[b]PRINCE CRISPIN OF KENT[/b]

The guard who had advised Princess Emmanuelle spoke the truth. Crispin did indeed adore the sight of her. She'd looked wonderful in traveling clothes, but in a more formal dining gown, she was absolutely radiant. It would be difficult to remain properly composed throughout the whole meal with her seated right at his elbow there.

It was remarkable how familiar Emmanuelle felt. Her presence beside him just felt... natural. From her subtle movements, to her light caress of his hand, just to let him know she was there; she fit into the space like she had been born to be beside him, which in a way, she had. It was a testament to how fortunate they had been. Many royal couples were forced into relationships that neither participant was interested in maintaining, simply because the political benefits were so great.

It was because he felt so comfortable in her presence that Crispin had the confidence to murmur under his breath, ideally in a voice that only the Princess could hear "I don't suppose it would be excusable for us to get out of here early. As pleasant as the food is, the company is a bit stale. Yourself excluded, of course. In fact, if it were my choice, we'd already have adjourned to my quarters, as scandalous as that would be, but then, I suppose we can't ignore propriety until we're actually crowned." He smiled cheekily, a gesture that came easily to him, and he winked to show that he was at least partly jesting. She likely had no idea how slightly that was, or how much he was wishing that he could run off into the woods with the enchanting young woman that very moment. "When we do get the chance to meet in my quarters, I'm afraid we'll also have some more serious matters to discuss. I'll do my utmost to keep it enjoyable for you, though."


[b]BARONESS SABINA OF FELWENT[/b]

Sabina made every effort not to reveal her indignation for all at the table to see. It was a challenge, but she just barely succeeded, a faint scowl slipping through her otherwise-impenetrable facade of competent, composed grace. "While you're right that I know you, better even than your myriad whores, that doesn't bode well for my favoring of you. I know you, Peter Medici. I know your scheming heart, your lustful spirit, and your need for control. I haven't forgotten how you treated me those years ago, nor how easily you have displayed your talents at manipulating anyone who got in your way." The noblewoman hadn't touched her food yet, though she'd already had her chalice refilled, and was partway through the second glass.

"Lord Peter, you've never been able to accept that some things are not yours to take. Everything must come so easily for you, hmm? Positions of power, the trust of noblemen; you're intelligent, and I've seen you take advantage of that. Goodness, you're attractive enough that it's likely little difficulty coercing little ladies into your bed. Well. I am not one of your ignorant noblemen, or your fawning sluts. You may have some things easily, but not me. I haven't forgiven you, Peter, and if I know you, little will pain you more than knowing that you could have had something, but failed. That something is me, and I swear on my dignity, you will never own me."

She sat back slightly, gesturing for the serving maid to bring her more cider. It wasn't easy, takin such a strong stance, against something she wanted. For she did want Peter. If he had really changed as much as he claimed, she would have wanted to fall into his arms at that very moment. He hadn't though. She couldn't let herself believe it, or she would be made weak by the one person she needed most to pay heed to. For her sake, and the sake of the royal couple, she had to stay strong.