PRINCE CRISPIN

Crispin's eyes lit up at the sight of his betrothed. Arranged marriages were a fact of life, and hardly expected to be agreeable to all parties; yet seeing the Princess of Navarre was a rare treat for the young Prince. He smiled widely at the sight of her, stepping free of the protective presence of his guardsmen to draw near to her. Every stretch between their meetings was far too long... he longed to be married, that such stretches might be banished to distant memory. At Lord Peter's comment, he grinned conspiratorially, and commented "I do believe she becomes more so at every encounter!"

Facing the Princess eagerly, he spoke. "My lady Emmanuelle! It has been far too long! I trust your journey was pleasant?" He closed the distance between them and lifted her hand to his lips, wishing he could do more, but recognizing quite acutely the necessity of propriety, especially in the presence of so many noblemen and women. He took a half-step back, looking his bride-to-be up and down and trying his best not to smile like a fool.

His smile faded like a leaf in fall at the mention of the King. "My father... is not well. The maesters of medicine have done all they can, and we pray that he improves, but it is in the hands of the gods at this point." He did his best to retrieve his positive expression, and said "But let us not dwell on such unfortunate subjects! My father would hardly wish to see your countenance downcast so." He spoke formally, royal training kicking in just in time to keep his composure balanced. His left hand fell to the pommel of his dress sword, and he straightened up just slightly, looking quite kingly, if a bit young.

"I fear that I have forgotten my manners in my joy at your arrival. Would you and your handmaidens care to join me for a midday meal in the banquet hall?" He lowered his voice and leaned in closer, so as to keep his words unheard by the nobles observing. "And then, perhaps, tea in my quarters?" He punctuated the statement with a quite-unkingly wink, hinting at his boyish nature belied by his more formal mannerisms.



BARONESS SABINA OF FELWENT

Baroness Sabina stepped down from the carriage with a contented sigh, happy to have a chance to stretch her legs after the lengthy journey. She smiled at the interaction between the Prince and Princess. The two were clearly very much in love, and the sight brought back fond, if increasingly distant memories. These memories soured slightly once she caught sight of the man she'd known would be present, yet hoped might not be.

Peter. Lord Peter Medici. Schemer, court manipulator, puppetmaster... and for a glorious, passionate time, now nearly forgotten by other members of the court, her secret lover during the years of her now-deceased husband's unfaithfulness. This was the only man to have ever truly touched her heart so directly, and it pained her that looking upon him now was such a bittersweet experience. Even so... she couldn't allow old grudges to confuse her perception of the events before her. The Prince and Princess were together once more, and the wedding was growing nearer by the day.

Sabina nodded in acknowledgement of the Lord, but frowned slightly at how closely he stood to the Prince. It would not do for Medici to have such close counsel with the Prince, especially with how inexperienced in courtly intrigue the boy was. She would have to look out for the boy as well as the soon-to-be Queen.