It is a universally-known fact that all men are breakable when pressured well enough. Kiernan seemed untroubled throughout the summit with his impish winks and roguish smiles, but these were merely means of misdirecting gossiping eyes from his inner turmoil. His dying countrymen, the impending fall of the crown hanging above his head, threats to demolish the monarchy, the growing need to find the most politically beneficial wife -- they were all keeping him from sleeping, forming heavy bags under his eyes, threatening to break his mind. Whenever the palace was asleep, he would sometimes slip under the shadows to raise a bottle of wine up the stars. Tonight was one of those nights. He was lying on the ground, an arm cushioning the back of his head, when he all of a sudden heard a pair of footsteps crunching the grass. His alarms went off when the bright moonlight revealed a familiar face. “Good evenin’.”
Safiye sat at her easel, staring at the half finished painting in front of her as if it was miraculously going to turn into an applause-worthy work of art if she waited long enough. She glanced at the patient Viennese artist who’s services she had acquired for the afternoon and gave an apologetic smile. “I think you time is better spent elsewhere, Hugo. We’ll pick this up again another afternoon.” He respectfully bid his Queen goodbye before turning heel and disappearing down a pathway.
The brunette blew out a frustrated breath and set her brush down just as the crunch of gravel under feet alerted her to a new arrival. Safiye turned her head towards the person and waved politely. “Beautiful afternoon, is it not?”
Having been blessed and cursed with wandersome feet, Kiernan couldn’t stay for long alone in one room. This explained why on his first week in the summit, he had already explored a good two-thirds of the hectares-big Palais Foncé. When they were barricaded inside in fear of contagion, he felt as if he were living a nightmare come to life. When the doors to the gardens were opened once more, he was so desperate for an ounce of sun not thinned by glass windows that he nearly ran out the palace.
Having just left the archery range, he was carrying his bow and arrow when he passed through the parlor. The first thing his eyes landed on was Safiye, whose wave he returned with an equally as polite bow of the head. “As a connoisseur of afternoons, I would say it’s mediocre at best. That painting however, is beautiful. Your Majesty, if I may ask, who’s the artist?”
FLASHES OF CHILDHOOD MEMORIES danced in her vision once their gaze would interlock. the boy she had known from her past had grown up to become a man. masculinity oozed from sculptured shoulders. a walking, breathing adonis created by mighty power of mother nature. it felt like a sin even peaking in his direction. cosette had yet to understand what it was he provoked within her. her thoughts roared once he acknowledged her existence, even addressing the inevitable. . ❝ it feels like a lifetime. ❞ an in truth, it was. cosette had changed tremendously over the years. so much that she hadn’t even considered her childhood days. ❝ it slipped my mind you were invited as well. ❞
“why, thank you for stabbing me in the heart, a stór. i, on the other hand, have been counting the days before i could get an audience with her royal highness herself.” as he spoke, his lips were laced with the boyish smile that was characteristic of him. any passerby would deem he was teasing a friend he never parted with, but underneath the effortless confidence was a man trying to tame the cacophony of songbirds in his stomach’s pit. he was always good at hiding his inner turmoil by blinding people with a beacon of light. on bad days, he could still be charismatic, affable, charming — a feather-hearted boy with the appearance of a grown man.
the air missed the scent of the salt ocean and the glimmering lights from the many grand buildings lining the coast of her home. blinding at times, but they eventually became the lullaby that put her to sleep at night. here, she was simply a woman who was seen as undeserving of such a title given the state of her country. monaco was new, only three years sovereign, but it was in fact a country. and on top of that, briélle was a relatively young queen who was thrust into the position without much notice after her parents’ deaths. now ruling for just under a year, there were many things to learn and issues to face that haven risen yet, but the woman still believed that she was prepared for it. sitting on the stone benches near the small pond, she studied a novel from the library outlining smaller countries and their rules when a new visitor arrived. “and how are you today?” she asked simply, looking up with generous curiosity.
“disappointed,” he replied with a cheeky pout of the lip as he pulled out the chair beside her and slid onto it. “i woke up hoping this day would be interesting, but so far, it is proving to be a complete bore.” kiernan was not the type of man content with confinement — a characteristic evident in his later years, in which he was immortalized in limericks as a king who had a carriage for a throne. before the plague, he was rarely seen in the palace — he was often out and about in commoner garb, travelling to places, conversing with all sorts of people. the first time he saw monaco was through his adventures. the next time he set foot on monegasque soil was when he was about to meet a potential wife — briélle grimaldi, then princess of monaco, now its queen. if they had not broken the engagement off, he would have been a prince consort to her nation now. the thought alone felt surreal. “how's it like to be queen? should i address you as ‘your majesty’ now?”
IN THE MIDST OF THE CHAOS a tormented woman walked the halls of her family home. conflict reflected in orbs of eternal azure, struggling to understand the emotions that provoked feelings that were foreign in nature. bewildered glare tracing and scanning without detecting a single that would cross her path. silence would echo through her mind, not allowing a single sound or word to distrub her inner turmoil. one glance was all it took for her to be waken and be bestowed with new emotions she wasn’t capable of understanding. stopped dead in her track.
HOW OFTEN IN HIS LIFETIME could a man catch a sight capable of sucking the air from his lungs? if cosette was beautiful the last time he saw her, she was a goddess now. taller, more vivacious, more sophisticated in her choice of dress, she looked exquisite, ethereal from afar. of course, to another’s eyes, her light wasn’t as bright, but the unresolved feelings of the boy he once was had blinded his eyes. feet disconnecting from his brain, they brought him closer to where she stood. perceptive was he that it didn’t take him long to notice the shadowy circles catching her burdened orbs. “cosette.” her name slipped softly past a pair of upturned lips. “how long has it been?”
“les misères de la saisie pour un lieu ne l'observez pas.” suki gave a curious tilt of her head, her mind trying to comprehend the language that still felt strange on her tongue. she stood in the center of the palais’ vast library, trying to consume her time with their poetry and literature. unfortunately, she could only recognize select words and was hardly able to string them into a comprehensive sentence. “miseries…” the princess muttered to herself whilst her fingers traced over the text.
when suki stopped by his nook, he happened to be slumped on the marble floor, back resting languidly against the ornate shelves. “brushing up on your french?” amusement laced his lips as he smiled up at her, but the gesture was kind, not at all meant to taunt. “i wish i could be of help, but i’m rather pitiful at the language -- i can’t pronounce my guttural r’s right.” with a lot of the palace frolicking in the gardens after an eons-long containment, they seemed to be the only ones hiding away in the endless gallery of books. “shouldn’t you be enjoying the sun outside?”
max irons, twenty-eight. now announcing his royal highness, kiernan “kier” mcnamara, the crown prince of ireland. he is in favor of forming alliances during the plague and continues to work for the benefit of their homeland. they are said to be charming and perceptive, yet can be cynical and unforgiving. in the palais foncé, they are known as the talisman.
Prince Kiernan “Kier” Macnamara is the eldest child of the current King and Queen of Ireland. As with every stereotypical firstborn, he’s always been responsible, principled, hardworking and clever.
He sounds like a perfect little successor to the Irish throne, but don’t be fooled. He may look and act like an angel, but he has a characteristic roguish air to him that signals he tends to chase after trouble. His sportive affable nature makes him a friend to many, blue bloods and commoners alike.
He’s a champion to the underdogs. He has a soft spot for the oppressed, and this often clouds his better judgement. He fell in love with a commoner when he was just a teenager. His mother had her sold by a slave dealer upon discovering their affair.
It’s actually difficult to vouch for his heart, but he does appreciate beauty, be it physical or not. Given his youth, charm, and seemingly abundant supply of admirers, he's very susceptible to one-night stands. However, he’s the type who’ll intoxicate you with slow kisses in bed and have flowers sent up to your room the morning after. This makes him much more dangerous than a simple fuck-and-go, so beware *cackles evilly*.
He is anything but hotheaded. When it comes to relationships with other people, he’s usually tactful. He prefers passive-aggressive silence over lashing out on a person. Once he stakes a claim on something however, be it living or not, he tends to be very protective of it. That said, when he senses a person hates him, he just smirks at them or ignores them completely, you insignificant person you. But when you harm a person he loves, he will make you bleed.
His responsibilities in France include finding a future queen with enough compassion and wit to rule in harmony with him.
His interests include include swordfight, horseback riding, maritime navigation, and anything that could satiate his innate curiosity for the workings of the world.
He’s a lowkey sinnamon roll who needs to be protected at all costs. loljk gimme all dem plots. THE MORE PAINFUL, THE BETTER LMAO.
