Reading was perhaps Fiona’s favorite hobby. Ever since she was a little girl, books were her way of escaping her life and living another that was completely different. The Scottish queen, who ascended the throne only months ago, was the type to keep to herself. Being a monarch was still an adjustment for her, as was being in Portugal. Lately, it felt like she wasn’t exactly sure who she was anymore. Walking through a long corridor, her nose was stuck in a book and she knew it would be wise of her to pay closer attention, so she wasn’t all that surprised when she nearly bumped into someone. “Goodness, that could have been terrible,” she said, glad she managed to look up at the last moment. “I suppose it would do me some good to pay more attention to where I’m going.”
.
“Lost in thought again, dear?” Rilea asked with a mischievous grin and her eyebrows raised. She loved how much joy she took in feeling like the one who had to talk sense in her elder cousin every now and then. “You should be standing taller... you are a queen after all,” she smiled brightly at the sound of that. Queen Fiona. Rilea dreamt of the day she’d ascend like that as well. “You must tell me how everything’s going with that, by the way, I’m fascinated.”
“okay, hands like this.” sophie lifted her hands in the way the dance master had shown. she had found herself in the ballroom, repeating the steps that had been taught in attempt to perfect them, dance partners changing frequently and people made their way in and out of the ballroom and into the gardens. “i can’t seem to get the steps right,” she explained with a laugh to her newest partner. “though, i haven’t managed to step on anyone’s toes in several rounds,” she assured.
.
“It’s not all that complicated,” Rilea muttered under her breath, maintaining her sculptured face as she moved about the floor, only her eyes moving towards the other girl, “Just imagine you are floating.” But of course, these were more than just social traditions, they were schemes that people used to flirt amongst each other. Therefore, she rolled her eyes to herself before she admitted, “or rather like a peacock, fanning your feathers.” It was all just for show, right?
saersha found herself withdrawing further away from the crowds. she had been hesitant to come to portugal, afraid of the danger that was still inevitably lurking around even if a ceasefire had been called. yet she was convinced to view it as an adventure, an opportunity to meet old friends and new ones, and with that she sailed with the rest of her family to the foreign land. she had to admit that the way the sun danced on her skin was simply soothing, the warmth a blessing that brought a smile to her lips. and whilst the company of others in the gardens was enjoyable, her attention had been grabbed by the rose bushes a few yards away from the main activity.
her fingers brushed against the red petals, carefully avoiding the thorns that threatened to prick at a slip of the hand. she had always been fascinated by the simplest of things, and she found her senses to be delighted when observing nature in its glory. the stillness around her, with the sound of chattering far off in the distance, was all too peaceful. she had been lost in her own world, like she had a tendency to, not realizing that someone was approaching her until they were right behind her. “i find roses to be fascinating. the way something so beautiful can have thorns, ready to hurt anyone that attempts to destroy nature’s beauty. it’s all lovely, isn’t it?”
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Rilea had considered herself a gem of the crowd, delighting herself in how well she’d been handling all of these conversations after such a thing as devastating as a war. Of course she kept her wits about her, should anything arise. Her thorns were always out, per say. But she’d began to notice her sister had wandered away, and it wasn’t long until Rilea followed after her into the gardens. She stood with her arms crossed. “Everything fights back, eventually,” she reminded her before she sighed, “People are asking where you’d gone off to. Without you there to make me seem charming, I might as well start pricking people with my thorns.” She snickered.
The journey from Ireland was long and tiersome, so the monarch was pleased to be met with humble hospitality of the Portuguese. Once she’d bathed and dressed she came down to the garden’s to join in the festivities. While she was sure to be found in the Great hall kicking up her heels later in the evening she’d chosen to begin her formal introduction. Plus, that’s where the alcohol was, and the queen was in desperate need of some good ale. It was the only way she’d be able to keep a peaceful demeanor when she inevitably crossed paths with the French. Evelyn still had a lot of reservations about all this, it would take a lot to convince her they could all be under one roof and not tare each other to shreds after the damage of the great war, but thus far she’d seen nothing but quiet conversation mixed with frustrated groans from the poker area. perhaps they could all co-exist. The optimist inside of her hoped this could truly be the beginning of the end.
Finding the bar she decided now was as good a time as any to mingle. After all, most were friendly when drunk. “The weather here is certainly a vast contrast to dreary Ireland. I think I shall like it.” Weather seemed like a neutral topic to start with. No wars seemed to be raged over the temperatures. “What are you having? It looks quite good. Is it sweet or sour? I prefer a dry ale myself but im always willing to try anything once.”
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Rilea found it improper to get drunk in front of other people. It was much too casual and informal in the presence of those whom one could possibly be at war with one day or another. Were friends foes? Were foes even really friends? It was much too impossible to tell, which meant only one thing; eyes up. She sat at a table, alone for quite a bit, not quite seeking company, but ambience. That is, until her mother joined her, company she wouldn’t dare refuse. “We’re Irish, mother,” she reminded her with a slight movement of her eyebrow, “We’re supposed to live under clouds, otherwise the sun will punish us.” She brought her teacup to her lips and sipped peacefully before setting it down, the clanking sound numb to the rest of the buzz of the room. “Just tea for me... I can’t imagine myself getting drunk amongst crowds.”
katherine mcnamara, twenty four, she/her, cisfemale. rilea o'neill has just arrived. they’re a princess from ireland. their eyes seem to tell us a million things but a handful of pink pearls, a shared secret in the woods, a glass of champagne sitting on a piano are seen from the surface. penned by mandy, est, she/her, 24.
BACKGROUND:
Rilea was always the one who followed the rules. She believed that you couldn’t be rewarded if you did whatever you wanted. That was the work of selfish fools, the kids who always got punished and didn’t get ice cream after dinner.
Was she “the golden child”? Perhaps some would say, from a distance, it would appear so. Rilea has the gentlest smile, the straightest posture, a lifted chin, a strong understanding of ruling and politics, even an elegant selection of dresses. But it’s all just a shell; the shell of a girl who’s never done anything for herself, who’s never spontaneously taken a trip on her own whim or even taken a day off.
That was evident the first time she fell in love. An untouched young lover’s heart exploded into a million wild actions; the parties, the late drunken nights, the secret night spent in passionate embraces. But, of course, it didn’t last. Rilea’s perfect reputation was in jeopardy when the boy left her, breaking her heart and causing her to hide her face from the public. She was ashamed of what she’d done, ashamed of how she’d fallen so far from grace.
It hardened her heart. That gentleness turned into grit, that sweet exterior froze into ice. A princess who was once a tenderhearted advisor to all was now a believer of tough love, telling the truth no matter whom it hurts.
She’d thought she was in place for a good marriage arrangement once she’d hardened her heart, but alas, it went astray rather quickly once more. Once she’d noticed she was giving into her whims once more, she realized the root of the problem... love. The prospect of a loving marriage made her irresponsible, and therefore, made it known that Rilea, Princess of Ireland, would never get married. She’d take a position of power, when the day arrives, without a husband, hoping to inspire little girls that they can do it on their own.
Remaining unmarried was a cause she knew would be for a good cause; her country. But ever since then, she’s had moments of distance, leading her to the ocean’s side or on a walk in the woods whenever she’s not needed. Of course she’s still a friend to all, though she’s decided, in her heart, that being alone is the best way to go.
WANTED CONNECTIONS:
These are a basic outline as I have a page on my blog in the works!!
Best friends (probably royals)
Frenemies (an opposites attract kind of friendship)
Saltmates (a friend she can bitch with)
Political Allies (the nature of this connection can be super diverse, like positive or negative, i think it’d be super interesting)
Former friends (from before her first heartbreak, before she changed)
