February 10, 2017 || King Harald and Queen Sonja hosted a private birthday celebration for Princess Astrid’s 85th birthday at the Royal Palace. Crown Prince Haakon and Crown Princess Mette-Marit also attended the dinner.
Summary: In the midst of a revolution, the royal family of Norway is executed. But rumor has it the Crown Prince’s body was never found. A decade later, and two poor conmen need tickets out of Norway, where the political climate grows tougher each day, and a whole lof of money. Their answer lies in a poor shop assistant with golden curls a lost look in his eyes.
“Together… in Paris?” Isak said aloud, testing the words. He looked up, hesitant. “Really?”
She nodded. “I come back in two months, after my business is done, to retrieve you. I’ve already spoken about it with your parents, they’ve allowed it-” Before she could finish, Isak was back in her arms, the ring clasped close to him.
“And we’ll really go this time? Together?” He said in an awed whisper, hardly believing it.
“I promise, engel min,” she rubbed his back gently and held him tight. She was always so warm, even now, in the dead of winter. Isak held tight to her, as though he could soak her warmth up and keep it for himself always. “The two of us, together. And until then you can read up on all of the plants we’ll see there together. And keep that ring close to you, to remind you that I’m on my way to you, no matter how far I may seem.”
Note: Please do not reblog these threads until the completion of the rp. The following thread shall be dealing with serious topics/triggers and will include but are not limited to: cheating, drug use, swearing, and death.
The entire practice seemed medieval to her but it was expected of Ymir to marry within her social status. If she were just a normal person, it wouldn’t be the case and she could go about romancing pretty much anyone her heart desired. However, Ymir was not, and had to be born within the Langner family, the royal family of Norway. She was not directly within the line of succession, but enough so that for appearances sake she was to be married off against her will to someone. Thankfully, due to her anatomical situation and the family’s desire she provide offspring, she was being married off to a woman: Abel Reiss, princess of England and second-in-line to the crown.
It was the small things Ymir appreciated regarding her situation. Albeit, abnormalities were common among royalty (though she’d argue being intersex not being such while her parents lovingly called it one) she’d rather her situation over webbed feet any day. Luck was in her favor that she liked women, anyway, and her status made it so that her preferred pronouns and junk had to be recognized as she saw them. Cons made it that the spotlight was on her more than she cared for it to be.
Such as this event, for example. Most people when they announce they’re engaged don’t have to attend a glorified party. It’s not like there was exactly an “open bar” situation, and everyone was dolled up to the point it made weddings seemed overdressed.
Ymir herself stared boredly over the crowd after escaping photographers and press from a brief smoke break. Her sash felt heavy on her, as much as the gaze of her bride-to-be from farther off. Abel was nice, and she had been nice since the day Ymir had started “courting” her. There was a coldness to her, however, that was off-putting, and she was not exactly the most captivating in her eyes of the Reiss family. Being blonde was nice, though.
Perhaps she was being too critical over the whole thing and Abel herself. Ymir was bitter, that was the end of it. She didn’t like the fact that she had to move to another country, regardless if she spoke English from a young age or not. She didn’t like how stuffy the entire Reiss family behaved and how her fiance was far more interested in young men hanging around rather than her. Then again, not everyone was open to the more androgynous types, and Ymir was fully aware she was far from a decent package.
As she made her way through the room she made polite conversation this way and that. She had already danced with Abel earlier, and while she was looking to maybe discuss things further about the ceremony, by the time she approached where she had been Abel had disappeared elsewhere. Whatever. Her loss.
It was then that Ymir sighed and took a seat nearby, not bothering to be polite as she took the glass in front of her and a bottle of champagne. She decided she’d make conversation with anyone at that point, particularly to Abel’s younger sister, Florian, as she picked at a slab of steak dantily.
“Seems a bit much for an engagement party, don’t you think?”
Wearing her father’s necklace and looking radiant, Elizabeth made her entrance into the ancient abbey in a dress that had taken 3,000 clothes coupons and bore 10,000 pearls. Some 2,000 guests were waiting, among them one of the largest gatherings of royalty since the time of Queen Victoria. All eyes were on the silk-clad figure as she walked down the long nave. There was an awareness that history was being made; all the ritual of a royal wedding in this building so alive with past spectacle. Princess Marina, who had helped to facilitate the match with private meetings at Coppins between her young cousin, Prince Philip, and her niece, Princess Elizabeth, was delighted. The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester were waiting in some trepidation as Prince William was to hold the long train of her dress as a page. From across Europe they came drawn to this great royal reunion, like times of old. Many were direct descendants of Queen Victoria, such as King Michael of Romania, Queen Victoria Eugenie of Spain and Queen Ingrid of Sweden; others were related by marriage, such as Uncle Charles.
The wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip