G R A C E L E S S

"It's all just fighting and violence; nobody poisons anymore."

Kol Mikaelson nearly choked on his wine trying to muffle his laughter. He was glad that his ears somehow picked up on that comment. Perhaps, court life would not be so dull after all.

His siblings looked at him like he had finally gone mad.

The youngest impostor turned around to find the source of his entertainment: Princess de Marques.

Now, he did not know much about her, except for what he had been told by their servant.

The sound of ruckus distracted him momentarily from her pretty face.

It appeared that the comment was directed at two foolish nobles had braved a brawl in front of the Count of the Castle, this displeasing the old man enough to earn them a night in the dungeons.

His eyes strayed back to the elegant woman whom obviously tried to drown out their protests from behind her chalice.

From her seat om the dias she seemed an untouchable fortress.

The truth was that at times like these, she missed having friends to distract her from the folly of men.

Alas, it had somehow gotten out to these pretentious geese that she had once killed a man by poisoning him.

As her luck would have it, no one dared to speak out in fear of their King and the Count that hosted her.

Isabeau was well aware that the French geese had dubbed her dubbed her La Belladonna. As if though she didn't know that it was also called Deadly Nightshade.

As cousin to the King of France, Count de Martel had welcomed her to his court without hesitation, even though he knew of her reputation. If anything, it intrigued him.

She knew of course that it was also to garner her cousin's favour, but cared not. Politics were for old men.

The only politics she was interested in concerned the Dowager of England, whom made Isabeau out to be her enemy from the day she deemed her a traitor.

Once upon a time she been handmaiden to the Queen Ælfthryth. It was during that time that she had met, and fallen in love with, Edward at the age of 16.

They had been careless and in love.

There came a day that she had discovered herself with child, and by then it was too late for him to wed her as he had intended.

So she had done what she had always done: she took everything that they threw at her with grace.

Isabeau refused to listen to those who would belittle a descendent of Charlemagne and bore the title with her chin held high.

That was how she found herself as the Official Mistress of the King of England.

The Dowager's plans to wed the French princess to her own son had flown out the window that day.

She hated the black haired girl for ruining her dreams of a French alliance and vowed vengeance.

Edward was murdered less than a year later.

Thus she was stuck here in the countryside of her birth, hiding her young son from zealous idiots that would use him to wage more war.

She had become so lost in thoughts of the past that she never heard him approach her.

"Your Grace." She had to stifle a sigh as Lord Tristan appeared before her on the dias.

She nodded for him to continue.

"May I be so bold as to request your hand for the opening dance?"

She stood, leaving her wine on the table to give him a small curtesy and her hand.

She had nothing better to do here anyway.

"You look simply beautiful, my lady." He whispered in her ear whilst leading her to the middle of the ballroom.

She looked down, blushing.

Despite her reputation she had only ever been with one man. Romance was overall still a foreign language to her.

The music had started, compelling their bodies to move as easily as breathing. It was in their second nature, after all.

Their hands barely touched as they circled each other to the timing of the notes that filled the hall.

A happy grin plastered itself onto his face. It reminded first time that they had danced together.

Her lashes fluttered, feigning an innocent lady's disposition when he kept on staring at her.

The dance only served to remind her that dancing was an elaborate hunting ground where men could openly circle their prey.
Time at English court had made her weary of how courts operated.

"Have you thought about my preposition, my dear lady?" His heart pounded in his chest waiting for her to answer.

"I have, but I must first consult my cousin. I hope you understand, my lord."

•

From across the room Lucien stood watching her every now and then.

The way her dainty body moved across the floor with her fine white gown twirling gracefully in time.

"You keep staring at her." Niklaus commented at his absent mindedness.

"I apologize, my Lord." His eyes quickly found his feet.

"Come now, none of that." Niklaus scolded playfully. "But you must tell me who she is."

Lucien looked back to the vampire next to him.

"That would be the Princess de Marques of the House Capet. Cousin to the King. She is here in exile from England as she was the old King's mistress. Some say that they were married in secret." He repeated what he knew of her like a prayer.

"And you desire after her?" Niklaus cocked an eyebrow.

Lucien cleared his throat. "I admire her. She is a gentle lady whom says not much. But I have heard her speak fondly and avidly of her son."

"So, she is a whore." Rebekah said lowly.

"She avoids the company of men." Lucien said quietly. "All except the ones she cannot escape."

This prompted Finn to look at the young woman with curiosity.

Lucien continued, "The ladies of court, having heard of her reputation, love to gossip at her expense and speculate about the small child she has had since being here. She has not one true friend and yet treats all with kindness."

Kol smirked, remembering her earlier comment.

It was clear to Niklaus that their servant had feelings for the woman. He remembered what it was like to love someone out of reach, and thus decided to help him.

The music came to a stop and Lucien watched as Lord Tristan led her away from the dance floor.

•

"My Lord, have you thought about my request?" She asked quietly. Her gentle touch sent his spine into a flurry of sensations.

"Would it not be better for a nobleman to teach your son how to ride?" He loved watching her beautiful face.

"I could never impose on your valuable time, my Lord."

Her gentle tone convinced him.

"I will have the servant Lucien take him three days hence, with your supervision."

It garnered I smile from the gentle lady.

"Thank you, Tristan." She kissed his cheek in thanks and left the great hall to put her son to bed.

He happily made his way back to his father, convinced that he would soon have her hand in marriage.