An Exile's Ball: Princess Rebecca's 16th Birthday Debutante Ball[All Royal Families Invited]

[Potenza]

"This red steak is fabulous," Duke Prospero commented after he had swallowed his third bite. He motioned to one of those serving the guests and said, "My compliments to the chef."

"I wonder if they used a barbecue," Plinio said to his father, smirking a bit. He was referencing the fact that Prospero was one of the few Potenzan noblemen who did his own cooking on occasion. Although the Cornaro family had staff that kept their estate clean and helped prepare the meals for special events, when it was just Cornaro family time, Prospero often obliged to do the cooking himself. He had actually grown to like it, and over time had been able to mimic the recipes of some finer restaurants. On lazier days he broke out the barbecue grill and prepared the Cornaro household some burgers, ribs, or something else special.

"Maybe they do," Prospero replied, smirking back at his son, "the only question now is coal or propane."

"Coal, right?" Plinio asked, knowing full well his father preferred coal above all else.

"Well, I'm not certain..." Prospero sliced another bit of the steak and put it into his mouth, chewing on it for a bit longer than normal, letting the taste linger on his tongue before swallowing and saying, "I think it's a hibachi grill they're using."

"The Talemantine look lovely, don't they?" the Duchess Lia suddenly interrupted, glancing over at the Talemantine royals. "Sometimes it's strange to remember we all have the same ancestry."

"They've had many years of royalty and empire, it's gotten to them," Prospero said, smirking as he cut his steak up into further bits, "Potenzan royalty spent too much time fighting one another and getting rich. They were either cutthroats or merchants - sometimes both. Our history is not as glorified as theirs. They probably look at us the way the Torriani look at commoners. OWE!" Prospero had given a sharp cry in response to the feeling of his wife's nails digging into the thigh area of his pants under the dinner table.

"The Torriani are here, darling," Lia said through her lips, "try to remain subtle when there are others around you."

"I'll do as I like, I am the duke, young lady," Prospero remarked, pinching his wife's nose again, "now behave, or I won't dance with you."

 

[Rheinbund]

“Oh, piratines. If that would be the case,” Karl grinned to Eleonore upon her question about the Solaris pirates. “No, there are only men on the Solaris pirate ships. And we immediately put them in irons when we capture them. We don’t want them to take over one of our ships another time. But this will remain an issue for a very long time. Solaren is not so easy to stabilise. We managed to do so in Southeastern Solaren and the Carentanians at Capraria, but probably we chased the really extreme Solaris ahead of us when we pushed through Southeastern Solaren. But apart from that, you will never be able to pacify everybody in an occupied country. Some people will continue to believe in Pope Urban’s preaches and will try to continue to live according to those preaches — or try to impose them to the people in their neighbourhood, or take revenge for the fact that we overthrew the system they loved. By far the most people are happy with how we rule the country, but some are not. And among them are people from the Solaris Navy, who do what they are good at: Sea faring.”
Karl took a sip of his wine. Then he continued: “Don’t get me wrong. The situation in Solaren is not hopeless, and most Solaris are peaceful. We only have a way to go before the country is stable again. Anyway, I’ve done nothing else but capturing pirates. But in August I will hand over the hunt for pirates over to Ludwig and start studying.”

“Ooooppssss,” Friedrich thought when he heard Sweyn about the Talemantros‑Altai war while Talemantros’s second most important political figure was sitting at the opposite of the table. A man who was apparently very fond of himself, and whose ego could have got an enormous boost from that war. A war in which not only Altai was defeated but the EDF humiliated as well. At least that was the way Friedrich felt about it. Sebastiano and Ludwig had experienced their first serious relational crisis over that war, although that situation seemed to have settled by now. Friedrich decided to stay out of that discussion unless Horace would become too unpleasant.
In fact it was Horace who saved the situation by asking Sweyn about the whereabouts of the latter’s country. Friedrich felt relieved about it.

“O-k,” Johann commented the scene between the Danish Prince Christian and the Potenzan woman. What was the guy thinking with making such a scene during a dinner? Johann himself was an enormous womaniser as well, but he also knew that everybody is looking at everybody at such a formal moment. That was exactly the reason why Johann didn’t seduce any women on formal royal events. The hunt for women was for after duty — and then no woman was safe.
After that, he discussed further with his brother Wolfgang and the Nicosian Prince Philip and Princess Antonia.

While talking to Karl, Eleonore and Andrzej, Ludwig also observed his boyfriend, the Talemantine Prince Sebastiano, who was barely interacting with the other people. What happened that the poor guy was so silent? Ludwig decided that he would talk to Sebastiano after dinner.




OOC: This post was changed on 24 April 2012 ± 00:30 Central European Summer Time. The change is as follows: The paragraph

“Ooff, this is bad,” Friedrich whispered to Sweyn after the latter had told him about the bombing in Kyiv. “This is really bad. You probably don’t have any more news, do you?”
Friedrich directly started to think. Why did this happen? In what way could anybody benefit from blowing up an embassy? And what would that benefit be? Was this done by someone who would benefit from a deterioration of the relations between Kyiv and the Germanic League, or was this just someone who felt good with stomping Wiese in the face? Or was this initiated as an occasion to speed up the hunt for dissidents in Kyiv? Friedrich considered all these options disgusting. After some deliberation, he concluded that the last option was the least bad one. The first two could lead to a war in which millions of people would die. The third option would only lead to a blood bath in the Kievan prisons.
Friedrich was taken out of his train of thought when the Talemantine Crown Prince Horace started to talk to Sweyn.

has been replaced with the paragraph

“Ooooppssss,” Friedrich thought when he heard Sweyn about the Talemantros‑Altai war while Talemantros’s second most important political figure was sitting at the opposite of the table. A man who was apparently very fond of himself, and whose ego could have got an enormous boost from that war. A war in which not only Altai was defeated but the EDF humiliated as well. At least that was the way Friedrich felt about it. Sebastiano and Ludwig had experienced their first serious relational crisis over that war, although that situation seemed to have settled by now. Friedrich decided to stay out of that discussion unless Horace would become too unpleasant.
In fact it was Horace who saved the situation by asking Sweyn about the whereabouts of the latter’s country. Friedrich felt relieved about it.

 

[Breotonia]

OOC: Chit chat deleted. This is Havenshire's thread so I would advise everyone to kindly follow his wishes with keeping everything happening here in the then and not the now.

 

[Rheinbund]

OOC: Post 42 of this thread has been changed. Please see that post and also post 43 for more information on that change.

 

[Danmark]

Indeed, he felt the 'squeaky ass' moment of the man from Trier beside him, but Sweyn wasn't quite as concerned at a potential diplomatic crockery fight as Friedrich apparently appeared to be. If it caused a few sharp intakes of breath, that appealed to his natural impish element that liked sticking sharp forks into consensus and played to his natural iconoclasm.

He turned a little and looked at his Eiffellandian brother-in-arms through the corner of his eye and found it all rather amusing. Doing so, however, the contemporary realm of his thought was interrupted by an interjection from the rather exotic looking Talemantine Horace.

"Well, ahem, do you pay interest in Danish affairs?", he quizzed the dashing jock of regal De Vesci spawn before giving a condensed analysis.

"My own observations are that my country has had its ups and downs in recent years though there does seem to be a renewed sense of confidence in so many ways, though I believe there is still some way to go yet. However, the economy seems to be going rather well and there is peace amongst Danes if not a certain embryonic rise in nationalist fervour. That's the Germans you see".

He hoped to make light of the affair by mocking the Germans. He himself had no issue with Germans seeing a lot of similarities between them both but he was also acute the the two were divided by different outlooks on life and that the Danes were well and truly anchored to Scania in heart, if not somewhat geographically divorced. That was the fate of history.

So many Crown Princes were attending the ball it seemed, though he was the only one about to have a crown imminently thrust upon his head. Sweyn observed the Crown Prince of Talemantines and was drawn to his physique. "Rather handsome" he inwardly considered to himself and quickly scanned him over. Horace was well known in the Danish press as somewhat of a testosterone fueled hot-blooded male of monarchical descent and Sweyn himself had been aware of him. There was no formal connection between the House of Roskilde and the House of De Vesci but there existed informal links nonetheless.

Sweyn played with his earlobe a little suddenly feeling a little overcome by admiration and shyness. "Did this man work out or what?!". He suddenly felt a little giddy and less overcome by psychological torture having to sit next to Princess Amalie and thoughts of a 'grand compromise' between duty and heart. He felt happy but didn't think that much would ever occur between them. He guessed that Horace de Vesci was otherwise inclined from himself.

"I say, if you don't mind me saying so, you look like a sportsman. What sports do you play?"

Sweyn hoped to test the water a little and strike up a conversation. He fluttered his eyes again rather shyly but was composed by much more iron will than his brother. Unlike Prince Christian, he was not a slut and was inculcated with much more discipline. He observed his brother becoming steadily more drunk and becoming increasingly driven by lust towards some Potenzan woman who appeared to be leading him on by playing with olives in her mouth.

He sighed with resignation to the inevitable.

"Christian", he quietly called his brother, "just be careful and get a grip. By the look in her eyes she'll eat you for breakfast".

 

[Taley]

"Well my position, as well as yours, requires me to be kept up on all things. It is good that Danmark is doing so well in these times where there is war and recession across the globe. I hope that Danmark enjoys its prosperity and peace, not all of us are so lucky in the latter." Horace said taking a drink of wine dodging talking about the war with Altai. It was a topic he had decided to avoid, no matter the fact that Altai had attacked a Talemantine ally and Talemaniki defended and the EDF hung Altai out to dry. The world still saw Altai as the victim and he wasn't going to be able to change that tonight.

Horace put his cup down and answered Sweyn's question, "Yes your highness, I am an avid athlete back home; I like to play tennis, football, and rowing. When I was ten I wanted to be a professional tennis player, but as you can attest, it very hard from those of us destined fro other things to simply do what they wish. The closest I came was to be able to compete when I was in university at both tennis and rowing, but now with my duties both in the military and government I have only been able to play at charity games. Perhaps your Highness should attend one of our sport championships in Talemantros."

 

[Danmark]

"Then we share something in common then - I play polo, a very traditional sport I know, though I'm not of its derivation, I just know it is not home-born. I must admit a fondness for that New World import that seems to become all the rage - Cannie basketball - which is a rather refreshing sport and peculiarly un-Danish, if I may so - a great social leveller. I like the freedom I derive from it, plus I'm tall so I find that helps. Aside from that, I'm too busy glad-handing people in my duties and finishing off my 'red boxes' of official correspondence as well as sitting in on Privy Council meetings with the government".

Sweyn pulled a half-joke face and cocked his head in a slightly ditzy manner. The Kronprins did not have the heavily-pumped physique of Horace and would never been dead running around semi-nude in skimpy shorts as the Talemantine climate seemed to encourage - it just wasn't done for a Danish royal to be seen like that and, anyway, the weather wasn't that fortunate either. But he deduced he could give homo exoticus a run for his money at most sports.

Bizarrely in many ways, there was a similiarity between them - out of a sextet of Royal Princes who fit the stereotype of tall Nordic blondes with blue eyes, Sweyn was the odd ball being the only with a more 'southern' feel about his features. That was the king's genetics passed onto him which, by a quirk of fate, seemed to have bypassed the rest of the family.

He returned: "I would be delighted to pencil in a visit to watch your teams play to their best, I'm sure, though it would part of a State Visit, I suspect. I fully anticipate to have a packed schedule over the next months with an impending goodwill Grand Coronation Tour of a stream of countries once I assume the throne - it's a tradition for all newly crowned monarchs to do so".

He paused a little to take breath before giving a hint of the background of the inner machinations between government and palace.

"Christiansborg tends to expend a great deal of sweat delving into minutiae with a whole raft of bureaucratic committees before it grants state visits as it believes them to be a supremely rare privilege of the apex of state relations, so bestows them on only on a worthy few to preserve the mystique. We used to concentrate on traditional allies, but my country is undergoing a massive change and there is a considerable move to spread its wings and raise its standard beyond the near-abroad, so I may be popping up in the most unlikely of places - even in Talemantros! Even so, it will be a bugger lumbering the royal vintage state limousines into carrier craft and carting the Kongeligeskib, our term for the Royal Ship, with a military escort to distant parts of the globe!"

He hoped Horace appreciated his sense of humour which could verge on the dry and wasn't sure if maybe there was a cultural gulf in their appreciation between Nordic reserve and Himyari expressionism - perhaps lost in translation.

"The Danes have this great need to go to extreme lengths to protect their royal family and present it in thoroughly regal and rarified splendour and style as only the monarchy-revering Danes know how. Could Talemaniki cope with a full State courtege and a fully geared Danish security apparatus with a shoot to kill policy? We don't do things by halves, you know".

He winked and drank from his crystal wine glass.

 

[Potenza]

The dinner was ending, and now, at long last, the ball official was going to start. Duke Prospero smiled, folding his napkin and putting it neatly on the table. With an elegant wave of his arm and bend of his knee, he stood from the chair and faced his wife, asking in a dramatic tone, "Would her royal highness entitle me to a dance?"

Duchess Lia laughed, holding out her hand, "Perhaps just this once, I will permit this peasant a chance to dance with her royal highness - permitting that this ruffian keeps his hands to himself."

"Yes yes yes, enough of that," Prospero took his wife's hand, giving it a tug, bringing her up out of the chair. The two laughed together as they walked off to the dance floor, leaving Plinio to watch and smile as his parents left.

Guido, meanwhile, was eyeing the beginning of the ball with some wariness. His eyes trailed down to the head of his cane, resting against the table. Count Niccolo took notice of it, and the Grimaldi noble actually felt a spur of compassion. Niccolo could have a heart for someone at times, contrary to what many of his enemies supposed from his writings and political machinations. Niccolo was a good old fashioned politician - a saint when he had to be, and a sinner when the need called for it. He recognized that Guido's despair was one truly outside of his control: with his handicap, he could not enjoy the simple things that others could so easily. As Prospero and Lia moved out to begin to dance, Guido could do little but pretend he didn't notice, and maintain his facade of a stiff upper lip.

"Duke Guido," Niccolo said suddenly, putting his own napkin on the table, "I don't suppose you would care to join me in a little walk and discussion?"

Guido turned and smiled at the count, "I'd very much appreciate that, I think."

Niccolo and Guido stood up, walking away, going around the edge of the ball room and beginning to chat about anything on their minds. Francesca watched them leave without a word, smiling to herself, enjoying the chance to be left alone. She could now begin her scheme...

She glanced down to the table, her peripheral vision hooked on Prince Christian at his table. She needed to give him a reason to leave the little Havenshire runt and come to her, as she desired. She patted her lips, placing the napkin on the table. With a sigh, her eyelids grew heavy, her lips parted ever so slightly, and her gloved hand provided a place for her chin to rest. She leaned forward ever so slightly, her chest beginning to lean upon the edge of the table, pressing up against her corset.

She was a poor, bored, lonely woman left all alone and helpless...desperately needing someone to save her.

 

[Rheinbund]

“Well, ladies, gentlemen, the ball is about to begin. Will you please excuse me?” Prince Friedrich said to the Princes Sweyn and Horace, and to all the other people at his table. Then he turned to his wife Princess Laura, bowed and asked: “Milady, may I have this dance?”
Laura made a reverence and said amused: “Of course Milord.” Then Friedrich offered her his arm and together they went to the dancefloor. Friedrich and Laura were a very good dancing couple together, and also now they would show that.

While Prince Wolfgang escorted his girlfriend the Nicosian Princess Antonia to the dancefloor, Prince Johann said to the Nicosian Prince Philip: “Well, what are we going to do? Head for the bar, or invite one of the ladies for a dance?” The Eiffellandian Royals were no heavy drinkers, and they always tried to avoid getting drunk as much as possible. Also Johann this evening. He combined alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks to enjoy the taste of wine while only getting a little cheery.

“Well, Ludwig, are you going to dance tonight?” Archduchess Eleonore asked.
“You know that musicians don’t dance, Eli,” Ludwig joked, referring to the fact that he was an amateur‑musician (he played guitar and keyboards, was a very good singer and could even handle a simple synthesizer). “Furthermore, I’m not really a good dancer. But there is also something else. I have to go to Sebastiano first. I don’t know why we landed at different tables, but that was wrong according to me. Furthermore, there is something with him. I’ve never seen him so nervous. I have to go to him.” Ludwig promised Eli a dance for later that night, excused himself and went to Sebastiano.
“Your Imperial Highness, may I have this dance?” Prince Karl asked to Archduchess Eleonore.

 

[Danmark]

"Thank fuck for that!".

Prince Christian, Duke of Aabenraa and Viscount of Skanderborg, had been frustrated beyond comprehension having to wait for so long which, together with the whiskey's he had been consuming, had made him a little loose-tongued and causing him to forget his manners. The news the banquet had finished was god-sent and a huge relief.

The two ladies dripping in jewels on either side of him, that he spent most of the night ignoring, gasped in astonishment at the profanity uttered by the roguish Danish Prince.

"You should wash your mouth out with soap, young man", exclaimed the older one of the two as she dropped her fork with a loud clang onto her dessert plate in sheer shock at the language.

Christian looked at her with a degree of horror but self-assurance. His face reddened in boiling anger and he ground his jaw at the impertinence of the elderly unknown aristocrat. He knew his position and it was much higher than hers.

"Who do you think you are? I kindly remind you that I am a Prince of the Realm and the son of a King! How dare you talk to me like that! Just remember that the next time you speak to me to use your manners and choose your words very carefully! You are frankly intolerable! You insult me and you insult the whole of the Danish people and my father, His Majesty the King!".

The older lady had a look of shock on her face at being shot down in flames by one at least 40 years her junior but she knew her station in the royal pecking order rightly so and despite her public humiliation seemed flustered and embarrassed at having dared rise above her station to a full-born Prince and Royal Duke and at her spontaneous outburst. She looked down in embarrassment not knowing quite what to say, picking at her chocolate moose with the fork she had just retrieved with a look of supreme meek contrition etched into her face. Her eyes welled up with tears.

"I do apologise, I really do. I am so, so sorry. I do not know what came across me.", she mumbled with a sheepish expression, daring not to look into the eyes of the young Danish prince. "I am so sorry. It will never happen again".

"I sincerely hope it damn well doesn't!", Christian thundered.

He had scored a significant victory over the foreign-born aristocrat and restored the order. He had never bothered to find out her name and was certainly not going to do so now. He took a deep gulp of the remaining bourbon he had and looked to his left.

The other anonymous foreign royal, at least ten years older than him, seemed most amused by the exchange and had a look in her eyes that suggested that she found Christian deeply attractive given his outburst. She clearly appreciated his command and dominance. Her pupils dilated and she licked her lips at the 21 year old Christian. He winked at her and clicked his tongue which she seemed to like. He turned to his right to see the old aristocrat that had just been firmly put in her place reduced to a quivering wreck with the pearls in her tiara shaking as she quietly sobbed into her napkin.

Crown Prince Sweyn could not fail to notice the exchange on the other side of the table to him and looked on. Clearly the silly foreign royal got all she got. He was with his brother on that, an unspoken cameradarie was at work. A unity of blue blood and brotherly love.

"Brother, I need to have a word with you", Sweyn quietly whispered across the table.

Christian took his leave of the weeping and the lustful women to meet his brother. On his way, he swept past Countess Francesca, running his hand across her shoulder. "I will be back in a short while, my love", he whispered as he worked his way around the table to meet his elder brother. The time was neigh.

"Christian", his Crown Prince brother patted him on the shoulder and spoke in hushed tone to his brother. "You did me proud there, but I can see you've had a drink or two, haven't you?". Christian laughed as he led his brother to a very secluded recess in the wall away from prying eyes. This was a deeply private conversation between brothers and as they entered into whispered tones so no one could over-hear them. Privately, the Danish royals were bawdy and used salty language like most Danes but never in public, where they acted with supreme dignity, honour with emminent impeccability.

"Come on, you know me. Did you really expect any different?! Stuck next to that old cow is enough to turn anyone to the bottle!", Christian joked.

Sweyn laughed out loud. Secretly, they had a great deal of fun together and saw eye to eye on many things so it didn't come as much of a surprise to him. He sometimes felt guilty at having to be so straight-laced whilst Christian had fun. Sweyn beamed at him knowing the connection between them. He found Christian funny and loved him to bits as he did all his brothers.

"Look, brother, you hate being there next to that Wieser princess, don't you? I know you do, I can see it. She's an old bitch anyway and she speaks German! She's on the make! I really love you, you know, but it's about time you came out. You like men, what's so wrong with that? Come on, for fuck's sake, its the twenty-first century!", the dashing Prince poked fun but also encouragement at the soon-to-be-king.

"You idiot, you've got so much to learn. I wish I was in your shoes but it's so difficult for me. If I could turn back the cock I'd live a different life", Sweyn retorted but caused Christian to heave with alcohol-fuelled amusement at what the Crown Prince had just said.

"A sub-conscious slip there, my man. You mentioned 'cock', I don't think you mean't to say that did you?! But I can see you're gagging for it!"

Sweyn howled in laughter but was suddenly conscious that people might over-hear him.

"Shush, you asshole, you know very well what I mean, you scurrilous guttersnipe! Anyway, you want to fuck that Potenzan, don't you?", Sweyn attempted to turn the tables a little.

"I can't deny I don't, she's gorgeous! I want to have her babies and give her a good seeing to, if you know what I mean....", Christian laid forth with no holds barred.

"So I can see. You've had your eyes on her all night! You're such a hunter! It's about time you settled down like Lauritz and start a family, you old fuck-around! Lauritz thinks you're a right slag!", Sweyn jibed. "But go to her if you must do and do whatever."

"Thank you for the gracious permission, my Crown Prince", Christian joked back whilst mock-curseying like a woman. "Your medals mean nothing to me!"

"Oh, do fuck off Christian! The drink has gone to your head you idiot! Go to her if you want, but be warned - she'll make you beg like a dog!"

"Oh, don't worry, I will - she's mine!", retorted the blonde prince to his older dark-haired brother whilst winking. They both laughed.

"Well go then!", Sweyn dared with a devilish look.

Christian turned back blowing kisses at Sweyn in a slightly drunken state whilst the Crown Prince shook his head in mirth.

Christian sat down beside the sultry Potenzan countess.

"Nice to meet you again". He lifted her hand and gave it a tender kiss and held her hand under the table, whilst pecking her on the cheek.

"I've been dying to do this all night. What were we discussing last time? Oh yes, my medals... You like the way they are hard and also dangle down, hmm?!".

He knew she knew exactly what double-entendre's he was using....

 

[Potenza]

Francesca smiled when she felt the brush of Christian's hands against her bare shoulders. She watched him leave, thinking to herself how he seemed to be mimicking her now. What else could she do to see if he reacted in kind? Men were like dogs, but evidently some were primates as well - monkey see, monkey do.

While Christian and Sweyn were away, the Torriani countess looked at her reflection in the glass of water before her. She fixed the strands of her hair, leave but one or two to run down the side of her face, just beside her dark eyes. She pursed her lips, making sure they were still red. Most of all, she adjusted her necklace, making certain the lovely jewels stayed hanging in a neat fashion.

Ah, here he comes. Christian hurried towards Francesca, and the Potenzan noblewoman could tell that he had drunk quite a few. He immediately took a seat beside her and smiled rather too happily.

"Nice to meet you again!" he said. To her surprise, he gripped her hand and planted a kiss on it, then kept it held while he kissed her cheek. The countess arched an eyebrow, surprised by this forwardness. Nordic men were clearly more blunt about their feelings than Potenzan men were. Most Tiburan men needed much prodding before they became physical animals...it would seem men in Danmark only took but a promise of physical relations before they melted.

"I've been dying to do this all night," Christian continued, "what were we discussing last time? Oh yes, my medals...You like the way they are hard and also dangle down, hmm?!"

Dio mio! Francesca thought. Immediately she had to subdue a snicker that was begging to leave her throat. She bit her red lips just a moment before she recomposed herself. A few drinks and a beautiful woman, and the man had become a 12-year old. Whatever they taught men in Danish courts, subtlety must have not been one. Well, she would have to calm him down...just a little.

"Your medals?" Francesca said, breaking free from the rather vise-like grip. "Oh yes, those...to be honest, your highness, they appear rather...limp and useless." She flicked the medal with her gloved finger, grinning at him slyly, "They are, after all, only medals...just for show. It's what lies behind them - underneath them - that's important, and which I would enjoy getting at."

The countess paused a moment, glancing down and noticing some dust on the thigh of the prince's pants. With a few gentle swipes, she brushed it off, perhaps drawing a little too close inward. She then looked up to Christian and said:

"In any case, you are obviously unaware of court manners in Potenza. A man never brags to a woman on his own jewelry, but her own...what do you think of this, my dear prince?"

Francesca ran her fingers gently under the necklace trailing down from her neck. Propping her chin up and shutting her eyes - as if to give Christian free reign - she leaned forward, bringing the necklace closer to Christian for his viewing. Of course, in doing so, she parted the necklace in a circle shape and gave him a rather open view of her neckline and what it contained.

"Tell me, prince - what would you have to say?"

 

[Holy Frankish Empire]

Prince Phillip by now was thoroughly drunk. He had waited until he had made chit chat with the necessary people. He talked with several royals and dignitaries before sitting at his table and downing drink after drink. Phillip had even joined Prince Johann on the dance floor. Though he enjoyed himself it was just not his cup of tea. Princess Antonia on the other hand was still engaged in the necessary social duties. She had hardly spoken to her brother and had hardly been off of her feet except for dinner. Once the dinner was finished, the two talked quietly.

"Sister, do you not find this all to be trash?" asked Phillip, slurring his words. Antonia glared at him, giving the look he was so familiar with. "Don't give me that look" he began quietly. "You have no right. You whore around with that Prince and..." Phillip did not even get the next word out. Antonia's slap came right across his left cheek. She stood abruptly and left to find Wolfgang.

 

[Danmark]

Christian was momentarily dumbfounded and startled - Francesca had cut him down to size in a spectacular fashion. She hadn't fallen for his usual abrupt chat-up line like most women did and she had turned it back on him in a devastating swipe. But his feeling of being taken aback was tinged with hurt and a sensation of being struck with an arrow in his heart as she seemed to simultaneously disregard his military service in the Kongelige Danske Marine and the Kongelige Danske Flyvevåbnet, the Danish airforce, with a carte blanche toss of her gloved hand of velvet, playing with the symbolism of his effort and hard-work in such a casual fashion. He felt stung and he didn't like it at all - it wounded his pride.

But he was also awestruck. She commanded so much dignity and he hypnotised by her beauty in such a way which he had never experienced in his young life before despite being wounded. He was drawn to her like no one else he had ever met, so far removed to the easy women that simply fawned over him and with whom he'd found a ready channel for his lust so simple, so straightforward. She was purely magnetic.

Her composure and elegance at refusing to be drawn down his path forced out a side of the blonde haired Nordic prince that he had rarely had chance to bring out of himself, indeed a desperation not to lose her. His lustful and direct persona concealed a very warm hearted and tender man, a true romantic, it was just that he wasn't sure how to express it but it was there - deep inside. He wanted to bring it out to show, to the right woman, just that he had never met that single individual. He wondered if he had offended her by coming on so strong, perhaps his straight-forward Danish ways didn't gel with Potenzan women. He contemplated that perhaps she wasn't his match afterall. Perhaps he had ruined his chances and he felt a downhearted by that as he really felt a bond with her. Christian was moved beyond words.

Irregardless, he was a red-blooded blue-blood and the desire to express himself in the amorous and physical way was deeply rooted into him, as it was all his brothers in their individual ways. Sweyn, despite being strait-laced and hamstrung by the pressures and expectations of his position and the compromising aspects of his homosexuality, was a deeply considerate man and someone rather overawed by affection but who was very physical in his own occluded manner. Lauritz, the second in line, was similarly disposed - he already had two children - and had already married and had a good family life and was very stable, a fact that Christian envied. The third brother, Constantine, was a practicing Catholic, not yet married but very devout and surely to marry and possesing powerful romantic inclinations and with strong visions of family rootedness. Similar descriptions could be equally applied to Jørgen and Sebastian, though they were a little younger and had not fully experienced life to the full, so it was hard to say for them.

But this desire to express himself in lust was being jostled by something he found hard to deal with - love. Christian sighed. He felt uncharacteristically depressed - a Nordic gloom had crashed his party. He looked as the Countess displayed her jewelry with a flourish of exotic finesse and a sweep of the hair, but he could not look at her.

"I'm sorry, your Highness, but I have to leave a moment".

He disembarked his seat and walked alone towards the balcony to breathe in the air. He took out a cigarette from his pocket and inhaled, whilst looking out into the distance over the rose gardens with a look of insecurity and despondency written across his face.

 

[Potenza]

"I'm sorry, your Highness, but I have to leave a moment."

The Potenzan countess stared blankly at the ceiling as she opened her eyes. The Danish prince could be seen leaving in a huff out of the corner of her eye, and she lowered her gaze to watch him depart out of the dining room, the ball room, and out onto the balcony. Her brow furrowed. Che cazzo! she cursed in her head, and the curl of her lips showed she was using her strength to keep the crude words from leaving her throat. Christian had been given an open chance to admire her physique, which was a Potenzan woman's sign of complimenting a man. What the devil was the matter with him? Was he playing a game? No, that would be too smart and cunning of him. Perhaps his Danish senses were not used to the forwardness of Potenzan women. Either way, Francesca felt insulted. Yet why was she even taking it so hard? Perhaps it was because no man had acted that way before. Perhaps it was because of something else. She had set her eyes on Christian to isolate him from his brother, and see how he would react. She pushed more when that inexperienced, inbred Havenshire hussy had attempted to enter the world of court seduction. Now, however, it was different - now it was a matter between her and him. She would have him by the end of the night.

She stared down at the table, wringing her velvet hands together in quiet anger. After a few minutes (not wanting to make it obvious), she stood up and walked forward, passing by the dancing nobles and finally leaving out onto the balcony. Her fellow Potenzans readily took notice of it. Count Niccolo turned from Duke Guido, smiled a little and said, "The mouse tried to escape the cat...and there she goes." Duke Prospero and Duchess Lia, moving with much vigor in their waltz, turned and watched Francesca leaving past them, the frills of the back of her dress trailing behind her. The Cornaro couple smirked to one another before laughing a little.

Francesca stopped at the gates of the balcony, seeing Christian at the rails of the balcony. Little puffs of smoke rose from the front of his head, showing that he was engaging in tobacco rather furiously. With that familiar smile returning to her face, she adjusted the strands of her hair just a little and slowly approached him from behind. She waited until she was close before she said in a voice that was almost as velvet as her gloves:

"Do you have a cigarette for me, your highness?"

By the time Christian had turned to her, she had turned her head ever so slightly, a single strand of her black hair running down from her forehead down her cheek. Her dark eyes were widened just a bit, and had the air of innocence - or perhaps child-like longing. Her pale skin seemed heavenly against the light of the moon, and were illuminated further by the lighting of the jewels dangling from her neck. The whiteness of her eyes only increased the contrast of her dark pupils, which locked onto Christian and never looked away.

The prince held up a cigarette, and she parted her lips slightly...letting him know that he would have to place it in her mouth himself. The butt of the cigarette placed itself on her tongue - which she had extended ever so slightly - and was soon engulfed by her red lips. Her fingers held the cigarette as Christian lit it for her - all the while, she kept her gaze on him. With a deep inhale, she brought the nicotine into her system, moaning slightly. She breathed through her lungs, causing her chest to expand and test the strength of her dress. When she exhaled, she curved her lips into a perfect circle, blowing a steady stream of smoke onto Christian's chest. Still all this time, her eyes were on his.

"You shouldn't run, your highness," Francesca said in still a soft voice, "you'll never get what you want that way. Here..."

She ran her velvet glove over Christian's free hand, wrapping her slender fingers around his wrist and lifting it up, letting his palm rest on her cheek. She shut her eyes and gently rubbed her face against his hand, sighing gently. She planted a soft kiss on his thumb, then looked up at Christian and smiled again, whispering:

"We have manners of behavior in Potenza...and one of those is you shouldn't deny a Potenzan woman of what she most desires..."

OOC: Just FYI, the insults against Rebecca are from Francesca's point of view, not how I or other people necessarily take her.

 

[Danmark]

He felt her presence behind him without having to look as the Countess quietly glided her way up to Prince Christian, recognising the unmistakable perfume whose essence invaded his nostrils. He did not turn around immediately and continued drawing on his cigarette, blowing plumes of blue-grey smoke into the warm Spring Franconian air, the passion that he drew on the cigarette a representation of his inner state of mind. He was consumed by anger at her apparent insult at his military service but he also felt enwrapped by her draw.

He turned around, towering above her in his full regal height in his royal blue uniform and immaculately polished black shoes, as she softly asked him for a cigarette. His natural chivalry and well-bred manners came to the fore as he reached inside his pocket and drew out a cigarette to the obliging sweet and luscious lips of the dark-haired goddess standing beside him. With great tenderness he placed the cigarette into her mouth and watched her hold onto the symbolic phallic tip firmly as he flicked a lighter to it so she could imbibe the nicotine.

His eyes became doeful. He blinked his eyelashes as she smoked and looked into the hypnotic dark whirlpools of her eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and observed her as her bosom swelled and he felt an intense desire as he observed her bodily heave and the outline of her physique beneath her dress, the cloth of which could not disguise what lay beneath, especially her breasts. He experienced that familiar stirring of his loins as she commanded his hand to her olive cheek and kissed his thumb. "I've got a bigger 'thumb' she can get her mouth wrapped around", he alluded inside his mind as he looked down upon her whilst she was oblivious to his inner thoughts at this instant.

Christian drew her close to him and caressed her cheek with his right hand as she had invited him to do. He reached around and moved his left arm behind her waist whilst his roving hand reached down below and grasped her youthful pert buttocks, his hand wiped back and forth over them feeling their indentations as he drew her closer to the desirous throbbing inside his immaculately uniformed trousers. They were closer as never before.

"Min Gud", he exclaimed in his thick Danish brogue, "I've never said this to any woman before and meant it. You're so beautiful. I really can't find the words to describe the way I feel about you. You really mean so much to me but...."

Her plunging neckline replete with exquisite jewels was on full display as she threw her head back, her tousled black hair tossing itself back and hanging in rivulets and streams. It felt irresistible to him. His amourous inclinations overpowered his thoughts as he craked his own neck and moved his head down to kiss her inviting neck. He allowed himself to massage her Potenzan swan neck with his sex-filled lips before moving to her jawline and caressing it in loving pulses.

He spoke to her in whispered tones into her right ear as he smooched her jaw before moving towards her cheek and felt it with his tongue, whilst using his right hand to feel its complexion. She was bent over a little backwards, dependent on his left arm to keep her from falling over.

"My love, you really hurt me tonight, my service means a lot to me. Maybe I'm a proud man. But I'm sorry if my strong desires offended you. I feel a complete fool, please believe me. I'm a Dane, you must understand, we think of sex all the time and we just want to express our love in the way we know how, we're very direct about it and we don't stand on ceremony that way. Forgive me if I upset you, my darling".

He was genuinely contrite but he was equally wanting to rip the dress of the provocative junior royal and show her his real love. He felt the rumbling down below and desperately wanted to release it but this experience was like a hot fire burning through spine. He'd never felt like this.

"My dear, I have a few words to say to you".

He paused and sighed. "I want to say that I love you and I want to take care of you".

His lips met hers in unison as he blindly followed the contours of her blood-filled lips, caressing her limply cascading hair.

A symbolic but inadvertent firework exploded in the background as there was a amourous union of two royal houses in the persons of Christian and Francesca.

"I love you so much", he moved her right hand downwards to his aroused trousers.

"There, I told you so. Can't you feel the love I feel for you?"

 

[Potenza]

Francesca smiled, shutting her eyes and letting him do as he wanted. She inhaled a little as his fingers traced along the curves behind her, the man obviously getting bolder. At his words and his kisses along her sensitive neck, actually causing a few nervous gasps, a deep calm entered her system. This was rare - few men knew how to make her react in such a way, as few bothered to give her neck any attention. It seemed she had untapped a certain softness within the otherwise brutish Dane, or perhaps her methodology of slow seduction was teaching him to not always go for the jugular every time. His whispered words amused her, in that she had clearly offended him (which was intended), and in that he was now claiming to love and want to take care of her. In what way? Men had said the same thing before. Whenever a man said he loved her, it usually only meant he wanted to bed with her as soon as possible and wanted to say things he believed every woman wanted to hear. This might work with the naive university girls in the bars of San Salvo, but not to one as used to the manners of court seduction as Francesca. All the same, the manner at which Christian said it was pleasant to her ears...perhaps he believed it with some youthful foolishness.

Her concerns grew as she felt him press her hand against his trousers, clearly showing he was still in a physical mindset. Perhaps, as it was common for Potenzan women to display themselves to men as a compliment, it was common for Danish men to become physical in such a manner as a compliment...all the same, she wasn't going to permit him to have what he wanted easily. She was the one in control. She would be the one calling the shots. If Christian desired anything more than flirtations...he would have to earn it, and he would have to wait for it.

"I can feel you, your highness," Francesca whispered back, looking up at the prince with those dark eyes after her lips had parted, "I can see you respond as any man does...but more importantly, let's see how you dance. Remember I asked that before anything."

With a sudden, military-like turn, Francesca gripped one of Christian's medals and began to walk back into the ball room. There was a subtle smile on her lips as she went on, using those medals Christian valued so highly to now control him like a little child. She let go just before they entered so no one would see, assuming Christian would follow along like a good little boy. Once she had gone into the middle of the dance floor she turned and put her hands on Christian, smiling up at him and saying in a low voice:

"You showed me how you use your hands...now, show me how you use your feet."

 

[Danmark]

His Royal Highness Prince Christian, Duke of Aabenraa and Viscount of Skanderborg, was duly dragged back into the innards of Schloss Mortimersburg by his prized commodore medal of the Kongelige Danske Marine, much to his annoyance. He had hoped to engage in affections upon the balcony away from the prying eyes of the assembled aristocrats, but Francesca was clearly trying to take control of him which he viewed both as a turn on and an affront to his Danish concepts of masculinity. But he had little choice.

He walked behind the countess straightening his blond hair, in case judgemental people supposed that something untowards had been taking place outside, and wiping his uniform of all foreign objects. But he was not prepared to walk behind the countess for long. He was a Prince afterall, so he strided forward with his long legs to walk in front of her. She was not going to totally control him and he was keen to restore the order in royal status for public appearances so that the countess walked behind the prince as they emerged onto the floor of the ballroom.

He heard audible gasps and multiple muttering as he walked onto the floor with Francesca trailing behind him as she scurried along but hindered by her long dress. "It's him! It's Prince Christian!", he overheard one aristocrat, which gave him immense pleasure. He had thoroughly earned his reputation as a royal cassova which had rippled beyond the borders of Danmark. A more traditionally attired female quivered her fan and hid her blushing face behind it whilst meekly observing him. He knew his power and exploited it to the full casually winking at her and grinning causing the lady to quiver her fan in a frenzied fashion and hide her eyes.

He peered around. The ball room was still half empty but he caught the eye of Prince Philip of Nicosia, who had obviously had one too many and was slurring his speech with a red hand-shaped streak across his face. There was a lot in common, it seemed, between the regular Prince of Danmark and the regular Prince of Nicosia. Christian chuckled and knew Philip's problem in an instant.

He turned to Francesca.

"Sorry, my love, I just need to go to speak to my friend, I'll be back in a moment".

Christian stode over to the Nicosian.

"Why, my friend, you've had quite a few haven't you?!", he greeted Philip whilst slapping him on the back in a manly but friendly way as the island prince staggered forward under the sudden movement of Christian's hand.

"What happened there?!", commenting on Philip's unnaturally reddened cheek.

"You look like you've been well and walloped! I'm guessing it was a woman?!", he laughed. "Women, they're the curse of all of us!"

He put his arm around the slurring Nicosian's shoulder and shook his head in amusement.

"I'm guessing you're after another drink, heh? I can see it in your drooping eyes. What would you like? I'll get it".

The looming but muscular Dane walked to the nearest liveryman and retrieved a bourbon for himself and the favoured liquor for wobbling Philip who looked like he'd collapse into a shrivelled and unconscious heap at any moment.

"Bottoms up!", Christian downed his whiskey. "Now, I've got to sort this damn woman out".

He jettisoned his drained glass and left Philip to himself as he returned to the dominating Potenzan. But then he caught the eye of the immature and helpless Princess Rebecca who had had her hopes raised at seeing the return of Christian. An impish thought caught hold of him. He wanted to see how Francesca really wanted him, so he thought he would play on her and test her to her limits. If she wanted him, she'd come. He walked off at an angle and approached the Havenite birthday girl and kissed her hand whilst looking through the corner of his eye, watching the velvet-gloved femme fatale whince in green-eyed jealousy.

 

[Corsica]

At this time the doors to the room opened and an announcement was made, "Introducing his Most Catholic Majesty, the Holy King Jean-Pierre VII of Corsica, God's Chosen Defender of the Faith and the Holy See." The King then casually walked into the room and said "Sorry if I am late, God's plan has many twists and turns." He walked over to where Princess Rebecca was and pushed himself in between Prince Christian and Princess Rebecca. He kissed Princess Rebecca's hand and said "Happy Birthday Princess, my servants have tons of birthday presents for you outside and they will bring them into you at once." He looked behind him and saw Prince Christian, "Sorry about cutting in line. You look like that you need a drink or maybe a woman, they're both the same, it's all fun and games at first, but in the end it kicks you in the ass." A servant walks by with a drink and the King grabs it from his hand. After he chugs the drink he looks over to the princess, who has a look of shock on her face, and says "Sorry for my language, I guess I need to confess my sins after this party."

 

[Danmark]

Christian was rudely cut-off midstream by the abrupt imposition of the Roi de Corse.

"What an arrogant cunt - king or not!", Prince Christian muttered angrily under his breath, affronted at the rudeness and lack of decorum.

"He's only just decided to turn up and yet he swans around the place as if he owns it!".

But Christian would not badly behave in public - he had impeccable manners especially when representing the royal family and his country - even if the king did not, but his chagrin was acute.

He grabbed yet another whiskey from a conveniently placed liveryman and sipped at it towering over the Corsican monarch, at 1.95 metres in height, with his eyes boring into the back of his head whilst impatiently grinding his teeth trying to keep his temper down and reminding himself of his own manners in front of a king.

But his irritation at having his carefully-honed plan of testing the love of the Potenzan countess disrupted midstream was frustrating to him. King or not, he had to find a diplomatic way of getting Jean-Pierre VII away from Rebecca, so he thought he'd bring out his best French to impress him.

"Mon dieu! C'est vous, votre majesté! J'ai attendu ce moment depuis si longtemps!", whilst bowing his head to a reigning monarch, after hastily thrusting his whiskey glass back onto the silver platter of the liveryman standing behind him to give the best appearance possible but with an inward feeling of intense sarcasm.

"Votre Majesté, je me présente comme son altesse royale, le Prince Chrétien du Danemark".

But this was a ruse to get him away from Rebecca which his elder brother, the Crown Prince, noticed.

Crown Prince Sweyn, the imminent king of Danmark, still seated next to Princess Amalie of Schaumberg, could observe all that was going on and could see his brother acting irreverently. He knew him too well but loved him enough to rescue the situation. He rolled his eyes.

"Ikke igen!"

"Please excuse me, your highness, I have important affairs of state to attend to", he left the Wieser princess and made his way over to the scene if only to prevent a diplomatic incident.

"Your Majesty, how nice to meet you. I do believe that we have met before", he warmly greeted the king of Corsica whilst looking over his shoulder at Christian and silently miming to his brother "Go off to Francesca!" with a brotherly glint in his eye.

*"Ikke igen" is Danish for "Not again!"

 

[Corsica]

"Ah, you know French, that's impressive. You know Prince Christian, you should loosen up, its not healthy to be up tight and proper all the time...you might explode and no one likes that. By the way I saw you and the countess on the balcony when I was coming in, very nice, Just don't include the young princess in your games, you may break her little heart." He grabbed another drink and saw the Crown Prince of Danmark walking over, "Prince Sweyn, we have met breifly before. I was just having a conversation with Prince Christian here, seems to be a good man, just woman crazed, but aren't we all?"