( If the Conservatives had dreamt of an untried, inexperienced leader to take over power, she was once more a disappointment to suit-clad, obdurate men and she could not be expected to apologise for that.
The official dinner to celebrate the Social-Liberal victory and the royal sanction (symbolic, of course, as it should be) of her cabinet of ministers took place a week after the actual election. She had been quick at work, none of those long negotiations and shifting people around from office to office. Marie-Claude had known what she wanted, who she wanted and where. The media was trying to frame her as irresponsible and impatient, but the people of Ludon were well acquainted with her at this point and they had learned that if she were anything, it was the very opposite. It wouldn't work.
It had been a landslide victory.
She thought she deserved that, truly. Thinking back on the past five years, since Jean Louis' disappearance, both she and the country needed a secure place to tend to their wounds. And maybe, just maybe, Marie-Claude needed time to not think so much, although surely you'd never hear her admit so openly to anyone but Florian.
Her long galla dress, YSL as was on brand for her, swished around her feet as she made her way down the hallway of the castle, away from the liveliness of the main hall where dinner was being wrapped up. She was expected to deliver a speech afterwards and before then, she'd like to rinse her mouth from the wine and breathe freely for just a moment. She knew where the nearest bathrooms were. She had been in this historic building often enough as a girl and while she was still living at home. Her father rubbed shoulders with the royals. He made fast friends with anyone who'd bother listening to him go on about the state of affairs, wasn't that so?
Stopping outside the ladies' room to twist her foot more comfortably into her shoe, she hadn't noticed she wasn't alone and the vulnerability of that small movement, twist, twist, twist as she tugged on the hem of her dress to catch a glimpse of her foot and what was making the slide difficult, was something she would have never shown, had she been aware of her own exposure. )
i really wrote so much in this tag but please know that i will def cut back on the word salad 🥹
[It seemed to Felix that change had come on the heels of Marie-Claude Barrault.
Change that was, by all accounts, terrifying, if the close circles of men Felix made his acquaintance with were to be believed. Men who had sat back, sleek and satisfied, and then halfway through the campaign, had fled to the backrooms in a flurry of panicked calls and frantic meetings. Felix had been privy to both, his calm demeanor a counterpoint to their confusion; because he'd already known that the change would be inevitable. One only had to look closely at the state of affairs the previous minister had left, and then just off to the side, to find the person who had thrown herself in after, elbows-deep, in setting it all to rights. So it was really the proper progression of events for Marie-Claude Barrault, leader of the Social-Liberals, to emerge victorious.
He had been in his father's private apartments when the news broke, shared that same keen-edge of disappointment with both his father, King Henrik, and his uncle, Prince Andre, along with a smattering of other royal relatives. He had also, on upon looking at their dour expressions, been struck by the absurdity of mourning the loss of power that they never had, and would have laughed if common sense had not kept him silent.
Still, he understood that it was a setback. It was a loss for their conservative allies, as Prime Minister Barrault made her assignments with the same efficiency that had won her the hearts of the people, and that loss affected the royal standing as well. They needed to strengthen old alliances and make new allowances, and Felix, as their hard-earned representative, had to rise to the occasion.
The celebratory dinner was too public a function to get the true measure of an opponent, but Felix liked what he saw – the challenge inherent in the prime minister’s stoic demeanor, the refreshing way she handled both conversation and subtle complaints. As Crown Prince of Ludon, he had of course offered her his congratulations, but then was called upon to make his own rounds, and by the time he was done, the dinner was at an end and Marie-Claude had gone. Luckily, this ridiculous castle was in fact his home, so it took little effort to find the direction and then mosey on after her. He could find her, and then oh so very gallantly offer an escort back, as if Marie-Claude hadn’t practically grown up here as well, for how often she used to visit when they were both small.
It was not the soundest of plans, but Felix was well-practiced in skating by on less, and so, he was quite pleased when he finally caught sight of her, even in her current state. He had not meant to find her with her dress raised and her pale ankle exposed, (a sight that from any other woman would demand admiration, or at least a gentleman's discretion) but Felix did not let opportunities slip by without good reason, and this one was really as good as any,]
Are you having trouble with the strap?
[asked with both consideration and concern, and ruined by the amused look in his eyes,]
( He catches her off guard. At this time, when she can't afford to be, Birgitta - her PR manager - would throw a fit, had she known. The woman smokes too much as it is, but another few cigarettes would surely make their way over her lips in response. You can't show them weakness, darling. In their eyes, you're already halfway bent over. However, because she knows the voice and because she finds herself in surroundings that are familiar, if not her home, not hers, she manages to catch herself, letting the hem of her dress slip back into place not hurriedly, but with all the poise of a girl who her father brought up as an example of the good woman. She can play that role, but she won't be dishonest about it. She won't pretend for anyone, not even royalty.
Her father has reigned supreme for many years, she is used to self-designated kings.
His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Ludon, who she used to chase down these halls, calling Felix, Felix, on bare feet that didn't have to worry about straps on high-heeled shoes, is regarding her with obvious amusement and it is bait, of course, as such attitudes always are, it is an attempt to position himself, so she'll hold her ground against it.
She must, because she knows his opinions on things. She has read the interviews, the biographies, she has watched the news. She is her father's daughter, despite everything. Marie-Claude knows. She could as well be doing an on-screen debate right now. )
It appears to me, I'm having trouble with a setting that still refers back to an old world order, Your Royal Highness.
( Finally, Marie-Claude straightens up, reaching up with one hand to feel for her hair, just to make sure she isn't going to have trouble with anything but the strap. While she addresses him as respectfully as she must, she doesn't hide that she shall be the first to acknowledge that whereas they were children once, they are not anymore and they represent very distinctive currents in the country.
Opposites, perhaps. Opposition, if nothing else. )
[Felix observes the surprise, then the recovery, because it’s useful to see how she’s changed and just how far she’s come. It’s useful to use the now to overwrite the before, not so much cleaning the slate as it is filling in all the extra lines. Marie-Claude’s answer is not unlike a flag planted in the ground, a one-liner that could be televised or featured online, looping over and over until the point can’t fail to come across. He can see that point now, which means he knows what he should say next. These are the roles they play, and these are their places.
He tracks the movement of her hand, watches her smooth out her hair, testing to see if all is in place. The gesture is oddly endearing, like a marble statue made flesh. Or like a warrior checking the clasp of her mail.]
I understand.
[He says, instead. It's the kind of remark that should come with a disclaimer. What does the Crown Prince of Ludon understand, exactly? Nothing of strunggle, according to his latest biography, written this time by a self-proclaimed admirer. "Felix of Ludon was raised with care and all the privilege afforded his station," followed by several more saccharine lines about his idyllic childhood and loving royal family. That had been a rough one to sit through, but it came at the right time -- back when it was prudent to pretend that he'd always been popular. As if he hadn't been hated for the audacity of his existence, the palace a constant reminder that he should not belong. The lie is more palatable now because the privileged would only ever care about his victories, and not the struggles underneath.
Still, his smile remains. The amusement from earlier is almost affable now, as he regards her with familiarity than might be appropriate. As if their positions opposite could easily be connected with a single line, if one simply changed their perspective.]
It might help if you think of it under more familiar circumstances. Not as a symbol, [and here he gestures too, lifting his arm to indicate the castle around them,] but perhaps as a place we used to play in.
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The official dinner to celebrate the Social-Liberal victory and the royal sanction (symbolic, of course, as it should be) of her cabinet of ministers took place a week after the actual election. She had been quick at work, none of those long negotiations and shifting people around from office to office. Marie-Claude had known what she wanted, who she wanted and where. The media was trying to frame her as irresponsible and impatient, but the people of Ludon were well acquainted with her at this point and they had learned that if she were anything, it was the very opposite. It wouldn't work.
It had been a landslide victory.
She thought she deserved that, truly. Thinking back on the past five years, since Jean Louis' disappearance, both she and the country needed a secure place to tend to their wounds. And maybe, just maybe, Marie-Claude needed time to not think so much, although surely you'd never hear her admit so openly to anyone but Florian.
Her long galla dress, YSL as was on brand for her, swished around her feet as she made her way down the hallway of the castle, away from the liveliness of the main hall where dinner was being wrapped up. She was expected to deliver a speech afterwards and before then, she'd like to rinse her mouth from the wine and breathe freely for just a moment. She knew where the nearest bathrooms were. She had been in this historic building often enough as a girl and while she was still living at home. Her father rubbed shoulders with the royals. He made fast friends with anyone who'd bother listening to him go on about the state of affairs, wasn't that so?
Stopping outside the ladies' room to twist her foot more comfortably into her shoe, she hadn't noticed she wasn't alone and the vulnerability of that small movement, twist, twist, twist as she tugged on the hem of her dress to catch a glimpse of her foot and what was making the slide difficult, was something she would have never shown, had she been aware of her own exposure. )
i really wrote so much in this tag but please know that i will def cut back on the word salad 🥹
Change that was, by all accounts, terrifying, if the close circles of men Felix made his acquaintance with were to be believed. Men who had sat back, sleek and satisfied, and then halfway through the campaign, had fled to the backrooms in a flurry of panicked calls and frantic meetings. Felix had been privy to both, his calm demeanor a counterpoint to their confusion; because he'd already known that the change would be inevitable. One only had to look closely at the state of affairs the previous minister had left, and then just off to the side, to find the person who had thrown herself in after, elbows-deep, in setting it all to rights. So it was really the proper progression of events for Marie-Claude Barrault, leader of the Social-Liberals, to emerge victorious.
He had been in his father's private apartments when the news broke, shared that same keen-edge of disappointment with both his father, King Henrik, and his uncle, Prince Andre, along with a smattering of other royal relatives. He had also, on upon looking at their dour expressions, been struck by the absurdity of mourning the loss of power that they never had, and would have laughed if common sense had not kept him silent.
Still, he understood that it was a setback. It was a loss for their conservative allies, as Prime Minister Barrault made her assignments with the same efficiency that had won her the hearts of the people, and that loss affected the royal standing as well. They needed to strengthen old alliances and make new allowances, and Felix, as their hard-earned representative, had to rise to the occasion.
The celebratory dinner was too public a function to get the true measure of an opponent, but Felix liked what he saw – the challenge inherent in the prime minister’s stoic demeanor, the refreshing way she handled both conversation and subtle complaints. As Crown Prince of Ludon, he had of course offered her his congratulations, but then was called upon to make his own rounds, and by the time he was done, the dinner was at an end and Marie-Claude had gone. Luckily, this ridiculous castle was in fact his home, so it took little effort to find the direction and then mosey on after her. He could find her, and then oh so very gallantly offer an escort back, as if Marie-Claude hadn’t practically grown up here as well, for how often she used to visit when they were both small.
It was not the soundest of plans, but Felix was well-practiced in skating by on less, and so, he was quite pleased when he finally caught sight of her, even in her current state. He had not meant to find her with her dress raised and her pale ankle exposed, (a sight that from any other woman would demand admiration, or at least a gentleman's discretion) but Felix did not let opportunities slip by without good reason, and this one was really as good as any,]
Are you having trouble with the strap?
[asked with both consideration and concern, and ruined by the amused look in his eyes,]
we love long tags and we cannot lie.
Her father has reigned supreme for many years, she is used to self-designated kings.
His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Ludon, who she used to chase down these halls, calling Felix, Felix, on bare feet that didn't have to worry about straps on high-heeled shoes, is regarding her with obvious amusement and it is bait, of course, as such attitudes always are, it is an attempt to position himself, so she'll hold her ground against it.
She must, because she knows his opinions on things. She has read the interviews, the biographies, she has watched the news. She is her father's daughter, despite everything. Marie-Claude knows. She could as well be doing an on-screen debate right now. )
It appears to me, I'm having trouble with a setting that still refers back to an old world order, Your Royal Highness.
( Finally, Marie-Claude straightens up, reaching up with one hand to feel for her hair, just to make sure she isn't going to have trouble with anything but the strap. While she addresses him as respectfully as she must, she doesn't hide that she shall be the first to acknowledge that whereas they were children once, they are not anymore and they represent very distinctive currents in the country.
Opposites, perhaps. Opposition, if nothing else. )
so true i do love reading meta
He tracks the movement of her hand, watches her smooth out her hair, testing to see if all is in place. The gesture is oddly endearing, like a marble statue made flesh. Or like a warrior checking the clasp of her mail.]
I understand.
[He says, instead. It's the kind of remark that should come with a disclaimer. What does the Crown Prince of Ludon understand, exactly? Nothing of strunggle, according to his latest biography, written this time by a self-proclaimed admirer. "Felix of Ludon was raised with care and all the privilege afforded his station," followed by several more saccharine lines about his idyllic childhood and loving royal family. That had been a rough one to sit through, but it came at the right time -- back when it was prudent to pretend that he'd always been popular. As if he hadn't been hated for the audacity of his existence, the palace a constant reminder that he should not belong. The lie is more palatable now because the privileged would only ever care about his victories, and not the struggles underneath.
Still, his smile remains. The amusement from earlier is almost affable now, as he regards her with familiarity than might be appropriate. As if their positions opposite could easily be connected with a single line, if one simply changed their perspective.]
It might help if you think of it under more familiar circumstances. Not as a symbol, [and here he gestures too, lifting his arm to indicate the castle around them,] but perhaps as a place we used to play in.