ScarlettRose
Star
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2017
- Location
- England
Looking for someone to write in a Medieval setting with me, I like romance and a real plot as well as scenes of passion so if you think you can play the Crown Prince then PM me please . . . Oh and I forgot to add, I's like to make a few more characters. One pairing in the story I was thinking were a brother and sister secretly in love. Like they're noble and he's much older and they've been in love but never able to be together or whatever. The details can be worked out. Here's a taster of my writing skills though . . .
There was strength in her heart and determination in her eyes and the will to survive resided in her soul. It was with quiet fortitude that Lady Arabella Kilburn had found herself at the Palace on the Prince's birthday against all the good council of her Lady mother and the rest of her family. Her exquisitely warm amber gaze scanned across the brightly lit castle and all the merriment within it. She had not seen such grandeur since the days of her childhood.
War had torn to shreds any peace that ever existed in her life and six years on she was still suffering. But the dowager Countess was resolute in changing that tonight. Thanks to the invitation her mother and father, Viscount Morley and Viscountess Morley had received Arabella had been able to attend with them and the rest of the family. However, unlike the other party goers here enjoying themselves at the Royals expense, Arabella was here with a completely different purpose in mind.
It was not hard to spot the Prince. He was shrouded by a swarm of lovely young ladies. Nervousness moved her insides like a pebble when dropped into a pond created ripples. Despite the anxiety she steeled herself with indomitability that came with having a core of iron. As her mother often comment, Arabella astoundingly was the source of her own strength. She clasped her hands tightly together against the gorgeously bejeweled gown she'd borrowed from her sister, for she could never afford anything so splendid, not anymore; as she waited impatiently for her moment. It wasn't too long before she spotted the Prince moving. Sending a silent prayer up to the heavens she made to follow after him inconspicuously from a distance.
The castle was a labyrinth and as Arabella made her way in her frenzied state of mind she forgot everything she'd rehearsed she'd say when she got her moment. Panic erupted inside her. Panic at forgetting those crucial words. Panic as she lost the Prince. Her breathing was laboured and any moment now she was going to break out into a cold sweat. Fortunately someone up there must have been looking out for her as she heard voices and walked quickly towards them.
Rushing forward, she walked right into the middle of it. She stopped dead in tracks with her mouth agape as a lovely young girl curtsied in front of the Prince. Not long after when Arabella came to her senses she dropped down instantly into a deep curtsy herself. Her beautiful velvet crimson gown pooled around her, hanging off creamy white shoulders whilst hair so pale it was almost silver shone in the moonlight like spun gold.
"I beg of your Highness's indulgence and forgiveness." She spoke quickly, knowing it wasn't the done thing to do, to speak before you were spoken to. But what could she do? With a downwards cast gaze, Arabella continued, her elegantly striking profile hidden; almost ethereal in it's beauty. "I did not mean to-that is . . . I did not mean to interrupt your Highness. But I desired an audience with your Highness and . . . and . . ." She struggled having forgotten what she wanted to say. You can do this. Arabella told herself, taking a deep breath, composed herself. Her gaze still downcast locked in the deep curtsy. Humbling herself before the Crown Prince. "I beg of your highness to bare with me as a friend with a friend or a man with his spouse." Arabella dared to glance up at him but for a short moment before her gaze dropped back down. Her heart raced. She had expect a boy. But he was all man. She barely recognised him and she highly doubted he'd recognise her. Why would he? They'd met but once. At her wedding to his cousin the Earl of Rochester over ten years ago. He'd been a young boy of eight who she'd sneaked a sweet plum to when he was allowed no more.
"For you Your Highness are a friend to all your people. I with all myself worth and dignity lay myself at your mercy." Arabella continued in a self-effacing manner but she could not separate her self-worth no matter how she tried. Her pride bristled at that. Yet genteel poverty had her on her knees. Humiliating and degrading as it was; there were worse things people did for love. "My husband, your cousin committed treason and I do not deny that Your Highness. He was wrong and God punished him fairly making him pay for all his sins. Against you, your family and the Holy order. But I beseech Your Highness." Arabella clasped her hands in front of her in a imploring gesture. "I only ask for Your Highness's mercy to return what is rightfully my sons and I promise you he will serve you and yours until his dying breath."
Silence filled the air. Her heart hammered against her chest so loud she wondered if he could hear it too. She was waiting for the orders to the guard's she imagined him calling to take her away. Arabella didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be on her knees begging for her son's right. For his inheritance. His lands were in the hands of the crown. They had been taken when her husband had gone against the crown, wanting the throne for himself and been felled in battle. Lord Rochester had not only lost his life that day but he'd lost his family's dignity as well as all their possessions. What had she and her unborn son done to deserve that? She had begged her husband not to take up this foolishness. No good ever came from going against the crown. But he'd been blinded by greed and the lust for power. Now at the age of twenty and three Arabella and her five year old son were forced too accept the charity of her kind parents who risked their own fortunes by harboring a traitors widow and heir. Six long years on that charity. This was her only chance. For she had wrote to the old King and begged and begged and never heard anything in response. She could hardly blame them but she and her son had done nothing wrong and they were more than willing to spend the rest of their days as servants to the Crown as they rightfully should. She'd raise her boy to always bow to the King.
Yet Arabella knew what the Royalty feared; a traitors son would grow to be a traitor himself. She would not allow that to happen. Not for as long as she breathed, Arabella promised herself as she awaited the Prince's command . . .
There was strength in her heart and determination in her eyes and the will to survive resided in her soul. It was with quiet fortitude that Lady Arabella Kilburn had found herself at the Palace on the Prince's birthday against all the good council of her Lady mother and the rest of her family. Her exquisitely warm amber gaze scanned across the brightly lit castle and all the merriment within it. She had not seen such grandeur since the days of her childhood.
War had torn to shreds any peace that ever existed in her life and six years on she was still suffering. But the dowager Countess was resolute in changing that tonight. Thanks to the invitation her mother and father, Viscount Morley and Viscountess Morley had received Arabella had been able to attend with them and the rest of the family. However, unlike the other party goers here enjoying themselves at the Royals expense, Arabella was here with a completely different purpose in mind.
It was not hard to spot the Prince. He was shrouded by a swarm of lovely young ladies. Nervousness moved her insides like a pebble when dropped into a pond created ripples. Despite the anxiety she steeled herself with indomitability that came with having a core of iron. As her mother often comment, Arabella astoundingly was the source of her own strength. She clasped her hands tightly together against the gorgeously bejeweled gown she'd borrowed from her sister, for she could never afford anything so splendid, not anymore; as she waited impatiently for her moment. It wasn't too long before she spotted the Prince moving. Sending a silent prayer up to the heavens she made to follow after him inconspicuously from a distance.
The castle was a labyrinth and as Arabella made her way in her frenzied state of mind she forgot everything she'd rehearsed she'd say when she got her moment. Panic erupted inside her. Panic at forgetting those crucial words. Panic as she lost the Prince. Her breathing was laboured and any moment now she was going to break out into a cold sweat. Fortunately someone up there must have been looking out for her as she heard voices and walked quickly towards them.
Rushing forward, she walked right into the middle of it. She stopped dead in tracks with her mouth agape as a lovely young girl curtsied in front of the Prince. Not long after when Arabella came to her senses she dropped down instantly into a deep curtsy herself. Her beautiful velvet crimson gown pooled around her, hanging off creamy white shoulders whilst hair so pale it was almost silver shone in the moonlight like spun gold.
"I beg of your Highness's indulgence and forgiveness." She spoke quickly, knowing it wasn't the done thing to do, to speak before you were spoken to. But what could she do? With a downwards cast gaze, Arabella continued, her elegantly striking profile hidden; almost ethereal in it's beauty. "I did not mean to-that is . . . I did not mean to interrupt your Highness. But I desired an audience with your Highness and . . . and . . ." She struggled having forgotten what she wanted to say. You can do this. Arabella told herself, taking a deep breath, composed herself. Her gaze still downcast locked in the deep curtsy. Humbling herself before the Crown Prince. "I beg of your highness to bare with me as a friend with a friend or a man with his spouse." Arabella dared to glance up at him but for a short moment before her gaze dropped back down. Her heart raced. She had expect a boy. But he was all man. She barely recognised him and she highly doubted he'd recognise her. Why would he? They'd met but once. At her wedding to his cousin the Earl of Rochester over ten years ago. He'd been a young boy of eight who she'd sneaked a sweet plum to when he was allowed no more.
"For you Your Highness are a friend to all your people. I with all myself worth and dignity lay myself at your mercy." Arabella continued in a self-effacing manner but she could not separate her self-worth no matter how she tried. Her pride bristled at that. Yet genteel poverty had her on her knees. Humiliating and degrading as it was; there were worse things people did for love. "My husband, your cousin committed treason and I do not deny that Your Highness. He was wrong and God punished him fairly making him pay for all his sins. Against you, your family and the Holy order. But I beseech Your Highness." Arabella clasped her hands in front of her in a imploring gesture. "I only ask for Your Highness's mercy to return what is rightfully my sons and I promise you he will serve you and yours until his dying breath."
Silence filled the air. Her heart hammered against her chest so loud she wondered if he could hear it too. She was waiting for the orders to the guard's she imagined him calling to take her away. Arabella didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be on her knees begging for her son's right. For his inheritance. His lands were in the hands of the crown. They had been taken when her husband had gone against the crown, wanting the throne for himself and been felled in battle. Lord Rochester had not only lost his life that day but he'd lost his family's dignity as well as all their possessions. What had she and her unborn son done to deserve that? She had begged her husband not to take up this foolishness. No good ever came from going against the crown. But he'd been blinded by greed and the lust for power. Now at the age of twenty and three Arabella and her five year old son were forced too accept the charity of her kind parents who risked their own fortunes by harboring a traitors widow and heir. Six long years on that charity. This was her only chance. For she had wrote to the old King and begged and begged and never heard anything in response. She could hardly blame them but she and her son had done nothing wrong and they were more than willing to spend the rest of their days as servants to the Crown as they rightfully should. She'd raise her boy to always bow to the King.
Yet Arabella knew what the Royalty feared; a traitors son would grow to be a traitor himself. She would not allow that to happen. Not for as long as she breathed, Arabella promised herself as she awaited the Prince's command . . .