Incarcerated!Quinn / writers_muses 47.8

[broadsword_babe]

Your muse has been captured or imprisoned and must rely on an enemy or a complete stranger to secure their release.


When: April, 1630
Where: Paris, France
Alias: Gabrielle Dubois Vicomtesse d'Anjou

Freyja exited the carriage with a sense of foreboding. When one was summoned by Cardinal Richelieu, refusal was simply not done. She had never before met the Cardinal, second in power only to King Louis XIII, and she was not aware the Chief Minister even knew of her existence. She tucked away her fear into a small corner of her mind and climbed the steps of Le Palais Cardinal as though it were an everyday occurrence.

Once inside the imposing structure, a valet took her cloak and gloves and another richly-clothed footman showed her to the Cardinal's formal offices. Gabrielle held her elegantly-coiffed head high, and tried not to gape at the opulence surrounding her.

The servant's footsteps echoed hollowly down the corridor. She spotted several other dignitaries along their route, nodding to those who acknowledged her, ignoring those who didn't. Guards dressed in the red tabbards of the Cardinal stood at several doorways and at intersecting passages. She couldn't imagine why Richelieu wanted to meet with her at all.

Her feet were beginning to tire when they finally reached the Cardinal's formal study. The footman knocked on the impressively carved and gilded door, and then opened the door for her. Again, she swallowed her fear and entered the lavishly appointed study.

Richelieu himself was seated behind a massive and imposing carved mahogany desk. His dark hair, dark eyes, and neatly trimmed goatee seemed incredibly well-suited for the yards of crimson fabric he wore from the top of his head to, presumably, his boots.

"Your Eminence," she curtsied formally. While she, herself, rankled at the gesture, her guise as a devout French noblewoman must be kept intact.

"Ahhh, yes, Madame de Vicomtesse."

His voice was smooth and silky, which was no surprise to her. She watched from beneath her lashes as Richelieu stood from the desk and dismissed his attendants and secretary with a simple wave of his hand. He then moved to stand in front of her and offered her the hand which bore the ring that was embossed with the crest of his station. It was a gesture she, herself, had made centuries before when her hand wore the ring of Camelot. Gabrielle kept to protocol and swallowed her disgust as she gently kissed the symbol of the man's power.

"Rise, my dear, and have a seat," Richelieu commanded, and she did as she was told.

"Your Eminence honors me," Gabrielle said, after arranging herself into a chair opposite the desk.

The Cardinal took his own seat and smiled. It was a dangerous, knowing, smile that had her instantly wary and alert.

"Come now, let us not stand on formalities," he replied. "Perhaps you will permit me to call you Gabrielle or mayhap even Freyja."

Though her mind panicked, her face showed nothing. "Freyja?" she echoed with the proper amount of confusion. "I'm not quite sure I understand, Your Grace."

Richelieu's eyes grew cold and sharp as pieces of flint, as he leaned forward. "I know very well what you are, my dear."

Again, she refused to show any fear, for she knew the instant she did that he would pounce and she would be as good as dead.

"Of course, Your Grace," Freyja answered, thinking quickly. "I am but a humble farmer's daughter who had the good fortune of catching the eye of the Viscomte d'Anjou. We've been wed these past three years."

Richelieu laughed, and that was even more dangerous than his smile. "A commendable performance, my dear, but I believe you have had centuries to hone your considerable talents."

A wave of fear filled her veins with ice. How had the discovered her?

"Centuries, Your Grace?" she asked, again appearing to be a lackwit. "I have only just reached my twenty-fifth year."

"Be that as it may, I believe your marriage is, for all intents and purposes, barren," he remarked.

"I believe the Good Lord will see fit to grant us a child in accordance to His plan," she answered devoutly.

"Perhaps it is an advantageous consequence of your unholy abilities."

"Advantageous to whom, Your Grace?"

"Why to myself, naturally."

Freyja dared not so much as twitch as her mind calculated the varied possible outcomes of their conversation. Did he want her to become his lover because she couldn't have children? For a man like the Cardinal, who needed the guise of chastity, it would be advantageous indeed. In return for her favor, he might bargain to keep her secret from becoming public knowledge.

"What is it you want?" she asked finally.

"What any man wants," he replied smoothly. "Immortality."

"Are you so certain of my 'unholy abilities,' Your Grace?"

The Cardinal smiled the grin of a serpent. In answer, he lunged forward, and before she could react, had pinned her arm to the desk. She watched in horror as he took a small dagger from his robes and plunged it through her hand and into the wood.

Pain radiated up her arm and she tried not to scream. Richelieu watched her fight with the pain with mild amusement as she struggled to free herself from the knife.

"Make me Immortal and I will set you free," he bargained.

Freyja stared at him in utter disbelief. "I – I cannot!"

"I believe you were tried as a witch in centuries past, were you not?"

Blood continued to pool around her hand and seep into the wood as she struggled.

"I was a healer and midwife! Nothing more," she argued through clenched teeth. "I don't know anything of magick!"

"I crave pardon if I do not believe you."

"You've said yourself that I have 'unholy abilities'," Freyja countered. "Why would you want to be in league with that?"

"Trust a woman to twist a man's words to her benefit," Richelieu growled. "Promise me Immortality, or I will have your head at dawn."

There was no masking her fear this time, and there was nothing she could do but to promise the impossible, hoping that in the meantime, she might devise a plan of escape. Defeated, Freyja nodded.

With a feral grin, the Cardinal finally pulled the knife from her hand, but kept her wrist pinned to the desk. The pair watched as her wound slowly closed and healed.

"Your word, or your head," Richelieu growled again. "I expect your decision by morning. Guards!"

The door opened and two red-tabbered guards entered the room.

"Show Madame de Vicomtesse to her rooms," he ordered. "She is to be our guest for a time and I wish her stay to be as comfortable as possible."

She was taken to what proved to be a rather opulent guest chamber, keeping to the illusion that she wasn't being detained at all. As lavish as the room might've been, it was a prison nonetheless.

Freyja listened at the door, but did not hear the retreating steps of the Cardinal's men, which meant they had orders to guard the door. That came as no surprise. She quickly discovered that the five large windows faced one of the busiest streets in Paris and were highly visible. So, even if she did manage to make it to the ground, she would be noticed almost immediately. With her two main routes of escape useless, she began pacing across the enormous Aubusson carpet.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Gabrielle Dubois
Highlander OC
1228 Words
{OOC: I know no one requested Incarcerated!Quinn, but the idea was too good to pass up. Any muses are welcome to come to her aide & bendy time is shiny!}