Delicate notes spilled gently into the silence of the room, the soft murmur of voices and laughter joining only every now and then, like harmonies. Sat upon the wide piano stool by Isabella's new harpischord, Octavien was rather struggling, doing his best to keep focused on the task at hand; teaching Isabella one of his own very first compositions. She didn't know it, simply because he hadn't told her, but it had been written when he was only thirteen. For some reason, he was reluctant to tell her that, as he suspected it would conjure mental images of him as a child in her mind, and that... That was something he did not want. Call it his male ego, his need to be a grown, virile man, but as he was young enough already, he felt he needn't make her imagine him even younger.

The reason for his difficulties to keep his mind focused, was simple. Isabella. Always Isabella. Lately, whenever he was distracted, it was her doing. The lack of sleep that had turned him somewhat distanced during his morning procedure, the faint smile that had lingered on his lips when he'd gone riding, the way that Gilles sometimes had to repeat himself several times before Octavien had even registered that he was talking. Though it had only revealed itself when he was alone, or with his servants, with no other courtiers around. In the presence of outsiders, he seemed to slip behind his mask as easily as Isabella did. Though perhaps his was a bit easier to slip into than Isabella's was, as his mask was still one to show far more emotion than hers.

It wasn't that he was lovestruck, for in all honesty, he did not know if it was truly love. No, the best word to describe it, would be 'overwhelmed'. There was so much she had brought with her into his life. So much to think about. Titles, wealth, joys, sorrows, wit, excitement... Raging passion. Especially now, sitting right next to her, Octavien found it difficult not to get carried away, to capture her lips with his own and make her his prisoner, make her forget all about the melody he was supposed to teach her.

They had crossed borders last night. Isabella had shown a side he had never been allowed to see before, that he doubted anyone had really, and he so longed to explore it further, to delve deep into her psyche and learn what went on inside that head of hers.
At the same time, he didn't mind that he couldn't. He really didn't mind. He enjoyed her company immensly, whether it was in bed, sharing said raging passion, or just sitting here, teaching her to play a simple melody on an instrument that had brought them together in the first place.
And, as she seemed quite determined to not quit until her fingers danced fairly smoothly over the keys, producing the same tune his did, he soon pulled himself together and set all his distracting thoughts and observations aside.

While she played, her fingers gently guided by his hands when they seemed to be about to wander down the wrong path, he began to try and explain the flow of the melody to her, what is was about and what had been on his mind when he had written it, to give her the feel of it all, rather to explain each note seperately, and thus make the lesson educational, but oh, so very boring. To Octavien, feeling the music, understanding it on an emotional level, was the most important thing when learning to play. Music and passion went hand in hand, and without an emotional understanding, there could be no passion. Logic had little to do with it, it didn't have to be explained. Only felt.

She had just started a nearly perfect try, following this explanation of his, and was nearing the finale, when suddenly, their voices and the music was no longer the only sound breaking the silence. Without warning, the double doors flew open, causing a beautiful vase to tip over and end in a burst of shards on the floor, putting a violent end to this Isabella's most recent, and most successful attempt at the melody yet.

The less than subtle interruption sent Octavien to his feet in the bat of an eye, alarmed, thinking perhaps the King had somehow found out about what was going on between his wife and the new Prince, his own daughter's husband. Imagine his surprise when in stormed a man that he didn't know, that he had never even seen before.

"Ahh, so finally I’ve found you", the stranger said as his gaze locked on Isabella, who despite her shock had remained seated by the harpsichord.

Octavien could but stare, too surprised to say anything, to surprised to even try and sort out the jumble of questions that were crashing down on him like waves on a stormy oceans. Only one seemed to emerge a full, comprehendable one; What was this intrusion?

"I’m sorry your Majesty, I tried to tell him you were busy."

Hurrying after the man was a horrified servant, a young girl that indeed seemed unlikely to be able to stop such brute, even if attempting to do it by force. Or rather, especially if attempting to do it by force. And as if to prove that very observation, her bumbling apologies were cut short by a rumbling laugh from the man, before he continued his blaring;

"Oh, this explains a lot. Why Isabella, you never cease to amaze me."

With the initial shock ebbing away, Octavien blinked as he registered the way the man approached the very Queen. His demanding voice, his use of her first name, and not even the hint of a bow in sight. Who was this boor? And what did he want with Isabella?

"Marqess Berini."

Beside him, Isabella had stood as well, and was now answering one of his many questions by presenting the name of the offender. Although the name itself did little to explain who he really was, the way she said it - firmly, yet somehow lacking her usual will-breaking authority - sent a bad feeling shooting straight to Octavien's gut, and earned her an odd glance. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but found it difficult to keep his mind from venturing down the path he feared the most.

"Oh Isabella!" the man exclaimed with the exaggeration of a bad, bad actor. "Why have I been demoted in your eyes? So far back as to a title? Surely with all we’ve shared you could at least grant me the favor of remaining on a first name basis?"

Again, Octavien's eyes darted ever so briefly to Isabella, only to find that he seemed to be correct in his suspicions that this was a man of whose existence he would wish he had never learned. Tension was claiming her body as she waved a hand to the servant girl, sending her off to get help, and a scarlet hue spilled across her pale cheeks. Of anger, or embarrassment, it was impossible to tell. Perhaps at this moment, they were one and the same.
And hadn't that observation of Isabella's appearance been enough for her gossamer-haired lover to grasp the situation, Marquess Berini's next statement soon told him everything he needed to know. And quite frankly, a whole lot more.

"So, this is how a new Prince was chosen?" he purred viscously as he stalked closer, his gaze momentarily landing on Octavien as if assessing his worth, before returning to the Queen. "I must say Isabella, the rewards for bedding you have significantly improved. So much so I feel cheated."

From the moment he had walked in, something had stirred within Octavien. Something that with every disrespectful word the man uttered grew stronger and stronger. Something dark, something fierce.
Rage.
Now, the most recent chapter of Berini's irreverent tirade sent the young man's temper flaring. His jaw tightened with anger restrained, and if looks could kill, the Marquess would have been short-lived indeed. Unfortunately, they could not, and so the only thing Octavien could do to defend Isabella, without risking turning into an uncivilized brute himself, was to fight words with words. However, before he could even open his mouth to speak, Isabella's own rage got the better of her.

"Federico!"

Her tone was sharp and vehement, but despite the anger in her voice, her yell did little but amuse the Marquess, as a most smug +crack parted his lips. In fact, Octavien would dare say it was because of her anger, because of the fact that he had forced an honest, unbridled reaction from her. And it seemed Isabella herself realized the very same thing, as when next she spoke, it was with much more restraint, yet still not her usual, brass-bound confidence.

"You assume much."

Words that seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the Marquess.

"Do I?" he scoffed, as his long strides kept diminishing the distance between himself and the woman he was a fool to try and intimidate.

A fool, not only because she was the Queen, but because she was in the company of a man that was not about to let the Marquess get within five feet of her. Octavien would shed every single layer of nobility he had and throw himself at the Marquess before that ever happened. In the blink of an eye, he had placed himself infront of Isabella, right in Federico's path. He still said nothing, as anything that was bound to come out of his mouth would soon remove all doubt of his and Isabella's involvement. But the smoldering gaze that locked on Federico was unyielding to the very core, promising an eternity of fire and brimstone if the man was to lay even one finger on her.
It was an act that succeeded where Isabella's words had failed. It halted Federico's menacing progression, the surprise of suddenly finding Octavien in his parth bringing him to a complete standstill. But it didn't silence his impertinent tounge. As soon as he'd overcome his initial reaction, a patronizing smile crept onto his lips.

"Enjoy the ride while it lasts", he said, and then made a quick pause before finishing with one word simply dripping with disdain; "Prince."

It was nothing but sheer will power that kept Octavien from sending the man flying backwards. Despite doning the somewhat slender frame of an aristocrat, the many hours spent riding and fencing had left him with the strength and agility of a fighter, and at this very moment he wished for nothing more than to see the face of the Marquess crack against the hard floor.
But a gentleman never took the first swing, and that thought was the only thing that made Octavien remain standing right where he was, with his arms kept along his sides. Though Federico probably wouldn't have had to say much more to push him over the edge. Luckily, the reinforcement that Isabella had sent for chose this very moment to barge through the open doors, which made the Marquess back off. But not before taking things from bad to worse.

"Let me know when she’s had someone killed for you", he said as he started moving back towards the doors and the three servants that were waiting to 'escort' him from the upper floor. "Oh, and she’s rather ticklish in the small of her back."

His brown gaze broke from Octavien's piercingly icey one, and shifted onto what little he could see of Isabella behind the Prince.

"Aren't you, beautiful?" he added sweetly.

Behind Octavien, Isabella stiffened, the words of the Marquess obviously stabbing at her like daggers. Octavien, on the other hand, had now closed his ears to whatever gall spilled forth from Federico's lips, realizing the man's only intention at this point was to cause as much damage as he possibly could.
But, as fate would have it, just as he walked out the doors, Federico managed to find the one thing that penetrated that defense;

"I wonder how the King will take to finding out the truth about his son-inlaw?"

Had he not just disappeared out of the Salon at that very moment, leaving them with only the echo of his voice, Octavien feared he would've killed him. Literally, with his bare hands. Federico had just made them go from being rid of all tangible threats, to having one looming over them, twice as dark and menacing as any of the previous ones.

Once again, silence filled the room.
But this time, there was no music or laughter to shatter it. No uneven melody, no soft words of praise. Only a complete, deafening silence.

Octavien was struggling to control his temper, to not set off after Marquess Berini and challenge him to a duel. He couldn't. He was the Prince, and thus could not participate in such a deed, nor would he be allowed to risk his life. And even if he would win, it would mean he'd send the Marquess into eternity as a man with his honor intact. A cretin like that did not deserve an honorable death.
Thus, Octavien remained rooted to the floor, left to battle the myriad of feelings that were raging through him instead. He was sad, disappointed, hurt. But most of all, he was angry. Angry at the Marquess, angry at Isabella, and angry at himself. At the Marquess for causing such a scene, for humiliating Isabella, for insulting Octavien, for threatening them both. For being!
He was angry at Isabella for not telling him one of her past lovers was here, but most of all for just that; having had other lovers. He was mad at her for having a past, for the fact that the affair she was having with him was not her first. And he was mad at himself for being unfair. He knew he had no right to be upset with her simply because he wasn't her first. She had been caught in a loveless, unaffectioante marriage for years. It was understandable that she had sought the comfort of other men's embrace.
But, right now, thinking like that did little to help him calm down. He was angry just the same.

And it made him unable to turn around. He didn't want to look at Isabella with eyes shooting daggers and accusations. He didn't want to open his mouth and have something hurtful and cruel come out. She didn't deserve it. It wasn't her fault. But if he turned now, he knew he would be unable to stop himself.
He wanted to walk out. He wanted to leave the room without looking back, to calm down and sort out his thoughts alone, in peace. But he couldn't. If he left without a word, without even a glance, he would hurt her.
Perhaps he already had? By refusing to turn, to even move, he was denying her the reassurance she might seek, or the confirmation that he had no reassurance to offer. Perhaps a reaction, any reaction, would be better than none at all. Perhaps his motionless statue of a body was what would hurt her the most?

Almost as though she had read his mind, or he had spoken out loud, it was in the very next moment he felt her touch. Gentle fingers pressing cautiously against his shoulders over the fabric of his coat, asking him, begging him to please turn around.
How could he refuse? If he didn't turn now, it would be the same as leaving without a word.

And so he did. Reluctantly he turned to finally face Isabella, and allow her to look at him. Though he met her gaze only for the briefest of moments, before lowering it to the floor. He couldn't look at her. Her eyes shone with concern. She was setting aside the humiliation she herself had just suffered, out of worry for him, and all he had to offer was anger and hurt. It was unreasonable, and it was unfair. But it was all he had. Somewhere deep down, he did feel the need to look at her, to take her in his arms and comfort her. But it was a need he couldn't grasp, a need that was being tossed back and forth by the waves of rage, just beyond his reach, left to drown in his inner turmoil. He struggled to reach it, searched for it desperately so that he could show that while he may not be fine, he still cared for her, and that his state was not important, as it was she who had had been made to suffer the most by Federico's verbal assault. For a moment, he thought he had it in his grip. But just as he started to speak, it slipped away, and his first words became something he had not intended.

"So... That was one of them. How many more should I expect to encounter?"

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he could've bit his tounge just to silence himself. But it was too late, and in an attempt to show that he was not done, he took a deep breath, silencing her in turn.

"I'm sorry", he said while closing his eyes for a moment as though he was battling an inner demon for control. "I didn't mean that. I..."

Again he paused, and then his shoulders slouched, as if he was giving up.

"I think it would be best if we were to talk another time", he said. "If I am to say something now, I fear it will be most harsh and unjust. You should not be made to listen to it."

With that, he turned again to take his leave.

((OOC: Okay... last one for the RP night for me.))

Isabella’s eyes longed to make contact with his. Their eyes had been able to hold whole conversations, without the aid of words. Surely she would learn something from his eyes. But as he turned around, his eyes looked to her own only momentarily before they quickly darted away. The act held a cloud of gloom over her head. Just moments ago, they had sat, side by side on the bench of her harpsichord. Their laughter and whispers being the music in the air entwined with the rough melodies that tried to come from her fingers. Now where she had seen only affection and desire, she saw something else entirely. Still she did not speak, as he seemed to be trying to find something within himself, perhaps something to say.

"So... That was one of them. How many more should I expect to encounter?"

Though she had not expected his words to be warm, those were far more frigid than she had anticipated. They came with such force that she nearly had to take a step back due to loss of balance. The shock of their brutality drained her face of any hope she had been holding onto. Now all she could do was struggle to maintain her dignity. If those words had been uttered by any other soul, she would have sought that soul’s damnation. But these came from someone she had given a piece of herself to. Instead of infuriating her, they stung. She had received many assaults from the Marquess, but it was Octavien’s words that cut her the deepest.

Isabella was not given long to struggle as Octavien quickly inhaled deeply, signaling he wasn’t finished. “I’m sorry…” he shut his eyes. Isabella did not hear the apology as one of being sorry his words had hurt, more as sorry that he had stepped out of line. "I didn't mean that. I..." for the first time since their fateful meeting in the woods, the silence between them was anything but comfortable. Isabella was torn. Her natural reflexes desired to yell at him to leave, yet at the same time she wished he’d just hold her. If he would embrace her he’d be reminded of the connection they had made, of the joy that they had shared. She felt as if everything she had been given since meeting him was being torn away from her. The laughter, the passion, the sensitive moments, none of them were there with them now.

"I think it would be best if we were to talk another time", he began, still unwilling to look upon her. Isabella wondered if his lack of eye contact was because he did not wish to see any hurt he had caused her, or simply because he no longer wished to behold her sight.

"If I am to say something now, I fear it will be most harsh and unjust. You should not be made to listen to it." His words had been very distant compared to what they usually shared. They were the words of a noble, kind man, not of a companion, nor a lover. When he turned to walk away, Isabella just stood, motionless. It was as if the shock of the moment had rendered her unable to move, to react even in the slightest. As scenes of the entire awful episode played through her mind, she suddenly found herself fighting something else, an enemy she had not faced since her childhood… Tears.

Once he left the room entirely, she swallowed hard, finally collapsing onto the harpsichord bench that was still behind her. Her eyes drifted up, as to plead with the powers that be to let all of this be a big horrible joke. The whole thing had caused her such pain that she had nothing to compare it to. She recalled how not so long ago she would chastise a woman who was acting as she was now. She had never truly opened up to anyone, and this was why. It was far easier being a lonely cold queen, than it was to be a true feeling woman.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, having lost the fight, a silent tear rolled down her cheek. As she stood somberly, she brought her hand to her face to gently wipe it away. Her body felt heavy, as if it were filled with lead. A weight she carried back to her suite, to find the comfort of solace as she was sure there were more tears on their way.

(( wow how can you find so much to say... that is actually relevant.... I officially give up reading novels I'm just going to re-read this thread, it's cheaper and just as good ))

((OOC: lol Fayreview... you can tell we had been working on the big drama scene for a while. Most of that was pre-written. I'm thankful for your response, as I'm glad someone besides Atropa and I enjoyed it.

About 12 hours till the new morning, and new thread!))

Sorry guys, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to drop out of this RP Life is really getting to me, and I'm leaving S2C for a while to sort out my problems. I'm sorry about this, really really sorry.

((Oh no! Geeway.... well be sooo sad to see you go! but you must do what you need to do, we hope your life gets better!))

((OOC: GeeWay- I hope things settle down for you soon. Thanks for letting us know.

Everyone else- I am going to post the new thread after I'm done with this post. The RP is going through a slight name change. The continuation of this RP will be called "The Vipers' Nest." The morning announcement will be posted there to start our new day.

Update on how I am planning to handle the loss of GeeWay, as her character is instrumental to the functioning of this RP. This RP day, Adalita is found sick in her quarters. The next RP morning will find that she has died.
The loss of the princess demands a new character be created to make suggestions to the king. I have come up with a character that is an "Old Friend" of the King's. This character position will be open for any forum member to take over. (That is NOT already participating.) This character will hold the same function as the Princess did keeping the mechanics of the game balanced. Since the game does need to be balanced, there will not be any suggestions made to the king until this new person is found.

If there are any questions, feel free to PM me!))

Posting for non-purge purposes.