POINTS CLAIMED THIS WEEK: +45 // TOTAL: 180

Kiana Khansmith
Claire Keane

Love Begins
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Xuebing Du
Misplaced Lens Cap
we're not kids anymore.

shark vs the universe

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trying on a metaphor
Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
One Nice Bug Per Day
cherry valley forever

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@cristobaltrastamara
POINTS CLAIMED THIS WEEK: +45 // TOTAL: 180
lorenzo de medici
⚜
The passing of Lisbon with neither success nor immoderate failure had left Lorenzo—not irritated, perhaps, but not quite satisfied, as one should be after such a grand event. It did not help that where Firenze had not quite redeemed itself, Ferdinand’s appearance, and increasing talks of this unification of Italy—as though there was aught in common between their northerly territories, and Ferdinand’s southern ones; as though they were kingdoms, too, to be trampled over by a rival king’s wishes, and bow in supplication, yes, your majesty.
Aragon, and the would-be King of it, had offered a neat solution. Though Lorenzo was intent on remaining secretive, for he did not wish to damage his private relations with Ferdinand. On this he meant to be quite clear; nothing was to move until Ferdinand began his processes, if he ever did. This must be a careful task; how to assuage this king that he indeed was on his side, to convince him to wait, all without risk to himself? The purpose was, after all, to avoid war in their peninsula, north or south… unless necessary.
“We may indeed.” Lorenzo gave him a shark’s grin, unrolling a map of Italy and Sicily—the point of their discussion, and Aragon’s contention with Naples, today. He tapped the little island with two fingers. “This is the source of your troubles, is it not?” He shifted his fingers north and east, tapping Rome, the thin but powerful divide between his own borders and Napoli’s. “And this, the source of mine.”
——
though the room was sumptuous enough, cristobal did not allow himself to feel comfort, to become complacent. to do so, after all, was to forget that his first priority was to aragon; he might be forced to keep from running his sword through every córdoban he saw, but he would never forget the sting of his homeland’s loss.
a heavy sigh escaped his lips. “it is,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “though only part of it. i take the neapolitan betrayal even worse knowing that they are kin,” he opined, a dangerous tone coloring his voice as he thought of how deeply the betrayal had cut his family, as if his cousins ever had the authority to think they could barter with the land of aragon, could encourage goodwill with other nations while those of their own blood suffered and remained displaced.
eyes narrowed as he gazed upon rome, a city where cristobal had always felt welcome, a city where a trastámara sat as pope; one might be forgiven for assuming it was a city where cristobal had firm influence. ( but while he might influence the pope to publicly back aragon’s claim over córdoba, he had not enough to draw the cardinals and other nations to his cause. ) “what help do you need in rome, medici?” he inquired. “i have influence there, but it is not an advantage i squander.” —
lucrezia de vidaure
She went to answer, her mouth parting to tell the Prince of what lay beneath her skin for these past five months. Exhaustion, yearning and anxiety left her riddled with nerves — she knew the womb of her Queen was up for debate, more so on the tongues of the Aragonese than anyone else. After all, the Kingdom of Aragon seemed dependent on her fertility.
Lucrezia, now aged at nine and twenty years would at some point be expected to leave her Queen’s service — to marry and have a brood of children that she should’ve started on many moons prior. So, with even a lack of maternal want, could understand the pressure Alexandrina felt (or at least, felt it by the secrets shared between them — secrets that would go with her to the grave).
As his hand tightened around her own, Lucrezia yearned to laugh. Did he think she was afraid of him? Did he think that she was the woman who would ponder what he’d do to her if she went against his will? Oh, Cristobal — don’t you know that the lady-in-waiting to the Queen of France has starred death in the face thrice? Didn’t he know that the only thing she feared was God? So she retracted herself, pulling her hand from his in one sharp snap that left Lucrezia snapping her teeth — ready to bite and pull, even Cristobal Trastamara, who she had also promised a certain kind of loyalty.
“You mistake my intention, my lord,” she answered, elongating his title with the twist of her tongue and body, facing the titular Prince — to square their shoulders together, to make space just for them. “I would tell you if anything came to pass, for my loyalty lies forever in the heart of Aragon. You know thus — you know that well,” With the rise of a brow, she closed the space between them; a keen and slender hand planting itself upon Cristobal’s chest, to feel a heartbeat that had long been frozen.
“I fear I upset your highness, is there anything I can do to please you?” Lucrezia hummed, fingertips tangling into his woollen jerkin, twisting herself into him as if she were sewing him together. “Pray tell me, and I would gladly take part in what is needed.”
the prince of asturias had always believed himself more valued than others; but while it might have been untrue in the past, he had learned how valued he was — to his people, to his family, to the court-in-exile he had led since the death of his brother. a man of action, cristobal had learned the art of diplomacy much slower than he’d learned the art of war; it helped, he knew, that aragon needed war to survive, needed to regain its homeland before it was forever lost to the córdobans.
( and with his inflated sense of self, with the arrogance, came a sense of entitlement, that he alone should have free access to information before others, that his niece’s womb was there to save aragon instead of her own marriage. )
perhaps he had been a bit too harsh on lucrezia, but cristobal was not a man who apologized. he did not regret his own actions and would admit to doing so even less. still, his countenance softened as they danced and his head inclined at her words. “i know well that your loyalty lies with aragon, lucrezia,” he remarked, drawing her name out slowly, his voice low so as to not be overheard with the intimacy in which he spoke to her. “but i’m curious as to whether your loyalty lies with aragon first and alexandrina second or the opposite.” cristobal’s jaw tightened at the comment, suddenly incredibly eager to hear the answer even as her hand pressed against his chest, his own breath tightening.
the low chuckle that rumbled up from his chest was a familiar one; cristobal was used to taking part in pleasures of the flesh and lucrezia was a woman who graced his bed on many an occasion. “you know what you can do to please me,” he spoke candidly, his smile wolflike even as he moved with the motions of the dance. “but there are, perhaps, too many in paris for me to take the pleasures i have found myself deprived of in your absence.”
blanche d’anjou, the queen mother
With France’s mounting debt, Blanche knew it the crown needed to remedy the lack of money with the bountifulness of friendship and certainly a lack of more enemies. Though the House of Trastámara was between a rock and a hard place with the invasion of their home and being thrusted into exile, Blanche did not see the efficiency in making a nemesis out of the Anjou’s now-most valued family by law. The Queen of France was a Trastámara. Though the French were not known for having the most… polished reputation, Blanche believed in not biting one’s ass with one’s own teeth.
“Enjoy I did. But I would prefer to be 30 years younger. I loved dancing. Did you know I was always crowned the most graceful and lively maids in all the balls and banquets? That was how I got the King to marry me. He was older than I was but God made him a man and therefore slave to his obelisk and balls. Everyone says the mind trumps beauty and youth by the end, but I say beauty and youth gets you from being a countess to being a queen. Anyone who disagree, can come to me.
“I was good, really good.” The Queen did not plan to go on such a long tantrum but this was after all, an occasion for celebration and the man before her seemed like he was preparing for war. She did not blame him: a ruler in every way but name. The burden of his kingdom had fallen onto him and Blanche was aware of the weightiness of this meeting. The background jests, music, and laughter did little to cheapen the importance of it. But the Queen was French and even if she was a godly woman, she was in no mind to conduct business without a little of fun. “Ah yes, Cécile had better hurry up or she will find nothing but a cold corpse waiting for her. Young Prince, I don’t mean to sound like one of the rowdy men you have to deal with on a daily basis, but do sit down and enjoy the wine. You are our distinguished guest and as host, I would hate to see you so tense and solemn during your time here in Paris.”
the prince of asturias was not a man who found it pleasant to engage in small talk. he was a man of action, not a man of diplomacy and now that he was in france once more, he found himself wishing that he could rely solely on alexandrina for the latter. ( he realized, of course, that in order to be seen as a king, he would need to learn the subtle art that his brother had preferred. ) he knew the importance of being polite to a woman as powerful as blanche d’anjou, however, and if he was being honest, cristobal had no desire to suffer the displeasure of his wife if she were to discover he had been rude.
a soft chuckle escaped his lips, fabricated so as to appear much more diplomatic than he felt at this moment. “i did not know that,” he responded with a silver tongue, eyes fixed on his grandmother by marriage. a slave to his obelisk and balls. the expression was not one he expected to hear come from her lips and cristobal kept his amusement restrained. “you certainly kept the king on his toes, if what i’ve heard is accurate,” he mused, one hand running along his jawline. he followed her instructions and sat back in the chair that had been appointed for his use, one hand reaching for a goblet of wine.
“your hospitality is appreciated,” he said carefully. “and though this should be a time of remembrance, i pray you will understand the urgency of my own cause. each day that passes is another day that my court remains in exile. it is another day that my people remain under córdoban rule.” cristobal shook his head. “aragon has given you our most precious jewel in my niece; i have your granddaughter as a wife. and yet france seems no closer to helping us than it was before alexandrina’s marriage.”
he paused. “when will that be rectified?”
location: louvre palace with: @lorenzs
it felt strange, he thought, to meet another man with no armor, no sword, no guards. he felt nearly naked without a weapon save for the dagger conceal within his boot.
( cristobal was a man of action, a man of war, and diplomacy did not suit him nearly as well as it might suit another. )
the louvre, with its alcoves and plethora of meetings rooms, was hardly a discreet location. and yet, cristobal did not wish for discretion. there was little harm in meeting with his banker and he suspected that few would take notice. even fewer would assume that the meeting was more nefarious than it appeared. he sat in the meeting room appointed and looked across the table at lorenzo.
“i believe we might help each other, medici,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair while his eyes remained fixed on the other man. “with our mutual neapolitan . . . annoyance.”
POINTS CLAIMED THIS WEEK: +25 // TOTAL: 135
cécile de guise
perhaps there’d be a time when such a challenge didn’t warrant a response although considering the princess’ disposition such an occurance wasn’t in the least likely. ❝ well, i have given her the least amount of grief overall. ❞ any indiscretions of her younger years were either conccealed [ she thinks ], forgiven or looked over in light of other far more serious matters the crown had to deal with. despite enjoying being the center of attention, cécile had enjoyed far more the small liberties she was granted and often interpretted such occurances as a clear sign of her grandmother’s favor. ❝ — and francisco is her first great-grandchild and only great-grandson, so far… ❞
the recurring theme of their conversations revolved around diplomacy and alliances, her cousin, his niece, their union; aragon and france; aragon and portugal; the emirate and its allies. a gruesome endless list of possibilities —most of them foreboding. cécile was aware that to have her husband’s ear and trust was a rarity among married couples of their station but the task after a certain hour of the night and following a long journey was a struggle.
❝ i wish we would not speak of my cousin. ❞ she mused grazing with delicate fingers the side of his face and the sharp line of his jawline. holding his gaze, cécile leaned forward, their lips coming together in a soft kiss. ❝ in fact i wish we would not speak a t a l l … ❞
he lifted his glass to his mouth and took a very long sip, a chuckle ghosting on his lips. “of course.” he set the goblet back onto the table and leaned back at her comment about francisco. “the first great-grandchild, but are you not forgetting your cousin’s bastard? i have heard he parades the boy around court like a legitimate child.” his lips thinned at those words, as he thought of the spectacle that dishonored both his niece and the trastámara name in such actions. a shake of his head turned his attention back to his wife, the thought slipping from his mind momentarily.
they had spent more time apart than cristobal would have liked since the last summit in lisbon — driven though he was, the prince of asturias had not been pleased to spend christmastide apart from his wife and children — and while it had been necessary to drum up more support for the aragonese cause, he was also just a man and his wife’s fingers grazing alongside his face made a smile quirk upon his lips that was lost as she kissed him. he returned it easily, his mouth gliding over cécile’s as it had dozens of times before.
“is that so, wife?” he asked when he pulled back, one hand resting on her hip. a brow rose at the thought that she had missed him in her bed and he exhaled slowly. “what would you prefer?”
MUSE(S) & WRITER’S NAME : cristobal trastámara | winter PLOTTED WITH: lia { @ofasturias } // jui { @lorenzs } PLOT SUMMARY:
cécile: the two have remained apart since the lisbon summit, with cristobal spending much of those months trying to drum up support and taking his case to the pope yet again, and as they are now in france, they must once more rely upon each other in order to drum up support for the aragonese cause. cristobal is angry at the french for not doing more to support their queen and is slowly realizing that he must trust his wife’s instincts when it comes to navigating the french court.
lorenzo: the two have been corresponding on how to best help each other and their respective kingdoms/states. cristobal wishes to regain aragon and holds a resentment against his neapolitan cousins for their betrayal and lack of support. as lorenzo is resistant to the idea of a unified italy under the command of ferdinand of naples, the two have realized that they could easily come to a mutually beneficial alliance, though details are still to be determined.
RELATIONSHIP:
cécile: the plot with cécile most impacts cristobal’s relationship with his wife. though they have relied upon each other in the past, he has been resistant to fully placing his trust in her in securing french support. this will likely strengthen their relationship, though it may also have periphery impacts on his relationships with other family members and those in france overall.
lorenzo: if the two are successful in helping each other achieve what they want, it will greatly impact cristobal’s relationship with the other leaders of the italian states. he already has a less-than-ideal relationship with his cousin and i would imagine that preventing naples from assuming overarching control of italy would have a massive impact there, as well as with any of naples’ allies. however, for those italian states that wish to have independence, i could see a more positive relationship moving forward.
ARE THESE ONGOING PLOTS?: yes ARE THESE PLOTS PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE?: the plot with cécile is probably mostly obvious, as cristobal has made it clear his priority in reclaiming aragon. the plot with lorenzo, however, is definitely not public knowledge.
POINTS CLAIMED THIS WEEK: +10 // TOTAL: 110
lucrezia de vidaure
She was never to be his wife, his maitresse-de-titre or anything else under such brackets. She was but a line to Alexandrina to him, and he was just a vision of what once was and what should’ve been to her. Yet as she watched him from across the hall dancing with his wife, Lucrezia could not help but feel a twang of something — jealousy? No, perhaps irritation that he was not working on the problem at hand for Aragon.
For her, Aragon was not just a memory or distant piece of history — it was her future and present. She would work till her last breath trying to find who killed the Aragonese monarchs, and would only close her eyes once they were found.
As he approached however, Lucrezia readjusted herself and held herself high; after all, she had been working hard helping the Queen and her ladies approach the opening summit — this was perhaps the only time she had been allowed to enjoy herself, to sit back and simply soak it in.
Allowing him to take her hand, Lucrezia offered the smallest sliver of a smile — hidden under a taste of frustration at his question. “What a shame, I thought you would’ve asked about myself and not the Queen’s womb,” she answered, taking a few steps towards him, her fingers wrapped around his own before standing against him as any dance partner would. “When an announcement is read for the public, you will hear of it. Now, what can I do for you other than sharing silly gossip?”
——
cristobal was a man with appetites that could never be sated — he craved aragon, a people without land to call their own and he wondered, in the darkness of the night, if he would ever truly be pleased even if it were regained in its entirety. and though he was married, had an heir and a daughter to marry in hopes of securing alliances, he found himself disappointed in how stagnant his plans for regaining aragon had become.
( presently, they relied so much upon france that he was loathe to admit that even to himself. it sickened him, to rely upon the hospitality and generosity of others. )
the woman was not incorrect and the prince of asturias inclined his head, aware he had not necessarily maintained the social niceties. “tell me then, lucrezia,” he drawled her name slowly, carefully, as if it were draped in sweetness emanating from his lips. “how have you been since the last time we spoke in lisbon?”
and then his countenance changed; cristobal’s brow lifted and his grip upon lucrezia’s hand tightened, one of the few signs that her response had displeased him. “i am hardly a member of the public,” he remarked carefully, slowly, his mercurial tendencies taking over. “she may be a queen now, but a childless queen is . . . enshrouded in danger.” cristobal paused. “is the king any closer to promising men?”
POINTS CLAIMED THIS WEEK: +55 // TOTAL: 100
cécile de guise
×
it was her firm belief that they would continue to have the king’s ear regardless; with his aragonese queen, cécile’s standing as an aragonese princess, her grandmother’s support and the influence the de guise family name exerted on french court, the only way to alienate philip would be to pester him endlessly about the contract of his marriage. what use would it be to appear as desperate as they sometimes felt?
a meeting between her grandmother and her husband is an affair she would love to attend. hopefully, the two parties involved will be willing to share details each one from the own perspective. ❝ that she does. ❞ cécile agreed with pride. the queen mother was a force to be reckoned with and for cristobal to share in that opinion— that must have been the highest praise she had ever heard coming from him. ❝ i believe this might be your chance to gain her approval for marrying her favourite grandchild. ❞
her amusement at his remark was evidenced by the soft chuckle that escaped her lips, ❝ don’t be cruel, husband. ❞ cécile chastised but only in jest. it gave her little joy to hear of cristobal’s mocking; albeit, part of it for good reason. ❝ he is young… ❞ the princess offered in her cousin’s defence. ❝ not all men can be as astute — ❞ she pointed out with a soft smirk, her finger tracing shapes over his doublet. ❝ — or as capable as you. ❞
——
a brow rose as he reached for his wine once more and took a long sip from the goblet. “do not all grandchildren believe themselves to be the favorite?” he inquired. “i daresay if alexandrina, francisco, catalina, and mateo were to have met their grandparents, they might all claim more favor.” he was baiting her, mostly in jest, though cristobal was a man who took pleasure in confusing others, in making them wonder just what he wanted.
( a long time ago, he had been quite adept at ensuring the information he requested was received without the giver being so much as aware of it. now, time and circumstance had changed many things, with others seeing the aragonese as lesser. )
for all his attributes, cristobal trastámara was still a man, one who reveled in the simple luxury of his wife stroking his ego ( and more, if the feeling of her fingers over his double was any indication ). the smile that grew on his face was genuine, though no less wolflike than the one before it, and he shook his head in amusement. “young is no excuse for a lack of wits,” he pointed out, though his free hand reached out to clasp cécile’s and he lifted it, pressing a kiss to her palm.
“is there something you wish, wife?” he inquired, eyes fixed on her. “other than your honeyed words to distract my thoughts?”
blanche d’anjou, the queen mother
Closed starter for Prince Cristobal Trastámara of Asturias (@cristobaltrastamara) Location: Hotel Saint-Pol, Paris, France
Shakily lowering herself down the cushioned chair, Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, took her time to make herself comfortable. Her poor physique would not allow her (and those around her) a faster pace even if they wished for it. Queen Blanche certainly did not mind milking the anticipation that came with it; everyone seemed all the more eager when the Queen had managed to settle herself onto her seat and business actually began flowing. Lesser men would not be able to contain their frustration at having to deal with the Queen Mother’s withering body, with her raspy voice, hard of hearing, and walking cane. They much preferred stronger, younger, tougher men, because they’d not have to watch in discomfort as the old woman struggled to even sit and stand for greeting formality.
Yet there was nothing the Queen Mother loved more than poking at the nerves of said men. She had reigned as Queen for far too long and lived thrice her number of years on the throne, to succumb to men’s every whim. But alas, some bending was sometimes necessary. And the man she must be soft for today was the Prince of Asturias - uncle to the current Queen Alexandrina of France. She knew all too well the frustration from the House Trastámara, their boiling eagerness to reclaim their home, and that the real head of the kingdom lied not with Ferrando’s son but his younger brother, Cristobal. And thus, she had invited the Prince for an audience in the midst of festivity. The courtiers shall keep dancing but the Queen Mother had sequestered for all those she should me a quieter corner of the grand hall. Business shall not muddle with celebration. “Forgive me, young Prince. I foolishly accepted an invitation from the Grand Duke of Russia and my hips are now suffering as a result. Please, have a sit and whatever refreshment you wish can be brought to you by my servants.”
the countries of aragon and france were, perhaps, more intertwined than others. the prince of asturias ( the leader of a country that had no lands was not called a king, after all ) had married a frenchwoman and his own niece was now queen of france while her aunt remained queen of portugal. the arrangement between france and aragon had included provisions for reclaiming aragonese soil and yet the french tarried at sending any tangible support. the sense of betrayal that ran through his veins was deep, though it had not yet overcome that which he felt toward his cousin in naples. thus, the invitation of the queen mother was a welcome one and he hoped that, after speaking with her, the king philip would finally see the importance in protecting aragonese interests, lest his own be in cordoba’s sight.
though she might have aged and though her body may look withered, the prince of Asturias was not a man who lacked intellect and he knew that the real power in queen blanche lay in her mind, as well as in her influence over her grandson. he stood, inclining his head out of respect for her age rather than her position ( for were they not equals on a playing field? ), and only sat after she had done so. he gestured to a servant to bring a goblet of wine before he spoke, well aware that this conversation might likely be one of his most important.
“it is good you are still able to enjoy such merriment,” he said, a ghost of a smile echoing upon his face. though he was not a man who often indulged, it was impressive that the queen mother could still take a turn about the room. “my wife looks forward to seeing you again. and her cousin, of course.”
location: hôtel du pol; ballroom with: @devidaure
as other royal families gathered in paris, cristobal had hoped to muster support for his cause; as the uncle of the french queen, as the de facto ruler of aragon’s court-in-exile, he had hoped that there might be more of an attempt made to curry favor with alexandrina by helping her homeland. and yet the sanctification festivities took center stage, as a king who was barely a man spared little expense for that which was simply a memory.
( it occurred to cristobal then that some might consider aragon to be a memory, but the thought was quickly ejected from his mind; surely the other christian nations would worry about cordoba invading even further if given the opportunity. )
and so, limited in his current courses of action, he had no choice but to participate in the revelry around him, even as his very being chafed under the excesses of the french court. there was dancing this evening and after turning his wife about the dance floor, he turned to see the other ladies in attendance.
his lips twisted into a smirk as he held out a hand for lucrezia, a woman he knew better than most. “tell me,” he spoke deliberately. “has my niece any announcements to make?” he paused. “philip must be anxious for his heir.”
cécile de guise
with one hand on his shoulder and lips curling upwards at the soft kiss placed upon her head, she situated herself at his side. there was no need for her to admit she had missed him; there were other far more pressing matters that occupied his mind. cécile could tell by how tense the muscles of his shoulders and at the back of his neck felt under her touch and she knew the answer to her question way before the words left his lips. many a night they had spent in a similar setting; conversing of matters that had been left unresolved; that ate away at his patience; when his ( their ) frustration was palpable.
❝ i do intend to write to philip tomorrow requesting an audience— ❞ if only they had arrived a few days before everyone else. that way she could have reunited with her family and put all their affairs in order before all these guests overwhelmed and occupied so much of the king’s time. ❝ —but i doubt this is the appropriate time to broach the matter of troops. i will not be be doing so. ❞ she declared softly. the pressure on her cousin’s shoulders must have been mounting all these months and it would continue to do so up until the canonisation ceremony. ❝ appearing as vultures hounding him would only hinder your efforts. ❞
there was an ease at the feeling of cécile’s hand upon his shoulders and he was struck with the thought that he had missed her counsel more than he would ever admit. at times cristobal felt as if he was a man who held the weight of the world — or at least the weight of aragon — on his shoulders. those that supported aragon’s right to their own lands had not provided him with troops, had not gone into battle with him. at most they would provide a place for his family to stay, a temporary home for his court-in-exile.
( there was little he hated more than feeling like a bedouin heretic; moving his family throughout lands that belonged to others instead of stepping foot back onto aragonese soil. )
cristobal inclined his head in agreement at his wife’s words. “he will likely not make the decision without the support of his advisers,” he pointed out, well aware that kings so young relied upon the opinions of others, often to their own detriment. “your grandmother has already requested a meeting; she holds more power in one finger than your cousin could even fathom of holding in the entirety of his body.” a smile played upon his lips at that, one that was filled with a tinge of cruelty, the ruthlessness that so many on the battlefield often saw.
cécile de guise
location :: SAINT-GERMAIN-DES-PRÉS ABBEY, PRIVATE QUARTERS date :: FEBRUARY, 1459 status :: closed for @cristobaltrastamara
it was quite astonishing how the princess had not a single complaint about their journey or a remark about the neccessity to relocate once again and it all stemmed from the fact that their destination was paris. a return to france; the first since her naptuals, could only be cause for celebration for cécile and she made no effort to hide her joy. still the journey was long and their arrival at the abbey late in the afternoon didn’t allow for much other than making sure the children were looked after and taken to bed to rest.
cécile had little time to acquaint herself with the abbey or the quarters granted to the aragonese court; one more task to be carried out on the morrow. for now she retired in her rooms. the crackling of the fire brought back to life by the servants accompanied her as she began writing a letter to her lady mother. upon signing her name, the sound of her husband’s voice alerted her of his return. ❝ husband — ❞ she greeted sitting back on her seat as the prince entered the solar.
❝ will you join me ?? ❞ she asks setting her quill and paper aside and standing to pour them some wine before offering him a goblet. ❝ i hope whatever kept you from being here upon our arrival has been resolved ?? ❞
it was strange, cristobal thought, that he could spend so long fighting wards for others and yet he had not been able to retake aragon, did not have a home of his own. their christmastide had been spent relying again on the hospitality of others and though his accounts in the medici bank had grown, he was not so foolish as to spend them all on soldiers when support from the other nations had become sorely lacking.
( he was not certain which smarted more, that france refused to honor its side of the bargain or that his cousins had turned their back on blood and now occupied sicily as if it were theirs to own. )
the prince of asturias’ day had been filled with errands and his last one had gone so late that he had missed the arrival of his wife and children. he shrugged off his cloak, handing it to a servant, as he called for food. “wife,” he acknowledged, his head inclining. he pressed a kiss to the top of her head in greeting before he leaned back against a table. taking the goblet, cristobal sipped slowly. “nothing has resolved itself as of yet,” he told her, his voice low. “and until your insipid cousin provides the troops that were promised, we remain here, all we’ve done thus far a waste.”
POINTS CLAIMED THIS WEEK: +10 // TOTAL: 45