@ofannevalois
since the days since the french royals danced into court a flurry of expense and luxury william had remained on highest alert. it was childish, certainly. cowardly? most definitely. but it was a impulse that had followed him, the ghost of his father’s voice still alive in his thoughts.
there had been a time where the duke was bound to silence, his father a constant and watchful presence a threat that hovered above the head of a boy yet to become a man. that time had long since passed, his father dead and gone along with his boyhood. but the shackles he’d left were not so easily broken. it was for this reason, he told himself, that he would avoid the french princess at all cost.
the festivities following the coronation were far from over, the castle still alight with the warm glow of a party still at it’s height even days past the initial coronation, and william was as far from it as he could be without suspicion. there were gardens of expansive size surrounding the castle, and past some a sparse woods. it was there he was headed, turning a corner through the maze which no longer held many secrets from him after his many years at court. for a moment he thought her an illusion, how sick of his mind to place the very figure he sought to avoid directly in his path. but she was no apparition, instead very real, and there was no hiding as her eyes landed on his.
the duke spared no formality in his approach, bowing in the woman’s direction and offering up a charming -if not extremely impersonal- smile. “your highness.”
