there was no rest for the wicked... though for graeme, this did not reign to be true. it was only half an hour past his rise from a particularly lovely mid-afternoon nap, captured snoring && comfortable like a cat seated in the lap of luxury, a sunbeam filtering perfectly through the windows of his private quarters to bring on the drowsiness. a king who wears the crown for as long as he grows used to any past gnawing sensation of feelings; and all ideas can be withheld for the morning, after a rest. it took years, but finally, graeme came to know the benefits of a deep sleep.
it was thanks to this stolen sliver of peace among a head full of schemes && networking promises to keep that the scottish king found himself so agreeable that day, seeking out the company of his eldest daughter && the heir to the realm he'd spent over four decades cultivating for her.
" violet ! " graeme's voice called out strong && clear, but warm as the setting sun in the west. how fortunate to have caught her with such little effort yet extended - right there, in the private quarters reserved for the scots. " dine with me tonight. "
he'd always liked to check in regularly with his daughters. that morning had been spent embroiled in meetings beginning before the night's due was dried by the dawn; but more important than the official exchanges that took place in decorated estate rooms of the versailles palace were the nudges that happened under the tables of diplomats && politicians, the promises made between the lines. here, graeme existed some, dabbling between places && people, flexible && quick to adapt to take full advantage of every opportunity. a side of him he'd kept mostly hidden from his girls; but now, a side he hoped to encourage in his own blood. in violet. the cunning nature of a stuaty, surely, he could bring to light to it's full potential.
