<div class="floatright">(http://i106.photobucket.com/albums/m241/Lui_punkgirl/queenamelia.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Amelia<br/><strong>Role:</strong>Queen of Thieri<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Throne room then Courtyard<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Sebastian Varta, everyone in the Courtyard.<br/><hr/><br/>Amelia straightened her back and lifted her chin. Sebastian seemingly enjoyed ruffling the Queen's plumage, if only to spur thorn covered words from her mouth. She gripped her dress, pulling the hem off the floor, her hair jostling in the process. Biting her tongue the Queen gave him an intimidating look before softening her features. It seemed as if she lost any desire to exchange quips with her husband. Finding more of the coming events more important than witty remarks and restrained insults. Her wrinkled nose relaxed as Amelia moved quietly across the room.<br/><br/>Regardless of how relaxed she looked, Sebastian's comments on her inability to rule in his stead, tugged at her. It was a small insult, and cowardly of him to say. Amelia wondered if at any time the man had considered her formidable enemy. As a woman, her political knowledge coupled with her sensuality, made Amelia a force to be reckoned with. She had wit and the wiles, the body and the talent--to become a great power. Her father raised her to be on top of the political game, and her mother taught her how to use everything that was her, to her advantage.<br/><br/>Then came his blatant disregard for her suggestion for a bath, as he practically glided out of the room on his ego. She would have to deal with it, because when her husband decided on something, there was usually swaying his decision. Amelia relaxed as she fell out from behind her husband, deliberately walking behind him so she could take a few short moments alone to think, deliberately walking behind him. If he wanted to look like he held all the power, then she would make it seem so. Tonight she would play the delicate flower that obey his every whim. A smirk made it's way onto her lips as she caught up with her husband now, always behind his right side. She was dressed as a queen, so perhaps by just sauntering behind him, the Aserit's would see him as the King. If anything they would see her as less powerful. Beautiful.<br/><br/>As they arrived to the courtyard, Amelia stopped at the top of the steps to the entrance. Her son, Lorenso and Lenally pushed past the queen. Neither Lorenso or her son looked cheerful. She turned back to their guests, smiled warmly and bowed. She smiled warmly, and bowed. Awaiting her time to talk after standing straight again, her voice flowed out. In a more silky smooth voice, that Varta was only privy to within the bedroom and when she whispered in his ears. "Welcome everyone, welcome to our castle. I do pray my son was kind to you, if not then I apologize." She slowly descended the stairs, her feet appeared to be donning a pair of sandals. Ribbons entwined around her foot to hold the sole in place and then wrapped upwards. Over her ankles and up, disappearing under her dressed. The ribbon was black with gold stitching, a pattern that repeated across the fabric. At some point during her day, the Queen had managed to put on some shoes.<br/><br/>Amelia had never been fond of shoes, and that was her downfall when it came to dressing as a woman. She enjoyed the feeling of stone, earth, and water on her feet far too much. The fact she had remembered to, was a thing to see. As she reach the end of the stairs Amelia sighed softly and bowed again. "I do hope the trip wasn't too lengthy and too dreary. I imagine after such a trip you'd like to take a rest." She still spoke in that almost beckoning and tender voice, a smiling on her lips as she spoke. This behavior, was honest and came across friendly, and she was indeed concerned that they might be tired. They did leave their kingdom early, and that usually meant that people were in a hurry to get home.<br/><br/>Her mind wandered as she looked over the Aserit royal family. The queen, displaying her skin proudly and wearing armor whose only positive trait was maneuverability. The daughter who dressed for war and not for afternoon tea. The son who shrouded his face and harbored it a secret. The older daughter who delighted in the fineries as Amelia did. Then there was the King. A weary looking man surrounded by an unfamiliar country. She wondered if any of them even wanted to be here, if they thought it was a trap, or if the subject of marriage would come up. Amelia shook off the idea immediately, she would do as much as she possibly could to keep that from happening. Everyone deserved love and not a thankless marriage of convenience. She stood silently, awaiting words from her husband and from her guests.