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austrianblood‌:

now that marius was preoccupied with the arrival of his wife, it seemed the perfect opportunity to reconvene with gregoire, advise him on the prince’s current plans and state of mind. she had grown used to such a routine, and for a time lies and manipulation came as naturally as breathing but motherhood had begun to soften her heart, allowing for guilt to take root. 

“a little but quite badly, unfortunately.” henrietta scoffed, perching on the available seat, “i may have many a skill but it appears that chess is not yet included. the grand duchess anna of russia outwits me each time we partake but luckily i enjoy her company and face defeat with grace.” she added, looking upon him fondly, gaze tracing the familiar lines of his face. how aged they both were now, she thought, and how odd that she’d known the duke longer than she had ever known her late family. “tell me, has florence treated you well thus far?”

                    he emits a soft chuckle at her admission, legs crossing languorously as his shoulders slacken in her presence, easing himself fully into the frame of his chair.  gregoire had seen little of henrietta since his arrival in florence, her preoccupation with the prince regent giving the duke cause to keep a tame distance and seek information elsewhere. indeed, such a task had kept him distracted for a while, yet part of him could not completely suppress a yearning for her company; for intelligent conversation, the familiarity of a shared past and, more recently, the afterglow of evenings spent tangled and twined beneath crisp sheets.

                    ❝   florence has been a welcome respite, i will admit. one cannot be ungrateful for the opportunities a gathering of courts and minds such as this will present.  ❞   the duke smiles softly, tone gentle as he breathes a long sigh quietly through his nose   ——   his mind poached by the feeling that this tranquillity was to be short-lived in face of the days and weeks to come.    ❝   my valet and i took a few days excursion to cinque terre little more than a week ago, its coastal vistas and markets are spectacular. i think you would enjoy it there, etta   ——   i confess i was reluctant to leave.  ❞   gregoire reaches for his wine after refilling both chalices, taking care to study her delicate features closely as he returns her inquiry.  ❝   what of yourself and little maxim, i trust you are both settling in well?   ❞

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aulariademedici‌:

Aularia gave a controlled smile, snickering a little to feign embarrassment at her faded knowledge. In truth, chess was a game the Princess knew well. Her mother had taught it to her when she was a girl, and with it many other things. For instance, only half a game of chest occurs on the board. The rest is played in the air between the players. Each twitch of the muscle, a pawn, each word, a knight. Chess was a dance of knowledge surrendered and knowledge earned, and when a player understood this, even in their loss, they may yet find victory.

“ It would seem I am…” Aularia granted, picking up the chalice the Duke had filled for her and taking a healthy draw.

Of what the Princess knew about the Duke, she had deduced that his disposition was generally bonny, if a bit reserved, and that he could be an avid conversationalist. Of course so was she, and be so she knew that they came in two types: those who sought to share secrets, and those who sought to gain them. An exchange between two such people was as much a game of strategy as the board the Duke had laid out before them. Through denser vines, she had heard Gregoire was prone to lustfulness, and she wondered if this was indeed true, for lust was often the weakest point of any skilled male player of politics.

Aularia leaned forward in her chair, elbows mounted atop her crossed knees as she pretended to look the board over thoughtfully. “I do believe I can recollect them,” She was well aware that leaning forth in this position, her robes were falling open to expose the porcelain skin of her clavicle. Yet she did not move to correct it, instead looking up to meet the Duke’s eyes sheepishly, giving a genuinely girlish look that made her seem still like a woman fresh out of girlhood, still naive and gentle and unaware of her demeanor. She had found that it softened people to her, especially men, and granted her some allowance to speak out of turn, as it was often dismissed as womanly eccentricity.

“If you would be so kind as to grant me your patience, we may yet find out. Shall we?”

                   ❝   then my patience is unconditionally granted, your highness.   ❞   he smiles, the kind of smile one utilises when they are merely biding time and playing friends with those who would likely be all too eager to forget about them. a dishonest smile, betraying the anger and humiliation of a man felled unceremoniously from honour and left to fend among the dirt, grit and outliers of court. the restoration of his presence within france’s grand court has been a slow and arduous one, weary on his shoulders. patience had perhaps been the wrong word   ——   tolerance, in fact, suited better.   ❝    you must be enjoying this sojourn in your motherland, my lady.  the return to familiarity must be refreshing for you.   ❞

                  his eyes climb from the pieces on the board, sauntering upwards and over the display being put on by the wife of france’s representative.  his gaze finally snaps to her own, expression lacking any definitive emotion aside from the steady raise of a dark brow. the shadows of france’s court were where the duke had been banished to, and it was oft from there that he and his informers watched court life unfold, with many a whisper on her beguiling nature.  part of him wonders as to its origin, contemplates fairly within his mind whether it is falseness entirely or harbours some degree of innocence; considers survival is perhaps the better word.

                    momentarily, gregoire indulges in the notion of not only bedding the pretender-prince’s beloved mistress, but his own wife, too. the satisfaction of beholding carnal knowledge of that kind whilst looking marius straight in the eye temporarily tranquillises every other train of thought as his eyes drift from the princess’ face once more, before a determination not to become another mere plaything overcomes him and causes him to settle back in his chair, careful, gentle fingers permitting his knight piece to leap the board as he aims calculated words:   ❝   i hear the prince regent is eager to have a legitimate heir, your highness. i can only imagine your frustration at how long our good lord is making you both wait for such a blessing.  ❞   

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isabelofyork‌:

                     ISABEL’S  DECISION  TO  SEEK  OUT  the  duke  was  one  that  she  had  mulled  over  for  quite  some  time  and  whilst  she  was  aware  of  his  fall  from  grace,  it  would  have  been  erroneous  to  assume  him  completely  void  of  power.  with  all  that  had  come  to  pass  over  the  past  months,  the  queen  was  more  eager  than  ever  to  put  her  plan  into  motion  regarding  her  daughter  and  the  french  king,  but  she  would  require  powerful  allies  to  ensure  this  would  come  to  pass.   

❛  i  have  been  known  to  dabble,  your grace …  ❜   isabel  spoke  after  a  moments  contemplation.  moving  to  claim  the  seat  adjacent,  her  gaze  surveyed  the  board  and  its  pieces  before  them.  her  father  had  taught  her  how  to  play  alongside  her  brother,  though  she  would  not  claim  the  same  skill  as  her  him.  ❛ …   i  must  confess  to  not  having  played  for  some  years,  so  i  shall  beseech  you  to  be  merciful. ❜

                  ❝   your gracious humility is appreciated and certainly not lost on me, your majesty.  ❞   the duke’s steadily and carefully nurtured friendship with the king of england was one which, with time and careful interaction, he hoped would secure its roots firmly within the immediate royalty of the english court. it was no secret that the frenchman needed allies, nor that he excelled in creating them   ——   a skill which france’s previous power had put to great and fruitful use.  yet for all gregoire’s thought on tactics and politicking, he couldn’t help the genuine respect he bore for his english allies; a steady weight which balanced each word of every conversation and letter.

                 he distributes wine from the flagon into the awaiting glasses, allowing the queen to pick her preferred colour before play ensued.   ❝   how are you and your family finding your time in florence, your majesty?  i find the way of life here quite agreeable.  ❞   peaceful, is indeed how he had found it thus far. he slides a pawn forward on the board, his lips tilting in a gentle, encouraging smile, aware that he has likely been sought out for reasons other than small talk. 

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neverending series of my favourite architecture

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princcrcgent‌:

marius had been planning what he was to say to someone he had thrown from court. though he had been through plentiful speeches marius, and many a well-thought-out word… nothing came to mind once he entered his council. 

he had yet to find out about his lover’s betrayal to such a man, and had yet to discuss such movements to his nephew who was busy on matters he himself had pushed in his path. yet it was frustration that scorned his face, his jaw frozen as he grits his teeth and stares through the darkness to make out that familiar sulk of his posture. 

it seemed that god was not as happy with marius as he had once thought, if he had been truly content with the regent’s plans he wouldn’t have put such a man from his not-so-distant past in his path! 

“what foul presence have i walked in on?” he asks into the darkness, long strides against hardwood follow him till his being falls into the frame of the chair before the duke - though he was talented with protection and bawdiness, he had a guard behind the door waiting for any trouble ( no one could be TOO careful after the attempts on the russians ). 

“chess? ah, what a game to choose - i’m afraid you are doomed to loose, gregoire.” 

                   ❝   just that of a fellow countryman enjoying the peace, your highness, lest you would disallow me that also?  ❞   the duke returns, rising from his seat with as little heart as he could muster upon the prince regent’s traditionally impolitic entrance. he feels himself bristle at being spoken to in such a way, shoulders rounding within their sockets as he returns to his chair, purging a long drink from the glass he poured for himself only. gregoire’s only solace comes in the form of knowing that merely his presence in daily life alone irks the so-called ruler before him to no end. 

                   he flicks his eyes over the discarded board with a genuine disinterest,  ❝   a race run well can never be lost, my lord.  ❞   he fixes his eyes pointedly, yet only momentarily, on the other man.   ❝   i was once told many years ago and by a man much wiser than myself that chess was a game mastered only by pirates and politicians  —  pray, sate my curiosity: which one would you choose should you have to? a nom de guerre for the chequerboard, let us be fanciful and say.  ❞   index finger taps the glass in his hand absent-mindedly, his head cocked to one side as a caustic smile works its way upwards at the corner of his mouth.

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oftrastamara‌:

his accent triggered a memory in alexandrina and as she studied his profile, half-illuminated by firelight, she placed him from her time in fance, the trastámara family freshly exiled and seeking sanctuary. he had been a comte or a duke, someone who appeared close to the crown all those years ago but she was only a girl then and such details escaped her. “indeed, monsieur…” she replied, impulsively taking a seat in the unoccupied chair, “my queen and lady mother taught me, said it would give me a mind for strategy.” she eyed the empty cups for a moment, weighing the risks of taking wine she had not been given by a trusted servant but in the end she was too weary for such caution and helped herself, pouring garnet liquid from the flagon. “but perhaps, she simply liked to think of herself as the most powerful piece.” a whisper of a smile tugged at her full lips as she reset the game before them.

                    ❝   on the contrary, my lady, i would go far as to suggest your mother was most perceptive in her ways of educating you.  ❞    his smile grows warmer as he remembers her family well, memories of a young and inquisitive young girl harkening back to his gilded days beside an older, wiser sovereign.  yet his knowledge of the princess in the years since her departure from french court is limited, plagued with second hand whispers and speculation which he cared little to indulge. the duke parts his lips over the rim of his glass, refilled and perched in the soft grip of his thumb and fourth finger, a small sip bridging the gap between his words,   ❝   it is often told that a king can only be as powerful as those around him.  ❞   he lifts the painted wooden queen piece from the board momentarily, as if to reinforce the hidden depth to his words, the corners of his mouth nudging upwards to match her own,   ❝   are you inclined to believe your mother, votre altesse?  ❞ 

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aulariademedici‌:

Aularia found herself feeling restless well into the dark hours of the night, and eventually gave up on lying awake in her chambers. Throwing aside her dressings, she tossed her legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold stone of the floor against her bare feet. The princess adorned her robe and a pair of slippers and slipped out into the whisper quiet halls of the Medici estate. She had thought that being home would help her rest easier, but being in the room where she had spent her girlhood only served to make her feel powerless and left her feeling the need for action. What type of action, she wasn’t certain, but to be still was torture.

Aularia wandered the halls idly, taking in the corridors that were at once intimately familiar, yet felt so foreign after so many years of travel, followed by her last 2 years of marriage. As a girl,the dark shadows thrown by the flicker lanterns had scared her, and she would make a game of only stepping into the light on her way to her chambers in the evenings. Now, she knew the real dangers lay in the shadows in people’s souls.

After a time that could have been minutes, or maybe it had been hours, the princess wandered into the drawing room, surprised to see the light of a well-kept fire flickering in the hearth, creating a silhouette of the figure seated in front of it. Aularia tip-toed into the room, unsure if the figure was asleep, and jumped when they spoke suddenly. “Please,” they said, gesturing to the opposite chair, “… do you play?”

Aularia pressed her hand to her chest, letting her fluttering heartbeat slow beneath her palm as she rounded the chairs to see that the stranger was, in fact, the Duke D-Etampes. Aularia had seen him around the French court before, but wasn’t well acquainted with the man.but of course every stranger was just an ally not yet made, and this was a unique opportunity to see where her cards may lay with him. “Not since I was but a girl, I’m afraid.”

          He smiles, a palm stretching out to grasp the flagon of wine and flood the pair of glasses with the inky liquid. He was loosely acquainted with the Princess of France; a woman he saw as neither enemy nor outright ally through her lack of obvious political leaning. Her support for her nephew over the years had not gone unnoticed by himself, but perhaps this was a ruse, and Her Highness played her chosen cards close to her chest. He had often mused that such a strategy may prove beneficial to her only in the short-term. Lightly, the Duke responds:

                    ❝   Then it would seem you are out of practise.   ❞

          Gregoire assembles the game quietly, selecting ivory for his play and swivelling the board accordingly. A sigh parts his lips, fingers lacing as his hands come together across his midriff, his evaluation on the royal before him still a work in progress after all this time. His hackles can’t help but prickle upwards in her presence, wondering if she seeks to play both sides of court against the middle or if her motivations are clearer to those of whom she bestows her confidence. He reaches for his wine,

                   ❝   Are you still familiar with the rules of play?   ❞   The words play aptly on his train of thought, a brow cocked in encouragement.

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          He sits quietly by the fire, cradled by the calefaction of its gentle roar as it crackles and hisses through a meal of fresh logs and kindling.  The room smells lightly of smoke and the heavy curtains which sheath the room from the cold of nightfall, and Gregoire sighs deeply into the quietude around him, eyelashes fluttering as they strain against the will to sleep and his reluctance to move from the comfort of his seat. 

          An indiscernible figure shuffling in the doorway beckons his somnolent attention, straightening in his chair as he allows for a moment’s pause; an introduction or apology, before lifting the blanket of silence with a zephyr-like  ❝   Please,   ❞   gesturing the the chair beside him,  a half-full flagon and two empty glasses nestled around the legacy of a chess game played a number of hours prior. 

                                                               ❝   . . . do you play?   ❞

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   ❝  ⤚⟶  FLORENCE, 1455. thanks is given by the DUKE OF ÉTAMPES, GREGOIRE LAURENT, from FRANCE. they are at best PHILANTHROPIC, and at their worst PRIDEFUL. whilst sojourning in florence, their ambition is to FIND OVERWHELMING SUPPORT TO INSTALL PHILLIP AS SOVEREIGN. HE seems to remind everyone of JJ FEILD & YAWNING SHADOWS; THE STEALTH OF A TIGER; THE WARM BREATH OF A LATE SUMMER EVENING. ❞                 >> penned by EVIE; GMT, SHE/HER, 22.

THE FALL  ⤚⟶   a man starved of purpose since his untimely deposition to a mere spectacle of court, gregoire laurent remains hellbent on restoration — of both the rightful monarchy and his own wounded pride and former glory.  written off and cast aside as an exhausted and mistrusted resource by the king regent upon his installation, gregoire resorted to studying the arteries of France’s heart through his assignations with the regent’s paramour and the his own closest ally, henrietta.  he sits atop his own humble kingdom of spies and supporters with hushed assurances of loyalty in exchange for the advent of changed times.

THE MAN    ⤚⟶    benevolent and boasting an agreeable and charismatic persona, one would be forgiven for mistaking gregoire as a man verging on incapable of scheming and harbouring a great resentment against his country’s leader. this is his most valuable weapon — hiding, for the most part, in plain sight of his targets. a man keen on the intricacies of politics and diplomacy, he thrives under the conditions of his specialities, and still gnaws at the bones of the respect and warm adulation he was once regarded with.

THE HEART    ⤚⟶     his relationship with henrietta is as complex as the world and conditions in which it was formed, and his feelings are a secret guarded so closely that even he has been driven unaware of their depth. passionate by nature and spurred by reasons other than gleaning new information during their rendezvous, gregoire savours their time together, the easy moments of closeness and gentle companionship.  his one great love fell as an early martyr to death’s ambiguous cause as it ravaged the lands and hearts of europe, and over the years he has disallowed his feelings to ignite themselves over anything outside the theatre of governing.