Caught in the moment, not even thinking twice,
Everything's frozen, nothing but you and I.
¶Why Don't We––Fallin'¶

   Ä̤ Ẅ̤Ö̤M̤̈Ä̤N̤̈––adorned in the silkiest of ball gowns coloured a lovely navy blue and a crown sat atop her jet-black hair which winked at the sheer touch of illumination––looked at her reflection in the looking glass, lost in thought.

   "When is my betrothed to arrive?" she channeled the question to her Royal Advisor, who had stayed mute all the while.

   "They were caught by an unexpected blizzard on the eastern borders and their journey was hindered. Hence, their advent is indeterminable, Your Majesty," he replied and she nodded.

   "What did you say his name was again?" she asked, not a change in her tone.

   "Crown Prince Rafael Hernando of Zejardo, Your Majesty," he answered with a smooth tone and to that the Queen nodded once again.

   A storm brew in Napoleon's (the Royal Advisor) mind, uncertain of whether to out it or not. Alas, he took a deep breath and prepared for the worst.

   "Your Majesty, I believe you are aware of the consequences Troyes will suffer if you do not agree to-"

   "You speak, only when spoke to, Napoleon," the Queen cut him short and shot him a glare through the looking glass, making eye contact for the first time.

   "And aye, I am indeed aware of the consequences that Troyes will suffer if I do not succumb to Nayern's orders. However, what you fail to notice is that if I do hand over Duke Alain for due punishment in Nayern, the people of his duchy will start to be dubious about me and invite others to join them in forming a coup to overthrow the monarchy," she finished, her tone calm despite the emotions swirling within her being.

    "There is also the fact that failure to hand over the Duke to the Nayern Emperor will wage a war with the Emperor having a good reason to initiate said war because of the supposed assassination the Crown Princess of Nayern. Troyes will suffer miserably since Nayern is in possession of the strongest army in the realm, Your Majesty." The Queen let out a sigh. Her Royal Advisor was correct, both ways were liable and would lead to a war of some sort. The thought had been bothering her ever since she received the letter from the Nayern Emperor a fortnight ago.

   "Let us leave it at that and ponder on it later, dismissed," she commanded and Napoleon nodded his head before leaving. She walked towards the adjoining room filled with volumes of books on facts all about Troyes: her library.

   Plopping herself down on the plushy chair in front of her desk, she stared at the fire that roared heartily in it's hearth, providing much needed warmth in the cold room. Her eyes wandered to the big portrait on the East wall, one where her entire family was smiling happily and glee shone in their eyes. The same pain shot through her heart; an aching for her family. They meant the realm to her, that was, before they drowned at sea.

   They had set sail for Gael, to visit her grandmother. It was a tradition they had kept every year and which she wasn't a part of because of her accursed sea sickness. Reports had already come in from the sailors that the tides had turned and they were unfit for travel, but, they had heard none of it only to perish at sea.

   Tears threatened to fall out of her eyes but she sucked it in.

   This is not a time to sit and mourn. Your mourning period is long gone. Now, you are the Queen of Troyes and you need to find a way to get out of this sticky predicament you are in.

   Her mind chided her, but she couldn't help her eyes from going back to the portrait. They landed on a particular pair of slate blue eyes which were almost identical to hers.

   If Papa were here, he would have solved it all in a heartbeat. She thought when an idea struck her. Stepping out of her mahogany desk, she hurriedly walked to the escritoire opposite it.

   She settled in and pulled a drawer to remove a quill pen and a parchment paper. If she couldn't be able to solve it on her own, she would vie for a renegotiation, not that they had even negotiated the terms before. The Nayern Emperor had just sent a letter to her indicating the choices she had.

      5th November, III year of Queen Devereux of Troyes' reign,
      Devereux castle,
      Troyes.

To His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Joffrey Schneider of Nayern,

    Salutations to you and your folk! 'Tis to my utter hope that you are fairing rather well in your prosperous Empire. I heard that your wife is of child and I send my prayers on your behalf so that she may have a successful delivery.

   Now that we are done with the mandatory formalities, let us get down to the true reason that I write to you.

   I find it undeniably unfair that you put me between a rock and a hard place: a dilemma. For starters, with all due respect, you are not even certain that my noble is the one who assassinated your late daughter––rest her soul. I know the pain that one goes through after suffering a loss, but, please, do not turn your grief into hatred and channel it towards us.

   You see, Duke Alain is known to be the most meek and most reasonable person in the entire Crown Council and charging him of such is simply implausible. And if I am to hand him over to you (by no means), I would be impetously testing my Council's trust. They would fear that I wouldn't hesitate to get rid of them if any threatening matter comes up.

   Well then, with that, I set my quill pen down and seek solace in your swift reply, or better yet, gracing me with your presence in my kingdom so as to negotiate the terms.

   Yours faithfully, Queen Devereux of Troyes.

   It was a succinct letter that carried all that she wished to convey. The room had grown dim as the last rays of sunlight kissed her library shelves. Time had flown by fast. Snowflakes started falling down the grey sky, grazing her glass shutters as the grandfather clock in the room slowly chimed, signalling seven o'clock. A light knock resounded in the room, putting a halt to the peaceful quiet that surrounded it.

   "Come in," she called and Napoleon stepped in and bowed.

   "Your Majesty, your guests are awaiting you," he said and she nodded then dismissed him. She got up and let out another sigh. Despite being a Queen, she wasn't fond of the ample balls that were thrown on an annual basis for every little thing that occurred. They lasted the entire night and all of them were filled by nothing but pretense.

   Torches lined either side of the walls and provided enough light to guide her. Upon noticing Her Majesty's coming, the Herald made a perfunctory bow before throwing open the huge oak doors that led to the Ball Room.

   "Announcing, Her Majesty, Queen Devereux of Troyes!" The entire room sunk into reverences as she glided down the stairs, but, instead of heading to the dais, she set her sights on a certain Duke, seeking to have a word with him before hand.

   "Duke Alain, Duchess Amèlie," she said and continued out loud, "You all may rise." The act was followed by the chatter that had surrounded the room before her arrival.

   "Excusez-moi, can I take your husband away from you, my Lady?" she asked the Duchess respectfully and she nodded her head, granting her permission to do so, not that she could ever say no to Her Majesty.

   With that, Duke Alain swept her away to the dance floor and so the music began. They first danced in silence until she spoke up.

   "Duke Alain, I fear that I bare unfavorable tidings for you. The Emperor of the Nayern Nations has charged you for assassinating his daughter." She was straightforward and didn't beat about the bush. His countenance grew ashen and a fleeting emotion flashed through his eyes so quick, that she was almost not able to decipher it, but, she did.

   It was fear.

   "Your Majesty, don't tell me you believe him?" His words had a pleading tone to it and his eyes looked desperate. Duke Alain was a man in his early thirties who had wed not too long ago, hence such behaviour was unexpected. But, she met his eyes with ice coldness. Even if he was innocent and didn't tend to do violent things, it didn't mean that he didn't have skeletons in his closet. Everyone did, and she wondered what his were.

   "Should I?" Her reply was short but had the intended impact. His face crumbled but a glint shone in his eyes, however, she pretended not to notice it. Before he could reply her, the Royal fanfares blew and the herald cleared his throat.

   "Announcing, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Rafael Hernando of Zejardo!" Everyone sunk into reverences once again, that is, all except one: the Queen.

   The foreign Prince surveyed the Ball Room before they landed on a lady so beautiful, that she took his breath away when they locked gazes. And then, he instantly knew, she was his betrothed. He descended the stairs one by one, not seeming to be in a rush as he wove his way to her. The instant he was in front of her, he bowed.

   "Your Majesty."

   "Your Highness," she said and rose up from her curtsey to meet him. The Prince then rose up as well and whisked her away to the danced floor as the maestro began to play a waltz.

   He held her dainty waist in his hands and led the dance gracefully, without missing so much as a step or a beat and the Queen placed her hands round his neck.

   Did the first number we have to do need to be a waltz? 'Tis too intimate for my liking.

   "So, you are my betrothed?" he asked breaking the silence that had fallen upon then.

  "That I am," she replied and looked up to see him staring at her intently. It didn't bother her and took it as her chance to study him as well. He was a fairly tall man with a modern haircut, one she hadn't seen before. The hair to his right side had been cut short and the hair on the left kept constantly falling on his face, making him to swipe it away every once in a while. He had chestnut hair  and hazel eyes that twinkled with mischief. He also had a sharp jawline and a straight nose. Everything about him shouted perfect coupled with his slightly muscular build.

   "Of all the tales they spun about you, they never mentioned how breathtaking you are . . . " He stopped upon realising he knew not her name.

  "Estelle Valerie Devereux, Your Highness," she filled in for him and he nodded, seeming to put it in his memory.

   "There is no need of using titles with me, Estelle, I am your betrothed," he said with a smile tugging his lips. The sound of her name on his lips resulted in an unknown feeling rushing through her. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to her by her real name. Titles is what she was accustomed to and he was the first to use her birth name after her family's death.

   "Estelle, I believe 'tis Troyan for 'star', si?" 'Twas then that she noticed the heavy accent he had, probably a result from speaking Zejaro––Zejardo's national language––most of his life. It made him sound like the words just rolled off his tongue effortlessly, without even struggling for words.

   "Aye, it is."

   "Then from today on, I shall call you star," he said as he held her waist to arch her back, bending over to whisper in her ear, "mi amor." The words had the desired effect on her as she lightly blushed, a thing she never thought she would do until her demise.

   He slowly brought her up and couldn't help the grin spreading on his face at her reaction. He then spun her round as required of the waltz and reeled her back in to his being once again. The harmony they displayed in their danced was unmatched and everyone gathered around to watch them waltz.

   "Your kingdom is beautiful and I would wish for you to give me a tour around, perhaps, on the morrow?"

   "I'm afraid I'm unable to do so. I have a Crown Council meeting that could probably last the whole day, but, be rest assured that I will give you your desired tour. It will soon be your kingdom to reign, after all." Upon saying that, his brows creased into a frown.

   "I think you are getting me all wrong. I do not wish to take your kingdom away from you. 'Tis yours to rule while I have Zejardo," the Queen searched his countenance to see any hint of a jest, but, she was met with a face full of softness and sincerity. She smiled earnestly, for the first time that evening. The man in front of her had just scored himself a favour in her eyes, which was a hard thing to do when it came to the cold and distant Troyan Queen.

   "Thank you," she said and watched the way he mirrored her smile with a heart stopping one. An awkward silence then stretched on between them as they went on waltzing, not caring to exchange partners with anyone.

   "We truly should have written to each other. At least then we would have something to talk about," the Prince said with that signature smile tugging his lips.

   "Um, tell me about Zejardo," she proposed and he nodded his head as a wistful look came upon his countenance.

   "Zejardo," he sighed, "'Tis a very colourful place which is hot and humid, but, still beautiful nonetheless. The clear, starry night sky is something to truly behold. There are no seasons, it remains summer all through the year. I'll take you there one day, you'll love it," he finished and looked into her eyes.

   "I'm sure I will. Do the Queens go to council meetings as well?" When she said that, he threw his head back in a laughter that was as charming as charming could get.

   "Heavens nay! Not that we men would mind, but, 'tis because the women themselves abhor the thought of spending long hours on listening to noble addle-brains, as they call them, argue. Instead, they prefer waking up at an ungodly hour at dawn to prepare the breakfast feast. Then they spend the entire morning preparing luncheon, then spend the entire undern preparing supper. After a few hours of sleep, the cycle commences all anew," he said and watched with a grin the way her eye brows dropped into a frown.

   "Not that I expect you to do so, Star." She let out a sigh unknowingly and he smiled once again.

   "I don't even have the skill of cooking. Every time I would go to the kitchen and make an attempt to try and bake, it turned out to be a mistake worse than the last. The cakes would burn to a shocking degree that it shattered my pride every time I looked at them," she said abashedly and he let out another laughter.

   "My father used to teach me swordsmanship."

   "I, too. My Mama would blaze with fury, but, my Papa heard none of it saying that I needed to learn self-defense incase the need arrives again." The Prince didn't fail to notice the childlike glee that shone in her eyes when she spoke about her parents.

   "Where are they? I'd love to meet them." Then and there, her face fell, making it look like that beautiful, earnest smile she had on had been nothing but a distant dream. He wondered what he had said wrong.

   "They drowned at sea." With that, the music came to a diminuendo and she curtsied before walking away from the dance floor. How he wished he could swallow his words then. He followed closely behind, akin to a lost puppy as she spoke to the members of the Crown Council, informing them of the meeting that would take place on the morrow.

   After tying all the loose ends, the Queen walked back to her chambers, but, with someone right beside her. He opted to stay silent the whole way and so he did. Like the proper courtier he was, he took her up till the large oak doors that led to her suite.

   "Star," he said and that feeling rushed through her again, "I'm sorry for bringing up your parents." He truly did sound regretful and nervous as well with the way he was rubbing the back of his neck. That smile he had grown fond of made its way through her face once again.

   "'Tis no problem at all, because it is what it is. Otherwise, it is to my hope that you had a lovely evening," she said and he nodded his head.

   "I think it necessary if you are in possession of a wonderful host like you, Star." With that, he stepped close to her and bent down to reach her height. He took her cheek in his hand and placed a light kiss on it that left her slightly blushing, slightly.

   "Goodnight, Star," he said while stepping back and looking at her warm slate-grey eyes.

   "Bonne nuit, Rafa." After flashing her one last heart stopping smile, he went down the corridor to retire to bed. The journey was exhausting and he longed for a soft bed to lie on.

   The Queen leant on her door and sighed.

He's not that bad, she thought.

*Chapter one: Arrival*