Romans & histoires Clarence And Queen

He was making her feel things she had sworn she would never feel again. She could not let another man sweep her off her feet with promises they never intended to keep. She was going to set very clear boundaries, their relationship was a business relationship alone and that was all it would ever… The sound of her phone ringing jolted her out of her thoughts. The Caller ID read Alex Donovan. Willing her heart to be still, she picked the call. “Ms. Chen, Did you like the flower? I did not know what type of flowers you liked. I decided to take a gamble and went for a tulip.”

Whispers of servants, viewers of the council, I maintained my position, though my heart sank within me. The council chamber was bigger than I used to know in my childhood. The large ceiling, fancy tapestries, and floors made me feel tiny. Councilors were muttering together, when Rowan gave a signal that I was coming. They all stopped at once with the eyes on me. Formally Rowan announced it: "Her Royal Highness, Princess Aurelia Valeon," and bowed slightly. "Heir to the Valeon Kingdom." I smiled, nodded my head, attempting to make myself deaf to the accelerated beat of my heart.

But when someone appeared in his line of sight, he stopped moving. "Well, hello there, little guy . . . What are you doing there under the rain?" Eric watched as Evangeline bent down and grabbed Snow into her embrace. He forgot to breathe as he watched the woman –– dubbed as a vicious, cruel, pompous Queen –– protectively embraced Snow in her arms. "Did you run away from home? I don't see a collar though . . . ," Evangeline murmured. She swept Snow with her lilac eyes and her pouty lips stretched wide in a smile.

Behind them, lesser gods and nymphs stood in respectful silence, their eyes fixed on the king. Zeus’s gaze fell upon them the moment they entered, and for a long moment, there was only silence in the great hall. His eyes moved from Hera – travel-stained and unadorned – to Artemis in her simple wool dress, to Apollo with his well-loved lyre, to Hermes with his mortal gifts still in hand, and finally to Eirene, who stood tall beside her mother despite the weight of his gaze. "Where have you been?" his voice boomed through the hall, shaking the very air around them.

The woman assured before cupping her daughter's cheeks and pecking her forehead softly. The mother faces Isabella with a sad look. "Mama loves you, my piccolo fiore." She whispers, both of them closing their eyes as their faces become drenched with tears. [Translation: my little flower] After what seemed like eternity, the woman had finally gained the courage to separate herself from her child. She stood up, making sure to close the closet doors in hopes of hiding her daughter's location. Isabella was able to peek through the small crack of her closet. Her eyes following her mother's figure with a longing glance as her hands cover her mouth, trying to silence her own sobs. Stifling her cries

"Stella, you are a substitute wife with a child in your belly, and you begged me to let you stay." Stella: Clarence ,...... "Now, do you still say that this trade marriage is reciprocal?" Stella bit her lower lip, and her eyes had a trace of blood. "All right, even if I asked to stay, we've just traded marriages, isn't that right? Why must you tread all over my dignity with your feet?” “ Why not?" Clarence gave a small smile. "It's fun." When she heard that, she looked stunned. "Fun?" Was it only for pleasure to infringe upon the dignity of others? He spoke in an icy tone.

I asked, slightly breathless. Clarence looked offended on behalf of fashion itself. “You’re the Queen Luna. You don’t need things. You deserve them.”

Jane raised the tongs casually, bringing them closer to Clara's face. The sudden heat made Clara's heart pound like a drum. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight. "Your Majesty, I truly don't know…" Sizzle! The tongs scorched her hair, instantly releasing a burned odor. Clara gasped. What was the queen trying to do? Jane's gaze was sharp and cold. "You're twenty-four this year. Next year, you'll leave the palace and marry. I hear your sweetheart back in your hometown has been waiting for you all this time. But if your face were to suffer the same fate as your mistress', would that marriage still happen?"

“Very well, my dear. Do without. I’m sure a nubile young nude like you will raise many a staff.” “You must concede,” Isabel urged. “A horrible garment is better than nothing.” “Horrible, you say? Someone else appears to be itching for punishment. Are you girls so bored that it makes you bold enough to defy your queen? Am I not a generous monarch?” “We’re a bit confused, Your Majesty. Is Ephron not the King?” “Not until I say so, girl.” They all felt they had gotten off lightly when Clara flounced her way out of the fire-damaged solar, clearly annoyed by Ava’s barbed query.

“You work for me.” The assistant bent immediately. “I’m sorry.” Clara looked away. Her nails dug into her palm. This was not supposed to happen. Seraphina was supposed to stay gone. Dead. Broken. Forgotten. Instead she returned richer than all of them. And people were calling her queen. Clara picked up her phone again. Every headline hurt. Every article felt personal. She opened one. A photo filled the screen. Madam S walking into King Holdings. Black suit. Cold eyes.