07-26-2013, 03:39 PM
Lord Landon Corey Ryan Reynold III sat with his back straight, shoulders square at the table in the Gold Room, where he and the princess were seated across from one another. He politely placed his napkin on his lap, looked up, and smirked at the lovely young woman seated across from him. True, her cheeks were a bit too full for traditional standards of beauty, her skin far too freckled and tanned even beneath the powder, but he promise of power that came alongside accepting a woman otherwise sub-par more than made up for it.
After all, the tan and freckles would fade, as he was not likely to let her outside or place her tiny paws on a weapon ever again. In fact, so far as he was concerned, she would never have to unnecessarily lift another petite finger again.
This he thought to himself as the princess expertly poured the tea for them both, stirring just the right amount of sugar in after. It was a tradition dating back to their great-grandparents' time; the hostess was to serve for tea to impress guests and show off how graceful she could be. Oh, and not to mention let suitors -like himself- get an eyeful of the lady's figure. And the figure was very fine, indeed. But the gloomy expression just wouldn't do, not at all.
“My Lady,” said he, “you mustn't look too down. It does nothing for your features.”
Cecilia, who had seated herself and poured a touch of lemon juice into her tea, looked up sharply. Her nostrils flared, and her very bones seemed to ache with the need to shift so she could tear him apart. For a moment she quivered in her rage, then shut her eyes, forcing her shoulders back, her chin high. She sucked in a deep and silent breath, then exhaled as silently, schooling all her features once more. But she couldn't resist a barb; “Perhaps there's more on my mind than what's most flattering to my features. Ever considered that?”
And he just laughed at her! Laughed! He was only afforded the title of Lord, and here he was acting her equal at best! A handsome, chiseled face, curling dark locks, and enchanting blue eyes could never make up for that arrogance. Were she not pinned down in a dress, corset, and far too many layers of petticoats, she would have shown him what she could do. But, as it were, she could barely swish her legs back and forth impatiently.
“How rich! You really have spent too long among those savages, haven't you?” Light danced across his deep sapphire eyes, and they crinkled at the corners. “Think you can equal a man now, right?” He laughed again and suddenly stood and strode toward her. “But a woman of gentle breeding can never be as deadly, as intelligent, as us.” The ugly smirk morphed itself into a snarl. Cecy saw the tensing of his muscles and tried to move, but tripped over her own petticoats and simply sort of flopped onto the floor.
“Don't- don't you touch me!” she snarled, attempting to crawl backward but slipping some more; really, a doll had more mobility than she did. “My- my father won't be pleased if- if you harm me.”
He clucked his tongue. “You were already promised to me, Cecilia. I'm not going to marr my future bride- but who's to say we have to wait until after out vows for-” he lunged forward and seized her by the neck in an expert way that made her very, very nervous, “-some fun?”
Just then, the doors burst open. “And what in the ever-loving **** is going on here?” came a deep growl. Both teens looked up to see Duke Brody, a large man in his forties, stride in, his -ahem- toy in tow. “Kids these days! Can't even wait until the wedding night!” he rolled his eyes, then looked specifically at Landon. “I need to talk to you, important business. Sorry to- ruin the mood.”
The young Lord stood and brushed himself off, then turned to Vixen. “Help her up; I'll be back.” He then headed off with Cecilia's uncle.
Cecy lay where she was, anting and rubbing her neck; she was in a sort of shock, and adrenaline still flooded her veins, making her shake.