Elizabeth couldn't have cursed her luck further than it was -- in all honest opinion, Lady Luck had a vendetta against her. The news of the king's sickness, when it had reached her ears, was far too late for her to turn back. She'd come to Castillion as a scholar, though she should have thought better to be treated as one. Instead, she was eyed suspiciously (sometimes for good reason) and many, if not some, had attempted to make her alter course. She was one of many brothers and sisters, and in her lifetime she'd learned what the true meaning of disposable was. That didn't stop her siblings from trying -- no,<em>begging</em>her to come home, to end this madness that was her life. She was one of the truthseekers, studying plants and animals, the very earth, and most of all, the heavens above.<br/><br/>That had led her to what was happening now. She stood to a medium height, with a lean build from training to be a knight turn futile for the will of her parents. Her face was all sharp angles and the face of aristocracy with full lips and rather large, doe-like green eyes, however, she herself did not agree with this way of life -- of being waited upon, used as pawns in monarch's overbearing chess games. That was another reason for her journey along the lands: to get away from Westeria. She knew it was futile, but her she was, alone and serene. Her garb was that of a fighting spirit, not the fragile princess she'd ought to have. She had pale, creamy skin, and fulk red lips that complimented her well. Her black hair was tied in a braid along her back for practicality and ended at her waist line.<br/><br/>As soon as she'd heard the footsteps of the knights, she'd sighed and realised how stupid it was of her to be continuing her journey. From the sounds of it, there were too many to run away from, let alone fight. They'd probably guessed she'd be guarded to waste this many guards on the capture of one princess. She dropped what she was doing and announced her cooperation.<br/><br/>"This is Elizabeth Lamperouge, third in line to the throne from the Kingdom of Westeria," she said, a tone of impatience laced in her voice. "I am alone and surrendering to the knights of Castillion." She waited patiently for a response. Their response was swift as they methodically went about securing her. She said nothing as she followed their orders to be escorted away, as she knew they were merely doing their duty -- a rather bland one, in her opinion. She soon found herself the castle of Castillion, admiring the architecture despite her disdain of it. She was adamant she'd be able to escape some how -- it just mattered if it was before they decided to kill her or afterwards. Being brought before the Prince was something she hadn't expected. It was then when she started struggling against her captors, tugging and pulling, almost deciding to use violence in a fit of desperate circumstances. It was useless. She was held in place when she'd met the Prince for the briefest of moments. She regarded him with a cold, almost detached look, before the Prince proclaimed her to be thrown to the dungeon. If she was anyone else's shoes, she'd laughed at the mere gall of it, but the dungeon itself was something to inspire trepidation.<br/><br/>A few moments later, she found herself chained to the wall of her cell, though somehow still impeccable in her presentation. She had still said nothing, instead using her energy on studying the people around her, and trying to understand what type of situation the kingdom was in. Perhaps, if she'd offer her services, they'd release her willingly. But alas, such plans were only if she couldn't find a way out of here in time.