Snippet #2765764

A crumpled piece of parchment hit the floor of Navarre's bedchamber for the fifth time that morning. Letting out a frustrated huff, the prince scowled at his so far failed attempts to satisfactorily transcribe his thoughts on this whole affair. Having his brother's message delivered by his bastard cousin the night prior had been the current breaking point thusfar, and Navarre intended to make his opinion very clear to the king. This was insulting! While his intended seemed as good a match as any, the mere idea of being instructed to engage in a political marriage without any discussion was practically offensive in his eyes. Yes, Navarre knew he would most likely marry a woman that would provide some political benefit (or good breeding at the very least), but he had anticipated at least having some part in the decision regarding what alliance was strengthened or created by his nuptials. Instead, the first alliance his newly crowned brother would forge was going to use HIM as the offering! Damn stupid git.

Navarre wrote several more pieces of correspondence, his frustration mounting even more as he inwardly cursed his sudden inability to write a simple letter- something he usually had no difficulty with. Aside from his script being less elegant than the others in his family (a minor detail, obviously), the royal was no less adept at such common practice as the king. Even so, three more mangled pieces of parchment were flung to the floor before Navarre was finally sufficiently satisfied with his letter. It was worded with proper poise and eloquence, but the anger was evident. He made it clear that he would fulfill his obligation, but he was not pleased about how it had been decided. In the future, he expected the king to commit to a similar sacrifice, or repay his obedience in some significant manner. After all, why should only one of them submit to the specific obligations of nobility?

'I trust you understand that I will submit to my royal duty as it is expected of me; however, do not assume I go forward without grievance. To use me as a pawn without first doing me the courtesy of a discussion regarding such arrangements is an insult I do not take lightly, even from you. Many alliances and unions will undoubtedly be built or fortified over the course of your reign; hopefully you will not come to regret trading away your ace so early in the game.
I'm sure that when the time comes for you to be bound by duty to serve crown and country with a union, it will be as well decided as the choosing of my own betrothed."

Several lines later, he bid his brother good health, and signed the bottom just a few scribbles away from needing to re dip his quill. As soon as the ink had dried, he carefully folded the parchment and sealed it with wax, the insignia on his ring indicating him as the sender. Now all he needed to do was figure out who the earl had for a courier.

Tucking the letter away in the poke of his doublet, the prince set out to fetch himself some lunch. It wouldn't do to have both breakfast and lunch delivered to his quarters- he was not an invalid!

After a rather satisfying meal, Navarre ended up pacing the grounds of the estate in some attempt to distract himself from his annoyance. He headed outside to get some fresh air when he was struck with the desire to go hawking. Yes, that was always a pleasant pastime, and should he catch something worth eating, then he wasn't above giving it to the cook or having the servants prepare it for the royal hounds. Plus, extra servings for Tuula.

Navarre stopped mid-step, frowning in distaste. He couldn't very well go hawking without his northern goshawk, Tuula. Dammit all! How was he supposed to occupy himself?

About to make his way back inside to search for a book or some other distraction, he caught sight of none other than his bastard cousin. The imbecile. Despite his feelings regarding the man, Navarre approached the mercenary without the slightest hesitation.

"Cousin, I have need of a courier, who delivers messages for you?" he asked simply, still silently seething at the absence of his hawk (and by proxy, one of his favorite hobbies). As his mind drifted to other pastimes and the more enjoyable methods of socializing when the time called for it, he finally came up with a worthwhile activity. "Have you any parlor games?" the prince asked, wondering if Robin was familiar with such things as chess, backgammon, and the like...

----

Kezia was not a morning person. Never had been.

The first morning at castle Fallvale was no exception, and for the first two hours after waking, the younger countess bore a frown upon her face. Sleep had been fine, of course, but being hungry and in a semi-conscious haze did nothing to soothe her irritable morning demeanor. And how come others said they woke up feeling 'refreshed'. Were they crazy, or was it possible? All she ever felt was groggy! Kezia pouted as she shuffled to get up and take care of the usual morning routine.

By the time she had gotten properly dressed, the countess's breakfast had arrived and cooled considerably (though it still retained some warmth, it was now cool enough that the butter would not melt on the bread). Kezia ate it anyway before making her way out towards her sister's designated quarters.

She spent her morning convening with Sera and brushing her hair (in the hopes that the favor would be returned- as it was such a soothing feeling to have her hair played with), and her mood slowly improved. When the servant brought a lunch tray for Sera, the poor thing seemed a bit anxious upon noting Kezia's presence- recalling how irritable the noble was that morning upon receiving breakfast. With a slight bow, Myra assured the two that she'd bring a second lunch so the sisters could dine together.

Nibbling on a piece of beef roast, Kezia looked out over her sister's balcony to see what view she had. "I still can'e believe father thought that common thug would suit me! Even if he is the best there is, he's still not even a proper knight! I thought he'd want better for me." she lamented, finishing the thought in her head. 'Not a real knight like sir Malchior...and not even an earl! He has to accept the title, but he doesn't even seem eager to do that!' She sighed, her thoughts running away with her again.