The Breeders

Mikail 6

The journey was long and tiring. By the time Mikail arrived at the French palace, he vowed never to travel for quite some time.As his carriage door opened, he was greeted with a circus. A managiere of ladies and gentlemen dressed in atrociously extravagant gowns and suits. Bright obnoxious colors, horrendously large feathers, hair that went up for miles it seemed. Bows and frills, pleats, poofs, bells, buttons, trains, silks, lace. Mikail couldn't tell where one person ended and their attire began. At the top of the grand marble stairs, was the royal family. The king of France stood tall and proud in his powdered wig and pale face. His hand elegantly perched atop a gold and navy blue detailed cane. By his side was a woman who looked to be his age, her hair was the largest of them all and adorned with mock birds and gargantuan flower wreaths. An enormous purple feather protruded from the side of her wig and danced in the slight breeze. Her dresses hips were extenuating dramatically to the point Mikail wondered how she fit through doorways or even sat in her throne. On the other side of the King was his daughter. While also conforming to the current French style, her appearance wasn't as dramatized. Her dress had unnatural hip juts, but not as obnoxious as her mother's or the ladies in wait. Her hair was a dark brown and teased high but lightly decorated with only an appropriately sized feather and a few gems to hold it in place. Her face had a bit of rouge but other than the light pink in her cheeks, she wore no makeup. She was pleasant to the eye, but Mikail had no interest in becoming closer to her than he already was. " Bonjure! Sweet Prince of Russia..." The king enunciated and drew out his speech as if to seem grander than he already was. Then with a dramatic pause, he ascended the stairs and held out his hand with a flourish. "  Welcome." Mikail inwardly cringed at the site of a grown man who still wanted to be the center of attention. His father was nothing like the King of France and so to see a different type of ruler was contrary to his upbringing. Awkwardly taking the kings hand in his to kiss the gaudy ring on his forth finger, Mikail wondered how long he would have to suffer with such strange people. " My best handmaids and servants have prepared your room for you. If you would just follow Genevieve, she will attend to your every need." Mikail looked at the servant who appeared to the right of the royal family. Her head was bowed and her hands were politely clasped in front like a proper subservient. " I have not a man as a servant?" He asked, a bit confused, his French choppy and barbaric sounding. The king just cleared his throat a bit and shuffled. " Well we are short on male hands since most are commoners and apprentice as butchers or iron smiths. So you will have to do with Genevieve for the time being. Will that be a problem?" Mikail looked the meak girl up and down again and addressed the king. " I shall receive what aid I can. Thank you, your Eminence." He slightly bowed and the king reciprocated it with a hand flourish once more. 

Once Mikail was led to his living courters and his belongings were put away, he turned to the young woman in charge of his wellbeing. " So why do the young men not want a lavish position at the palace?" The girl finished folding a sheet and looked at him. " Most men who stay at the palace and take on such rigorous employment rarely see their families. These are-how do you call it- farming men? Oui. They are not accustomed to working away from family, to be clean and submissive and orderly. They would rather do something they've grown up knowing. Does this make sense, your highness?" Mikail nodded, genuinely understanding what the men of France felt for their home. He already missed Russia and the homesickness formed a lump in his throat. " May I get you anything, your highness?" Genevieve questioned and he looked at her with blank eyes. " No, I don't believe so. Leave me for the time being." She bowed and walked gracefully out the door to leave the young prince with his thoughts. Deciding that what he really needed was a long rest, Mikail took off his traveling attire and laid heavily on the lavishly decorated canopy bed. But before his thoughts could simmer and sleep overcome him, a quiet knock at the door forced him to open his eyes. "Enter." He demanded in Russian, forgetting briefly where he was, but it did not disturb the unwanted guest as the heavy ornate door creaked open on its strained hinges. " Your Highness, I have come to fetch you for dinner." Mikail sat up abruptly and with severe irritation radiating through his voice, he cursed the poor girl in his native tongue before remembering once again to switch to French. " What is the meaning of this!? You just left me to rest! I need no food, nor want company so tell the royal family I will not be attending tonight's meal!" She seemed to shudder but tried to keep a professional composure and quietly closed his door.