Why did these lacy shirts itch this much? How did these high-born, sad excuses for men stand it? Sighing, Nickolas DeLeon leaned back against the too-hard stuffed rest of the carriage that rocked back and forth over the rough dirt road. His face was a mask of sheer boredom even in the slight angles of his face, giving way to large blue eyes that were surrounded by loose strands of chestnut hair falling down around the sides of his face and would have been tickling his neck had he not tied it back with a simple blue ribbon. The edges of his hair fell down to the middle of his back, touching against the pale color of his outer jacket. In the powder blue and cream-lace ensemble, he looked like a perfect high-born lord, complete with a thin cane that he didn't need yet and he had made sure that he had left the hat off. Useless thing.
Days ago he was a normal man, working his family's farm and helping his elderly mother and father. Planting seeds for the harvest, feeding livestock and hauling wood for fires to keep the family warm. A proud, modest life...one he was happy with and chances of a good marriage on the horizon. And yet now, with one day spent in the company of the King his entire life had been turned upside down.
He was no longer Jack Farmer. His name was now and forever would be Nickolas Javert DeLeon, Prince of the Kingdom Cindeir. According to his 'father', he still shuddered at the word, the 'true heir' had died due to a recent outbreak of the fever. His 'brother' had died leaving behind a betrothal needed to save the Kingdom...and now, as an heir of the crown and of likeness to the prince with the same brown hair and similar blue eyes, he was expected to sit here and fool the princess of a foreign country into thinking he was the true prince!
Nickolas didn't know how well they thought this would work but the only thought in his head was the fact that his parents would be taken care of by the kingdom, they would live in easy comfort with a servant to care for them until the end of their days. That was the only thing keeping the brunette sane. Now he looked like a well-bred young prince since the clothing he had been forced into brought his lean form out rather well. He was being brought in with one of the late prince's most trusted handlers, a pinch-faced woman named Elda with a shrewd bun of gray hair and arms that belied her superior strength with the folds of a cravat causing a shortness of breath and reddening of the face in a most unnatural manner.
Rocked out of his thoughts, Nickolas let loose a low curse of 'blast!' when the carriage suddenly rocked to a stop. Elda gave him a condescending look for his use of improper language but he ignored it...they were here.
· Wed Jan 08, 2014 @ 05:22am · 0 Comments