Catherine of York, Queen of England

gilded roots, clutching into the earth

[bonaorsini-deactivated20210112]

                   WITH  HER  BACK  PRESSED  against  the  cool  stone  column,  anne’s  amber  hues  were  trained  unto  the  scene  just  outside  the  window.  she  had  seen  her  fair  share  of  excitement  at  celebrations,  from  bickering  ladies  to  fistfight  amongst  nobles,  yet  a  riot  was  new  to  her  ––––  it  was  like  the  days  of  civil  war  all  over  again.  from  her  position,  their  noise  was  muted  by  the  musicians  and  yet  not  even  the  lutes,  recorders  and  fiddles  could  completely  drown  out  the  noise  of  the  simple-folk  below.  raising  her  chalice  to  her  lips,  she  silently  pleaded  with  the  libation  to  raise  her  spirits  ––––  anne  did  not  feel  much  like  celebrating  that  eve,   and   it  had  little  to  do  with  the  commotion  below.  “ do  you  suppose  they’ll  slay  us  where  we  stand,  if  they  had  a  chance ? ”  she  pondered  aloud  to  the  presence  she  felt  approach  behind  her.

[cedere--nescio-blog]

‘What a morose perspective on such an occasion, sister.’ Catherine murmured from behind Anne, moving her hand over her brother’s wife’s curls and tucking a lock into place. She withdrew her hand, then followed Anne’s gaze to the ornate windows, the coloured glass of the morphing the distant crowds into a skewed, psychedelic and ghoulish state. ‘Would you believe us to sit still enough for this conflict to overtake us so easily?’ She offered a small little smile, patting her shoulder before she grabbed her goblet. ‘Nevertheless, we must remain strong enough for our hosts to believe such threats do not get into our heads.’ She nodded. ‘How do you reckon the foreigners are handling this evening?’

[cedere--nescio-blog]

‘Louder. I want it louder. Make. It. Louder.’ The queen’s lips scarcely moved as she passed the troupe of court musicians, her words low, a growl. Nearly silver winter gaze sparking heat for a flash of a warning in hopes to drown out the faint noise that seeped into the festivities from the outdoors. Regardless of the numerous guards littering the banquet hall, Catherine could have felt a tinge of fear. Doubt. Her palms did not shake or quake in fear as she glided her heavily jewelled fingertips down her dress. Fear and worry did not settle well to combat the energy outside. Only when she would discard her monarch’s attire, in the still and silence of her chambers, would Catherine allow herself to tremble. 

Ever-so-lopsided smirk lingered on her lips as she glided through the room, before her same inflamed game locked on another’s. ‘Mischief goes hand in hand with merriment at such events as these, you look like you could be a provoker.’ She teased, smirk turning into a pleasant little grin. 

[cedere--nescio-blog]

the  music  strummed  through  the  king’s  veins,  pulsing  at  his  wrist  with  an  intoxicating  blend  of  lutes  and  percussionists  leading  directly  to  his  heart  which  brayed  with  fiery  fervor.    heavy - lidded  gaze  remained  firmly  upon  his  consort  as  she  glided  across  checkered  floorboards,  the  sashay  of  her  hips  no  more  unintentional  than  the  words  that  gingerly  spilled  from  her  lips  as  she  coaxed  him  forth.  dancing  was  no  spectator’s  sport,  though  edward  certainly  derived  much  pleasure  from  gazing  at her,  his  pride  suitably  inflated  by  the  numerous  eyes  peeled  like  grapes  and  mesmerized  by  the  queen  of  england.  she  was  certainly  in  her  element,  a  feat  the  previous  queen  could  not  have  achieved  in  all  her  years  as  consort,  and  edward  wasted  little  time  in  joining  catherine  and  instructing  the  dancers  to  begin  a  rather  undignified,  but  acceptable  courtly  dance.   ❛   you  will  find  no  difficulty  in  my  keeping  abreast  of  you,  catherine.  ‘tis  our  company  i  pity,  and  all  those  who  will  no  doubt  envy  you. ❜

a  breath  tore  from  his  lips  as  she  embraced  him  and  swiftly  drew  away,  snapping  back  into  place  like  rubber,  teasing  his  figure  as  the  tide  does  the  shore.  catherine  flitted  about  him  as  though  he  were  a  monolith  rooted  into  place,  carved  of  the  very  stone  his  character  was  said  to  be  compromised  of,  twirling  ‘round  him  with  all  her  feminine  wiles  and  a  coquettish,  feline  touch  that  seared  a  flame  across  his  skin.  a  hand  rooted  upon  her  waist  sharply  drew  her  beside  him,  abdomen  to  hip,  brushing  for  a  mere  moment  in  time  before  turning  away  from  one  another  and  joining  at  the  hands.  his  touch  is  as  aggressive  as  it  is  rough-hewn,  enough  to  conjure  a  gasp  from  those  unwitting  souls  unaccustomed  to  his  nature.   he  dances  as  he  hunts  and  makes  love;  with  every  intent  to  win.  

❛  do  you  think  me  a  schoolboy,  wet  behind  the  ears?  ❜   he  grunts  just  before  parting,  slipping  into  ministrations  that  come  second  nature  to  him.  their  words  drown  beneath  the  electrifying  hum  of  the  music  and  the  heady  heat  rising  in  the  ballroom,  paired  with  slippers  and  boots  marching  against  hardwood,  hands  joining  as  one  and  skin  slapping  against  skin,  bodies  pulled  flush  together  and  costly  attire  ruffling.  his  lips  graze  against  the  shell  of  her  ear,  wolfish  teeth  abrading  untouched  skin.  ❛   i  look  forward  to  correcting  your  assumptions  with  brute  force.  you  will  come  to  my  chambers  tonight  –  eleven.  ❜

A dance, a wicked mixture of all earthly whims capable of containing godly energy, right down to even the most subtle grips, discreet play of dominance and submission. Spurred by each pulsating beat, Catherine’s hazed gaze transfixed on his- flashing tinge of animal more than demure- then slowly roamed down his form, taking in the very sight of him greedily in the flicker of their candlelight. ‘Let them do what they do best, watch, Edward, while I take what I please, ’ She hummed, lips barely moving only to hitch as she felt him graze against her skin. 

Oh, how addicted she was to the thrill of give and take. Each subtle rough, gruff movement giving way to something with more force, her hand slapping his sides within a moment’s shift during the music’s crescendo, running up his ruche sides before pulling herself to him. A brute force, hoping to cause him to wince and moan for her. After weeks, if not even months of heightened stakes, Catherine longed to take her anger out on her husband in the solace of a thick-walled bed. To knot his fair hair between her fair fingers, to claim him as her own for even a moment. To feel like a woman instead of her newly appointed title and the searing heat she balanced with it.To forget the circumstance til morning light. 

Swaying into him with a feistiness, her fingers hovered barely over his fine features as she leaned in, a smug smirk, lips pulling into his a mere moment as the music swirled. Bordering a haughty little huff of a laugh. ‘Brute force, hm? We both have claws, dear one, and I should like to see yours. Perhaps you can map out the world- and our tactics- on me, should you win for the evening.. But if I’m deemed the victorious? What is my prize?’

[ncrthumberlands]

ROYAL HOUSE OF PLANTAGENET.  MAY THEY RULE FOREVERMORE.  ( rip edmund, not enough space to be included #unwanted child )

[cedere--nescio-blog]

 ❛    let  me  see  to  william’s  business,  and  you  to  yours.  there  are  challenges  of  far  more  importance  for  you  to  surmount  in  this  time  that  we have,   ❜    he  rejoined  calmly,   his  fingertips  drumming  against  the exposed  skin  of  her  wrist.   his  words,  as  always,  are  startlingly  truthful.   they  are  stripped  bare  by  a  lifetime  spent  in  the  company  of  lords  who  would  see  his  position  compromised  and  neck  severed  by  an  axe  of  silken  words  and  loose,  loose  promises.   he  wonders  briefly  if  catherine  has  fed  him  the  same,  right  from  the  warm  ivory  cusp  of  her palm.  ❛   there  are  ways  to  bring  men  like  william  to  heel.  cutting  off  the  lifeblood  to  his  vices  being  one  of  them  ––  i  do  not  doubt  it  will  be  a  bloody  amputation,  but  a  necessary  one.  for  all  of us.   ❜

though  the  thought  of  his  wife––so  arrantly  english––adopting  to aragonese  customs  is  not  an  entirely  pleasant  one,  it  is  intriguing  to  the  king.   velvet  encased  arms  and  bejeweled  fingertips  crooking  him  into  a  dance,   wrapped  around  his  form  and  drawing  him  into  her  warmth  as  a  viper  does  its  prey.   edward  stood  with  a  creak   of  the  carpeted  floorboards  and  extended  a  hand  to  his  consort.  the  music  momentarily  stilled  as  courtiers  remained  on  tenterhooks,  breath  and  eyes  hitched  on  the  king  and  queen  in  surmising  what  their  next  move  would  be,  as  a  chess player  might  stand  alert  to  his  formidable  opponent.   only  then  did  edward  allow  his  baritone  to  ring  clear,  careful  not  to  allow  the  flame  of  intrigue to  be  expunged  by  a  string  of  superficial  commands.  ❛   come,  i  will  have  dancing  and  drinking,  or  i  will  have  death.  ❜   words  quieter,  muffled  by  the  sounds  of  petticoats  moving  into  place  and  lords  clamoring  to  the  heart  of  the  ballroom,   ❛  and  you,  you  will  demonstrate.   i  am  quite  keen  to  see  the  swing  of  your  hips  of  which  you  speak.  ❜

Challenges of far more importance for you to surmount. 

Quickly. A shift on her glorious throne, legs smoothly crossing over each other as back arched, ready to retort. Catherine’s coquettish lips pursed. Paused as if struggling to quell her naturally inclined haughty words to such a daunting statement that rang too true, which- if her words released- could pour smooth and hot as liquid silver. Though the woman embraced her sovereignty, committed to it more than any holy promise, bits of her jungle cat strength, sass, prowess, mortality remained, energy humming within. Her insatiable scratch to caress each moment, the amusement she received during the thrill of a hunt, or toying with her peers as though she were collecting trinkets. Feelings, all the more risky, weighted as time had passed and an audience watched the two of them more carefully than any. 

A flame lingered in her gaze to her lord, her king, her husband as neck craned, delicately tilting in intrigue and curiosity at her husband’s actions. The rush of a swift change in tone, tearing them away from their seats and quiet words that only they could decipher. A spectacle, flourished as Catherine stood, her timing punctual enough to evoke their audience’s full attention, before she flashed a charming smirk. 

‘Let us see if you can keep up, my heart-’ Her mutter grazed his ear as she passed him, a provocative lilt under her breath. Tapping one gold stitched foot at the musicians before the music began. Eyes fixated on him, as if he were the only other in the room. Catherine moved, drifted with an ethereal grace and nearly devilish, drifting her hand over his shoulder as she leaned into him as if to embrace him before tearing herself away, strong, as unpredictable and toying as ever. She circled ‘round him, slow, before twirling and leaning in to him again, grazing his cheek with a passing growl too low for any ears but his, ‘if not, I may have to drag you to my bedchamber to teach you a proper lesson...’ With a flourish, she brushed past him again, a nymph with just enough subdued restraint, curtsying coaxingly low as the music settled in for their duet. 

[cecilypcmbroke]

Sisters of York. Cecily & Catherine.

[cedere--nescio-blog]

sadness envelops her like a dark robe , hanging from her shoulders & weighing on her like a pillar of stone & marble - cold. her arms tighten around her sister , frown settled on her face as she gently hushes Catherine - tone soothing , filled with sisterly love & care. she stroked her hair , smoothing down the glistening waterfall of dark locks , so much alike her own. the queen’s question deepens the frown on Cecily’s face ; “ of course not , Catherine. why would you be cursed ? you must not think of it. it’s the ill thinking that does you more harm than good. no one would dare harm you , not with me , & your king , by your side. “ words of comfort made to soothe her sister’s sudden outburst of fear & anxiety.

she understands , then , what has truly been haunting her sister. expression softens , arms tightening in comfort , around Catherine. “ you are still young & fertile , Catherine. I don’t doubt you will produce an heir , soon. you have only been married for a short time. “ she tries , then wonders if she could cross a line - it wasn’t like her sister would keep secrets from her , but the topic was delicate. “ does the king often visit your chambers ? perhaps you could offer him a more regular visiting , until you’re sure you’re with child ? “ she offers , then adds ; “ although , I am hardly the one to preach. two years married & no child as well. perhaps it takes longer for us York girls to bear an heir. “

‘As strong as you are, and as much as I depend on you, Ceci, do you not sense it? The amount of poison lingering in the air disguised by many who pretend to be allies, or friends? Something lurks there, I’ve yet to decipher, and yet I know ‘tis those who watch and wait for us all to fail!’ She muttered, voice rasped and hoarse as she guided Cecily further into her room, leaning her head against her sister’s shoulder as she glided through the ornate furnishings like a maze in the darkness. She eventually plopped onto her bed, pulling her sister along with her. ‘His damned sister - more of a blasted Russian now, more than any English bit of blood she’s ever carried- the way her eyes linger on my belly like it’s some hollow shell-’ she snapped, words low and in a growl more than anything as she brought her sister’s hand over her stomach. ‘This- this. I can master a room, I can conquer a court, even a king. But this aspect of my life’s duty is critical now, more than ever, since Margaret’s passing. To solidify the truth: that England shall forever remain strong.’

Catherine was seldom a crier, more the spitfire in the hearth, but resting against Cecily, she couldn’t keep from blinking away tears. Rage, bitterness, panic. Emotions she had to quell during the light of day. ‘Of course he visits-’ she growled, ‘and I ensure the room resembles a  battlefield by morning. And yet, nothing to come from it all.’ She paused, wide eyes blinking before she snapped her chin up to greet her sister’s. ‘You, my dear, sweet sister... must tell me should you ever see or hear of anything awry. Until I provide an heir, I need to know of any gossip lurking within these walls. Our walls. Our family depends on it.’

[cedere--nescio-blog]

The castle  gardens enclosed the crowds of courtiers, royals, guests, ambassadors, servants into an ever-more beautiful, padded playpen. Time was of the essence, and Catherine sought the value of any precious hour under the comforting guise of such a setting. A precise opportunity to invite one of England’s most prestigious guests to meet, away from the cacophonous clutter of the great hall. Particularly, to gauge the king of Aragon - the formidable ruler with the might of the Vatican- the father of the soon-to-be English bride. A page sent the invitation, and when word reached Catherine that the Aragonese king accepted such a meeting, she would not allow a sub-par preparation.

Thus, just as the sun set high for the day and radiated a calming, warm glow, the queen consort’s staff hustled to create a picturesque meeting place within the manicured gardens. Aragonese meat, fruit riddled the trays perched on the tables popped beside blended in alongside English plums, damsons, mincemeat pies, wine, displayed before the English rosebushes. As soon as Catherine heard movement towards her, Catherine shot a surefire glance at her attendants before shooing most of them off. The footsteps rounded the corner, and she dipped into a smooth curtsy paired with an ever so slight kitten smirk. 

‘Your Grace... For a king who has travelled so far, you deserve far more -- in an albeit more entertaining surrounding -- than an indoor reception with me. What better way to learn more of our countries’ offerings than a garden tour, paired with an array of our unique delicacies?’

@aragcnese

[cedere--nescio-blog]

“I ought to accuse you of delivery, for the strength of your praises.” Residing within the court, women grew more odious, more dangerous, then any weapon man could construct. Louis tittered in jest however, reflecting on her words with delight in lieu of suspicion; if she was sweet with motive, he was inclined to see her attempts through.  “Be glad then, that I vehemently deny you sport - for I shall surely leave you in shadow of dust, that shall rise from the hooves of my horse.”  He laughed, a melodic rumbling from the depths of his stomach; notes of genuine amusement were rare - often a joyful tinkling of laughter was pushed forth, to appease those in his vicinity. “I wish for you and his grace to sojourn within my domain, once the time may be deemed correct; for the English mare may only be rivaled by the grace of a French stead.

  Louis’ visage bent to a smile - his lips giving way to a rounded curl, set against the golden hairs sprinkled across his cheeks. His English rose. He wished to consult Catherine as an authority, on the immobile walls constructed between he and Mary; but it was no task of a Queen, to kindle the fires of passion between spouses. “If I were to be informed I dared to take breath from the same air as such a woman of power, I would know not if I could stay astride my horse - for the excitement of it all. It is a testament to the strength of your character - and the might of your family - that you ascended so highly. Did you desire to be Queen, your grace? So often, positions are thrust upon those who made no designs upon them.”

Catherine trotted beside him, each swift movement matching the bounce of her smirk her steed accelerated. ‘How fortunate both French and English horses may ride in unison, then.’ She nodded, winter blue gaze only straying for a second to take in the golden features of the king beside her before calculating the best route through the impending brush. 

The way his laughter rang in the air, and melted into the afternoon breeze allowed her leather gloved grip to relax on her reigns, and for a blessed instant, court’s restraints of calculated pressures remained at the shrinking sight of the palace - disappearing, bit by bit, as their horses reared onward. 

At his question, dark-jetted brow perked as she relished the pause of silence between them, before smoothly relaying, ‘It is a blessing that Fate has bestowed upon me, though I was not born with such a position, it is now more part of me than anything else in this world.’ She murmured, though her mind lingered on his statement. How much did she resemble a climbing panther, to the rest of the world? How could she exude confidence to those who we The Yorks were renowned for their ambition, their might. Catherine was no longer a representative of merely the Yorks, but was adapting to the transitions- and all that came with it - of being an embodied representation for England. Daunting, but addictive. 

‘But I can ask you the same,’ She offered a small smile, ‘this glorious life’ is in your blood, as it has been forever... as a child, or even perhaps in the flicker of a moment, would you ever have wondered what your life would be like were you born to a different destiny?’

[cedere--nescio-blog]

❛  then let that be the only warning his grace need heed  –––  sisterly wrath.  i will call upon him on the morrow,  you are welcome to join us if it would please you.  ❜  words,  altogether weightless facets.  they meant little without the presence of a handshake or the plantagenet insignia to validate them,  ratified with scarlet wax and a delicate mould displaying the lion’s resplendent crest.  such was true in the negotiating of betrothals and the drawing close of wars,  something edward was as well-versed in as a musician his compositions.  reluctant to add fuel to the flame,  edward’s mouth ensnared itself into a snarl of a grin,  a placating display of affection that ensured he intended to let sleeping dogs lie and allow his wife’s words on behalf of her brother speak for themself.  there was no sense in dredging up the consequences should his courtiers fall short of the expectations he crowned upon them;  his precious consort was a shining testament to that,  haunting the halls of court as though a spectre in the night.

edward’s skin burned and tingled where her fingertips brushed against him;  the incipient fibres of scruff shadowing his jawline scratching against her milky-white skin as he leant into the touch.  ❛  you put an enormous responsibility on the infanta’s shoulders,  wife.  she may do well in this role,  might even exceed our expectations,  but unless i am mistaken and she is a true saint,  she is no miracle worker.  william,  i fear,  is doomed to a life of perpetual immaturity.  ❜   he pondered her forthcoming inquiry for a beat,  gingerly selecting each word spoken so as to not reveal something particularly damning.  ❛  i am disinclined to trust them,  though i value their military more than i do their trust.  i wish you to indulge and humor them,  perhaps entreat them to a private reception,  gain their ear.  i cannot know their true motives if they fear holding an audience with a king and calibrate each word.  ❜

‘Careful, I fancy this challenge, now-’ she grinned, ‘to influence our William, with this matrimony and his bride as potential ammunition? How much would you bet I could work miracles?’ Plush lips pressed together, before she murmured low, ‘Though... I feel we may not need to worry about depending on dear William’s reliability for much longer, my love.’ 

Were they alone, and not even the glint of their guards’ armour could keep them company, Catherine’s current clandestine affections would rage all the more wild. Greedily push off his gold dipped accompaniments until they scattered about the floor. To stubbornly pluck each fine silk string of her dress until she was free from the curved-back feline prowess pose she achieved. Allow the little games they played, the stress, the lingering words unspoken in the air surrounding the pair to all give way for even a moment. Winter blue gaze hazed over as she followed her soft fingertips’ subtle caress, treading achingly slowly to line her husband’s sharp jaw, roaming over his neck and resting at the nape, only nearly scratching against his skin before she failed to hold back a wicked little smirk for a flash. 

Rolling her shoulders back, Catherine raised her chin and murmured low, ‘Only few things would please me more than an audience with our Aragonese attendees... Especially an opportunity to learn some of their customs, particularly their dance. I shall see to it, though I may take too well to such moves.’ Each word heavy, her mind racing like clockwork, tactically drifting across the pawns each of Aragon’s esteemed could serve, and how she could go about obtaining such information. And of the French, the Russian, the English who lurk through their corridors with agendas sewn into their hearts. Heavy-lidded gaze flickered over to greet the king’s eyes. ‘You must come to me, then. I will show you what I learn. From the news between steps, to the sway of my hips.’

[fulviaesque]

        a curtsy of grace was offered as both a sign of respect and a silent apology, though she had not approached in a rude or abrupt manner, the french comtesse had seemingly appeared as if out of nowhere in a bid to start a fresh conversation. in her wake she left a gentleman she feared had not even noticed her excusing herself for his enjoyment of his own voice, but it was necessary that she be freed of his company for her own sanity.        “ i pray you might forgive my intrusion if there is forgiveness to be sought. i am in great need of liberation from a man whose talk of spices from the middle east has continued on since midday, my own efforts to speak of other matters have been terribly in vain and i wish not to offend him. i would be so grateful if you would take a cup of wine or walk with me to my freedom. ”

[cedere--nescio-blog]

Despite the queen’s set polite grin painted throughout the evening as she nonchalantly surveyed her guests, there lurked the faint flash of a feline’s mischief over her features as she ears perked to the comtesse Jacqueline’s plea. ‘Ah, yes... Countess, ’ Catherine purred low enough for Jacqueline’s pesky tradesman to remain oblivious. Shortly followed by a  glance over her shoulder and a lean in towards the countess to mutter, ‘What a rare gift of patience you possess. ‘Tis a fascinating tradesman: complete with an overwhelming abundance of cardamom, cloves, spice, such talent... and yet lacking minuscule capability of drawing in a woman’s enraptured attention.’  

‘Step with me into a dance amongst my ladies, instead, or prepare for the crucial moment when he compares your rare beauty to a particularly rare spice...?’ Dark brow quirked as she held back a laugh, only able to haughtily twist her lips into a hint of a smirk. 

[cecilypcmbroke]

Sisters of York. Cecily & Catherine.

[cedere--nescio-blog]

icy eyes widened in surprise at the queen’s terror. never prone to frightful fits , if childhood fears are cast aside , Cecily frowned in concern , as her sister seemed oblivious to her presence , a yelp leaving the lips of the other York sister , now crowned Plantagenet. Cecily was quick to gather her skirts to rush towards her sister , but the latter turned , her gaze clear & all but ordered Ceci around - she was quick to obey , at her sister’s distress , & hasty turned towards the heavy chamber door , pushing them to a close before the guards would notice anything amiss. what could have frightened Catherine so? she was never the one to yelp in fear , not even when they were playing hide - & - seek as children , when Cecily would jump out from her hiding place to frighten her.

“ are you feeling alright , dear sister ? “ Cecily asked with a concerned expression marring her pretty features , & she turned from the door to step closer to her sister , hr arms widening in an inviting gesture. “ come here. tell me what put you to such a mood , let me help you. “ her words were soft & quiet , the tone intended to soothe her sister , calm her , like a gentle breeze after a violent storm.

Heart fluttering, panic ignited a chain reaction. Her skin prickled worse than memories of tumbling into rose bushes as a child. Enticed by the flowers to hover too close and learning the pain behind such an action. Surely she was not going mad. Yet even so much as allowing her quivering lips to release the admission that she very well could have felt the clawing rage of the previous queen, or some twisted form of the past and present terrors, presented a flood of unspeakable circumstances.

‘Oh, it’s ludicrous, really, Ceci I- You would not -’Catherine’s rich, smooth voice pushed out the words in a rush, forcing a laugh which turned into a choke. Just as Cecily’s arms widened for her, the queen swallowed hard and melted into her with a shudder. Delicate features and eyes that were renowned for their intensity momentarily crumbled, concealed behind a heavy door that sealed off her chambers and exposed to the woman who would follow her anywhere.  ‘Do you think me cursed, sister? What sick fate is this? England loses its beloved Margaret Plantagenet, then England’s York bride cannot even provide news of an heir --’ Stomach knotted, knees quaked as she shook her head into Cecily’s shoulder, bitter growl, ‘A twisted potential spectacle for our esteemed guests. In my life, I can- I have- walked through Hell and risen victorious time and time again, and yet this...’ She forced out a sharp huff, ‘Each passing day is vital. History haunts me with this fact.’

[cedere--nescio-blog]

kraljevstava

it is not catherine’s crimson lips,  curled into an altogether hallmark pout,  that move edward to expectation,  but rather the claims that rest upon her tongue and speak volumes of the prestigious house of york.  it was once whispered throughout the halls of court that the sun shall fail to set upon the yorks so long as catherine’s brother remains at the helm of their aspirations,  and though initially reluctant to grant such rumors credence,  edward now found them to be so obvious they were nigh obsolete.  plucking a grape from a tray of gaudy gold,  the king draws it to his lips to repress the nefarious grin that threatens to suspend his lips upward;  stormy eyes registering his wife with an askance glance.  ❛  indeed you do.  ❜  her words slice beneath the skin.  bleed trying.  oh,  at times,  how he wishes she would bleed;  usher in a son into this world,  their ichor mingled.  ❛  i have every faith in the duke.  just as i have in you, sweetheart.  you may remind him that his failure to achieve this leverage you speak of results not only in his own folly,  but in my disappointment.  yes ? ❜  an implicit warning. his fingers flicker,  akin to the snappish fluttering of a moth’s wings,  across her hand.  heeding her indiscreet flattery,  edward claims her hand within his own,  flips it over and drags it to his lips to lavish a rough caress upon her skin.  the motion entirely devoid of tenderness,  ‘tis both a response and a display to the courtiers who’s eyes remained painstakingly upon them.  ❛  lady margaret would surely admonish us against listening to rumors.  those who loiter in doorways,  she claimed,  accomplish naught.  i have heard some…  pity,  where my brother’s betrothed is concerned.  they say she is as pretty as she is witless.  i fail to see the disadvantage in this, albeit;  so long as he can take her to bed and perform the natural obligation,  what use does he have for a witty bride ? ❜

Sat facing their courtiers throughout most of each passing day, a great deal of the monarchs’ rapport shifted to rest under a gilded magnifying-lens. Thus, the queen consort craved the implicit coding she and her husband finessed, particularly whilst thronged amongst the ever-present audience. Even so little as a slight twitch of the lips, the ensnared gaze, or the implicative hum of Edward’s low timbre slowly scratched deeper to Catherine’s core. But words- and what lurked between his words- weighed heavier than the rare speckled furs, thick draperies, fresh leathers and goods piled high around them.

Disappointment. A threat worse to her ears than any. Guilt over the fact that they hadn’t yet conceived. Determined to restore England to its Herculean glory. To make him proud, to quell her unyielding need to earn the respect of her people. She could not stand to lose, especially due to her brother’s grave mistake. She eyed him in silence before growling, ‘I pity any man who would face my wrath, even my beloved brother, should they fail this great task you’ve restored upon them.’

She concealed a shudder from his caress, a pristine glare roamed about the room at his flourish. Catherine shifted in her seat, delicately brushing the back of her fingers against his jaw as he kissed her hand, maintaining a tinge of feistiness about her. A singular laugh, followed by, ‘What your brother needs is a woman who can keep up with him--coax him into less of a the family fox out on the grounds, to step into the lion’s role, under your guidance. To take his obligations seriously. Better for his bride to resemble mouldable clay, than a hopeless, pretty little fool... or a snake.’ She quirked a bow, lips barely moving as she searched for the princess’s fellow countrymen.‘Which causes me to wonder... what do you think of her people? Our Aragonese guests?’ 

[cecilypcmbroke]

Sisters of York. Cecily & Catherine.

@cedere–nescio

dark nights held something ominous about them - but for the most of the time , the youngest York never thought twice about it. she liked the night & the darkness of it , it made her breathe more freely , happily. often , the coming of the night meant she would see her eldest sister - as a queen , Catherine was far too busy during the day to truly devote her time to her youngest sister , which is why Cecily adored the night - Catherine made sure to see her once all the other courtiers have scattered & it was enough for her. she did love her sister & her queen , truly & most affectionately , & she confided in her more often than she thinks she should ( she often feared she bores her eldest sister to death with it. ). 

Cecily walked down an empty , darkened corridor , towards the chambers where her sister resided. soft steps echoed through the deserted court , the faint rusting of the silk of her dress accompanying the soft sound of her walking. she smiled to the guard , placed in front of her sister’s door , & gratefully inclined her head as he opened them for her. Cecily entered , her smile widening as she spotted her raven-haired sibling , her icy eyes brushing over Catherine for the shortest of moments. “ good evening , sister. I hope I am not intruding on your solitude ? “ she inquired , her usual greeting.

[cedere--nescio-blog]

Catherine never feared spirits, ghosts. Though the York children once gathered in her chambers and huddled under a canopied shelter, relying on their embroidered curtains to shield them from the moon and stars, and haunts that crept through their windows, the eldest York daughter was often the provoker. Laughed the hardest, daring the spirits to dare try and steal a younger sister’s soul away on her watch. 

This eve, after her ladies stripped her of her firs, silk, picked away the pearls carefully netted in her hair, the queen remained with herself for a spare few moments of silence. Save for the crackling fireplace as she began to brush her waterfall curls without help. Her feet ached, her stomach turned in knots. Stubborn, hand drifted over her torso, willing to radiate any sort of energy to meet her will. So she could find any proof of impending motherhood. Only met, instead, with an emptiness in her core. Time had passed since they first greeted their marriage bed, and still no heir. An uneasiness trickling down her petite frame. Then, a moment’s darkness as the fire’s flames looped under the overpowering log. What arose, flittering across her wall, a figure. Shadow expanded, shape cleared, as though a  neck tilted, severed, unsteady.  Then, a voice, paranoia or otherwise. the dead queen’s voice whispering to make the hair on the nape of her neck stand on edge, as if perched right behind her. ‘Catherine....’

'No!’ Catherine released more a frantic yelp than any, body trembling as stood and whirled around to only face her sweet sister. It took her a beat to say anything, otherwise stone pout quivering uncontrollably. Shocked at her mind’s fanciful trickery. ‘Close the door! Close the damned door, Cecily, please!’ she demanded, words hushed, rolling her shoulders back as she tried to steady her breathing, blinking away the glossiness coating her hard gaze.

[cedere--nescio-blog]

fr-valois

“Your husband shall not contend with my racing you; our amiable ride shall be all that reaches his ears. I do not mark he a man whose ire I would like to earn.” She was little changed by the acquisition of the mantle of Queen, from the vibrant courtier whose path had crossed him in days too far now to be properly recollected - albeit, there was something sterner, more robust in Catherine’s character. Hers was a good face; too marked, for now, by beauty - but the character, sharpened by power, remained. The animation of her speech was welcomed by the King, whose countenance wore a sunned smile; his lips arching, a sanguine health in his cheek.

   A party of two now, their former paces were assumed beneath the simpering English sun - tempered by the prudish nature of its people, it only acquiesced to be seen with a veil of cloud upon its face. Louis grew grey beneath its lack of shine, clinging to his caprice and light esteem as stand-ins for his person, warmed by a brighter summer day. “I have yet to spend more then a forgettable ball in your fair country - I confess, I find much of its charms to be hidden from me. Its Queen of course, being a delighted thus far in my visit; I am glad to take part in your much-sought after company. We were distant friends once, were we not? I hope to inhabit such a friendship with you once more.”

‘A sentiment spoken by a wise king.’ Words dripped with raillery, smooth honeyed slow to pour, as rhythmic as her lithe frame which kept alongside him over the uneven terrain. ‘Take comfort. Should our penchant for a game give way, and should my horse reach the glen before yours... I promise I shall keep your loss strictly confidential.’ The queen nodded, lips turned into a spirited twist of a smile.  ‘Perhaps all the more reason for a rematch, should the king and myself have the opportunity to test your own beautiful fleet of horses in France..? His Majesty and I are delighted to host you, and your fair English rose of a bride.’

Gaze lightly roamed over in his features, within the instant of a mere blink the past materialised. Before her, instead, a younger noble catching her eye amongst the flourish of a dance. Who mastered the mystique of foreign words, presentation, to an audience of spectators. And she, the spirited courtier who greedily dallied in enticing friendships and experiences like a torch newly lit. 

So much relied on the play of old friendships, revisited. Now, when countries’ binds could be iron forged or obliterated. Her gentle hint of a smirkish smile struggled to evaporate. ‘How could I forget those days? Pray, sit very still..’ She mused, squinting. ‘Aha, there. Perhaps I may still see that young companion beneath the time that has passed since our last acquaintance. I have much to catch up on.’ She teased, boots pressing into her steed as it moved just a bit faster trot. ‘How would Your Highness react then, were he aware then that he stood beside the most powerful woman in England?’

[cedere--nescio-blog]

He was swift in seeking an audience with the royal family in England, much devoted to helping his brother keep France’s alliances.  They had scarcely found time to speak since arriving here, busy as both of them were and swept into the crowds of expectant courtiers.  Antoine knew his brother would be eager to find an audience with the king, and that would leave him with the task of speaking to the queen in the mean time.  Even with the promises of scheduled meetings, he was told she was out in the woods, among a riding party.  Still the avoidance did not dissuade him.  Requesting his horse, the creature was brought to him within moments, saddled and ready to charge through the woods so he could attempt to find them.  Much to his luck, however, he did not have to go far before he heard the sound of other horses and watched Catherine dismount.

Her portrait always paled in comparison to the great beauty of her person, sweeping away his annoyance at her delayed audience.  The only thing laughable was the state of her windswept hair, but he refrained.  “Oui, it would seem risk and danger keep pulling me towards their path,” the accent of his voice gave off a subtle charm, complemented by a grin. “But I was on my way to join you, Majesté,” he dismounted and bowed, then held out his hand in an offer to take her gloves for her.  “The only test I had in mind being, of course, if you were willing to keep up with my words of fine poetry.  Will you hear them before we reach court?”

Hips rocked with a keeper’s prowess, each step towards him effortlessly treaded over moss, twig, trail as though this earth was hers, and he was welcome to step upon it... to basque in its tranquil greenery, so long as she willed it so. She knew of Antoine de Valois, admired the opulence in his attire,  commended the strings he tightened between Scotland and France. Noble birth gleamed, blessed by God and fate alone. Ambition combined with action was more precious a trait, far more worthy of respect than those who lacked it.   

Despite the feisty impatience that her ride was interrupted, the queen couldn’t refrain from grinning, lopsided as ever paired with a haughty little laugh. She dipped gently as he bowed in courtesy, and after a moment’s contemplation she extended her gloves to him, the material as thin as a second skin. 

‘Your Highness, Monseigneur Le Dauphin,’ her words maintained a melodic bounce, dark brow quirked playful, feigning skepticism, ‘Shall it be our little secret, that time spent on English soil provided such muse for you?’ A gasp, trailed by widening grin, ‘Or, shall I rally to share this miracle with the masses? Let me hear your words, then, and I shall play judge.’

[cedere--nescio-blog]

eleanor  regarded  her  brother’s  consort  with  courtesy  that  her  station  warranted  –––  a  mere  incline  of  the  head  for  eleanor’s  own  position  was  not  about  to  see  her  sweep  into  a  respectful  curtsey.  she  was  the  tsarina  of  russia  and  a  princess  of  england,  she  bowed  to  no  man  or  woman,  least  of  all  to  those  she  deemed  of  lesser  pedigree.   ❛   no,   the  rumours  of  austerity  at  the  russian  court  are  quite  unfounded,  i  assure  you.  as  is  the  bleak  reputation  my  people  have  seemingly  been  awarded.  ❜  a  small,  yet forced  smile  curled  at  eleanor’s  lips.  ❛  and  how  are  you  ?   ❜  not  yet  with  child  it  seemed;  an  observation  she  kept  to  herself.

Catherine’s chin raised as she forced a gentle smile to remain, lashes fluttered in civil cordiality as her gaze briefly roamed over the woman before her. A woman and monarch woven into the very fabric of England and Russia, who once was stripped of all things she held dear and thrusted into a new reality when she was but a teenager.  Now a mother. 

Standing here, shoulders upright and head tilted to Eleanor, the English queen was never blind to the occasional speculation. Despite her own strong upbringing, she did not grow with a crown perched atop her midnight tresses.  She willed away the creeping envy, lurking in the pit of her stomach that she was not yet a mother to England’s ruler.  Respect was earned over time, the duet continued with its nuances, and yet Catherine was too thick-skinned for intimidation. Idly, she swayed further into the room, ‘Your Grace, I am as England, mourning your beloved grandmother. However, such tragedy brings us a gift, with you and the tsar’s arrival on our shores. How do you find it, after all this time? I assure you, the Lady Margaret would have been overjoyed to see you walk these corridors once more.’

[ncrthumberlands]

@cedere--nescio

​                         having worn his crown for nigh a decade,  edward plantagenet was well aware of the responsibilities encrusted within the jewels that graced his head;  the duties surging through his scepter;  the authority laced within the robes that had enthroned him years ago.  the presence of innumerable foreign diplomats,  their royal masters and embassies in his court had done well to remind him of his influence,  however,  and there was little opportunity to lessen the weight of the crown so long as his fiercest opponents and relentless allies breathed down his bejeweled collar.  

he remained on edge throughout the french and russian sojourn,  although a strangers’ eye would not be able to accurately detect the strain upon his nerves nor the source of it –– certainly not those mirthless few gathered in the king’s apartments,  regaling him with wine,  music and dance whilst the queen and her ladies attended to their needlepoint and the other charitable affairs they’d been appointed.  edward’s fingertips drummed against the velveteen arm of his throne as his eyes drifted from the noblewomen seated at the gambling tables,  to the handmaidens bustling in and out of the chambers carrying silver salvers of delicacies.  when his mouth at last pried open to relinquish commentary,  it was to murmur something to his wife,  his voice a low timbre of disdain.  ❛  odd that your brother does not join us.  i was certain he would communicate to me the events of his reception with the tsar.  ❜

[cedere--nescio-blog]

Perched at their own elevated alter, the pair’s carefully situated position resembled something nearly holy. The glint of the light delicately trickling through the stained-glass windows reflected an aura that bounced rays off of the rare jewels welded into the queen’s crown. Poised beside her husband, Catherine’s serene demeanour contradicted her unyielding curiosity and albeit weariness stirred from their encircling foreign visitors. A tinge of paranoia cut with strong conviction to conclude such a summit victorious. Hawklike gaze subtly roamed over the revellers scattered about the king’s apartments; flitting over them as If they were each cards belonging to different suits, edges curled ready to arrange for a game of tactics.  Who could help or hinder? 

Natural pout rubbed the deep rouge wine stain fresh from her latest sip, relishing the tartness as her mind meandered before the king’s low mutter. A twist of agitation from her brother’s lack of urgency on such a matter reflected in a glare, though it quickly dissolved into subtleties lest any onlooker begin to take notice. Instead, fingertips discreetly trailed over her husband’s knuckles draped over his armrest, coaxingly swirling over his hand as she tilted her face towards his to mutter for his ears alone, ‘My brother retains the resilience of a York, love,’ eyes fluttered over his jawline to his embroidered collar, ‘It is too woven into our blood to settle for a meeting without gaining some sort of leverage in your honour. Else we bleed trying.’ A beat before she shifted, as careful as a jungle cat, ‘Have the walls whispered to you any news? I have only witnessed condolences from our visitors. What do you consider your grandmother would note, were she observing this flurry caused in her absence?’