Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Prince Michael of Kent reigned in his horse when Kent Castle came back into view. The prince was tall and handsome in a certain way. He did not possess the "Prince Charming" vibe, he was attractive in a more ragged manner, with a square jaw, dark eyes, an athletic body and rough hands. He was known as arrogant, cool and sarcastic. Michael had served in his father's army, proving himself on the battlefield. Now there was peace, and his father was very, very ill. And today was "the" day. The princess of Navarre was to arrive here at the palace. Michael took the time to take the horse back into the stables himself. If the Princess had already arrived she could wait. She was but a woman after all.
While Michael had always known that he would find himself in an arranged marriage, he still felt exasperation. He would have been content marrying one of the many cow-eyed damsels that flocked around him whereever he set foot. Now the Princess of Navarre? Michael tried to remember how she had been as a kid. Tried to compare that picture with the woman she had grown into. She was beautiful, but not his type. She had a sharp tongue. She was loud. She had very distinct opinions. Why her? Why not one of the princesses of Italy? Both were pretty, girlish, naive, easy to guide. They'd look good on his arm, they'd never question him. they were way too ignorant to give him hell because of one of his many affairs. And even if they knew about one of his maitresses, neither would say one single bad word. They would carry his sons and else leave him be. But no! Navarre it had to be! Michael glanced at the shadow of the sun clock close by the stables and rolled his eyes. The princess was expected to arrive shortly now.
Michael returned to the palace. He stopped by his rooms, washed his hands and his face, donned a fresh tunic. That'd have to do. With his father not able to rise from his sickbed many days, Michael was shouldering more and more of the tasks of a King. His sharp intellect and quick wit made up for his short temper. His advisors, the lord chancellor and his bursar had no reason to complain about his politics. The people of Kent were obsessed with him and loved him deeply. Visitors and diplomats from other countries were not overly amused by his impatience. He didn't hesistate to let them know if he disliked their proposals. Michael made his way into the reception hall. As always, he stood at his place to the right of the King's throne, one step behind the throne. He was clad in the woolen riding pants. boots and a blue tunic. His belt held his sword and a few pouches. His hair was braided, his face showing the mild smile of a monarch to be. His advisor stepped to him. whispering that the Princess had arrived about an hour ago, and that she was waiting. Michael nodded. "Then let me welcome her to Kent!" he spoke, nothing in his face or voice betraying how annoyed he was with the entire affair.
While Michael had always known that he would find himself in an arranged marriage, he still felt exasperation. He would have been content marrying one of the many cow-eyed damsels that flocked around him whereever he set foot. Now the Princess of Navarre? Michael tried to remember how she had been as a kid. Tried to compare that picture with the woman she had grown into. She was beautiful, but not his type. She had a sharp tongue. She was loud. She had very distinct opinions. Why her? Why not one of the princesses of Italy? Both were pretty, girlish, naive, easy to guide. They'd look good on his arm, they'd never question him. they were way too ignorant to give him hell because of one of his many affairs. And even if they knew about one of his maitresses, neither would say one single bad word. They would carry his sons and else leave him be. But no! Navarre it had to be! Michael glanced at the shadow of the sun clock close by the stables and rolled his eyes. The princess was expected to arrive shortly now.
Michael returned to the palace. He stopped by his rooms, washed his hands and his face, donned a fresh tunic. That'd have to do. With his father not able to rise from his sickbed many days, Michael was shouldering more and more of the tasks of a King. His sharp intellect and quick wit made up for his short temper. His advisors, the lord chancellor and his bursar had no reason to complain about his politics. The people of Kent were obsessed with him and loved him deeply. Visitors and diplomats from other countries were not overly amused by his impatience. He didn't hesistate to let them know if he disliked their proposals. Michael made his way into the reception hall. As always, he stood at his place to the right of the King's throne, one step behind the throne. He was clad in the woolen riding pants. boots and a blue tunic. His belt held his sword and a few pouches. His hair was braided, his face showing the mild smile of a monarch to be. His advisor stepped to him. whispering that the Princess had arrived about an hour ago, and that she was waiting. Michael nodded. "Then let me welcome her to Kent!" he spoke, nothing in his face or voice betraying how annoyed he was with the entire affair.