Choice of Romance - Kingly Intrigues (Raven and Julia)

"As I live and breathe..." Vito sighed, folding his hands at his desk as his wife left the room. She had been short with him lately, and never seemed to give leeway to the more important tasks of his life. Yes, he was busy, but he was the king... why couldn't she seem to understand this? He gave all of his spare time to her, but nothing seemed to keep the woman happy. Vito had begun to stop his attempts altogether, although there were no heir to the throne yet.

Vito gently stood from his chair and walked from his study, making sure not to wake his wife. He once made sure not to wake her to be polite, but now it was simply being able to sneak out without being caught. Yes, he was the king and he could do as he pleased, but his wife would scold him and lecture him. It wasn't worth his time. So instead, he sneaked out, late at night to simply relieve his stresses.

The night was still, everyone in the city sleeping or away in their homes. Vito pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and laid it on his lip before striking a match and lighting it. He wasn't sure where he was going, but it was away from the castle.

"Out girl, OUT!"

Lord Hector was in a mood. Abandon all hope, ye who encounter Lord Hector de Santo when he was in a mood. Awen Grace discovered this big problem that night, late in the hour, and out of luck. She had just been sweeping away, as was her duty around this time, and was met with the screaming fury that was her drunken master. A late night, too much tequila, and a lost bet had put him a foul mood that night. She had, apparently, dared not to move when he was storming through, and instead attempted to do her conscripted job.

He grabbed her roughly by the arm, the other hand lingering much to long around her chest for her liking. Than, with a shove, he threw her out of the villa, and slammed the wooden doors. Awen, ruffled, got up and dusted off the dirty rags that her master called 'a dress'. More than likely he would be demanding she be back at the crack of dawn, then complain that she tried to run away.

"This was not the Spain mama spoke of..." she sighed, deciding she might as well take a walk. Thinking of her mother made a smile drift to her face, and an old lullaby drift from her mouth, ever so softly. The welsh language was not lost on her tongue, despite her absence from the home land.

Vito strolled through the city, feeling the tensions simply melt away with the calm, warm summer night. There was a slight breeze, and the king was more like a young boy than an older man with the weight of a kingdom looming over him. He had shaven his scruff off eariler, and he felt free out here.

Vito sat in the park near the shores, looking out on the beautiful, starry sky and the gently washing waves of the sea. He heard the faintest, though very melodic and hypnotic lullaby. It was just the perfect complimet to the calm of this night. He smiled widely, then looked around for the singer of the song. He saw a beautiful young woman, although her clothes were rags that could barely be considered clothing.

Vito stood and approached the girl, slowly and smoothly, like the waves that rolled up the sand. He finally stood directly in front of her, and he gave a deep, humble bow and took her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips.

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"You sing like an angel," he whispered softly.

She was not expecting company that night; and if she was, Awen was prepared for it to be some kind of assaulter. Instead, as she twitched around, she was met with the sight of a rather handsome, elder gentlemen. Awen vaguely remembered someone similar looking paying Hector a visit a few days ago, and her master had worked his hardest slink into the man's good graces. Awen had been told to keep herself scarce, Hector fearing a former gypsy would look dirty in the presence of....

Royalty... She finally remembered, as the man picked up her hand. The Italian king, here on holiday. Now I remember.

There was a rule Hector had worked hard to carve into her mind; that she was to speak, only when spoken to. And even then, she was to only speak respectfully. But with her master's attitude that night, and tired bangs pulling at her olive-green eyes, this red-head was eager to break some rules, just like old times. So, just as the king finished brushing her knuckles with soft lips, she flashed him a smirk.

"I was told not to speak unless spoken to," she said bluntly, "but it seems the cat has your tongue, your majesty Makes a conversation difficult."

"My apologies, but with a voice like that..." Vito whispered, laughing softly. "We felt the need to hold our tongue for fear of scaring the shy, beautiful sound away," he explained, recognizing the girl somehow. She wasn't from around here, he knew that much. But she was only faintly, almost transparently familiar. He couldn't place her, and he wasn't going to try at the moment. He instead smiled handsomely to the girl and examined her more closely.

She was unique looking, with red hair and green eyes. She almost looked like a Greek myth standing in front of him. "You seem to know whom I am, but allow me to be a bit more formal. I am Vittorio, the King of Spain, brother to the King of Italy. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting this evening?" he asked.

"A pleasure to meet me?" She said, blinking in genuine surprise. "Wow, I have been at home for two long."

Still, he was the king of Spain, and thus required some proper manners. She took her hands and did as much of a curtsy as her tall, gangly frame would allow. Head bowed, voice polite, she introduced herself to what had to be the most powerful man in the whole country.

"Awen Grace, your majesty," she said. "Servant, in the loosest sense possible, to Lord Hector de Santo. And thank you for the complement."

She straightened back up, hands behind her back. "T'was an old welsh lullaby my mother sang to me as a babe. I can teach you the tune, if his majesty pleases."

"Another time, so that I may have an excuse to have your company once again," he told her, smiling. "Perhaps a walk this night would be more enjoyable? Would you like to accompany me?" he asked, offering his strong, lightly tanned hand.

"Your 'master', needs to dress you better. You know what?" Vito thought aloud, then looked around thoughtfully. "I will give you clothes. Decent, nice looking garments that will protect you better than this," he told her, smiling still. "What do you say?" he asked.

I say that Hector will likely think I stole them, she thought, accepting his hand all the same. But I do enjoy seeing him riled up.

"I couldn't say no to the king," she said wistfully. "It'd be rude."

He had a strong grip. The feeling of such a strong, soft hand on hers was a new one, considering Lord Hector had such a hard grip. This one had no anger, no fury behind it. In fact, it was downright pleasant.

"Don't worry about being rude..." he told her, laughing softly. "I deal with some of the cruelest, unloving treatment that could be handed out by someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally," he vented and started for the tailor's. It was late, but no one could say no to the king. Especially the tailor, who owed the king his life. The tailor had been spared by the king after a trial regarding the disappearance of the smith's daughter.

"And!" Vito started up, straightening his back out and looking around. "I will handle anything that anyone says about this," he explained.

"If you wish, your majesty," the redhead said, a near devilish smirk on her face. "I am more than willing, though I warn you. My master will suspect I stole them."

The tailor's shop was small, Awen remembered passing by it when they made Hector's robes. There were bushels of fabric in all piles of the room, in various colors and textures. There were two mannequins in the room; one male, one female. Each had a series of needles and pins stuck to the head, with fabric swatches stuck to the top. It was a messy place, but practically reeked of creativity,

The tailor, a tall, thin man with shirt stubble on his chin and long blond hair, looked up from his tea-pot. He nearly fell over himself when he saw who was coming in, swearing as hot water hit his pant leg.

"Y-Your majesty..." he stuttered, straightening up. "What can I do for you, mi rey?"