.

She rolled over. Careful not to spill her cocktail, but not as careful of the various things strew across the end of the bed. Quite by accident, she kicked off a hat box. Whoops. She’d have to remember to pick that up. At some point. She lifted the glass to her lips at the exact moment the door opened.

“... Aaron!” she cheered.

infantacardoza

konigarenofgermany:

“Lecia,” Aaron said with a hiss. His tone was almost scolding. Why did it feel like he was scolding everyone tonight? But it was for her own good. Sneaking into his and Maddox’s room without telling them was downright reckless. The situation could have been, well, compromising.

Aaron’s annoyance was short-lived. He crossed the room with a smirk, having deducted this was certainly not Lecia’s first cocktail. His hand reached under hers and plucked the glass out of her hand. “Be careful not to spill it on the bed. I’m surprised you did not find Maddox here. I thought he would be tired.” Aaron imagined Lecia would have been disappointed to find her half-brother instead of her best friend.

“It’s a mess in here,” Aaron pointed out the obvious with a dramatic sigh and a sip of the drink. He remained standing in case Lecia tried to grab it back; he wasn’t giving it up so easily. “We were in a rush. Well–I was, anyway. I think things went well, don’t you think? No one died,” Aaron said with a wry smile. “Was Afonso pleased?”

His less enthusiastic greeting was met with an affronted gasp followed by a pouty bottom lip. She humphed. Lecia didn’t attempt to explain herself. If anyone should have been explaining anything, it was Aaron for saying her name in that tone. He sounded like a grumpy old man. She hoped being engaged to someone who could sometimes be dreadfully intolerable wasn’t starting to rub off on him.

“I already see Maddox today when he is spying.” But the point was taken. She certainly had been courting the risk of running into her half-brother again by lounging around their quarters, and that would have been rather disastrous. She would have been accused of stalking him again or, perhaps, rifling through his things. As if she would. Aaron was the only one with whom she liked to trade accessories.

“If Papai is choosing, he gives only Maddox one thousand awards.” She blew out her lips, and shook her head. “But I think he is enjoys the speeches. He does not tell my grandmother who is Maddox, but I think she knows. But I think it is very boring. We need more music and less talking.”

Lecia reached to take her glass back. Her fingers grasped at empty air. She really did not want to have to get up, but after letting her arm dangle in the air for a few moments, she realized he was not going to give back her glass. She sacrificed a single pillow to throw it at him.

“What you are doing for the rest of tonight, hm?”

#konigarenofgermany

simonjager

👣 for your muse and my muse exploring the garden maze. (lecia)

infantacardoza

simonjager:

infantacardoza:

Lecia could have pulled out her phone to light the path, but she liked the otherworldly feeling of being outside in the dark. It was a little bit of freedom. Though they probably weren’t too far from a guard on duty. Her gloved hand trailed along the hedge as she lead them deeper into the maze. Goosebumps ran down her arms. She stopped when he spoke. Turned to face him. It was cold. Her dress didn’t even have sleeves.

“I can wear it for a few minutes, and you can wear it again after, yes? We can share?” she offered, suspecting from the look on his face that he was about to suggest they go back inside instead. She wasn’t ready to give up the fresh air. She could handle chilly weather.

“Simon…” She sighed. “We must talk about something important.”

Something she had been thinking about all evening. Something they were running out of time for if they didn’t get to it already. Lecia looked up at him, eyes entreating. “I wish to go to Belgium to eat a waffle. Tonight. You will join me? It is not far. We are back in the morning.”

It was unconscionable not to give up his jacket for Lecia. He paused on the path to remove it, unable to steal a moment to get the velvet box out of the inner pocket. The jacket was large enough, surely she wouldn’t notice…

Simon draped the jacket over Lecia’s shoulders and his face crinkled at her proposition. “Tonight?” he repeated. Keeping her distracted would help with the jacket issue. “Belgium. Hm. I am hungry. But must it be Belgian waffles? We could go somewhere… closer.”

He checked his watch with a squint. “There is no guarantee places are open at this hour. Wouldn’t it be a waste if we went all the way to Belgian and there were no waffles? Maybe the staff here can make waffles, and we can go to Bruges tomorrow.” With the proper support of staff and security, and probably most importantly, King Afonso’s awareness that his daughter was leaving the country.

Lecia accepted his coat with enthusiastic thank you, and quickly wrestled her arms inside the oversized sleeves as he spoke. He had a way of saying no without making it seem like a no. Clever. Had this conversation taken place earlier in the evening, before all the drinks and the socializing, Lecia could probably have articulated her dismay in a fashion more befitting a princess. As it was, all she managed was to throw her hands in the air as she said, “Closer?!”

Somewhere closer defeated the whole purpose of the expedition. But he made a good point about the time. It would be a waste to travel all the way there, and then have to turn around and come back without any waffles. Her arms dropped to her sides. She wiggled her shoulders to reposition the coat. It was warm, but it felt as if it would fall off if she moved the wrong way.

“Maybe tomorrow is not terrible,” she said. A whole day free from boring lunches and sitting around. A classic road trip. Waffles. The more she considered it, the more Lecia liked the idea. “Yes, I can do this tomorrow. We need an excuse to miss the activities.”

Tomorrow it was then, she decided, without waiting for an answer. It had been his suggestion after all. She shrugged her shoulders again to readjust. Finding this didn’t quite do what she wanted, Lecia reached for the front of the coat. The empty ends of the coat sleeve flapped about as she patted down the front.

“Your pockets are lumpy, Simon. What you have in here? Forks from dinner?”

#simonjager

simonjager:

lecia.

Amusement appeared in the quirk of a grin, and a rush of air through her nose that was almost a chuckle. That was exactly what she’d wanted to know earlier - if she ran off per her bestie’s plan, would Simon leave everything behind and come along. But no matter what had the potential to cover more than just going off on adventure. Namely, everything she had yet to disclose about her time at sea or the havoc she’d helped wreak across an island.

“That is a big promise,” she said, almost scolding, “There are many whats for it is no matter.” The somewhat garbled response was a result of the late hour. She gave him a squeeze, a reminder to herself that he was there and she had made the choice to stay. For now, at least.

Having finally hit that point at whatever o’clock in the morning, when the need to sleep could no longer be forced off the stage into the wings, Lecia quieted down. Her eyelids drooped. Then closed. Just to rest her eyes for a few seconds, she told herself.

She tried to imagine a life with Simon, wanting each other no matter what. For her, that might mean conceding to a royal responsibility she’d been avoiding for some time. For him, an acceptance of her history of pirates and bloodshed. Or perhaps they would do neither. Perhaps they would run off into the sunset like she wanted. The thought twisted in the pit of her stomach.

“I think…” She stopped. Cleared her throat.

“If I am to marry, I want to be as you say, being together no matter what. I am not certain we are ready for no matter what,” she told him, “But I like you, Simon. I have no wish to leave.”

The hesitancy to devote herself entirely came as a minor blow to the ego. And yet Simon was grateful for the honesty–something his previous relationship lacked. The status of royalty had almost been a matter of coercion between them to keep up appearances, always looking happy and expressing their love for the press to propagate.

Lecia didn’t want to leave. Neither did he. They had a chance at making something work, he thought. But a wedding would need to be postponed for as long as possible while they figured things out.

“I agree with you. We need more time to determine if we are ready. I think we can afford that.” Any decision made in haste could lead to disaster. Simon wondered, though, if he was the type of man that Lecia would choose. Or if in the end, anyone would be right for her.

The exhaustion really took hold then. Heavy conversation made for heavy eyelids for both of them. Simon turned toward Lecia and gently pulled her into an embrace. How strange it was to feel such a rush of warmth from such a simple gesture. “All I ask is for you to let me know if you wish to leave. I will do the same,” he whispered.

“I like you too, Lecia. I like you a lot.” He’d been a much younger man the last time he said that to someone. Simon grinned and ducked his head down to press his face to the top of Lecia’s head, feeling like he was heating up even more than moments ago. “Right now, I don’t want anything to change.”

End.

#simonjager

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