[b]PRINCE CRISPIN OF KENT[/b]

The door to the Dining hall opened slowly, its great weight preventing swift movement. As it opened, Emmanuelle was granted her first glimpse of the hall in its full, welcoming preparation. Chefs and their apprentices stood at the ready, waiting for the various nobles to be seated, so that they could serve proper portions to them. Cal was among them, grinning from ear to ear with pride at the smooth organization of the meal. He was more Crispin's manservant than anything else, but for this meal specifically he'd been given duties in relation to the vitally-important court function.

Crispin himself sat near the head of the table, in a cypress-and-gold seat, beside which sat a holly-and-silver chair for his betrothed. At the very head of the table, the aging queen sat in a silver throne, beside an empty golden one, for which a place had not been set. From there, less-descript seats were arranged, each with a small wooden placard to signify which noble was to sit there. Tureens of soup, wicker baskets of piping hot, crusty bread loaves, platters of pork or salmon, and delicate arrangements of candied flower petals or fruit slices covered the ancient table.

At the arrival of the Princess, Crispin rose from his seat rather formally and pulled the silver chair away from the table a bit to allow for her to sit. Once she neared, he softly guided her into her seat with one hand on the small of her back, applying gentle pressure; not enough to be rude, but certainly more contact than was strictly necessary. It wasn't a rude pressure either, more reassuring and perhaps a bit intimate, particularly with how low he placed his hand.

With everyone in their proper seats, The queen called for the meal to begin, and servants began slicing meats and serving up generous portions of the various dishes. The kitchen was renowned for serving up meals as large as they were delicious, and they lived up to their reputation spectacularly. Pewter chalices were filled with a light pear cider, the Queen's favorite, and once she had taken a delicate sip, everyone dug in with relish.

Crispin ate slowly, his attention distracted by the lovely young woman at his left. Despite all of the words they'd exchanged earlier, and despite the soft chatter throughout the room, he was somewhat hesitant to overstep his bounds in engaging the stunning young woman. He finally gathered up his courage and said, somewhat suddenly, "I'm terribly glad that you were able to arrive so quickly. As foolish as this might sound, I feel a bit as though I missed you in the time before we met. Does that make any sense? Perhaps it's foolish, I don't know, but that's the best way that I can put it, I think."


[b]BARONESS SABINA OF FELWENT[/b]

Sabina wasn't entirely sure how she felt. She was a woman who was usually quite firmly in control of her emotions, yet this banter with Peter was bringing back so many memories... Some of them painful, but some of them fond, inspiring feelings of longing within her. With a mental scowl, she banished that thought, denying herself the right to think that way. Peter had done so much to hurt her, and the Princess needed her to be a guiding influence, not some easily-seduced court plaything. She was the only thing standing between Peter and the royal couple, and it was up to her to keep the schemer from taking advantage of those in her charge.

"I know you, Peter." She didn't use the man's official title, a slip-up which wasn't typical of her. She swore to herself that she wouldn't make such a mistake again. No familiar terms with this snake... "You're right, I suppose. I had a time during which I was... far too familiar with you. I opened myself up to you, a mistake I will not make again. I have no doubt that you think that your interests fit with those of the Prince and Princess, but as you said yourself, you are the destructive type. I may not hold as much power as a man like you, but gods help me, I will die before I see our kingdoms run into the ground for your entertainment or profit."

With that, she turned away from him, striding towards the door, then suddenly yelped like a startled handmaiden as his strong palm struck her butt forcefully. She bit her lip in frustration at the reaction she'd let out, and hurried to her seat, a comfortable chair a few spots down from the royal pair. She sat gingerly, her bum stinging slightly despite the layers of her dress. How did he get to her so easily? He always knew the right thing to say to make her react, and despite her previous protestations, his forceful manner had her far more hot and bothered than she would admit. It was hard not to think back to the past, when the firm touch of his hands had been a familiar sensation. The baroness was so flustered by the swat that she didn't notice until it was too late that the placard beside hers displayed brazenly "Lord Peter of House Medici".