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She has eyes like pearls, Beautiful, drowning eyes, And a smile rehearsed to perfection.

tiltofficial  (via wnq-writers)

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Catherine.

        I was a duchess, but my father died. I was a queen, but my husband died. Who am I now ? Catherine mused. She was alone, bitter and tired of the crown too heavy for her head. She had always wanted power, and once she got it, she realized what comes with it. I am a queen regent, Catherine reminded herself, as she sometimes had to durning last seven years.

        John, her son, was getting tired of shooting arrows over and over again, especially since he wasn’t that good of an archer yet. He looked at her mother watching him from the balcony, but she only encouraged him to try again. “ Go on, there is no other way to learn it. “ she send him a smile. Another arrow missed the point. 

        “ They do grow up fast, don’t they? “ she sighed and turned her head to the newcomer, with the same soothing smile she gave her son a moment ago. “  I remember him learning how to walk, and now…”

        Coming to stand beside Catherine, Ileanna followed the other woman’s line of sight to see her baby brother standing with a bow that looked too big for his still small stature. It brought a small smile to her face, though it was also a reminder of just how apart from his life she was now. She was quite certain he was at least a foot taller now than the last time she’d seen him. Looking over at his mother, the smile remained on her face but it was perhaps slightly strained.

        How ironic it was that they now lived parallel lives, she didn’t know exactly why made that choice for her, but it had been her for Ileanna. Here she was in path she would have never chosen for her, lacking in every idealistic expectation she had of her life. “Yes time does seem to fly by us when we’re not even paying attention,”

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Edward.

     Heightened stress could only be contributed to Edward’s presence on French soil. He did not believe the wedding to be an elaborate scheme, thought up to lure all of Europe to Philip’s feet, but he could not permit himself to ease the tension in his shoulders and relax. It was not paranoia, but reasonable caution, that drew the lines of stress upon his countenance and stiffened his shoulders and lower back. The small ache of it reminded the king that he was no longer as youthful as he had been, that his health, while not in decline, was not as readily dismissive of any mental woes he may face. 

       It was with this reminder that Edward retired rather early. In his youth he may have entertained others at court for far longer, rounds of cards or stories shared until late into the night, but he possessed no desire to do so here, in Philip’s palace. The door was heavy as it opened before him, his retinue of guards stationing themselves for the night. Soon, he’d be attended to by his gentleman to dress for bed, but it was immediately clear to Edward that he was not alone in his quarters. He could smell the scent of something burning, though it was pleasing to his senses, and could hear the slight breath of another.

        He paused, only for a moment, before glancing toward the door that had suspiciously closed behind him. His guards were privy to the intruder, damn them for their boyish goading. He took longer strides, coming fully into the room, ready to meet whomever they had presented for him with playful irritation and ire when his eyes laid upon that of his royal mistress. His chest loosened, a softer smile playing upon his soft lips. “Mira,” he breathed, taking in the sight of her. Her dark hair was familiar, welcome in his presence, as was her red skirts, the dusting of color along her neck and jaw, and the radiance with which she waited for him. He closed the distance between them quickly, his hand gentle as he lifted her to her feet without so much as a command from his tongue. He had missed her, deeply. 

        Perhaps he ought to have possessed a more guilty countenance. His wife had retired to her own, separate bedchamber, but he felt none. He cherished his curious Mira, and it was no secret. Lifting her, his hand moved to support her at the small of her back as he leaned down to press his lips to hers, nose brushing gently against her cheek, before he pulled back, his fingers gently petting her jaw, collecting the dusting of red upon the pads. “How I have missed you.” He confessed, exhaling deeply, as if permitting himself at long last to breathe easily. 

         The smile that broke out across his face was all she ever needed, it was all that was required to rid herself of any apprehensions about her place in England, the lack of propriety with which everyone viewed their relationship, and taunts that would perhaps only leave her should she leave him all together. But if all he had to give her in return for all her woes was that delight that played so clearly across his face she had nothing to complain of. She didn’t need to stand by his side so long as she had his affections in this manner. She’d been around royalty long enough to know what their marriages were like, so rigid and methodical lacking in the passion and intensity of true intimacy. 

        “Edward, I- oh,” swept up off her feet before she could even get the words out, any recollection of what she’d been about to say was lost on her as he drew her into his embrace. The feel of his palm against the bare skin at her back though cool to the touch, caused a heated sensation to spread through her. Nearly a foot shorter than him she stood on her toes, arms instantly draping around his shoulders allowing herself to forget the rest of the world in his embrace. Her heart continued to hammer at her ribs as their lips parted. She couldn’t keep the light bouts of laughter contained as he ran his fingers along her jaw, she could already see a brush of red along his chin.

       “As did I, I don’t even know where to begin to tell you just how so.” Drawing back she took both his hands, carefully stepping around her art piece so she could lead him to the sitting area just beyond the chaise she’d chosen to work beside. Seating him down so she could speak, though she herself remained standing before him. “I know I should’ve sent word, and not arrived unannounced but when I returned to England to learn you’d left for France just days prior, I just had to have them simply turn the carriages around. It’d been such a long trip that I couldn’t wait any longer than was absolutely needed for the journey!” She prattled on without so much as wasting a moment in sucking in a breath of air. Not much had changed about the woman in the last decade. “You’re not upset are you?”

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Konstantin.

         { Her soft words spoke their disquietude, though little could be said to dissuade the impending union and festivities now that they were commencing. The union of matrimony was pertinent in solidifying their French coalition. A vital player in the scheme of courts. Because France was to domesticate his daughter, suavity was paramount. Regardless of his discomfiture of the appearance of unwanted guests.

          “We musn’t show vulnerability, impotence, Meine Geliebte. They are always looking to us to find a moment of enervation of conscience. A flaw in the exterior.” Konstantin lifted his chalice, full to the brim with water, to his parted lips. “If we hadn’t come, we prove ourselves to be culpable and contrite. We are steadfast. Andere Länder, andere Sitten”

         She was right to assume the circumstances were not quintessential by far. Adversaries were in plain sight. And the inquiry of why only made the gesture that much more contentious. With a grimace, he took a small taste of the foul water. “You needn’t fret.” He leaned towards her, an arm balanced on his chair to support his upper frame. “I have emissaries everywhere. If you assume for a moment I would dare set foot out of mine own homestead to be sideswiped at a bloody wedding, you’re fatally mistaken. I’ve learned from the past Holy Roman Emperor to not mistake your surroundings for being inviolable.” }

        There was no argument she could propose to what he spoke up. His thinking was not much different than of her father, and other men she’d come to know in her lifetime. She cared not for the politics or the ever prevalent struggle for power between nations, those were the concerns of men. Her energy was far better spent in the service of the lands, it was what she saw to in Portugal, and what she was slowly adjusting to in Austria as well.

        Her gaze remained downtrodden as she reconciled with the understanding that there wasn’t much else to say. “No, we wouldn’t want to appear vulnerable.” she simply agreed with a sigh. Looking up to meet his gaze, she shook her head. “Of course, I don’t doubt that you would not take every precaution...I suppose it just doesn’t sit will with me being here when my sister is not. Surrounded by those that may have a hand in her death.”

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Gisella.

         THE SUN BEAMED DOWN UPON HER with a ferocity that she did not particularly care for  –––––  for a woman born with sunlight encapsulated within her tresses, she found herself loathing it these days; its bright and soothing rays far too jovial for her current state of mind. which was why she prayed for a storm these days. gisella was taking a turn around the palace gardens that mid-morning, followed by a select few of former austrian guards who had remained loyal and who now branded spanish uniforms. despite portraying an overtly confident demeanour, gisella was thankful for their presence, especially in a court full of vipers and worse, habsburg’s.

there was little to occupy her that day, which was why she had opted to stretch her legs and take in the flora and forna that made the gardens quite beautiful, though not nearly as exquisite as her garden back in vienna. stopping before a rose bush, gisella leant forward to savour the scent, her brows quickly raising at the sound of movement before her. “ enjoying the morning sun as well, are you ? ” her tone may have seemed amiable enough but her eyes gazed upon the figure suspiciously, a decision of friend or foe to be made upon them revealing themselves fully. 

        For a change since her arrival to France, the young Empress was all smiles. Or rather smiles that reached her eyes, and brightened her entire face. Because there were always smiles, practiced and worn to perfection for the benefit of others. The cause of her of joy that afternoon was plans of a picnic down by a near by pond with her two younger sisters. She had not seen them since her marriage two years prior. For all her nerves over being in France she knew there was no one to better unburden herself than with her siblings who shared the same heartache. France was an ally for it was once the home of their eldest sister, whom Ileanna had been closest to. It felt infelicitous to be there without her. To be breaking bread with those that had caused her treacherous demise.

         Several guards, and a few of her ladies trailed after her as they walked through the gardens enroute to their destination. Carrying baskets of food and blankets to lay down on the grass. She inclined her head to lend an ear to one of her companions, thus distracted when the older woman’s voice reached her. She looked over at the woman she largely knew from reputation as their paths had never crossed. How could they when she and her family were banished by her husband from setting foot back in their home. The entire matter of the deposition was unsavory and she had had no part in it but it as a result of it happening she did now wear this woman’s title and crown. Her gaze veered to the woman’s two guards or rather their regimentals. All traces of her earlier smiles were gone now. While Ileanna had never been a contemptuous woman, even she had her limits.

        “Yes, it is a lovely day. And full of surprises it would appear.” She replied, words clipped, as she came to stand an appropriate distance away from the woman hands clasped at her center. Her willowy frame several inches taller than the older woman she observed, skin sunkissed and unmarred by age, hair a soft shade of brown lighter even in the sun reflecting several shades, all a contrast to the woman before her.

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I’m not sure which is worse: intense feeling, or the absence of it.

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin  (via theliteraryjournals)

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Edward.

        Blowing out the long candle as she finished lighting the last of her small oil lamps around the room she smiled at the illumination in the room, though not as colorful as she was used to keeping her own chambers back in England the French style of golds and rich crimsons were definitely a pleasant change to the rather gray walls she was more accustomed to back in England. 

        Situating herself in he center of the room after that, content to having transformed the space to her likeness she sat with her canvas and powdered colors. In her own chambers she made her rangoli designs right on the stone floor but being a guest in anothers home she knew to be more mindful. It’d been far too long since she’d been away, and she wanted Edward to be reminded of all that was her the moment he stepped foot into the space. The scent of her favorite essence burning in a corner, some smoke wafting from that space. The lights filling the space, as she preferred always having been frightful of the darkness. The light to her represented to her goodness, that chased away negative energies. 

        Her deep red skirt fanned out around her, the length of red fabric that she would normally have draped around her if outside her private quarters or his was strewn across a chair nearby as she worked on her art piece. While absorbed in the colors she’d even managed to get some of the red color on her neck and jaw from trying to brush her long hair out her face. And that was the state she was in when she heard the doors, her spirits sunk just a bit for not having finished her piece and righted herself before he returned. But alas it couldn’t be helped now, besides  he’d never known her to be any way other than imperfect. So she remained seated on the carpet glad that she wouldn’t immediately fill his line of sight that way. Though there was no keeping the radiant smile of anticipation of her face for how much she’d missed him.

@edwardplcntagenet

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introducing LADY MIRA RAWAT, the ROYAL MISTRESS from ENGLAND. they hail from RAJPUTANA, INDIA and are known for being BRAZEN but also FRIVOLOUS.

It a roomful of titles and prestige Mira has always been an enigma whether that be in England or in her homeland. Born to a famous courtesan who was soon growing past her prime in court of Mewar she had no name, or claim of her own. What she did inherit was her mothers grace and skill of dance. Her feet moved to the rhythm of flutes and sitars from the moment she could walk straight. Always enchanted by the beauty and confidence the women she grew up seeing exuded when dancing, the beautiful dresses they wore, the jewels that adorned them.

She loved to dance and that was all that mattered, she didn’t know or care for the lack of purity and respect in the trade. Thankfully her mother decided to leave that life when she fell in love with a mercenary that had traveled to India from Europe. She left that life behind and for Mira that meant her talent would not be exploited, and her love for it would not be tainted as it was for her mother and so many other women. They traveled far and wide and she loved it all, seeing the different cultures, the life of unpredictability and wanderlust.

Eventually their travels brought them to England. And as she was used to doing so many places she preformed for the court, enchanting the king along the way. And she too was quite taken by his charm and stature not attracted to his wealth per say but the excitement of the affair. He made her feel things she hadn’t before and it was a feelings she grew drunk on.

When the others she was traveling with decided to move on, she was persuaded to stay and thus her life has been tied to English court ever since.

Though she’s had to adapt and change some habits she has always refused to change herself completely. Not adapting to the European way of dress, or giving up her love for art and the food she grew up on. She lives her life in a bubble not letting anyone bother her in the least, for the most part it’s not to say nothing gets to her. She knows what she is and she has always accepted it, she has no grand ideas or desires to increase her station just as long as she has a small place in Edwards heart and his affections she is happy.

She cares not for the looks she gets every time she walks down the halls in her foreign clothing, the whispers that trail after her fall on deaf ears, she knows how to find little joys in her own bubble and when life at court wears on her she sets off to explore the world, her trips endorsed by Edward for all the stories, art, and culture she brings back to him. 

Mira never had any ill fate towards the late queen, hailing from a land where it was very common for rulers to have more than one wife she found the European lifestyle to be quite stuffy. Especially their patriarchal ways, coming from a land where some of the most powerful, respected, and revered deities are women she has more liberal views than most. She never spoke ill of the queen or tried to unfairly take up all of the kings time and attention. She certainly did not want any harm to come to her.

Even after her passing, Mira never asked Edward for anything more than they had, having come to know the European politics well enough, but also because taking on a title meant chaining herself to a throne and relinquishing the freedom that she needed so desperately to remain herself, unwilling to lose herself to a place that would never to truly accept her anyhow.

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♫ 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒑

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Konstantin.

        { Surveying the room, his lenient dissension with the Babenberg witch left Konstantin feeling neurotic. As though a blade would pierce his neck at any moment, regardless of the congregation he kept. Were they above detection or did they now only seek vengeance so desperately as to not care of atonement for his death were they to cause it? His adviser conversed without pause, as though to appease his own Majesty. But words were muffled and gave Konstantin no equanimity. He watched thoughtfully, buried in the depth of his conscience.

          Just then, a face he knew better than most approached, seeking his personal retinue. Pausing for a moment, he turned to his adviser and uttered a soft “Go”. Just as the man unseated himself, Konstantin offered the chair to her liking.

          “Many do not know you, but your perturbation does not fool me. Speak freely, you are in good company to do so.” }

          The decorous smile she offered the lord as he made his retreat was tight lipped and fleeting as she had never been blind to the scrutiny which he bestowed upon her since the moment they’d met. He was not the only one, the shrewd opinions of so many in Austria had not escaped her long. Her husband was not well loved in his kingdom, and their marriage was the spoils of a war no one was happy to see end so she could only imagine what was said about her. At least residing inside the walls Schönbrunn Palace allowed for some sense of impregnability from those that sought their demise.

         Where as when she roamed the halls of Tuileries she could not forget this was the place where her dearest sister took her last breaths, her life taken by those who now sat around them as guests of their own choosing. It was for Joanna’s wedding that she last visited French court thus this second coming feels incongruous. Her overwrought thoughts beckoned the question of whether her shortness of breath was truly the fault of her constraining corset or simply the trepidation she felt of her surroundings.

         She stared down at the hands clasped tightly in her laps a long moment as she gathered her thoughts to be able to voice her concerns rationally. “I understand the importance of this union between Franizca and the Dauphine, but is this truly the manner in which you wish to celebrate such an auspicious occasion? Among such disquietude and strife?” she asked in a quiet voice, leaning closer so no one might overhear.