Snippet #2756653

The prince didn't even bother to glance behind him or otherwise aknowledge the older countess. He ignored the servants as well, merely nodding if they greeted him. He passed the foyer, then headed up the stairs towards the east wing and thus, his quarters. It was only upon closing the door behind him and being away from any prying eyes that Navarre let out a sigh, sinking into a chair and running a hand through his hair. He really didn't want to be here.

A sharp woman was a rare find indeed, and paired with a pretty face, it was a perfect combination, and thus, the type of woman he could see himself choosing as a bride.
But how much of this was show?

The prince scowled, recalling days of old when he gladly socialized and was a perfect gentlman to all manner of folk, especially ladies. Part of him almost missed his naivete, thinking he was befriending people and being a ruler his people could be proud of.

But all those pretty words and declarations of friendship were lies...

People didn't actually like him for him. They liked what he and his brother could do for them. They liked being cozy with those of good standing. Being liked by those in power. Advancement was the name of the game, and anyone who had any prestige or link to the upper class wanted in. For him and his brother, people flocked to them for anything but a genuine love for the individuals they were. It was why the distance between the two bothered him so damn much.
All those swooning noblewomen looking to land a pince (or king) and become part of the ruling class. All the noblemen wanting better positions and money. He was well aware that political marriages were rather common, and it was a method that worked well for expanding their lineage as well as securing good relations. But why did HE have to be the sacrificial lamb, pawned off to some countess who would most assuredly have no reason to see him as Navarre the man, not Navarre the prince?

Fine. He'd play his part, but he wasn't happy about the whole thing.

--

Kezia vaguely wondeereed what on earth was going on with the mercenary; he was poised and proper, but for a moment, his expression looked as if it would falter in place of something else. But the awkward shift in his body language was reversed as quickly as it came, and the young woman dcided she was simply imagining it. Keeping close to Sera, her eyes scanned her surroundings with supressed interest. The castle was rather nice, and admittedly more impressive than their own estates.

The countess's gaze turned towards their host at his pointed revelation, feeling some of the tension leaving her body. So she'd be able to meet with her sister and convene with her? That was a welcome feature, and a smile broke out a the thought.
Before she could decide whether to voice her gratitude, Sera delivered a lovely nugget of wit in the form of a pun, and Kezia inadvertently let out a giggle in spite of herself. Sera always knew how to make her laugh.

The servants seemed at ease with their master, and spoke so casually to him that it surprised the young noble. And they called him 'captain' again. But why? If he wasn't a real soldier, how could he be called captain? It was all so bizzare to her. And as he continued to chat in a relaxed manner to his servants, Kezia puzzled between this warrior's dmeanor and what he was really like. Was he cold and callous on a battlefield? Was he indifferent? Did he feel any shame at selling his sword to the highest bidder? (Though, she supposed this was unlikely, given his profession). And furthermore...what was he muttering about?

Before she could wonder about his cook and the implied mess, Sera's voice met her ears, and at once stole her attention away. For a second, Kezia pondered her options. While she had agreed to behave and try to get along, she wasn't sure she wanted to be alone in the same room with a mercenary.
"I am ready to check our accommodations." She said with a smile.