infantacarclina

[infantacarclina]

POINT  DIVIDER  FOR  𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑨  𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨

this  week  :  105  /  total  :  300

[infantacarclina]

@mariusdanjou​  sent  :  ✿ ( lucrezia )

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other .

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other .

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other .

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other .

[infantacarclina]

@katrinkc sent  :  ✿  ( mateo )

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  / old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other .

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other .

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other .

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other .

[infantacarclina]

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2

over a year ago, i made this meme & since then, it’s blown up. so, over a year later — i thought i would make a new one. so here it is, after several requests & a pile of brains,  THE PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2

send me a  ✿  and i’ll fill out the template below. bold for things i could definitely see or want, italics for things i could see or am unsure of and striked out for things i don’t want or cannot see.

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other .

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other .

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other .

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other .

[infantacarclina]

kingedwardplantagenet​:

  The grace and piety of his niece charmed the French; the fineness of her beauty, the soft courtesy of her manner - even her immature but gracious tact, pleased their national tastes. It was nearly piteous her hand was bound; those poised to covet her heart with zeal, were wed to a dismal fate. Edward’s wish was oft to look rather than converse – yet with Carolina, who possessed more force and feeling than many a young lady sojourned in Paris, provoked lapses of phrase from the enervated King. He had his own smile, evidence of  private recollections; for not seven and ten years ago, had she been but a footnote beside his feet. “Your mother’s prowess shall never grow flat and listless, but your blood is amongst the most formidable I shall ever know - you shall make quick work of your betrothed, dear niece, for I fashion him to be a man poised to fall blissfully into the domains of marriage.” Clumsier ladies would have denounced Queen Isabel with evinced and gleeful disdain; poised upon the edge of a knife, Carolina’s inquiries were blithe sweetness. “The Queen’s attentions are coveted, to such an extent that my own wish for her company be laid to the side - she shall be eager, to look upon your face once more, gracing the French courts in the heat of bloom. Her visage does well upon a coin - your dear uncle, and father, both wear the signs of age. ‘Tis a joy, however; to see youth in your face, and your endless promise.” 

  For his children’s sake, he grieved over fatal influences which led to the hapless indiscretions, that plagued his former union like a pestilence. Still, Edward wished to furnish Carolina with dazzling portraits of his histories beneath the bonds of marriage; dare he, not, to parade he and Lianor’s misery, within public view. “I was but six and ten, at the day of our wedding. You were but a faint whisper in the womb, a miracle yet to materialise; I fear I was but a child and confess one shall never grasp the gravity of marriage, ‘til it is at your door. But you, sweetest of all, will be a bride of not merely commendable beauty; for it is a virtue that withers, and is best not coveted. No, you will be a bride who is the encapsulation of humility- your purity of character and natural affinity for kindness, shall mark you the most handsome bride.” He wished he was occupied by guilt; it would make better, his shameless disclosure of paternal pride, at least clothed by a desire to undo crimes. Edward was made plain, now, in his honesty. “Ah, so it shall be - your sister is fit to make willing subjects out of skeptics, but I fathom you have equal power, in different facilities. Indeed, I count his acquaintance as a grand treasure - have you seen their garbs? They drip in gold and silk, radiant against their skin. Would it please you as a wedding gift, to have a chest filled with foreign treasures? Though I know your heart, and believe you to wish for the sweetnesses, of your homeland.” 

         unions of blood and sinew were of the most durable bonds, and yet also the most swiftly cleaved by jealously and resentment––when one nursed sentiments of self-pity or animosity, one looked to their own kin to exact revenge. with a sympathetic incline of her head, the infanta peered deep into the king’s eyes, searching for some remnant of the malice her cousins beatrice and harry ultimately felt toward him, and yet, in her most earnest attempt to find it, she emerged empty-handed: more pitiful for the plantagenet family than ever, attuned with an empathetic ear to the queen’s praises. to her, her uncle was still the majestic monarch who had ushered her into his lap as a girl, unruffled as he named each duke or knight who approached the dais until her curiosity addled stupefied with slumber, and so he would remain, entombed in her fondest, yet decreasingly intense memories, entirely void of fault. carolina nods eagerly, the blonde wisps that liberate free from her headdress and encompass her cheeks––still bearing the flushed plumpness of girlhood––beginning to bob and ricochet from the shingled outcropping of her collarbone.  ❛  i believe the queen once walked these halls as a girl, in the service of the queen mother. perhaps... perhaps uncle, i might request an audience with your lady wife, and ask her to impart her wisdom unto me.  ❜ it was not an audacious ambition––their two crowns should, after all, be united––but when factoring the embittered histories that lay before them and carolina’s mother’s own uninhibited wrath toward the edward’s new queen, it became untenable; no more than a mercurial, star-crossed contrivance for peace.  ❛  there is much to be resolved between our two cadets, i should like to be as instrumental as possible to see us in accord once more, if you will permit me to intervene.  ❜

her fingertips toy in her lap; cuticles rendered raw, reddened by the quick ministrations of her relentless abrading. the mention of her hapless aunt cannot but strike fear into her heart; she had never met lianor, never sampled the sweet fragrance of her embrace, as she was but an echo within her mother’s womb when she crossed the channel to meet her princely husband, but she loomed in carolina’s mind as something of a beacon, a northern star: instructing exactly how she should not comport herself in a match, no matter how forlorn.  ❛  i thank you, majesty, most earnestly. ❜  her eyes fell close for but a moment, waving off an instinct to moisten in her uncle’s endearing presence, pondering intently his accolades. ❛  i can scarcely believe it, myself. last i saw you, i was but a child––and soon, certainly it is bound to happen by now, i will be a step mother to at least seven! some hardly younger than i...  ❜  her teeth plunge into her bottom lip, stolen with quiet. ❛  i would rather see only a fraction of the wonders the shah has witnessed than a treasure filled with precious jewels! how could i covet material trinkets, pleasures of the earth and flesh, when the miracles the shah observes both day and night are unlike any other? i hope, very much, both you and i will experience those miracles vicariously through his tales––my own grandfather saw the benefit, in a union with persia, and i am inclined to agree most heartily with his foresight.  ❜

[infantacarclina]

mateo-trastamara​:

“Carolina.” Mateo muttered to himself as she appeared, and he offered a smooth bow, though his eyes stayed upon her with the naughtiness of a schoolboy–allowing a merry chuckle to slip through his lips. He’d noted how the infanta stepped into vision and the light seemed to blow away from all the candles and torches, moved instead to the honeyed hue of her hair, radiated from the glowing presence she’d possessed. It was almost sobering, and Mateo was reminded of this as the riotous laughter of his troupe died down. He even had to whack his companion, Juan, beside him for resembling a deer before a hunter could easily strike. Must all fools be as malleable as clay in the presence of such a woman?

“And yet I would risk my tongue to discover the infanta’s ability to fool me. For she’s a clever thing.” He quipped, chin raised almost arrogantly as his grin grew. “And is it a sin, my lady, if we’re trying to gain divine wisdom in such a game? Be more like God, himself? For surely he knows who’s deceptive, and who is pure of heart.” He raised his glass to his few friends looking on, and drank from his bloodstained wine before stepping up to her. Peered down the slope of his nose, grin growing. “I shall not tell your mother, if you tell me… a truth or a lie.”

         ❛  cousin.  ❜  the appellation is rueful upon her lips, begrudging in her admission that she should share a blood-tie with one as infantile, as boyish, as mateo trastámara. he was, virtually, no different than the young prince who hauled her by the ankles through fields of green, threw her and her sisters over the backs of mares, egging them to hunt; hardly changed from the stripling who’d prod, time and time over, if her mouth had ever caressed another’s, if joanna was as wicked as they claimed, if it was true that woman saw colours men did not... nay, as she leveled a firm gaze over mateo, she deduced he was not so very changed at all––for she most certainly estimated herself far more sensible than he––and, in thinking so, she brought her hands to perch upon her hips, shoulders held taut, as if to effect herself as broader, more imposing than she was in actuality: a fascicle of nimble bones and tender flesh. she could not overpower his entire coterie of urchins, but she could, at least, daunt him; her eyes an exact replica of her mothers hawkish stare. 

❛  fine, then: i shall play your silly little game, only because you make sinning sound so virtuous,  ‘teo.  ❜  carolina brought an index finger to her lips, humming noisily; she thinks of how best to distress, to embarrass him in front of his knot of noble companions, a mixture of old blood and parvenus encircling their mischievous ringleader, their deposed prince. ❛  a lie or a truth––  you are my favourite cousin, but the only to fall short of wearing a crown of his own.  ❜

[infantacarclina]

isabelofyork​:

             ‘ let bygones be bygones,’  isabel was reminded as a daughter of portugal had claimed the honoured position beside her. they were after all,  though arguably in the loosest of terms, family –– her husband’s nieces, harry and beatrice’s cousins. the latter point alone should have heightened her guard, yet the queen was still bestriding the glorious sentiments of victory over the new trade agreement and portugal was no longer the intimidating force it had been in england. they no longer needed their wealth, nor ships, nor military prowess in continental conflicts; england now had access to empires beyond the old kingdoms of europe, stretching to the glorious east. they would, one day, eclipse portugal and queen eleanor would be but a footnote in history. 

the vendetta, once confined between herself and the late queen, had been adopted by carolina’s mother since the death of eleanor and had evolved still. isabel believed vehemently that it had been by queen crara’s instruction that she was poisoned, of course there was no proof for this and whilst edward had humoured her, his lack of action had indicated that he did not believe her. yet who else despised her with the same intensity as queen crara ? even harry paled in comparison to her scorn. 

from her new position, portugal seemed less intimidating somehow and with the jewels of the empires glistening about her ears and neck, isabel was not above making a statement to the braganza’s that england and she, were now untouchable. it made for a more pleasant exchange with carolina, her beauty and intelligence noted in equal measures. ❛ i am their queen, yes. ❜ isabel mirrored self-congratulatory, but trailed off as she listened to carolina’s assessment of the two men in question, something that she could not help but offer a genuine smile to. ❛ i see your reputation for sharp observation is not unwarranted. ❜  bringing her glass back to her lips, isabel drank. ❛ i often find that no matter there provenance, men are easily deduced. they deem us the emotional ones and yet, they often lack the capacity to lack their own from flaring up. women on the other hand… ❜ pealing her gaze away from the lords, isabel locked her gaze with carolina’s, ❛ …women are far more deceptive. ❜ 

a loud thump echoed around the room as lord pembroke’s fist collided with the wooden table, his chair scraping across the floor as he hurried to his feet and stormed from the room. isabel laughed heartily, ❛ it seems you were right ! i would ask if that was not enough for you, but alas, i am a generous queen so tell me what you desire and i shall grant it to you. ❜ 

––

        the infanta had once heard it said that the english queen ornamented herself as though the heavens had been sliced open, and from this aperture it dripped upon her every inch of its luster; agleam in all manner of costly jewels, gems, and pearls glittering upon her flesh. yet, as carolina’s blond head canted to appreciate the queen’s regalia, she deemed such whispers false: it was not the heavens that had been liberated, rather, it appeared as though an ottoman vessel had been pillaged, and its loot bequeathed directly to the queen. indeed, she found the presence of her uncle’s wife to be formidable, as forthright as the crown from which she appeared to lead––kindly, albeit, in a manner the infanta deemed challenging, as opposed to heartening. still, it was not in carolina’s nature to brook ill-will; she withheld the scrutiny that trickled inherent in her veins, regarding isabel with an endearing inquisitiveness, and creases stamped about her eyelids forged from mirth. after all, her lady mother need not know she felt a sort of elation in the company of her aunt’s alleged usurper. 

❛  i see.  ❜  carolina hummed appreciatively, obliged to the queen’s social tutelage, and swiveled her gaze toward the two english lords. together, they created a matched set; pale towheads bent together, howling, lurching, spilling wine upon the other, emerging slick as a fish. the infanta reserves a chortle, swallowing her mockery with another sip of ale that only thinly veils how fatuous she appears to find the brawl.  ❛  in portugal, it is all so very different. we iberians praise passion, valor, boldness; in portugal, this lord pembroke would have already proposed a duel, and the matter would be absolved. the english are fearsome linguists; perhaps they will spar with their tongues, instead.  ❜  she remits her obsidian gaze to the queen, chin tilted with curiosity:  ❛  if you were to have your choice, would it be the pen or the sword?  ❜  

the wallop that resounds throughout the hall startles carolina, momentarily causing her hand to flinch upon the table; yet, within a moment’s beat, her nerves are returned to her and her eyes seek out the root of the clangor. eyes peeled back, lips twisted in amusement. ❛  now that would be worthy of my father’s applause––and no, no, i shan’t ask of you anything... your insight into my uncle’s court is payment enough, for i long to hear more; will you continue, your grace?  ❜ 

[infantacarclina]

apolloniacolonna​:

Apollonia cast a searching glance outward, attetnion arrested by the scraping, naked branches of the bushes and trees that huddled in majesterial observation all around them.  Exhileration stoked inside her, leaping upwards to coil amongst the clouds like the sun after whom she had been named nearly half a century ago.  Shoving her hands down upon the horse beneath her, she sought to rise higher, to hazard a glance beyond the brambles towards the place where pages and squires beat at the ground and icy foliage to stir the beasts they sought to hunt.

Hearing a voice near her, Apollonia turned towards it.  The girl was loveliness, itself, all bloom and sweetness, about the age - she would hazard - of her younger daughters.  Noting her proximity to the Queen of Portugal, Apollonia realized with a quick in-take of air, that this must be one of the princesses.  She looked more closely at the girl, picturing a mere child, and revelation swept over her.  Could this be her own God-daughter, now grown so hale and hardy?  Apollonia almost laughed, a sober reminder of her own stage of life, and strentched out a hand of invitation.

“It has been some time,” she replied, softly.  “But I hope you shall not hesitate to stay close to me, now, for you are quite right: both by God’s law and, soon, by holy matrimony, we are kin.”

She paused, eye rolling over the pages as they halloo’d.  “Tell me, Your Highness, have you ever been to a boar hunt, before?  For I must warn you, it is a most formidable sport.  I, myself, have on separate occasions, witnessed both a knight and a squire gored.”  But, then, in some ways, she supposed, it was not so very different from their own dealings at this summit: only a few missteps here might seal many more lives than a single hunt ever could.  “We must do our best to be alert to all that goes on around us.  Will you promise me that you shall be so?”

       whilst far from being the most composed of equestrians––one could argue, trodding into the parisian woodland, carolina appeared as resolute as a frail branch––the infanta felt a sort of unique kinship to the beast she perched astride. ofelia had been sired by the same stallion as the thoroughbred who, decades prior, had accompanied eleanor, queen of england, to the palace of westminster. caroina prayed, only, that roosted atop her beloved beast, she would not chance upon an equally dismal destiny as her late aunt. confidence was then easily simulated when usurped by ancestral ambition, the infanta would, for better or for worse, leave a salubrious mark upon the empress. if not for herself, then for joanna, whose unbalanced tempers and fits of coltishness often left an embittered taste in the mouths of strangers. there was little carolina would not do in the pursuit of joanna’s happiness, or for the advantage of upwards mobility in the european caste; she embodied the braganza name, one soon to be interlinked with the blood surging through the rivulets of the empress’ reputedly gilded veins.

slick under foot was the earth indurated with frost, felt keenly by carolina’s spine with each click of ofelia’s hoof––developing a rhythm in spite of the roughened terrain, the lawless packs of hunters charging before them, as melodic as an orchestra devised of the finest portuguese musicians. every so often, eyes the hue and depth of the night’s fathomless sky cast sidelong glances toward the empress: irises, flickering like stars, admiring with a tooth-bitten lip the unflappable arch of her godmother’s neck, the sureness, the fluidity of her ride, the mantle of blonde that fell from her crown akin to the gardens of babylon, sumptuosity embodied. envy––no, acclaim––but perhaps, there again envy... she felt its distasteful melange knot within her belly, rising in the column of her throat in excessive commendation, as mawkish as a cherry wine. 

❛  of course, lady godmother, it would bring me great pleasure for us to hold fast. there is no more opportune time to do so, not with all the splendour that lay before us in our kinship.  ❜ carolina maintained a steady grip upon her reins, intended to stay nearest to the empress; she had sworn to joanna she would take the matter of apollonia into her own hands, and yet, now looking at her godmother in the flesh, she was certain only samson himself could fit the empress into his palm.  ❛  alas, empress, i am no great hunter... fortunately, there is always some fabricated malady or event that precludes me from attending those in lisbon. i prefer bloodsport when spectated from afar.  ❜  the infanta divulges apollonia with a conspiratorial wink,  ❛  but i swear it to be alert. you will find me quite capable of keeping a heedful eye on that which i hold dear... and, if i may be so bold as to say so, i trust we now have a mutual care between us both. my sister––joanna.  ❜

[infantacarclina]

joannaofportugal​:

 The two sisters stood at the precipice, awaiting a future that would begin with marriage and celebration. But within the sheets, coated in fur, the motion of time was silenced — leaving two of the three daughters of Portugal to dwell in mutual love and affection; a sisterly embrace, one to be nurtured past death itself.

“Imagine,” she laughed, tucking her arms beneath the mountains of pillows. “Imagine if I went to meet his grace in nothing but my holy skin! Surely he would faint! And it would do my reputation no good to make an Archduke faint on first meeting,” Joanna continued, looking to her sister as she spoke her wisdom, for the middle child would not know what to do about the Empress if it wasn’t for dear Carolina, who had spent her education in books whilst Joanna preferred the dance halls. Yes, perhaps it had been a blessing that one of them had paid attention to their guardians.

With their little fingers intertwined, the Infanta pressed a kiss to her younger sister’s brow. She would trust her till the end of her days, she would trust her before any other — such trust going before even the children Joanna would one day bring forth. With the promise and close whispers, she laughed out loud — kicking the sheets off her feet, to tease them to the brisk coolness of her sister’s chambers. “If I do not marry him, neither can you! And if he were to be mad and not find me suitable, then perhaps we could work together to coax forward his need.”

As soon as their two bodies were no longer tangled, Joanna shifted, rolling onto her side to watch her cover such familial features with the heaviness of the pillow. A grunt bellowed from the redhead’s nostrils, reaching forth to take her cover, throwing it forth instead down the length of the bed. “A very handsome Count indeed!” She teased, punching Carolina’s cheek between her fore-finger and thumb, her lips wide and joyous before pinching gently. “Do you desire him, sister? He is rather handsome, I admit, but I would think you’d come with me to the Holy Roman Empire! I cannot imagine getting through each tiresome day without you by my side,” Joanna confessed, a slice of honest whisper offered to Carolina, as she fell once more by her side.

“I find the bonito Count a tremendous fellow… Perhaps he could find work with the Archduke, for he has done such things before, correct? Then we can be together, the Braganza sisters together forever.”

       rare is the memory in carolina’s head that excludes joanna. within each nook of childhood, beside every alcove of adolescence, her sister is just as potent a memory as herself; the infanta fails to recall a time whereupon she wept tears without joanna to catch them, to pool her sorrow in the palm of her little hand, or wreaked havoc without joanna to provoke her, crying ravenously: i’ll do it by myself if you shan’t! her heart constricts painfully when, pondering, that their greatest triumph of all––marriage, for carolina, and a coronation for joanna––may be seen through in utter isolation. yet, perhaps not. her own mind has mulled over the possibility that she may join joanna in austria time and time over, albeit it would ultimately rely upon the generosity, or ease of manipulation, of the count, that was for certain. 

still, the archduke remained the more pressing matter, a devilish impediment to glorious destiny. alike the duke of salerno, promised to marquessa, he was yet an elusive figure in the streets of paris. there was reason to believe the empress, in her manifold wiles, had duped them, but carolina was hesitant to make joanna known to those apprehensions; if her own mind had not yet conjured them, then ignorance would provide bliss.  ❛  there are ever ways to coax a man’s favour.  ❜  carolina bit down on her tongue, anticipatorily regretting the words that next tumbled from her lips; words that joanna would have voiced uninhibitedly. ❛  look at our uncle, king edward. a little coaxing and a woman goes from widow to queen... sinner to saint... perhaps he will even forgive you for greeting him in the nude ! ❜ 

carolina felt the loss of joanna’s nearness instantaneously––though she cursed her name, rolling her eyes so forcefully it could nearly be heard in a huff of irritation, as joanna threw her protective pillow aside, landing with a thud at carolina’s blanketed feet.  ❛  his history is sordid––and as lengthy as he is old, but...  ❜  she turned to look at her sister, firelight illuminating the tips of joanna’s head a flaming scarlet,  ❛  he accompanied our aunt lianor to england, perhaps in the service of his crown he might accompany you to austria––and i could follow. i would speak to father of it forthwith after our nuptials; how could our beloved king deny us?  ❜  the infanta had spent ample time scrutinising the possibility, and in revealing so to her dearest sister, she felt no lick of shame: rather, she felt completeness, wholeness, their minds coming together in seamless scheming. her blond brows knitted together silently, amusement licking at her lips.  

❛  our mother would scold us for getting so far ahead of ourselves... she does not comprehend that we are a product of her making, does she?   ❜ 

[infantacarclina]

location & setting: palais de la cité, infanta’s chambers

closed to @ofmarquessa​

        albeit they did not possess the natural bond that she and joanna shared, marquessa was no less beloved nor admirable to carolina––and soon, sooner than she cared to admit, only they two would remain in portugal, dispossessed of joanna’s glister that seemed to light the court of king cristiano from within, shedding a magnificent radiance from the northernmost rivers of cevide, to the tempestuous islands of ilhéu de dora. regions, she was eager to remind herself, that would all fall under marquessa’s rule; she would be queen to each and every portuguese beast and man. as carolina fingered the gilded frame of the miniature she kept near to her heart, sewn into each frock and chemise she owned, she studied intently the likeness of her eldest sister. the paint had aged, the oil beginning to strip marquessa of her fresh-faced flush, the opulent velvet of state regalia, serving only to remind the infanta that the jubilance of the past was far behind them, growing less vibrant by day––they, all three sisters of portugal, wavered upon a great precipice, descending steeply into their clawed, winged and open-mouthed fates.

stepping out from an iron-wrought basin, carolina slipped her arms through her gown: a new-fangled design, embroidered from autumnal hues and trimmed with gold and sateen sash, cinched by an underskirt of brocaded copper that lay flush against the infanta’s freshly washed skin. her chamber now heavily perfumed with warm, sploshing water, and the scent of herbs and precious blossoms, she breathed in the delightful melange and turned her sights to the door as it creaked: heralding the arrival of another. given that her ladies made no complaint to the intruder, the infanta knew it to be one of three people: joanna, marquessa––or, a rarer visitor––her lady mother, and stole herself with anticipating joy. 

❛  marquessa !  ❜  ripping free from her ladies preening as they poked her with needles to keep her frock in place, carolina hastened to her sister’s side––dripping pearls and jewels onto the floor, and leaving a wake of fabrics that had loosened from her skirts. ❛  the summit has been terribly frenzied, it feels as though i have not seen you in weeks. but i have heard how well received you have been, and that all europe praises how exceptionally you resemble our father, the king. joanna is our joy, but you are our pride, marquessa. ❜

[infantacarclina]

rafaeldeourem​:

Her blush was becoming, a rouge like summer cherries to complement the alabaster of her skin, and Rafael’s lips quirked upwards.  In honesty, he had paid little personal heed to the princesses beyond the sort of use they promised to the government, until now: their sphere being so far removed from his own.  Until only lately, too, they’d been but children in his estimation, and while they had always shown the proper decorum expected of their rank and while he had a certain genial fondness for them on the occasions they had met, he had not given them much thought beyond it.  

Recent developments had, however, necessitated a shift in thinking which he had given over to.  For one, the past few years had revealed that they were blossoming into young women and, more to the point, the betrothals of the past year had solidified this news upon his psyche - particularly the last betrothal, which had seen the king place Carolina’s hand within his own - a future bride.  Yes, it was unavoidable: things must change.  And, besides, she proved quite a lovely young woman when he thought of it.  Perhaps they would get on splendidly.  Certainly, it was a feather in his own cap that his House, through her, should acquire royal blood.  What other bastard could boast so much?

As she greeted him, he made the requisite gesture of respect.  Her lips twisted and he nearly chuckled.  It was not difficult to surmise that the proposal of their marriage was as diminishing in her view as it was bolstering in his own.  What princess could ever dispossess so much?

His eyes twinkled with a strange kind of bemusement, his own marital vicissitudes striking him with some suspended humor and he suppressed laughter, thinking of his sweet Amira.  Could Carolina ever guess that, as honorific as the match was to him, it had also not initially proven very welcome?  He still recalled the tangle of his guts as his mind roved over the words her father uttered and he struggled to look pleased, to look proud, at the boon.  No, he could not blame her for wishing something other than this.  But he meant to marry her, all the same, if that was what the future held.

He glanced towards her with some little surprise as she spoke of the rich history of France and his lips looped into a more authentic smile.  Joining his hands behind him, he nodded as they moved slowly.  “Aye,” he rejoined.  “To think this very earth was settled by barbarian hordes; to think Our Lord turned it into this festival of culture as time sailed upon her course.  It gives one hope, does it not, for all of us,” he remarked with a twinge of humor.

Hearing her invitation, he inclined his head.  “Nothing should please me more,” he replied, thinking upon the same vein that she did - it should be a positive for them both, he thought, to come to the altar with some understanding each of the other’s character.

“How does it strike you?” he inquired, as they continued to walk.  “Travel.  The movement, itself, I see as something arduous, but often the destination offers it’s own rewards.  Have you sampled the fresh loaves, here?  Or walked long upon the edge of the Seine, observing its people in the course of their days?  I find there is much to be gleaned, ultimately, from such…” he chuckled, unable to find a better word.  “Sampling of other cultures.  One can almost imagine for a moment that one was born here, one of them, and not oneself at all.”

      the offering that lay on carolina’s tongue, delicately poised as though a pearl cached within an oyster, had been well received by the count––and, dare she delude herself into presuming,  with genuine exuberance?––accompanied by an exceptional display of fortitude, given the unbidden gaze the infanta’s governess anchored upon him, as molten as a bullet through the skull. yet, as a gloved hand rose to hook upon the count’s brocaded sleeve, seeking to walk arm-in-arm as she had observed her mother and father time and time over, carolina impotently repressed a scowl as the count failed to reciprocate the gesture in return. she was aware of, albeit resisted the urge to take with more than a grain of salt, the rumours of rafael’s erstwhile marriage: given over to a lady whose midas touch was as auspicious as carolina’s own hand, and yet as damned as judas. smoothing her fingertips across the coarse fabrics of her bodice, encaging and quashing her ribcage, carolina attempted to brush away her rashness by making ostensibly busy the ministrations of her digits; pelting like raindrops against windowpanes atop her stays. 

carolina gently coaxed her chin over her shoulder, casting a discreet glance to the ladies she left in her wake: girlhood companions mixed with senescent noble women––the former employed by her lady mother, the latter firmly in the pockets of the king––looming beneath the glistening awning of the fountain’s spray, catching the sun’s white-hot scintillations as droplets of moisture bounced and flashed like metallic blades in the clear skies. had she, she pondered, led herself astray? she then glanced to her betroth’s own composure, his hands neatly clasped behind his spine. the infanta had observed similarly distinguished men stand as augustly in the past, and so, in mirroring the count, she twisted her hands and held them as one behind her back; leading instead from her chin, which she thrust outward in a facade of aplomb. the weather proved conducive to the exploration of the grounds, stretching splendidly from the courtyard to the vacated tiltyard beyond, and she relished the feeling of the sun shining upon her décolletage––as though grinning, leering upon her newfound composition.

❛  ––– hope is a very necessary thing, your grace,   ❜  the princess interjected, tilting her head to glance up at the count. in the sunlight, she squinted her eyes, investigative and the hue of the darkest coal such that her pupils were virtually indiscernible, her gaze betwixt bashful and assertive. ❛  especially for children. while some may deduce it is no more than an achilles heel, a necessary offshoot of the human condition, it is the greatest of all our faults, is it not?  ❜

the infanta’s footstep was, as ever, light, with only the sound of her skirts scratching against the pavement and the occasional sighs of air that exude her inhibiting the flow of the couple’s organic conversation. it should be the first of many, carolina surmised, but certainly the most import of them all. she knew, just as she had been judging rafael all the while, that he would scrutinise and analyse her in return; pick apart her answers, her inquiries, the modulation of her voice, even––though they would, with any luck, reserve lambasting each other’s faults for their post-nuptial quarrels. his proceeding question causes carolina to snort, unreservedly, in amusement, granting a bob of her aureate head. ❛  you overestimate the freedom we women, daughters, infantas possess, my lord. my travels are terribly limited. tell me, would you allow your own daughters to walk upon the edge of the seine? observe and interact with its townsfolk? sample other cultures, when her own is inextricable to her identity––her purpose? ❜ she clicked her tongue noisily, and then, a defeated huff followed:  ❛  i am bound to portugal.  ❜

[infantacarclina]

joannaofportugal​:

The chill of winter leaked into the chambers, causing Joanna only to push closer to her sister who she may as well have shared a womb with. Peeling back her heavy throw, lined in fur and satin, Joanna crawled into her warmth and let her wild, red curls spread behind her — the shade shared with her English cousins, and not with her own siblings who shared bright blonde curls. But where there may have been physical differences, therein lay emotional trust. With the sheets heavy and warm, cocooning her beside Carolina, Joanna lay her gentle head upon the feather-down pillow, admiring the features shared between the Infantas, before lifting a hand to twirl a loose curl around her finger, as her foot nestled against the soft curve of her leg.

Were there ever sweeter sisters than Joanna & Carolina? Surely not, for she could not imagine only one pair of siblings who could rival their affection. Watching as she stretched and purred, Joanna blinked slowly and gently, seemingly serene — but this was unheard off, as Joanna sunk herself deeper beneath the covers that rose up around her neck to reveal little more than the sharpness of her chin and height of her cheekbones.

Rolling onto her back, Joanna stared up towards the ceiling, looking nowhere but to her thoughts that swirled around her future. So much was in question! She had seen the Archduke’s portrait, but oil paint could do only so much in realisation. Was he full of charm? So a-kin to the famous Habsburg line? The fine hair of her brows furrowed, Joanna released a stubborn sigh. “I will meet him here, Carolina — and everything must be perfect. I will wear such a dress, with pearls and sapphires sewn in for detail… I must also, ask that you come with me — I cannot imagine meeting him alone, with only old men to watch,” puckering her lips, she reached beneath the covers to find the small curve of her siste’rs hand — joining them together, as their fingers laced together like intricate lace.

“I am a little nervous, what if our mother ruins it? You know she could persuade papa to look somewhere else — she always preferred you.”

       carolina was gladdened, as ever, to have her sister beside her; sheltered and sheathed in the bedcover thrown across them, making one unified body of their tangle of words and limbs, interlocked so seamlessly that strenuous it became to discern where joanna ended, and where carolina began. as her lips pressed together in contemplation, she knew that she would miss this––having joanna only a stone’s throw from wherever her feet may be planted on the earth, there to ease her burdens, to rope into gossip, to whisper secrets that only a sister could possibly forgive her for, and when the all of europe seemed against them, together they stood united. with joanna beside her, the chill numbing her marrow and the doubt prickling at her mind ebbed away. it would only be a matter of time before joanna, too, receded like the waves from carolina’s recollections. she squeezed her eyes shut, holding fast to her sister’s arm; committing her scarlet tendrils, her mischievous winks, her lips, the hue and softness of rose-petals, to memory. it would take a skilled executioner indeed to split joanna and carolina where their ribs and hips had formed together. 

❛  it will be perfect, joanna, because it is willed by god. he has thrust you to be empress. you could enrobe yourself as lady godiva, wearing only the skin you were born in, and i trust the archduke would still take you as his bride and consort. you take care of him; i will take the matter of apollonia into my own hands. ❜  with each covenant made between the devious pair, carolina wrapped their pinkies together and shook in promise––though they hardly needed as much to swear their fealty to one another, it was a tradition that carried on from childhood and had failed to discard itself, like many of their antics, in the past. ❛  if mother is shrewd, and true to our god, she will not impede his plans. i am sure of this. i would sooner inter myself into another monastery than marry him! ❜

❛  besides... ❜ suddenly feeling a blush creeping upon her alabaster cheeks, carolina flipped over and laid flat on her back. she could not help the girlish grin that curled her lips upward, bringing a pillow to her face to conceal it and mumbling mutedly into its downy softness: ❛  i am to be married to the handsome count. ❜

[infantacarclina]

POINT  DIVIDER  FOR  𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑨  𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨

this  week  :  10  /  total  :  195

[infantacarclina]

rafaeldeourem​:

@infantacarclina

The spray from the fountain distorted the water below.  Rafael watched his reflection flcker - a kaleidoscope beneath the ripples - and flow away.  There was a strange delight in this, he thought, a kind of fascination afforded only by water: it’s tides and currents at once mercurial and predictable.  He thought water was, in this sense, more human than any other element: the fickle and unseen wind; the raging and gaping fire; the calm and nurturing earth.  His lips quirked upward and Rafael rose from the pool’s edge, where he’d been seated.

Warmth was beginning to seep back into the world, today, the fiery sun peeping out from behind a grey cloud with whitewashed underbelly.  The slate colored sky showed promise of azure, just there, and the first chartreuse shoots of leaves illuminated the bear limbs of the trees.

Good, thought Rafael.  Spring could not come too soon for him, with summer quick upon its heels.  He moved slowly through the formal gardens, taking in the sights as the low heat of daylight soaked his back.

Moving along, he heard the laughter of ladies, nearby, and glanced up.  Infanta Carolina and a few of her ladies were walking near him.  He ought to make an effort, he considered.  Someday, it was more than likely now, she would be his wife.  Rafael inhaled deeply and, forming a smile, approached.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he saluted.  He glanced towards her ladies before returning his attention to the princess.  “How do you find Paris, so far?  I must confess, with the sun shining, I find it cheerier than I did.  Much more stimulating, I should think, to be here than another convent?”

––

      the winter climes were amongst the most volatile beneath the almighty’s heavenly vault.  so indeterminable was the parisian weather that on certain days,  carolina could awake and expect to marvel at the seine blanketed with frost  –––  aqueous silver and sage mist swirling over its banks alike a funnel of haze;  on others,  the sun’s radiance would penetrate through the dense fog,  thawing away the chill,  and the air became so warm that the breeze curling around the infanta’s neck became her preferred pelt scarf.  february had lost its wintry bite,  and as it ebbed it appeared to usher in the sweet breath of spring,  hot and damp as it sighed against her skin,  fanned across her cheeks as she tipped her head and faced her palms upward to the cloudless skies;  soaking in the afternoon sun,  and feeling it sear and prickle like the weight of a concentrated gaze upon her porcelain flesh.  it was often sloganed that her father’s court was the closest to god,  and by extent,  the closest to the heat of the sun;  it was only a matter of time before clement climes unearthed the freckles on her nose and dusted across her arms,  wrought by years spent capering beneath lisbon rays,  and carolina delighted in this reminder.

the august ladies who enclosed carolina like a cage began to grouse about the heat,  the liability the infanta faced in marring her skin without a parasol or a veil to protect it,  albeit she took their complaints with a grain of salt  ––  tittering with the companions who usurped joanna’s role in her absence.  they cooed over upcoming soirees,  pageants,  and masques the french king had planned;  lauding about his jewels,  his palaces,  his mistresses,  clucking like hens and sharing in joyous peals of girlish laughter over the gurgle,  spit and trickle of the fountain beside them,  occasionally misting carolina’s skirts with sprays of cool river water.  yet,  they went immediately silent when the count approached –– as if having been caught,  red handed,  in a grave misdeed.  he was,  after all,  very likely to be their mistress’ husband in the coming months,  old and notorious as he was,  and though she had grown up in the same court where rafael de ourem took pride of place as her father’s favourite,  she knew very little of him intimately,  other than the rumours that proceeded him.  those alone had been enough to unseat her resolve. 

carolina, too, fell quiet and prayed to wipe the brick-red sear of embarrassment from her cheek;  perhaps her maids of honour had been right.  perhaps it was not merely her own chagrin, mayhap she had been burned.  ❛  my lord.  ❜  she swept into a cursory curtsy befitting of their morganatic stations.  tilting her head to study his profile,  her features unconsciously twisted into a simper –– appearing as though she had just suckled upon a lemon.  ❛  it is not at all as expected, although i cannot pinpoint exactly what i had expected,  either.  so much history... it is impossible not to adore the richness of the french court.   ❜  she gripped her hands tightly,  toying with her chilly fingertips,  unsure of how to proceed with her eldest nurses’ hawkish gazes upon her.  they would disprove,  naturally,  of her next course of action –– having always willed her to a life of monastic orders,  rather than to the marital bed –– but it appeared to the infanta as an opportunity to get to know her betrothed sans an audience.  ❛  shall we walk together,  conde,  and thank our lord for these merciful climes?  ❜

[infantacarclina]

POINT  DIVIDER  FOR  𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑨  𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨

this  week  :  185  /  total  :  185

[infantacarclina]

THE COMPLETE BIOGRAPHY OF CAROLINA BRAGANZA, THE EXECUTED PRINCESS. COMING 2021.. 

[infantacarclina]

shahmehdi​:

Each French morning seemed to dawn frozen upon them, the warmth of the sun afforded to them for only a few short hours, far fewer than Mehdi had ever experienced even in the coldest reaches of his own empire. He felt the cold constantly, it seemed, even through the layers of fur-lined robes he was ever wrapped in; if not his torso, then his fingers, and if not his fingers, then the scant inches of cheekbones that were left bare between his beard and his hat. Even so, Mehdi could see the recession of the cold this morning, in the visible green, the disappeared frost.

A small portion of his retinue had braved the chill this morning to inspect the grounds of the Parisian court. It was not the season for hunting, as whatever fowl there would ordinarily be found in their lands had, it seemed, left for warmer climes; as any like-minded man would, Mehdi said in low voice and private tongue to one of his men, eliciting a laugh. The French had chosen poorly, for such a grand ceremony; those that viewed their celebrations did so behind chattering teeth and shaking hands. He shook his head, pausing in his step as his eyes landed on another, and one that he recognised; not from any personal familiarity, but because he had seen and heard described the likenesses of the ruling dynasty of Portugal, before it was made certain he would not have the possibility to see Lisbon.

Bowing to the princess, Mehdi smiled. “Infanta! What a pleasure to meet you here.” He looked around himself, at the clear, if cool day, and smiled. “You are quite right, such climate is entirely  new to me. We have hints of snowfall, but no more—the morning we left, we believed that we saw the last of it, and were leaving winter behind, only to discover that it has not yet begun to leave. What of yourself? Frigidity apart, I hear there is much to be said and much to miss in Lisboa’s sea climes.” 

––

      bejeweled headdress shifted, the sable veil that concealed her golden knots of hair tumbling down the infanta’s spine as she canted her head, senses attuned to the shah’s deceptively quiet baritone.  carolina regarded him with the eyes of an agog pupil,  a faithful disciple,  rather than those of a rapt conversationalist;  receiving his affability with a grin that cleaved her mouth in two,  the radiance of a summer’s afternoon blooming upon her skin.  it was not that the infanta was deprived of stimuli,  particularly that of a political nature,  but as the youngest of a trio of daughters,  whatever scraps of intrigue and interest landed at her feet were sure to have been already mauled by her sisters;  they left her whatever they deemed tasteless, bloodless, insipid. so,  she sapped at every word that trickled like sorghum syrup from his lips;  stowing his turns of phrases,  his vernacular,  his acumen in the little hollow of her cheek,  tasting it and savoring it,  liable to spit it out and affect herself as being equally adroit as he when she held a private audience with her lady mother later that evening.  such was a writer’s sin,  was it not?  to funnel each interaction into literary fodder?  ❛  fortunately for us,  your majesty,  the abundance of wine and dancing and merriment thaws the french winter.  whereas in england, the cold is said to linger yearlong.  my cousins are like to engage in warfare with portugal if they were to hear such words upon my tongue ––– they are exceptionally stoic people, are they not?  ❜

     caroline averted her dark stare to the path ahead, winding through frigid grounds and cutting through the ancient fortifications that encompassed the courtyard, as she thought of lisbon. it was becoming more and more apparent that the summit in france would offer,  perhaps,  a last opportunity to travel; her ties were now bound to portugal,  to the count she was now betrothed to,  and on account she could not admit to missing her homeland,  but rather dreading returning to it.  a persistent reminder of her lineage pumped into her veins,  lifeblood as hot and as impassioned as its coastal shores,  and as she wrapped a hand around her lithe wrist,  she felt it bray into something that resembled a heartbeat;  sonorous and steady.  ❛  there is nothing quite like the sea,  is there?  one feels they are returned to eden when the sand is beneath them and the shoreline before them;  even so,  it is certainly just as perilous.  i have read poetry that has lauded your empire’s topography,  you must think my lisbon dour in comparison.  ❜