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witchofhimring · 7 months

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To cast you down and take all you hold dear

This series is being edited. I feel Alys came off as one dimensionally evil and the reader as a pretty flat character. So this will be heavily edited.

Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear

Pairings:

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Part 3 (previous chapter): Younger and more beautiful

Warnings: angst, cheating, mentions of stillbirth/miscarriages, death

A slap echoed through the room. The lady cried out and held her cheek. Alys stood there, wide eyed with a shaking hand. All her ladies stood around her in shock. At that moment Alys did not look even remotely regal. In fact, she had never looked worse. Alys was no longer the beautiful woman who took the throne. There may be remanence, but they were blurred. Her once fine black hair had a slight wear to it from all the nervous tugging over the past few months. Dark brown eyes bore out of a pale face, the skin stretched tightly over it like a mask. Her figure, which had once been so slender, had become blousy and difficult to control. Alys found that she could no longer simply rely on walking and eating soups to keep a slim figure. Her body ached in places she did not even know could. This might have been all worth it if she'd had a son. But only one daughter and two stillborn babes in the end. Panic had set in. They now whispered in the halls of the Queen, unable to bear the King a son. Now they whispered of the old one. Lately, Y/n's name came stalked the halls.

At least she new how to be a Queen.

Twenty years and he just casts her aside.

Queen Y/n would have done it better.

Y/n this. Y/n that. All they talked of was the old Queen. They also whispered of how Queen Alys was losing her grip of the King. No longer was she the fearless mistress who took the court by storm. As Queen she was flooded with worried and responsibilities that made her hair turn grey.

Not like Floris Baratheon. Floris Baratheon was only slightly younger than herself. She had borne her pervious husband two sons yet her figure remained just as lithe as it had been in her youth. Alys had taken great pleasure in sending Y/n's former lady to serve the true Princess, her daughter. But the sneaky little slut had been cunning. Because whenever the Queen had her back turned, Floris took to seductive arts.

"To cast you down and take all you hold dear."

Floris Baratheon, younger, more beautiful, who held a candle for the old Queen. Soon Floris became the governess and had unfiltered access to the King.

Exhausted, Alys dismissed her ladies and headed down the hall. It was late and she had only just heard the last of the petitioners. She would go to her husband tonight and try to get another child. Perhaps this time a son. Summoning her courage Alys walked to the door. In the mirror she quickly checked herself. Today she wore a sleek black gown that highlighted her best features. The black and ruby crown that once belonged to Y/n was placed on her head. She pushed open the door. The sight that greeted her caused Alys to stagger back. Floris Baratheon was sitting in the Kings lap, her dark hair cascading to one side. Her blue eyes drifted towards the Queen and she could see mirth shimmering on the surface of her eyes. The second her husband sees her he simply helps Floris to her feet and sends her away. "Your Grace." Floris gives her the smallest curtsy, and the smallest smile that only she could see dancing on her lips.

"At least the previous Queen was dignified about it." Alys wanted to tear their eyes out for such words. It was all they had been talking about the past few days. After catching her husband with Floris the conversation that followed could have destroyed the Red Keep. Shouts thundered and likely a nosy servant had overheard and spread word about. Or even that bitch Floris had opened her cunt mouth. She wanted to tear their throats out and make them beg for mercy. But that wasn't truly an option. She was the Queen. Just as how Y/n held the title. A Queen never complained.

"You brought that whore into your chambers!" She screamed as tears built up behind her eyes. Aemond pinched his nose, looking irritated. "I did not endure a day of tedious meetings to deal with your harping." This was insulting. He was acting as if his offence was minor in nature. "Harping! This is an insult to me and our daughter the Princess! She is heir to the Seven kingdoms and-" Aemond started to laugh. With a flinch she drew back. Alys could not believe this was the man she had grown to love. "You forget yourself Alys. And let us not forget that my daughter Daenerys was considered the heir at one such time." She could hear the wine on his breath. Horrified, Alys gaped at her husband. "How dare....that is not the same!" She was actually shaking right now, such was her anger. Alys was tempted to rush towards Aemond and drag her nails through his skin. And once she was done with that, her attention would turn to Floris. And Gods help that girl when she did. "In the eyes of many it is the same, My Lady. Many do not see you as the true Queen." She staggered back. No, this could not be her Aemond. This was some horrid parody of the man she had come to love. Unable to take it anymore, Alys fleed.

She knew that the crown was her destiny. Alys had spent days preparing Harenhall for the Kings arrival, as well as herself. Her onyx black hair fell to her waist, she bathed in cold water for weeks to keep her skin pale and a crimson dress that flung to her figure. She waited by the window, excepting to see a dragon descend at any moment. "Queen you shall be." Yes. She would be Queen one day. Her thoughts went to the current Queen. The one who could not even give the King a son. Perhaps this was the Queen she was meant to replace. A deep rumbling emanated from the distance and a great shadow parted the rolling clouds. It was time.

She descended the stairs, careful not to tear her delicate dress. A rumble shook the castle as Vhaegar landed. The great doors opened and Alys entered the court yard, just as the King got off Vhaegar. He was not a young man anymore, though not old either. He still kept the same physic of his youth, silver hair streaming behind him. Alys felt something warm stir within her. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. It was as if someone had plucked the ethereal descriptions of the Valyrians of old and made it into life. He walked towards her in an elegant stride before kissing her hand. His lips were warm.

Days went by as Aemond and Alys spoke. They walked in the gardens and talked about books. The longer they stayed together the more she fell for him. Alys thought that this must be it. This must be the King she was meant to marry. It was just too bad he had a wife. "I shall head back when the Queen gives birth." It had been almost twenty years and the Queen had yet to give a son. Alys hated her, the reason Aemond would have to leave. She just wished Y/n would go away already. She was tired of waiting! "Is she in good health?" From anyone else this would sound like a comment of concern. But no, Alys simply hoped Y/n would finally die. And then Alys could marry and give her King the son he so needed.

She was summoned to the council at the hour of the wolf. She walked, flanked by two of her ladies. On her way there, who should she meet, but Floris. It was late. Far to late for Floris Baratheon to simply be taking a leisurely stroll through the castle. Alys realized they were quite alone. A slow sneer curled on those red lips as Alys realized now was the time. She would take care of Floris once and for all. "It is late to be serving the King as his whore." She put on the facade on an uncaring Queen who saw mistresses as beneath her notice. Only Floris smiled, as if in on some great joke. "Oh, you're alright at it." Instead of rage Alys was confused. "Speak plainly." She demanded. "I mean that your uncaring mask is alright. Though not as good....as say... Queen Y/n." The former Queen's name rolled off Floris's tongue as she relished in the look on Alys's face. "Your loyalty to your former mistress is touching. But I suppose your final memories of her plight encourage you to rebel against be." Alys got pleasure from the momentary, painful spasm that crossed Floris's face. "I regret to inform you that the Queen was hardly pitiful in her final days. She carried herself with dignity, before and after she was in the palace." Alys fought down the hateful heat that threatened to engulf her. This mere mistress dared to insult her. Alys swore that when she bore a son she would have Floris pay for every insult. "Well, regardless, I am Queen now and it is best you remember that. I am sure your mistress told you many things to sway your heart against me." Floris only laughed. "You are most mistaken if you thought that you took up much place in the Queen's mind at all. Queens do not concern themselves with mistresses." The next moment there were was a gasp and a "crack" as Alys struck Floris. Her head turned and Floris's pale skin now wore the beginnings of a bruise. Floris simply wiped the small amount of blood from her lips. "As I said, alright. But Y/n was better."

Now word got around court of how the Queen struck the Kings mistress. All the time they stared and whispered of the jealous Queen. Worst of all were the murmurings of how Aemond might set her aside and take the young, pretty Floris as his bride. After all, she had provided her previous husband with two healthy boys. Alys had tried to conceive again but to no avail. Each month she woke up to blood on the sheets. Day after day she hoped she was pregnant.

It was not only her difficulties in producing a son that haunted Westeros. There was news coming in that Daenerys was plotting something. She had disappeared from the Sept in which she receded and taken her dragon with her. Aemond had sent out men to look her her. Alys hoped that Aemond would see sense and either kill the girl or make her take the veil. But no such thing was to occur. And then they did find the Princess, she was at the head of an army.

Alys went to see her husband that night. This time she went alone. The light flickered on the wall casting shadows. Her steps echoed off the stones. She saw her husbands bedroom door. Oddly enough, there were no guards posted. Without knocking she entered, only to see it occupied. Floris immediately straightened up, turning around hastily. A piece of crumpled parchment in her grasp. Suspicion gripped Alys at the way Floris's eyes shifted. "Hand me that." Alys striddened towards her. Floris stumbled back in her haste. A thin, cold hand closed on Floris's wrist as Alys snatched the parchment. With a shove Floris was sent to the floor. Alys could not discern the writing. But that's why spies used code. They both froze, as Alys realized what Floris had been planning for months. And Floris realized Alys had found her out. Alys could not breath. Floris had charged at her and seized Alys about the throat. Both toppled to the side. Alys dug her nails in Floris's pale skin, wracking it with her talons. Floris cried out but did not release her hold. "You traitorous bitch! I should have killed you and her bastard daughter!" Alys screamed. She called for guards but realized there were none at the door. Floris seized the necklace around Alys's neck and twisted it. Sharp pain exploded across her neck and suddenly Floris let go. She shot up and darted to the door. Alys was hot on her heals and she seized Floris's dark brown hair. She screamed and slammed her weight into Alys's foot. In one last desperate move Alys reached for the candlestick and a moment later it cracked against Floris's skull. Floris feel, bleeding. Victoriously Alys stood over her. And it seemed her prayers were answered as she head voices outside. Guards swept in and the candlestick fell from Alys's hand. At their head was Daenerys Targaryen.

"You should take care." Her elder brother Harwin Strong leaned against the door as he watched his sister put on jewelry. Alys admired her features in the mirror. She was lucky in her looks. Unlike her lumbering oaf of a brother and crippled Larys. "And why is that?" Alys rolled her eyes, she didn't have time for this. Harwin's expression darkened. "Do not take me for a fool little sister. I know what you did to Amelia." Alys sharply turned to him. So her was taking her side, was he. "She should have been more careful." "She accidently dropped tea on you. That was no reason to scar her face." Alys payed her foolish brother, who held to idea of gallantry and chivalry like a child. "Alys, one day your carelessness will harm you."

The great hall was lit. Lords and ladies had been crowded into the court, armed guards standing at every entrance. As Alys was lead in she saw her husband standing in front of a young, white haired man. The second he saw Daenerys he smiled. "I take it that everything went well?" "Yes." Daenerys stood beside the young man. "What is this?!" Alys was shaking. Even though she did not know the events that had transpired she could guess them. She looked to Aemond was had tight lipped and unable to look at her. "Aemond what has happened?" Alys grasped onto his arm, Daenerys's eyes flashed. "Alys Strong." It came out as a hiss. Daenerys's hand rested on a sword that longed to be wielded. "Lady Alys, I have not introduced myself. I am Viserys Targaryen, second of his name. This is my wife Queen Daenerys, first of her name." Her heart seemed to stop beating. She looked from Aemond back to the new couple. "You....you bedded the enemy?" Alys could barely grasp the situation. Daenerys shrugged. "Alliances change, as you well know. After all weren't you once a faithful subject?" "I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and-" Daenerys laughed. "And who will fight for your cause, My Lady?" They looked around the court and not one stepped forward. Alys looked at all the faces, at the young lady whom she slapped weeks before. The lady turned her back. Finally one did step forward. It was one of the Kingsguard. Joy leapt in Alys's heart only for it to plummeted as he knelt in front of the couple. And one by one they surrendered to the new King and Queen.

Alys was allowed the keep the Queen's rooms. But it was little comfort. A new succession had been drawn up. After Aemond died it would be Daenerys, daughter of Y/n, who would be Queen. The marriage of Y/n and Aemond was judged as good and valid. And while Alys was Queen her daughter would not be in the line of succession. She did not even feel like a Queen. Most of her ladies had gone. And she held no influence. Her place on the council was taken my Daenerys and her husband.

Aemond did not seek out his wife. Their love was less than a shadow of what it had once been. He took neither council or took to her bed. Sometimes they passed in the halls. How she wished to have words with him. But he never seemed to be interested. They never spoke again.

King Aemond Targaryen died in the early morning, alone, with none by his side. Alys wept bitterly when she found out. They had never even said goodbye. A day later they came in and told Alys that she would have a new residence. Her things were removed from the room and bustled into a carriage. "Where am I going?" The guard simply shook his head. "You will not be leaving now My Lady. The coronation takes place in a week. Alys had to make due with the few things they had left her with. Her new room was nice, but a far cry from what had been. When they day of the coronation Alys was brought to the front of the crowd. She watched as Daenerys and her husband were crowned a joint rulers of Westeros. And she looked every inch her mother, with a crown of Valyrian steel on her head.

To cast her down and take all she held dear.

Alys was bustled into a carriage shortly after. Exhausted, she leaded against the window. Where she was going she did not know. Perhaps back to Harrenhal, a place of happier days. Maybe her daughter would visit from time to time. For days they trundled on and Alys realized the destination was not Harrenhal. But no one told her anything. Perhaps she was staying at Casterly Rock. Which might not be so bad. One day they reached the place. The salty waves beat against the rocks and Alys realized where they were.

She cried out and collapsed.

On the stone steps of a sept.

Note: So this is the end I guess. I'm not entirely happy with this ending, so I might make it into a story at some point. Anyway, thanks for reading!

Taglist:

@watercolorskyy

@bellstwd

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x alys #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader angst #aemond angst #aemond x reader angst #alys rivers

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copias-girl · 10 months

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Coming Out as Demi to Copia!

Papa IV x reader fluff

A/N: So!! I just came out as demisexual here on tumblr and what better way to celebrate than with a little fic where Reader comes out as demi to a slightly confused yet super supportive Copia!! ACE ARMY, THIS ONE’S FOR US!! I hope you enjoy! 🖤🩶🤍💜

•♥︎𖤐♥︎•

“Papa!” You called out, snagging Copia’s sleeve as you caught up with him in one of the many grand corridors of the ministry.

“Eh? Oh! Amore!” He cheerfully greeted you, eagerly halting his steps, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a sweet kiss onto your lips.

He looked so handsome in his black blousy shirt- the one with the ruffled sleeves- and you couldn’t help but pull him back into a deeper kiss, causing the man to release a pleasantly surprised little moan.

“Ehh, what’s up, baby?” Copia asked in that adorable Italian accent of his, a bashful grin spreading across his face. And suddenly you began blushing upon remembering why you wanted to speak to him in the first place.

“Um… Can we talk? Are you busy, Papa?” You asked, your hands resting on his shoulders and mindlessly fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt.

“Papa is never too busy for the love of his life.” Copia stated, making you smile. “Dimmi, Dolcezza, di’quello che hai in mente.”

Oh, Satan bless your precious Papa for being so easy to talk to! His lighthearted demeanour served to slightly calm your tense nerves and ease the knot in your stomach.

“Well… I have to tell you something. I- I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I want to tell you now.” You started, nervously fidgeting with the little gold skull that held his cravat in place.

Copia’s expression was suddenly painted with worry as he moved to pull you into an ornate little alcove in the hall for more privacy, his gloved hands never leaving your waist. “Is.. is everything alright, Dolce?” He asked, his mismatched eyes filled with concern.

“Oh! No, don’t worry, everything’s fine!” You shook your head, biting your lip. “I’m just-” You cast a timorous glance over to the marble statue of Baphomet in the alcove, silently praying for courage. You didn’t even know why you were so nervous, as Copia had always been such a supportive and understanding lover. But this suddenly felt like a big thing, and you didn’t want it to change the way he viewed you.

“Dolce, ehm, you’re making Papa a little nervous.” Copia grinned, but you could still see the anxiousness in his gaze.

“Papa, I’m-” For the love of Lucifer, your words kept getting caught in your throat!

Copia recognized how apprehensive you were, so he took your hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Tutto è bene, si? You can tell me anything, Topolina. I promise whatever it is, I will not be upset.”

You took a deep breath, nodding in determination while your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest. “I’m… I’m demi.” You finally spit it out. You could feel the blood pounding louder and louder in your ears as you waited for your lover’s response.

“Ehm… Demi.. Lovato…?” He asked, and you almost could have burst out laughing if you weren’t so goddamn nervous. Oh, your poor, sweet Papa. It was silly things like this that made your heart swell for him even more.

“No, not- not Demi Lovato-” You managed to huff out a little giggle.

“Eh, a demilune?” He asked again. You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely trying to guess or if he was attempting to break the tension with some comedy. Perhaps a mix of both, and you utterly adored him for it.

“A demilune? Do I look like a table to you?” You giggled, raising an eyebrow.

Copia stole a brief glance down to your chest and the curves of your hips before shaking his head and staring at you with wide eyes. “Certainly not…” He corrected himself, causing you to roll your eyes in amusement.

“So tell me, Dolce!” He pleaded, the suspense unbearable.

“Alright, alright… I’m… um.. demisexual..?” You winced, bracing yourself.

“Eh- W-what does that mean, Dolce? Do you… do you not want to be with me anymore? Are you not attracted to me in this way anymore?” Your Papa asked, trepidation in his eyes. “Are you… playing for the other team?” He whispered. “B-because if you are, I would support you but- Oh, il mio povero cuore! Dolce, I would miss you so much!” He lamented, his expression turning utterly sorrowful at the thought of not being able to be your lover anymore.

“No no no! Papa- Oh my Satan- Papa, of course I still want to be with you!” You frantically tried to explain before you broke the man’s heart. You stroked your fingertips down his cheek and along his jawline as he searched your eyes for clarification.

“In fact… this means that… you’re really extra special.” You told him.

“Davvero?” Copia perked up.

You nodded, a smile gracing your features. “It means that…” You paused to think of how to explain it to him, stealing another quick glance at the stoic caprine visage of the Baphomet statue. And then you felt an unexpected clarity come over you. You knew exactly what you wanted to say, and the words poured out of you.

“Well, it means that out of everyone, I only have feelings for you.” You started, inching impossibly closer to Copia and resting your hands on his chest. “No one else makes me feel the way you do, my love. The connection we have is unparalleled; I don’t have a connection like this with anyone else. Like… you don’t understand, this isn’t me just telling you that I love you a lot. I literally don’t feel anything for anyone else. I don’t feel anything at all.”

You took a breath before continuing, “But with you, Copia, life is in a different colour. You make me feel so many things, things I never thought I could feel. I crave you all day. I constantly need to kiss you, touch you, hold you. All I want is to be in your arms. With anyone else, everything is grey and dull. But with you… With you, there are fireworks going off in my head and it drives me mad in the best way possible.” You sighed, but kept going when Copia patiently waited for you to finish, allowing your words to fully sink in.

“I don’t desire touch unless it’s yours. I don’t want sex unless it’s with you. I don’t want romance or anything unless it’s with you. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that… you’re perfect for me. And the reason why I even experience sexual and romantic feelings at all is because of you. Because you’re you. You’re my silly, awkward, sweet, hot as fuck old man. And I fell completely head over heels in love with you.” You finished. “Do you understand..?” You asked, cheeks flushing, a bit embarrassed at the fact that you rambled on so much.

But it was then that you noticed Copia’s beautifully odd eyes were sparkling with crystalline tears, threatening to roll down his painted cheeks as he gazed at you wondrously.

“Oh, Papa.” You whispered, already feeling tears pricking at the corners of your own eyes.

Copia gently cupped your face in his hands, stroking his thumbs against your reddened cheeks while you snaked your arms around his neck.

He pulled you in for a passionate kiss, tears finally spilling as his eyes fluttered closed. You kissed him back with needy fervour, pulling him closer closer closer and tangling your fingers in his soft grey hair. After pouring your heart out to him, you were desperate for this.

“Sei perfetta.” He only pulled away just enough to utter the words against your lips, the seriousness in his voice causing your heart to flutter. This man was so good to you; so accepting, understanding, encouraging. One thing was for certain, you could always count on Copia’s love and support for you.

In this vulnerable moment, you truly felt seen, validated, and loved. When he pulled away further to look at you, all you could see was adoration and pride swirling in his eyes, his chest flooding with emotion for you.

“Thank you, for trusting me and telling me. I know it is not sometimes easy, eh?” Copia murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“You make it so easy to talk to you.” You smiled, sniffling and wiping away a tear from your Papa’s pretty face. You felt so relieved, like a weight had been lifted from you. Copia wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze, and you rested your head on his shoulder while he slowly rocked you back and forth.

“I love you.” Copia declared, sounding as though he wanted to climb to the top of the ministry’s high bell tower and shout it to the world. “I love you more than you could ever imagine, Tesoro, do you know that?”

It felt as though a spark of electricity coursed through your veins. Every time your Papa told you he loved you, you felt as though you were flying. It never failed to make you feel like you were on top of the world.

“I love you!” You shouted, squeezing a chuckle out of Copia as your arms constricted around him tighter. “Oh, I love you, Copia! I love you I love you I love you!” You sighed dreamily, beginning to pepper kisses all over his cheeks, lips, nose, chin, and forehead. You adoringly kissed every line and wrinkle on his face, all while Copia’s gloved hands caressed you, wanting to touch you everywhere at once.

“I am so proud of you, amore mio.” He whispered praise after praise to you, intoxicated and lightheaded from the sheer passion he felt for you.

“Thank you.” You smiled, basking in the warm sunshine of Copia’s love.

“Take the rest of the day off, Papa. Please? Let’s go lay in bed and watch movies and make love.” You nudged him, and of course your darling man could never say no to you.

“You seem to have read my mind, Dolce.” Copia grinned, and you sighed as he placed a slow, chaste kiss to your lips.

So you laced your fingers with his and walked down the corridor together, stealing dreamy glances at one another and relishing in the feeling of being completely and totally in love.

“So, you don’t see me any differently?” You asked with a smile.

“Of course not, Dolcezza. You telling me this has only made me adore you more.” Your Papa replied happily. “Eh, in fact… Everything you have described, Dolce… well, I feel the very same way for you. So, ehm, perhaps…” He trailed off, blushing under his paints.

“Perhaps…?” You questioned, clearly intrigued.

“Perhaps two demis make a whole..?” Copia grinned sheepishly, causing an excited smile to spread across your face. You pulled the man in for another passionate kiss as he unlocked the door to his rooms, the two of you stumbling and practically falling through the door.

You felt silly for even feeling nervous at all earlier, because through all this, you realized that you and Copia truly were made for each other. And you couldn’t be more thankful to have your other half.

𖤐 the end 𖤐

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princessanneftw · 4 months

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Fendi pays tribute to Princess Anne with themed Milan show

This was the designer’s witty love letter from one strong, forthright woman within a powerful dynasty to another

Stephen Doig for the Daily Telegraph

Just this week, a colleague was extolling the wardrobe virtues of the “accidentally stylish” Princess Anne. And it seems that Silvia Venturini Fendi, the formidable matriarch of the Roman fashion house, is in agreement.

“I fell in love with the style of Princess Anne who, to my mind, is the most elegant woman in the world,” said Fendi, backstage in Milan. “When I saw the Coronation last year with Princess Anne in her uniform, I thought she looked beautiful. So I said ‘let’s be inspired for a men’s collection’.” The collection took the codes of the Princess Royal’s singular approach to dressing and applied them to men’s clothing, with a dusting of Fendi luxury in the mix.

“It’s a little bit Town and Country,” Fendi said of the distinctly British homage. “The Princess Royal is very rigorous in how she dresses, with this kind of military minded attitude, but feminine at the same time. She has a life outside the spotlight. She’s kind of an anti-fashion person, and to me that’s something that’s actually very fashionable and chic.”

Princess Anne’s status as a style icon over the years certainly hasn’t been by design on her part – leave the Princess of Wales to the Burberry while she dons House of Bruar – and was never the intention of the no-nonsense and hardworking royal, who favours practical country attire and Oakley shades over couture and experimental shapes, horse trials over the Gucci horsebit loafer. But that same sense of self-assuredness, stoicism and very British approach to dressing is just what appealed to Fendi in theming her show around the royal.

In actual terms, that translated into twinsets and chunky tweed skirts, heritage fabric coats – plaids spliced on plaids for a layered effect – waxed jackets and Wellington boots. The kind of attire built for yomps at Balmoral and Gloucestershire horse trials rather than the bars of Milan’s Brera district. The colours were those of the British countryside; olive, moss, oak and stone hues that evoked Gatcombe’s Green & Pleasant Land. The skirts, coincidentally, were in fact big, blousy Bermuda shorts designed to ape the appearance of Princess Anne’s solid kilts, although the royal herself has always mixed up the gender codes with her upright military uniform, so perhaps she’d approve of a bit of fluidity in that respect.

This being Fendi, a bit of experimentation with fabrication also weaved its way into the collection, with a tufted coat actually made from slivers of denim and some plush shearling on cropped jackets.

What Princess Anne would make of the sparkly suits on the willowy young men on the catwalk – perhaps a nod to her 1970s glamour – as well as the screaming furor from fans outside due to the presence of K-Pop stars and actors James Franco and Kit Harrington is anyone’s guess. But Silvia Venturini Fendi is no stranger to the singular position of being a strong, forthright woman within a powerful dynasty. It was a witty stylistic love letter from one woman of substance to another.

#kinda obsessed with the fact that this was inspired by anne #like it should happen more often #more fashion shows inspired by anne pls #annespired #princess anne #princess royal #fendi

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