Beauty & the Beast (Saber x Evette)

[Evette]

"Don't let your hair down," her friend, Ambrosia, had warned in the carriage ride. Her devious, clever eyes resting on Ambrosia's exposed shoulder; unto the waves of brown that cascaded down her breast and near her waist. She hated when Ambrosia pried and poked, but she had her point.

"And why is that?" Quintessa asked anyway, coy and mock-curious as she reread her maps. The carriage driver had told her less than an hour. Quintessa checked with the compass ruler, and estimated thirty minutes. Oh how she was ready to get out of the bumbling of the carriage, even if it meant onto greater, more terrible things. Like being a pawn to a monster of a man, or torn from all of her friends and family.

Gods, she hated her father.

"You know why. You will be too.." Sia trailed off bashfully, a warmth touching her cheeks.

"..enticing?" Quintessa ended, her dark eyes resting on her friend seriously.

"Darling, I am wearing lace and silk under this garish amalgamation of Borovian fashion, and you think my hair will be what does it? Really Ambrosia, could you please give me any better advice?" She asked with a sigh, her usual quiet nature erupting in irritation. A dark swoop of fear had been pooling in her belly since the news that she was to marry the Monster of Borovia, the King General who had so easily put her father and brothers on their knees. And here she was, a pawn in such games of thrones and borderlines.

She wanted to cry, but knew better. There was a sullen quietness about the carriage, and Ambrosia finally spoke up again.

"I wonder why he insisted on roses on your undergarments..? It sounds.." she trailed off again, and this time Tessa didn't finish the sentence.

"..romantic," she said zealously. Quintessa looked at her thoughtfully, finding it amusing her friend tried to make this seem like a good thing.

A dark, mysterious man, supposedly tall and powerful. They called him the Monster of Borovia, and the reasons why were never quite clear to the Arkan Princess. She assumed it was due to his nature.. and not, something more cynical in the realms of magic and demons. The want to touch another person, to feel the warmth and breath of a man on her neck was something she had dared dream in the darkest parts of her. Where her father wouldn't allow her to be courted by any person, tucking her away for such grand schemes as surrender or scape goats.

What a coward of a man. Quintessa sighed as she looked out the window to her new Kingdom. A darkly beautiful place, with hauntingly tall trees and a castle of awe on the horizon.

It was when the carriage driver finally slowed the cart in front of the beast of an artifice, did the real fear settle into her heart and stick viciously to her spine. She swallowed thickly and said goodbye to Ambrosia. A kiss on the cheek and a wave. And she was escorted to the castle.

"The King of Borovia," the butler announced with a showish bow and a grand gesture of his gloved hands. And Quintessa of Arka stepped into the dimly lit inner court. Holding her heavy, intricate dresses, she bowed demurely to the largeness of a man. Feeling his power hold attention of everyone in the room like a vice. She bowed to him out of respect, not power. She was not her father.

"A pure pleasure to finally meet you, your Majesty," she said, her voice all velvet and smoke. She waited for his response, not daring to peer at him.

 

[Revelations]

The Monster of Borovia, it almost had a pleasant sound to it. He certainly preferred king – but Monster wasn’t the worst thing one could be called. And a monster to the enemy, could still be a hero to those he fights for, and he was not one to stand idle. In matters of war, he fought at the front, and earned a name that was whispered in fear by knight and soldier.

But in times of peace, monsters had to be set aside, beasts had to be locked up, and caged. Not so easy to undertake this when that monster was a king, but there was a two faced nature about his little title. One of the faces simply rested on the throne, his dark hair framing a sharp, somewhat typical Borovian face. Sharp features, that typical black hair, a stern gaze almost unbefitting one his age. But, he carried himself with dignity and pride all the same, his royal fashion more subtle compared to the extravagance that other kingdoms had.

As one of his servants tapped upon the throne room door and arrived, it was a young courier, his hair somewhat of a mess as he arrived and knelt. “My lord, the princess should just be arriving now, I rode alongside her and was told to alert you when she arrived.” Looking the man over with one eye, the lord soon sat up straight, his hand setting aside the papers he had been reading.

“Thank you for your service. I assume she’s being brought directly here?” King Gabriel asked, rising as he looked to the window that saw over the courtyard. Borovian architecture was not vibrant and colorful, but it had its charm. A gothic style, rising peaks and darker colors, but meant to be evocative in their own way. Steeped doors, stained glass windows, a simpler and darker beauty that was their way of emulating their nation’s lands. Dark forests, vicious beasts, rays of hope sometimes fleeting... But always there.

Clad in darker clothes himself, Gabriel carried on with simple dignified grace, and as the butler announced him, he turned from the window, his gaze turning toward the princess, his queen to be.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess.” The accent was there, but muted in comparison to the knights she rode with, or the servants who greeted her. It was a charming voice, confident and warm, friendly... But he was king, and he did not mince words, nor show humility.

 

[Evette]

The architecture reminded the Princess of something darkly, with living, organic curves and tall, yawning entry-ways. Of buttresses that supported impossibly tall archways and keystones so far from reach, she could hardly see them.

And it was as if each click of her heel lead her further into the mouth of some formidable beast. But the Lady Quintessa continued on bravely, finding the small kernel of resolve in her ribs that reminded her she was from. The strong Arkan hesitage that reminded her that even in her father's capitulation, there was victory if she could reach her hands into the heart of a King.

And so she did her duty, bowed demurely before ever resting eyes on the creature that was Gabriel of Borovia.

There was no mistake in his Kingliness. Spartan and svelte in his attire where the Arkans loved their lace and nouveau. Dark colors that were so contrary to Arka's rich yellows and blossoming golds. And from beneath her thick lashes, she drank him in-- all of him.

And he was lovely, she acquiesced. Lovely in all the ways that forest fires might be lovely-- better in the distance than to be feared up close. Fear rested on her bare shoulders like a new friend, wishing to be acquainted. Still, with all the saintliness of the Pope of Arka, she offered a curve of her red lips. Parts of her wanted to be all knives beneath, something dangerous for this man and his Kingly visage, but that was feudal and childish. Not yet. Not until the monster showed his teeth would she dare cut her own.

"I dare hope you will find that the treaty is fulfilled by the Kingdom of Arka," she said, not daring to mention the money raped from her kingdom's vaults, or the men her father sacrificed. No, it was but a Queen that quenched these hungers of war.

"And we may have peace?"

 

[Revelations]

The kingdom itself did not seem to be a happy place – if such a thing was normal. There was an air of baroqueness even to the armor of the guards in the castle, no gleaming tabards or knightly crests, rather gray steel and well crafted arms at their sides, an ornate armor that belied the simplicity of it. Each set of main doors were looming and impressive, looking as if they were built for something far larger than mere mortals – angels, or even demons perhaps.

But once in the throne room, it was a different matter. Stained glass windows decorated parts of the walls, with a few being normal and clear glass to see the inner courtyard and lands beyond. With spring dawning, the clear sky outside shone in giving a more natural light for the king to stand in, strands of black hair illuminated by the corona behind him.

“Princess Quintessa.” As Gabriel approached, his boots tapped against hard stone floor, and then the carpet that draped a single striped area of the floor, from throne to door. Again, there was a lack of grandeur, almost intentionally so – aside from the stained glass, and a few simple portraits. Even the throne itself was wooden, finely crafted in a red hued timber, but lacking in grand ornate metals or jewelry. “Your father accepted my terms to his surrender. My armies have withdrawn.” The small smile that drew across his features was earnest, almost enthused in a way. “The war is over. You are to be my betrothed. I have no desire to strike against your people anymore. Arkans is free, its people can be at peace. As can mine.”

He took a few steps back to the throne, yet did not rest on it. “I suppose that does not set the mind at ease. Until recently, our people were enemies. I invaded your lands. I do not claim to be a good man nor do I expect you to believe me even if I said that. But I am to be your husband, and I intend to treat my future queen with all the respect and love that I can. In time, I hope you can see my people, as yours.” There was much to say, his mind racing as he went from thought to thought. Surely she could not be happy with this arrangement, surely she held rightful resentment against him.

But no matter what the case was, he sighed out somewhat, knowing things must be taken one step at a time.

 

[Evette]

She considered his statement, weighed the value of his words and wondered, with the utmost vigilance: was that integrity... even honesty there?

And she looked up at the beast of Borovia, at his dark eyes and curve of his mouth and wondered how many times he had been cruel to her people. She saturated herself in the blood shed and not shed, with this betrothal, and there was a dark lacquer about her eyes. Something beneath the hazel color and miles deep.

And he approached her with largeness, commanding the room's attention with the smallest of gestures. His subjects seemed loyal, his house the most guarded she could ask for. And while it was so contrary to her, it was beautiful. But there was something about him that was hidden in plain sight, something quite terrifying that she could not quite place in his presence-- sharing the same oxygen.

The Monster of Borovia, she reminded herself. She was to be with this man. And he was appealing, in all physical senses of the word. With his wide shoulders and jawline she could drag her teeth across. It was a small flame of feeling, one that rested in her spine and burned low and properly ignored.

She had wanted man, oh how that desire was there. To find a man of quality had been hard pressed. Amidst her turning down every princeling who thought himself brave for fighting six months in a father's war, or thought money was worth more than the price of power. She could see them plainly, living through a decade of savagery, watching her father fall apart before her. Oh how she had found eyes.

"Thank you," she said the two words with the weight of a nation atop them.

"For your honesty, your Majesty," she addressed again. He didn't pretend to be something he wasn't. He didn't try to flatter or gild the situation at hand. Truly, that was worth thanking. If nothing else.

"I am happy knowing my brothers and father will be safe," she said to him behind her mask of regency, not saying more on the subject. Not before her subjects that were still here.

"May we speak more privately, my Lord?" she asked then, wishing to shed some of the bounds of publicity, feeling their eyes crawl on her like spiders. Searching for a weakness. A walk would be nice, wanting to find this King alone. Maybe she could see what he truly was.

 

[Revelations]

His subjects were loyal, guards standing firm and tall, servants seeming proud of their work in the castle. There were no slaves, no forced labor. The man seemed young for a king but chose his words well. As she approached he was briefly taken aback, but said nothing as she looked upon him. Still he smiled, a small gesture as his hands moved to behind his back, listening to her words. Despite one eye being covered by a leather patch, the other looked into her eyes with intensity for two. “You are welcome.” After a silence, he spoke, a few of the guards idly looking upon them, the rest undoubtedly hearing but saying or doing nothing in response.

Gabriel was aware that in war, enemies were enemies and he had done enough savagery to see him hung were he an ordinary soldier. “Honesty is what nobility should strive for, is it not? And were I to lie, it would be found out sooner or later. My deeds and history speak for themselves.” She wanted somewhere private, and as he looked around, a finger pressed upon his chin.

“There are a few private places. I can have the courtyard emptied. The flowers are only now beginning to bloom, it’s quite beautiful. Or, if I may be blunt – there are no rooms as quiet and secreted away as my room, my lady.” Gabriel casually spoke, wondering how she’d take such a blunt suggestion. It was innocent enough, but the invitation to his room was a rather direct one.

“Either way, I can make sure we have all the privacy in the world. There are many things i’d like to discuss with you as well.”

 

[Evette]

His single eye seemed to smolder as it held her own, brave and audacious in his own right. She couldn't help but find it admirable, even for all his savagery that proceeded him in their wars. Just like a man to give such lovely ideals and lack of subtleties.

And the princess flustered a moment, unable to stop a smile that touched the edge of her lips in a truly innocent way. The servants were falling away, going about their duties and she found herself in a private space with the King. Her spine long and tall, and her chin tilted at an angle that was playful and coy.

Now, in ways, she had him alone, and the power subtly shifted.

"You are too bold, My Lord. Know if I wished for such ideal privacy in your quarters, you will not find yourself wondering," she spoke thoughtfully, her voice hushed in that way for secrets or desires.

She reached out a single gloved hand, taking his arm in the usual courting gesture. Quintessa enjoyed the weightiness of his bicep against her breast.

It was a smallest of touches, one that left a curled heat dancing pleasantly down her spine.

"The flower garden will do. Shall you lead us?" She asked, looking out the windows of her shoulder, the intricate laces of her dress wafting ghost-like behind her.

Quintessa knew of her reputation as the Arka Princess, one that gave away the subtlest of wants in the curve of her smile, and asked for no-one. Her father so loved her, that he did not marry her off at fourteen, letting the cold Princess do as she willed for five years, and only to become a bride of Borovia. She was cunning, and she knew her worth as a Queen, but did not likely know his as King. She had expected a brute of a man, with a large beard and a belly. And here she was, embracing something else entirely.

"Tell me, your Majesty," she would not say-- 'My King' or even his name. Not daring to let such intimacy play on her tongue.

"You speak of honesty, is there anything you wish to know of me? I know I have my share of curiosities about the King of Borovia myself."

 

[Revelations]

To him, honesty was a virtue that was best striven for, at least to those he was to dedicate himself to. A bride and a queen were things that a king must see to with absolute respect, and the thought of lying to her didn’t cross his mind beyond the lack of desire to. Leaning against her as she touched his toned and defined arm, even through the fabric of his shirt one could feel the warmth within, arm subtly flexing as he moved to step in line with her. “Is that so?” Gabriel replied back with idle amusement, tone hushed as they left the hall, his arm hooked around hers as Quintessa got a little more bold.

And despite them being more strangers, he enjoyed the touch. Leaning into her as he strode alongside her, his height did not impede him from being a tad more gentle with her, his pace ensuring he did not outpace her on their trip from throne, to garden. Servants parted way for their king and his fiance, and as they arrived at the inner courtyard, the few servants that were there soon left as his free hand made a dismissive motion in their direction. It was easy to find a shady patch under a growing free, flowers blooming in a myriad of colors from saffron to a rich and luxurious sapphire hue. A pleasant breeze only added to the comfortable nature of the setting, and there was nary an eye besides theirs.

“Here we are. Private enough, Princess? And please, if you must refer to titles, I would prefer Lord or Lord Gabriel. As for questions...” His smile flickered as thoughts raced through his mind, thinking of where to even begin. “A question for an answer. Does that sound fair? I ask, and you ask after your answer. Repeat till satisfied?” An exchange of sorts, rather than one interrogating the other.

 

[Evette]

He was impossibly warm, something she noticed upon touch. It sunk pleasantly into the flesh and warmed her where she had been cold before. She wanted to lean into him, an easy notion to simply rest her head on his tall shoulder. The cold princess did no such thing, however, capturing such thoughts before they got out of hand.

And he kept pace with her, and the walk was pleasant. The floors were made up of intricate geometric designs, crafted in dark rainbows of warm hues. The spaces they traveled had a kind of sanctuary appeal to them, reverend in their largeness and quieting to the spirit. Nothing like the organic ivory towers of her home, with their endless light and beauty of a different kind.

And they stepped out into the brightness of the afternoon. The sun far from the horizon, but the clouds infinite and scattered across a strange Borovian sky of azure and purple. The wind clung to the exposed parts of her, to the openess of her neck and breast, to her shoulders-- and she found her curled, gloved hand and reached up to touch the man's bicep, unthinkingly warming her.

She found herself quite vulnerable here, standing so alone with the largeness of the man. So vulnerable was the nature of the arrangement, she couldn't help but wish to temper and control it. Find her upper hand again. Not fall to such fears that were unfitting to an Arkan.

"Lord Gabriel," she tested his name on her tongue. The name that reminded her of the arch angel he was named after. She wondered if the name was fitting in his honor or terrible in his power.

"That sounds amiable," she agreed, a touch of a smile touching her lips.

"I will warn you, however, that secrets are more valued than platinum in my country. I trust that mine are well kept with you, My Lord?" She asked, enjoying the shade of the tree, but wishing to see the garden. She didn't know why she felt so open to the man. Maybe it was his alacrity that was so contagious. What a terrible thought to be so interested.