#dowager queen of england

[internationalroyals]

𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑹𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍/𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑯𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉:

𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌 1: 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏/𝑬𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑫𝒂𝒚 1: 𝑬𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒉 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆, 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

[joanofnavarre]

On this day in History, 10 June 1432, Jeanne d'Évreux, daughter of Navarre, died at Havering-atte-Bower. She was formerly Duchess of Brittany by her first marriage, and Queen of Enfland by her second marriage, which was a love union. Despite being imprisoned for some years by her stepson, Henry V, Joan (as she was better known by her English subjects) still received visits from her stepchildren such as Humphrey of Gloucester and John of Bedford, but more often her Beaufort in-laws like Cardinal Beaufort. She was buried next to Henry.

[kingedwardvi]

Curiously enough, I’ve only recently watched “Becoming Elizabeth” as I’ve concomitantly read Edward VI’s biography.

It is hardly a surprise to observe there were great differences between the show and the book, specially concerning Katheryn Parr and Thomas Seymour’s own relationship.

Admittedly, though I know little of this matter myself, came across the excerpt below which gave me a lot to think about. For those who are little familiar with the first Dowager Queen of England in an almost a century (the last being Queen Elizabeth Wideville), the following content might actually come a surprise—or not.

What matters here is to promote not only a healthy discussion about their union, but showing that whereas Katheryn did love the man, she was not his first option to marry and she was not a “fool” completely blinded by her affection for him: she hesitated at first, unwilling to remarry in at least two years before becoming Lady Seymour out of respect for the king of England. However, Lord Thomas was a persuasive man, writing as far as a poem to claim the dowager queen’s heart—and he eventually succeeded it, as we are seeing next.

“Katherine moved into her dower house at Chelsea - away from the eyes at court, it was the ideal setting for Seymour to pay secret visits by night. Letters were sent and received, their contents, upon Katherine's urging, were quickly burnt: 'Your letter being finished ... I remembered your commandment to me’, Seymour wrote, ‘wherewith I threw it into the fire, be minding to keep your requests and desires’, yet the survival of both their letters suggest that neither was quite so willing to part with these tokens of love and affection.

Katherine confided her feelings to her friend Lady Paget, who urged marriage. But Katherine was hesitant. She wished 'it had been her fate to have him for a husband' but she was mindful of her position as queen. She had even kept the affair secret from her sister Anne who, when Katherine finally revealed the news, 'did not a little rejoice'.

As a growing number of friends discovered the secret of the affair, it became increasingly difficult to keep it hidden and rumours soon abounded. Meeting Seymour in St James's Park, Princess Elizabeth's servant Katherine Ashley challenged him over his marriage plans. Seymour boasted 'he would prove to have the queen', to which Ashley retorted that she thought this 'was past proof as I had heard he was already married to her'.

Ashley was right, for sometime between mid May and the beginning of June the couple had wed in secret, with one commentator believing the marriage had taken place as early as thirty-four days after Henry's death.

If this was true, then Katherine was playing a dangerous game - if she had become pregnant, there would have been no certainty that the child was Seymour's or Henry's. Katherine remained unwilling to commit herself, having doubts to the last.

She claimed she was his 'loving wife in her heart' but was determined 'never to marry, and break it when I have done, if I live two years'. Nevertheless, Seymour got his way. News of their marriage could not stay secret for long.

'I wish the world was as well pleased with our meaning as lam well assured [of ] the goodness of God's’, Katherine had lamented, 'but the world is so wicked that it cannot be contented with good things’. Instead she suggested that they find support for their union amongst the most powerful members of the council and court.

Seymour tested Princess Mary's reaction. It was not good. Mary considered it 'strange news', writing that if Katherine was keen, there was little she could do. In any case, 'being a maid' she was 'nothing cunning' about 'wooing matters'.

Instead, Mary appealed to her dead father's memory: if Katherine was not willing, certainly she would not 'persuade her to forget the loss of him, who is as yet very ripe in mine own remembrance’. Privately Mary was horrified at the prospect, and blamed Katherine for the affair. She possibly even appealed to Elizabeth to discourage the queen, but her half-sister, not wishing to stir up trouble, told her that they lacked any influence at court and should suffer with patience what was impossible to prevent.

Seymour would have to look elsewhere for support and he knew precisely whom to turn to. His confidence rested in the fact that he had managed to remain in regular contact with Edward through John Fowler, a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, whom Seymour gave a bribe of £10 (£3,000) shortly after the coronation and before long was in his regular pay. Despite being almost continually in the presence of other gentlemen of the chamber, Fowler was soon able to converse with Edward and soon struck up a close friendship with the king, speaking to him alone.

It was not long before Seymour was calling in the favours. At the end of February he had met with Fowler over a drink and asked whether Edward had mentioned him - and in particular whether the king had ever wondered why he had remained unmarried. Would Edward be happy for him to marry? And who should he take as his bride?

Without asking too many questions, Fowler approached Edward a few days later, somewhat unsubtly repeating Seymour's queries. Edward's first reply was to suggest Anne of Cleves, but then, giving the matter more serious attention, answered that he thought Mary to be the best choice, if only 'to change her opinions'.

When Seymour heard, he laughed. 'I pray you, Mr Fowler, if you may soon, ask his Grace if he could be contented I should marry the Queen.’ He also wanted to know if Edward would write a letter on his behalf in support of the marriage.

It was at this time that Seymour, without Fowler's knowledge, began to visit Edward in private. It was not long before he had persuaded him to write a letter to Katherine, dated 25 June. Despite Edward writing to Katherine at the end of May urging her to 'continue to love my father', now the king seemingly endorsed her relationship with Seymour, since the letter ingeniously made their marriage appear as Edward's personal request to Katherine.

Moreover, it gave specific assurance that Edward would safeguard Katherine against any reaction from Somerset, who the couple knew would be furious at their secret union: 'Wherefore ye shall not need to fear any grief to come, or to suspect lack of aid in need; seeing that he, being mine uncle, is so good in nature that he will not be troublesome ... if any grief shall befall, I shall be a sufficient succour.'

The entire letter was no doubt composed by Seymour, who probably dictated it to the king.(…) When news of his brother's marriage leaked out, Somerset was furious. Edward's blessing made Somerset all the more enraged, and the king was not immune from the brunt of his anger, noting in his journal that 'the Lord Protector was much offended’.

But it was his wife Anne, the Duchess of Somerset, who took the greatest offence to the union. Described as 'a woman for many imperfections intolerable, and for pride monstrous, subtle and violent' who held Somerset under her sway 'by persuasions cunningly intermixed with tears', she detested Katherine.”

SKIDMORE, C. “Edward VI: The Lost King of England”.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Authors Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss found inspiration for their hit musical in the lives and loves of King Henry VIII, but SIX tells the story from the women’s point of view.

Each queen gets her moment in the spotlight to explain her fate of being “Divorced. Beheaded. Died. Divorced. Beheaded. Survived.”

Divorced: Catherine of Aragon

Larger-than-life Henry VIII ruled England for 36 years (1509-1547), raging war against France and Scotland, separating from the Catholic Church, and paving the way for the constitution of England, among other political achievements.

But young Prince Henry was not destined to be king. When his older brother Arthur died in 1502 at age 15, Henry became the heir to the throne.

When Arthur died, Henry didn’t just inherit the throne—he inherited his brother’s fiancée, Catherine of Aragon.

After marrying, the two became parents to a son—who tragically died two months later.

Their daughter Mary was born in 1516, but by 1526, the marriage had not produced the male heir Henry needed to secure the succession.

He began looking for a new bride, even though the Catholic Church made it impossible to divorce Catherine.

In the end, the answer was simple:

Henry believed he was a king ordained by God, so he, not the pope, had ultimate authority over his kingdom; as such, he could grant his own annulment.

This decision led to England’s break with the Catholic Church—and the creation of the Anglican Church.

After their annulment, Catherine was given the title “Dowager Duchess of Wales,” and she lived out her days at Kimbolton Castle. She died in 1536 from cancer at the age of 50.

Mary, by the way, went on to become Queen of England and Ireland from 1553 to 1558, during which time she fought to reverse the English Reformation, brought about during her father’s reign.

Beheaded: Anne Boleyn

While still married to Catherine, Henry had begun wooing a court beauty, Anne Boleyn, and was determined to marry her.

A lady-in-waiting to Catherine, Anne was sophisticated, charming, and confident.

She is commonly believed to be the wife he loved the most.

As his advisers worked on “the King’s great matter” of the divorce, the couple had to wait seven years to be married—though the two flaunted their relationship in court.

He wrote her love letters, which still exist today:

“I hope soon to see you again,” he wrote, “which will be to me a greater comfort than all the precious jewels in the world.”

Anne was six months pregnant when they finally said “I do” in June 1533. Three months later, she gave birth to Elizabeth I.

She had two stillborn children and suffered a miscarriage in 1536; the fetus appeared to be male. Henry still did not have his heir.

Little by little, Henry grew tired of Anne, and his eye caught sight of a new woman: Jane Seymour.

To end the marriage, Henry needed to find a way out—and he found it through accusing Anne of high treason.

For the crimes of adultery, incest and plotting to murder the king, Anne was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London.

She went on trial, denied all charges, but was found guilty.

Anne was beheaded on 17 May 1536 at the Tower and buried in an unmarked grave beneath the Parish Church there.

Died: Jane Seymour

While married to Anne, Henry visited the Seymour home. It was believed that was when he first laid eyes on Jane, who served as a lady in waiting for both Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn.

As in his relationship with Anne, Henry began courting Jane while still a married man.

Beautiful and reserved, she was a stark contrast to his first two wives. Before long, rumors of his attraction to her spread. 

He proposed to her the day after Anne Boleyn’s execution, and they were married a month later.

She bore a son, the future Edward VI, in 1537 but died within 12 days of giving birth.

She is the only wife buried with him in the same tomb in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.

Divorced: Anne of Cleves

Henry’s ministers searched high and low for a new wife for the king, whose abysmal marital reputation preceded him.

Anne of Cleves, the daughter of a German duke, became a prospect for diplomatic reasons:

The marriage would ally England with a Protestant duchy, thus solidifying England’s religious reformation.

But Henry needed to know what she looked like, so, on the advice of Thomas Cromwell, he sent his favorite court painter, Hans Holbein the Younger, to the German duchy.

He approved based on the portrait.

When Anne arrived, however, he was crestfallen to see she was not as fair as reported.

(Remember, he was no great looker at that time of his life—obese, in chronic pain, with an unpredictable temper.)

Nevertheless, they were married at Greenwich Palace on 6 January 1540, but he was already looking for a way out.

The marriage was annulled six months later, on the technicality that it hadn’t been consummated.

She was given Hever Castle (Anne Boleyn’s former home) and the title “King’s Beloved Sister.”

Thomas Cromwell was not so fortunate; Henry had him executed for his miscalculation.

Beheaded: Catherine Howard

Henry was 49, and Catherine was 19 or 20, when he spotted her among the ladies in waiting to his previous wife, Anne of Cleves.

Vivacious and full of energy, the young Catherine had no choice in the matter. The pair married in 1540, three weeks after his separation with Anne.

She became his trophy wife.

No doubt turned off by her much older husband (who suffered from various ailments including ulcerous legs), she fell in love with Thomas Culpeper, one of Henry’s young advisers.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, found out, and he reported her indiscretions—including those that occurred before their marriage with other men—to Henry.

She was charged with “unchastity” before her marriage, concealing her indiscretions, and adultery: acts of treason.

She was executed on 13 February 1542.

Survived: Catherine Parr

Twice married and twice widowed, the down-to-earth Catherine was reluctant at first to marry Henry. Who wouldn’t be?

She knew the fates of his previous wives, though she also knew that refusing the king could have drastic consequences.

She had caught his eye when she had been part of the household of Princess Mary, the king’s daughter.

They were married in 1543. By all reports, she was a loving, pious wife who offered comfort to Henry in his old age.

She helped Henry to reconcile with his two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, and ensured they were educated and restored to succession.

She outlived him and married for a fourth time.

[tudorqueen6]

7 September 1548: THE FUNERAL of the Dowager Queen

Evesham Journal 7 September 1548: THE FUNERAL of the Dowager Queen Katherine Parr. It was the first Protestant funeral held in English. Her chief mourner was Lady Jane Grey. She was buried in St Mary’s Chapel on the grounds of Sudeley Castle, Gloucestershire, England. ‘A Breviate of the Internment of the lady Katherine Parr, Queen Dowager, late wife to King Henry VIII, and after, wife to Sir…

[dailytudors]

FRANCES GREY, DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK, MOTHER OF A QUEEN

Born Frances Brandon, named after St. Francis of Assisi but also in honour of the King of France, Francis I, who was once the stepson-in-law of her mother and who had granted the marriage of her parents. Daughter of Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk and Mary Tudor, Princess of England and Dowager Queen of France, she was the eldest daughter of her parents' union and after the death of her brother their eldest child. Sister to Eleanor Clifford, later Countess of Cumberland. She had two full brothers one elder and one younger, who did not reach adulthood. By her father, she had four half-siblings, like her full brothers her younger brothers did not reach adulthood. Granddaughter of Henry VII, King of England and Elizabeth of York, Queen of England. Making her the niece of Henry VIII, King of England and per the Act of Succession 1536 the first person in line for the English throne outside of her uncle's marriages, as her mother's heirs took precedence over her Scottish cousins who were through her aunt - the elder of Henry VII's daughters - Margaret, Queen of Scotland's line. Her first marriage was to Henry Grey, initially Marquess of Dorset who later acceded the Dukedom of Suffolk after her father's death. Henry Grey was related through their common ancestress Elizabeth Woodville, Queen of England, Henry through Elizabeth's first marriage and Frances through her second. Her second husband was Adrian Stokes, the Master of the Horse to her cousin Mary I. Mother to Jane Grey, Queen of England for nine days (technically thirteen if you take the date of the death of Edward VI) who was made heir by Edward VI brushing over Frances's own claim. Also, the mother to Katherine Grey and Mary Grey, who at times during Elizabeth I's reign were considered viable heirs by the court. She had a loving relationship with her stepmother Catherine Willoughby and socialized in the same circles, including the protestant circles of her uncle's latter reign and her cousin Edward's reign. Beloved friend to her Aunt by marriage Catherine Parr, Queen of England who was also a good friend of her stepmother. Friend to her cousin Mary I, even after Mary had put her Husband, Daughter and son-in-law to death. Mary, Frances and their cousin - through their aunt Margaret, Queen of Scotland - Margaret Douglas were all close in age and brought up in the court of Henry VIII. Mary ended up on the throne, with Frances being the mother of a Queen and Margaret being the mother of a King Consort of Scotland and later the grandmother of James I, King of England.

[Anna Chancellor as Lady France Grey, in Amazon Prime's My Lady Jane]

[amarguerite]

the worldbuilding in Queen Charlotte is frankly insane. Would love to know how the writer’s room got to a point where they went, “you know what? It’s not only reasonable but highly likely that the dowager Queen of England can DOUBLE THE SIZE OF THE ARISTOCRACY IN SIX HOURS ON A WHIM.”

[emmaofnormandy]

The Dragon and the Rose.

• In this universe, Lady Kathryn Howard crosses path with King Aegon II. The result of it may be more surprising than what onlookers have judged at first…

Long post; fluffy.

"You need a wife", the Dowager Queen of Westeros tells his son. "As a king, specially given the current circumnstances, you need to produce an heir. Such a deed cannot be done by yourself, as you must know.”

Aegon rolls his eyes at his mother’s words. Despite his reluctance to get himself crowned as the overlord of the seven kingdoms, here he is now, urged to get married. And he cannot take his sister as his wife as former Targaryens did because she simply eloped with Aemond.

Not that I needed her anyway.

Besides, Aegon believes he can have any woman he desires. Why marrying one alone? When he makes this point to his mother, Queen Alicent takes a very deep breath as if she is beseeching her patience in Heaven before saying:

“We need allies, you fool. And a legitimate heir.” She says between gritted teeth. “If you are not looking for one, I will. Should I explain the basics to you? If you don’t have legitimate heirs, Rhaenyra’s sons will rule after you. Is that what you want?”

That has her son’s attention. Good. Alicent softens and smiles.

“You can choose any noblewoman you like as long as it’s a highborn damsel appropriate for the rule of a consort.”

“Very well”, Aegon sighs. “I will do my best, my lady mother.”

Yet, where should he begin? Perhaps Aegon should ask the aid of his siblings for that task. As he summons Aemond back to court, Aegon does not need a very long time to tell the reason why he needs his younger brother’s help.

“Ah right. A wife, a queen. I’ll pity the woman who might get all the praises but your attention when she sits in the place once occupied by our mother.”

“If I needed your disdain, Aemond, believe me… I would rather you to stay with Helaena wherever the fuck you have been.”

“Watch your tongue, Your Grace”, Aemond smirks. “Very well. I’ve been traveling for a while and if no Westerosi ladies get your attention, I can give you other suggestions.”

Aegon’s eyebrows are epically raised.

“Oh?”

And so he is told of England and its own noble houses, one of which has been friendly towards Aemond and Helaena in their journey to the west: the Howards.

***

Katherine never before felt so uncomfortable as when she was at the court of King Henry. Specially when she’s getting his unwelcome flatteries.

King he is, but he could be my father. Worse, he is not handsome at all. Why cannot he be content with his wife? Poor lady Anne does not deserve this treatment.

However, her uncle seems pleased with the idea of rising high in the court sphere once again. Whilst Thomas Howard contemplates a form to separate the king from his wife by joining him to his niece, his brother, Edmund Howard, is not sharing his enthusiasm.

In fact, without Katherine’s knowledge, her father has been entertaining other ideas. Having received Lord Aemond and his wife, lady Helaena, there had been conversations concerning a possible betrothal to Aegon Targaryen and his daughter. Eventually, though, Edmund becomes anxious to remove Katherine out of court.

“What?”, Katherine is talking with her first cousin, the countess of Richmond. “What are you talking about? Why would my father ask me to leave? You are lying.”

Lady Mary Howard sighs.

“Just read this envelope here. I’m sure you can read, can you not, cousin?”

Katherine blushes at the sharp tongue of the other woman, but takes the letter and opens it without giving an answer. As she reads the content, she is partly relieved for leaving—she’d been feeling like a fox about to become the prey of a dangerous predator with no chance to escape. On the other hand, she is somewhat preoccupied about how this will be handled.

“How familiar are you with this plan, cousin?”, inquires Katheryn, suspicious about the veracity of it.

Lady Mary shrugs her shoulders in a nonchalant posture, although her eyes give an otherwise meaning.

“Familiar enough to help you escape the hands of the tyrant. I am helping you because I’ve been there too, although he ensured to deprive me of the presence of my beloved”, she explains in between gritted teeth.

Lady Mary was referring to the days she’d been married to Henry FitzRoy, King Henry’s favoured son, albeit illegitimate. But due to the monarch’s paranoia, they never made to consummate their love for each other and what happened next was her widowhood.

Katheryn understands well her sentiments and appreciates that amongst her family members there was at least one relative she could trust. The relief is evident in her features which softens her cousin’s pride mask.

“You deserve better, cousin.”

And so the new journey to Katheryn Howard’s life begins.

***

As the feast begins, Aegon is nowhere to be found, much to his mother’s dismay. The unpleasant task to find him falls upon Ser Criston Cole’s dutifulness since Aemond has been too busy with his wife to remind Aegon of his regal duties.

“Bring him to us as soon as possible. We have been told the lady is arriving anytime now. Aegon must be here to receive her”, so the dowager queen points out as-a-matter-of-fact.

It takes little time for Ser Criston to find the king. He is in his bed, taking his time to let the hangover state out of himself.

“Your Grace”, says the knight. “Do you intend to spend the rest of the day in your bed whilst the Seven Kingdoms await your good will in ensuring its rule goes as expected?”

Aegon sighs heavily. His hair is a mess, his eyes are only half open, in a state that only irritates the knight. But before the king is lectured about his misconduct, Aegon decides to take leave of his bed.

“You may spare your breath”, says the silver haired prince. “I am doing what is expected of me today.”

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow all the whilst folding his arms, in a posture that clearly disbelieves the other’s words.

“I mean it. I am perfectly aware that very few have some faith in me”, he says grudgingly.

As if to prove him right of surprising everyone, Aegon cleans himself and dresses in his mother’s colors. Although unwillingly, he knows there is a role to play. And this is the day he ought to do things in a different way.

The moment he arrives to the grand hall is the same moment where his soon to be wife arrives too. His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, is relieved and ensuring nothing goes wrong.

But when the doors open, destiny plays the card that will change everything.

***

It is a beautiful court, so Katheryn judges as her eyes capture the shades of dark green that somehow mixes with red and black, although it could be more colorful.

She is very impressed, though. The Red Keep is all about grandiosity, reinforced by the regality in the decoration, joined by the beautiful landscape that has been running through her eyes during her journey from London.

But nothing impacted her more than seeing the shadow of grand beasts, flying across the skies and howling through the air. Katheryn once read about them… Dragons, that’s what they were named. They were the symbol of the Tudor dynasty, the same one her beloved uncle sought to marry her into.

The prestige is not worth it, I know it in me.

Nevertheless, she wanted a good marriage for herself, being the noble lady she is. So her father sent her to be the wife of another king, whom he assured to be more gentle and closer to her in age than Henry Tudor.

Now that she is walking into the Red Keep surrounded by her retinue and her eyes are glued upon the regal figure that stands tall, Katheryn finds herself amazed.

As Aegon slowly comes to greet her, both seem to be oblivious to the anxious parts that seem to be eager to join them in sacred ceremony. They too ignore the pair of eyes that follow them curiously.

They only seem to notice each other. Whilst Katheryn is, admittedly, baffled by his Valyrian features, so is Aegon by her English inheritance. Never before had he met dark, astonishing and deep eyes staring so intently into his lilac ones.

“My lady Howard”, Aegon is the one who breaks the ice by greeting her with a proper bow. “Welcome to King’s Landing. I pray your journey has not been uncomfortable for your ladyship.”

A weak blush paints her pale cheeks as she curtseys in return.

“Your Majesty, I appreciate the kindness you display towards me. Indeed the journey has been good, thank you.”

“That is fantastic to hear”, says Aegon, unable to refrain his growing smile. Then gallantly he extends his hand to her and Katheryn promptly takes it.

It is as if the world breathes in relief when the Westerosi king is delighted at his foreigner queen-to-be. To some as the former queen of the realm, though, there is still much to wait for the unpredictable Aegon.

But even the lady Alicent is forced to admit that prospectives are positive so far.

“What are your impressions of this land you’ve set foot? In all honesty, I’ve never encountered a foreigner lady like yourself before”, says the charmed king.

Kathryn smiles, pleasantly blushed to get his attention. Indeed, Aegon’s handsomeness, gallantries and youth count positive for this alliance favoured by her father against her uncle’s ambitions in rising another of his family to occupy King Henry’s vacant side.

Even before these impressions, Kathryn is no fool. She spent enough time at the court of the old king to know that appearances can be misleading—and deadly.

This conversation is the start of something new for both parts involved… and more so when considering a new world beyond the seven kingdoms of Westeros.

For King Aegon, however, this marriage is politically fruitful: not sooner and his reign will be acknowledged before his fellow kings out of Westeros.

Yet… when looking at Lady Katherine, these dark eyes and darker hair make him forget of the true purpose of this union. Each time she smiles, Aegon realizes that maybe now… he wants more than casual flings.

***

As controversial as the wheel of fortune might be, Lady Katherine occupies the higher ground without fearing for her life. Henry Tudor is no more the reasons of her concern nor disgusts, the mere thought of him is now turned to dust.

She is queen herself… of a distant realm, where she has a husband to please and duties to attend without the fear of reprehension of her uncle Thomas Howard, even though Aegon’s grandsire, Otto Hightower, has the same likes—somewhat irksome to her.

What does it matter? I am the queen now.

In these festivities, Kathryn enjoys the attentions of her handsome husband, with whom she comes to discover there is so much they share in common.

“As soon as we can, I’ll take you to a ride. Have you ever been to a dragon’s back before?”

“I do not think husband”, she says, savouring the taste this new word brings, with a gentle smirk, “that I have ever even seen one.”

It is inconceivable to Aegon that there is a world out there where dragons are not part of it. Thus as his wife tells him about her origins, all she’d known about these flying creatures are stories, legends, myths, his bafflement only increases.

“I shall bring you to Sunfyre by tomorrow dawn”, he vows to her, very serious in keeping his promise when locking their hands tied.

In this crowded room, every sound dies before this new level of intimacy just recently disclosed. When Aegon looks at Kathryn, she knows he sees her for who she is.

Not just her beauty. But who she really is underneath all of this pomp she likes to exhibit in a form to conceal her sensibility and all of her dreams that her family despised and she had no other choice but to hide.

One gaze is enough. No more words are enough. Silence already speaks for itself.

*

“You fancy her”, observes Lord Aemond when he occupies the vacant place left by Lady Kathryn. By his brother’s side, their eyes follow the brunette’s moves, captured by the vivacity in her gracious steps as she dances.

“Could it be otherwise?”

“When mother at first suggested you to wed Helaena, you despised her.”

“Suggested?”, Aegon snorts at his younger brother. “That is kind of you. Well, Laena and I never saw eye to eye, which worked out for you just fine if I recall well.”

Aemond gives the eldest of the two a smirk.

“Indeed, though what I wanted to say is that you can be…”

“Imprudent?”

“I’d prefer to say careless”, says he. “Whereas the lady Kathryn is a blossom rose.”

Aegon’s eyes go to the woman the High Sparrow crowned, the brunette of a foreigner land he espoused. So much joy in her figure, the gentleness evident in her countenance, reinforcing a beauty that brings her the attention.

“I am not a man who shares”, says the king, subtly, giving more in these words than his pride would bend to admit.

Aemond takes the glass to his lips, pleased for the result of his match.

“I know how well you like to keep your prizes to yourself.”

And nothing further has been discussed about it.

***

“Lady, today you will experiment few out of our family has ever had”, so boasts Aegon, proudly. He likes the eyes of his wife on him, carrying a new genuine admiration he’s never found on the eyes of another.

“And what is that, husband?”, she asks, excited and intrigued.

They are out of the Red Keep this day. Though it’s not cloudy, it’s a little windy, but perfect condition to fly. Kathryn is frightened, though she struggles to conceal it, before the sight of large beasts that howl through the air and are not mythological.

“I appreciate your efforts in playing the brave, my dear”, Aegon smiles at her, bringing her closer to him. “But no need to fear. Come, let us make these new memories together.”

Kathryn is thus taken to Sunfyre, whose large yellow wings and its golden eyes impact the new queen. She blinks a few times, frozen before this encounter, but does not shy away of it.

As Sunfyre bows to her, she smiles gracefully, taking the hand Aegon extends her. The next thing she knows is adventurously wordless.

“I’ve never taken anyone to fly so high”, he whispers in her ear, pleased to see her blushing as his arms snake around her waist. “Do you want to command Sunfyre? Go on. I know you can do it.”

Kathryn gazes at her husband with a mix of surprise and atonement. Never before she was consulted in anything of the kind; her views and tastes were often disregarded as a matter of little importance.

Underneath titles two lost souls are found in a surprising alliance that is turning positively healing for both parts.

The moment she smiles, Aegon knows there is chance for redemption…. And he’s prompted to take it.

***

• Epilogue.

According to the unofficial and unnamed chronicler of Aegon’s court, the king and the queen had a very successful marriage. This gleeful union, which seems to have cast a shadow over the king’s questionable past by designing a better future, has resulted in the following children:

1. Jaehaerys, Prince of Dragonstone.

2. Elysbeth, Princess of Dragonstone, who married her oldest brother, following the Targaryen tradition.

3. Eddmund, named after the queen’s father, chose to become a Maester.

4. Alysanne, Princess of Dorne.

5. A stillborn child.

6. Daeron, who took the oath of becoming part of the King’s Guard.

7. Aemon, his twin brother, who, in due time, moved to Dragonstone and there resided with Lady Rhaella Targaryen, a cousin.

8. Laena Targaryen, who became Lady of High Garden.

It’s said that the Queen suffered with poor health after giving birth to Lady Laena. However, she managed to have a long and happy life by Aegon’s side. So then peace reigned…

[queencatherineparr]

30th of August 1548 - Mary Seymour, only child of Catherine Parr, Queen Dowager of England and her husband Thomas Seymour, Baron Seymour of Sudeley is born at Sudeley Castle. 

Mary was to be Catherine’s first and only child out of her four marriages. She is assumed to be named after Catherine’s royal step daughter The Lady Mary. Mary was also born the step sister of  King Edward VI by her mother and the cousin of the King through her father. 

[isabelleneville]

♛ Hotel de Clugny, Paris, March 3rd, 1515 ♛

Wedding day of Mary Tudor, Queen Dowager of France and Princess of England & Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk and Viscount Lisle.

[emmashouldbewriting]

William realizing he’s been half ass-ing it? Then we would be seeing more of him than ever before and that’s not happening. Look, I respect W&K for putting their family first. It’s something many previous royals haven’t done and it can be challenging to balance it. BUT let’s be honest, they do live a life of privilege and part of that life is the responsibility of duty. Most royals have been MIA for weeks now, and with Charles and Catherine out, William can/should be stepping up. It’s not like regular folks that need to work 2 jobs or long hours plus take care of their home. For a few months while the King and his wife are out, he can easily get help to take care of his family while he’s out working. I respect William and Catherine but this is the moment for him to shine.

This is really what it comes down to. Look to Denmark - King Fred & Queen Mary are off on their jollies and the dowager queen Daisy is regent a month after her abdication. Meanwhile, in England, the King has cancer and is doing his duty while William has a nice half term break with his wife and kids.

This fandom has a thing about making Camilla into a demon but guess who's out there doing all these bloody engagements. If not for her and Anne, all hell would break loose, and these same people who excuse W&C would criticise them.

It's not hard to do your fucking job.

[internationalroyals]

𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑹𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍/𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉:

𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌 1: 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏/𝑬𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑫𝒂𝒚 5: 𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒓, 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

The Tudor chest- who has a podcast with some historians that come on, on Instagram said Elizabeth woodville was a commoner who captured the kings heart. Is this true?

The whole 'commoner' thing bugs me because, in absolutely every sense of the word, Elizabeth Woodville was not a commoner. She was, on her father's side, the daughter of a well-known and quite celebrated knight who fought alongside some of the top brass during the early part of Henry VI's reign. Her father also held a high position in the household of John duke of Bedford, uncle to Henry VI and the English regent in France. His family had held lands in Northamptonshire for more than a century and several of his ancestors had served as sheriff. Which is all to say that the Woodville family, while not amongst the highest echelons of nobility, were firmly part of the landed gentry.

And that doesn't even take into account Elizabeth's mother, Jacquetta de St. Pol, whose father was a liegeman of the dukes of Burgundy, and whose extended family had married into both the French and the Burgundian royal families. She was also married, for several years, to the aforementioned John duke of Bedford, which made her the literal second lady in England after the dowager queen Catherine of Valois. After Bedford's death, she scandalously married Richard Woodville, but it is worth keeping in mind that she continued to style herself Duchess of Bedford until her death.

So, no, Elizabeth Woodville was not in any sense a commoner. A lot of that rhetoric comes from anti-Woodville propaganda spread first by Richard earl of Warwick, and eventually picked up by George of Clarence and Richard of Gloucester (later Richard III), from whence it made its way into the official Tudor historiography of the civil wars.

[ricardian-werewolf]

Chapter 3: Strangeness and Charm

MASTERLIST

Chapter I

Chapter II

______________________________________________________________

Summary:

Cecily-Anne is put into the hands of Team Black during a prisoner exchange, and settles into Dragonstone. She also meets Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and takes stock of what she must do to survive.

TWs:

Mentioned/Referenced SA, trauma, grief, loss of family.

Tag list: @lordbettany, @fauxraven, @rmelster

Being a prisoner at the hands of the Greens had broken Cecily-Anne irreparably. As she stood in the vast entrance of Dragonstone, wrapped in merely a travelling cloak and her stained bedrobe, she was truly conscious of her frailty. Once more, she was a leaf in a gale, tossed hither and fro without a care. Despite her favour at court as Halaena’s lady-in-waiting, her dark hair and blue eyes; her northern accent and lack of understanding of Westerosi culture had put her into a precarious position. Now, she was being exchanged as a prisoner of war. Aegon had assumed her to be a member of the Stark family or some other Northern family (she’d heard rumours of her as a Mormount bastard). Since it had seemed like these Starks were pursuing an alliance with the Targaryens, Aegon wished to have her stuffed into a cell. Unlike most men of his court, he cared not for her highborn legitimacy. Whatever Alicent saw in him was severely misplaced.

But what Cecily had learned as Helaena’s lady-in-waiting in those first few months had been invaluable. Like the England of her world, a highborn lady wielded considerable power. While unable to take up arms and fight, a highborn lady and her retinue wielded serious fiscal and political control over the realm, vassals and any tenants her husband or her own lands were serviced by. With Helaena as Queen and Alicent as the Dowager, their retinue of ladies in waiting were evenly split between the major households of the south and the houses of Essos who had gone with The Greens. 

House Velaryon had gone to the Blacks, due to Queen Rhaenyra having wed the father of her three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey many years earlier. With her had been Princess Rhaenys of Targaryen and Baratheon lineage - the Baratheons had been split in going with the Hightower off-shoot of Targaryens - what Cecily coined as “Rhaen-garyens,”. She had come from a world where boys were commonly all named Edward, or Richard. Women in her own lineage were named Anne or Cecily. Common denominations to keep that in check included nicknames such as “Nan,” or their “Of the castle/town of birth,”. Because last names were not a common signifier in England (unlike Westeros, which were a sign of pride or scorn), Cecily had had a horrific time trying to keep track of just the names of the people within the household of the Hightowers.

She hadn’t even had a chance to unravel the mysteries of the small council. What she did know was the “Hand of the king,”, some form of official status in the king’s circle that she thought was similar to the chief advisors of her father’s days. He was signified by a literal chain of metal hands that acted as a chain of office. 

Lord Chamberlain of England.

Cecily was not a stupid girl. She had been raised all her life, from her very days in swaddling cloth, to be a noblewoman. She could balance an accounts book from Michaelmas to Michaelmas, keep track of stores, manage an army of small-folk servants. She knew what her own terms of marriage had been to Manuel - she’d assisted her parents in drawing them up and providing her father with what she needed as a good, catholic lady of fortune. She spoke Portuguese, Latin and French. Now, she was taking in the languages of Westeros through simply sitting with her embroidery as Helaena held court with her ladies and hearing of their troubles in places such as the Riverlands. Her dowry was sizable chunks of the north of England. Men certainly made war, but the women of the nobility often negotiated secondary treaties to the first, or interceded when trade deals went awry. 

Now, she stood in another court, in another castle. Her third one in three months. A part of her hungered for her tongue of her people, for the familiar smells and voices of a mummery composing ballads. She longed to stare up at the banners and see the Bear and Ragged Staff; the Lovell wolf and the Sunne in Splendour crowning it all. But instead she stared up at the Targayen red two-headed dragon on black canvas, and the Velaryon sea-horse against a teal backing. These houses had stood against the Greens, taken up arms against them. A similar story to her own - over the right of inheritance of a throne. 

The game of thrones simply changed locations and times, yet was eternal. Stretching her chained hands, Cecily sighed. She allowed the guards to lead her through the stone corridors that leached the heat from one’s body, and looked up at the slit-windows. The rumble of the sea crashed like distant thunder, and despite the fact that Cecily was once more a prisoner, she was too tired and too angered to fight. She didn’t want to remember what had happened at Aegon’s hands. 

Sin had corrupted the greens like rot and crept all the way up. Cecily gnawed at the inside of her cheek with her back teeth. The pain focused her, allowing the memories to fade. She did not make conversation with her guard, nor plead the man’s mercy. Instead, she stepped into the small councilroom and took in the great stone map of Westeros. Illuminated by candles under its feet, the work was a piece of masterful masonry. It showed in all of its true geographic features the expanse of Westeros from end to end, and she could see the sigils of each house carved into the rock.

“It is obsidian.” A voice at her elbow murmured and Cecily turned to stare into the ink-black eyes of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. His mother’s heir and bastard, his face was the same pale of his Targaryen forefathers but his hair was undoubtedly the colour of Harwin Strong. A member of the Black council, he served as his mother’s voice of reason and sword to enact her will. Not a hand of the Queen by any means, but a powerful boy. Distantly, Cecily felt grief stir in her.

If Ned had lived, this would be him. A prince, honourable, inheriting great titles. The sword-point that could have brought down Tudor. Instead, Ned had died and Cecily had lived. She was the useless one, the one packed off to marry a Portuguese prince - all for naught. Now she was in another time, another place and worse off than ever.

“I see.” Cecily inclined her head. “Thank you, Your Grace, for inform-”

“You are not some common wench.” He raised a brow. “No. It would seem not. You are too well fed, under those ragged robes. You hold your head too high. So.” Jacaerys cast his gaze towards his mother’s councilmen and ladies, who exchanged glances.

In low tones, he leaned over and murmured: “And you are welcome. It was I who arranged for your release.” 

With that cryptic statement shared only between them, Jacaerys straightened, and examined his gloved hands. “Shall we begin, gentlemen, your Graces?”

Cecily straightened, confusion running through her from the tip of her tongue to her toes. Shock painted her face. She was not being passed judgement, nor being hauled away to some cell. At the head of the table, Queen Rhaenyra signalled to her guard. A key was produced and the shackles removed from her hands and feet. Attempting to step forward, Cecily stumbled. Jacaerys’s gloved hand stuck fast around her elbow. “Come now. Not even a noble lady such as yourself would dare tread upon her own skirts?” He teased. She glared at him, rage burning anew in her eyes. Was he as bad as Aegon? Would this all be some jest, only for her to be thrown once more into some dank cell? Would he do as Henry Tudor had done and spit upon her form? Dare imply that she was naught more than a whore insufficient for bedding? He had already called her no wench. What was worse? 

“A lady of no standing claiming to be a noblewoman is taken into the Greens court and given to the queen as a lady-in-waiting?” Rhaenyra raised a hand containing a paper that her spies must’ve taken from the Red Keep. Cecily stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. Sweat crowded under her armpits, rolled down her temple. She shook with the effort of keeping herself stationary, from picking up something and screaming as she tore the room apart. She was tired. Tired of having every movement questioned, of moving on what she thought was a clear path. Instead, she found every movement she made caused brambles to tie themselves to her legs and pull her further into the darkness. She was tired of being scrutinised, of having no safe harbour to flee to.

“Who is she?” 

Cecily jerked, her head looking up at last, into the queen’s violet eyes. Her hair, oily and ragged from no washing, was pushed off the nape of her neck as Cecily discarded her shawl and bedrobe. 

Under both, she wore merely a dirty, bloodied shift. Blood still caked her shaking legs. Her hands shook as she bent down to remove from the bedrobe’s pocket her crucifix and rosary. She did all of this with much hesitancy, watching the members of the Queen’s guard and small council with wide, frightened eyes. Prince Jacaerys’s touch reviled her. Fear sat heavy in her stomach and she knew that she would have to say the unmentionable, to make it so.

“I am Princess Cecily-Anne of House Plantagenet. We are a house ruined by war and strife, left only in our male line to a traitor king. We have suffered much, and gained little. I am the daughter of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and his lady Duchess Anne Neville. My twin brother was crowned Prince of Wales before sickness took him shortly ‘ere his twelfth name-day.” She paused.

“I was taken into the care of Queen Halaena on the basis that her family regarded her unable to care for herself. Ser Gwayne Hightower took-” She coughed weakly into her elbow. “The care to send a letter to her convoy and inform her that I had been found and was in all estimations, a perfect candidate.”

“How long were you in the Queen’s service?” Rhaenyra stepped down towards Cecily, the train of her gown sweeping the floor. Her hair tumbled down her back in long waves and a crown laid atop her head. She bore no signifiers of the fashion of Cecily’s own time, though the sight of her ladies wearing what seemed to be coifs and veils was welcome. 

“S-several weeks, alas, Your Grace.” Cecily averted her gaze, but her breath hitched as Rhaenyra gripped her jaw in hand and turned it toward the light. “Tell me, Princess. Have you suffered much at the hand of that false King, Aegon?”

Cecily swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. She pressed her legs tighter together, and cast her gaze nervously to Rhaenyra’s council, who looked to be in varying states of disgust. Jahaerys’s gaze was locked on her trembling body, and something akin to rage simmered within him.

“You need not ask, Mother. Look at how she trembles. He has ruined her, made her damaged.”

“Is what my son speaks true, Your grace?”

The respectful usage of her title made Cecily nearly weep with relief. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, clinging to Rhaenyra's skirts. “Yes.” She cried softly. “Yes, he speaks the truth.” Her face was pressed into the dark stone floor and she shuddered with cold and hunger. 

“But this is not all you wish for, no?” Rhaenyra lifted Cecily’s head. “There is a rage within you that does not extend to Aegon - he is too low for you to dirty your sword with his blood. You seek, it seems, a better quarry.”

Cecily nodded, and spoke softly.

“I seek to kill the man who tore my father’s realm apart, who callously threw his corpse over the back of a steed and marched it through the town of Leicester. I know not what has become of my father’s corpse, but it is an evilty and affront to God.”

She sniffed.

“I seek to sink the blade of my father’s knife-” She lifted the hem of her shift. Tied to her inner thigh on a mere scrap of ribbon was a sheathed knife. “-into the heart of Henry Tudor.”

The room went deathly silent. The guards did not move, but their hands hesitated on their sword hilts. Rhaenrya merely gave a grim smile, and eased Cecily’s shift down once more. She cupped Cecily’s face in her hands.

“Then I shall grant you the sanctuary needed to hunt this quarry of yours, who so defiled your father.”

Cecily’s emotional walls shattered, and she wept without restraint, clinging to the queen who had brought her finally, a sense of safety. Rhaenyra waved off the maesters and her ladies with a gentle hand, and had Jacaerys help get Cecily upright. “Have her washed and clad in something more befitting her station.” She called to her son and the maid gripping Cecily’s other arm.

The maid nodded, averting her gaze.

***

Washing her proved easier than anyone assumed. 

Weeks - no, months of grief with no hope of relief had caused Cecily’s body and mind to stutter to a stop. She was eerily silent and still as the maids cleaned her body and hair. They used soap she would’ve called Castille to clean her hair and the blood from her legs. An elder serving maid tended to her intimate areas, knowing the violation that had befallen the princess. Many a girl of a station lower than hers had suffered such at the hands of invaders or Westerosi man alike. But for a noblewoman, it was sinful. The pride of clean, holy women had carried into Westeros society, yet the violation of such a law called for honour-bound, brutal violence. Violence had already torn the realm of the Seven Kingdoms apart as Aegon had usurped the throne from Rhaenyra’s rightful claim simply for two reasons:

The first that he was a man, and the second was that as Alicent and Viserys’s son, the belief of a firstborn boy inheriting was inherent in the laws of rulership. Cecily herself would never be a powerful enough claim to take the throne. Only through marriage, as her cousin Elizabeth was doing, could she bring the York lineage any closer to the throne. She stirred sluggishly, and focused on the room around her. Blinking, Cecily-Anne squinted.

“Where are my spectacles?”

“Here, Your Grace.” One of the maids placed the glasses on Cecily’s nose and she sighed in welcome relief. “Thank you.” Allowing the maids to haul her from the tepid bathwater, Cecily refused to look at herself in the silver-backed looking glass. It was more out of habit than the recent trauma that had befallen her. She knew that stretching across her stomach was a scar of two jagged lines. She knew of their origin, for she and her brother had been born a month ‘ere their predetermined dates. Cecily had ailed and struggled for the first few months, nearly coming close twice. But she did not flag where other children would have, and her parents had considered it a holy miracle.

Now the Holy Mother had sent Cecily to this foreign land where she felt nothing but fear. It scared her to no end. As she watched the maids brush out her hair and apply oils to help it retain its lustre, she found herself remembering her mother’s ladies do the same. Sitting in the vanity chair, her hands in her curls as they gently ran the comb though, Cecily was hit with an overwhelming wave of homesickness. She pressed a hand to her eyes, and spoke hoarsely:

“I believe that is enough. Thank you.”

The maids looked at one another, but did not push the matter. “What else will you need, Your Grace?”

“Nothing.” Cecily replied. “Please, go.” She sighed, and watched them leave from the corner of her eye. Once the wooden door had shut, Cecily walked over and stood in front of it for a good few moments. Finding the latch, she traced the keyhole with a finger. A door with a lock. Not even she’d gotten that as Helaena’s lady in waiting. She’d been waiting so long for the court to approve her, and yet she was still expected to pay favour to the queen and accompany her. It was exhausting, and boring. Because she’d been so closely under guard, any true conversation with Helaena was impossible. Now, she stared at the lock, admiring the raised relief of the dragon carved around the keyhole. She pushed the jamb down, and stepped back, her breath quickening.

Yet not with elation.

Fear. The fear of being hurt as she had by Aegon - or was it Aemond? Her memory was terrible and the fact that she couldn’t truly pin the blame on one man or the other terrified her. It had all been some awful mistake; a break-in into her chambers one night. Whoever of the Targayen boys it had been, was deep into his cups and knew exactly who she was. Why break a highborn woman when the maid-servants were all so willing to be taken for a few coin? 

Because it keeps me silent.

Cecily stepped back from the door again and stared at the wooden frame with unease. It seemed to be made of strong wood, but then again, she knew from experience of sieges from her father’s books. Doors could be picked or broken into. Thieves willing to work dirty jobs with high prices attached were common. Blood and Cheese had broken into a palace and done unspeakable horrors to Helaena’s children. The youngest had been brutally slaughtered, all because Prince Aemond had slaughtered Lucerys Velaryon. 

An eye for an eye, a son for a son.

Why not go for Aemond? She thought hopelessly. Why me? Why Me? Why exchange me as a prisoner? I’m just a girl. A ten-and-five year old girl who has no skill but as a nobleman’s wife and is far out of their league in learning than what is expected!

Cecily reeled back from the door and scrambled toward the bed on shaking legs. She tugged up the coverlet, ignoring the fine silks of the bed-curtains. The blood-red of it all, from the curtains to the woven floor rugs, reminded her painfully of the York Murrey. She hungered desperately, with the madness of a daughter grieving, to be abed in her tower room at Middleham Castle. 

But never again would she see that room. Never would she sit in her favourite window-seat and look out the oriel window to the village nestled in the castle’s great shadow. She would never again hear the calls of servants and squires to one another as her mother reigned with a firm, yet kindly hand. A queen of her own domain, now interned in the great marble and stone prison of her effigy. She should have been buried in York Minister along with Ned.

Oh, Ned… Cecily felt tears form behind her eyes. The night of his death haunted her. Shaking her head, Cecily leaned over in the bed and tapered the candles with the nearby taper. Darkness flooded the room, and Cecily for a moment deceived herself into being home in Middleham, the ocean’s roar being no more than distant thunder. But the sounds of dragons calling to one another sent her once more tumbling from her sanctuary point. Down, into the darkness of endless night and pain Cecily-Anne fell.

For with the darkness of a child’s grief came an uneasy sleep that made her envy, as always, the dead. 

End of chapter 3.

[hamsteriffic]

I am very excited to finally be able to tell everyone that these past few months I’ve been working on a fic for the @mlbigbang 2023! Thank you to @burntwaffle12 , @sizzleissues and @karin848 for all their encouragement and support. The first post will appear January 6.

Queen Marinette: A Royal Engagement

Rating: M

Tags: Royalty AU, King!Adrien, Princess!Marinette, arranged marriage

Summary: Princess Marinette had always known she would marry for duty, but she had never even heard of King Adrien until her betrothal (she would know, because she had looked up all the crown Princes within a hundred mile radius).

Nevertheless, her parents were delighted at the offer of marriage and her uncle was given the privilege of escorting her to England for her wedding and the whole thing felt wrong.

Preview

“Who is this King of England? Why have we never heard of him before?” She demanded, her uncle surprised at her sudden interest.

“He is heir to the throne, he needs a queen, and he has chosen you.”

This she already knew, it was not a very good answer. “But why?” she pressed. “There are hundreds of nobles out there, with far grander titles and claims than our own. Why me?”

Her uncle looked surprised, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again pensively.

The word Why was always one of the first, and favourite, questions asked by a child, and for good reason. Because Why are always the hardest questions to answer.

But why not?

Marinette was young, of child-bearing age, accomplished, and a beauty by all accounts. She had good graces and was well educated. She would make any country a worthy Queen.

Marinette was also very well aware of her precarious situation, her own mother was sent to a foreign country and married, a common enough arrangement. It was an auspicious match, a marriage between a Chinese Princess and a French nobleman in an effort to ease Sino-Franco relations.

“No, surely there must be other more diplomatic ways?” His sister and her own mother, Sabine, said when her own betrothal was announced.

Her mother protested as much as she did. All that consternation for nothing, for when the pair first set sight on each other they fell in love immediately. It has happened before, and it will all happen again.

Her mother of all people would know.

As Marinette’s ambassador, he was honoured to go with her to secure a friendship with the British, offering stability and prosperity. There was silk and tea to be traded, as well as porcelain. In return, they would resolve animosity held over past incidents. The East India Trading Company had a vested interest in the marriage and there was still disgruntled talk over the Flint Affair, such that war was imminent between the Chinese and British Empires.

Wang Cheng looked at Marinette with sympathy. He was very fond of his niece, and in his opinion she deserved the world. On paper everything looked like a suitable match, she was 18 and he was only 21. He spoke Mandarin, French and Latin, in addition to his mother tongue; and she knew a passable amount of English and Mandarin; as well as French, her native tongue.

She would like him. He was convinced.

However, the older gentleman himself did not know the King either. By all accounts he thought that the late King and Queen Dowager of England were barren, but then again he never paid attention to bedroom gossip.

“Why have I never heard of this king before?” The young woman insisted, her blue eyes flashing. She had the same kind of fire in her as his sister, masked by a gentle nature that lashed out when provoked like a tiger.

If you know anything about me, then you know I have written another Bridgerton AU 🫠! Queen Marinette - A Royal Engagement. Posting begins 6 January

[tudorqueen6]

Jersey Portrait of Queen Katherine Parr: sold for £3.4 million