kingwiilhelm:
eliascfaustria ;;
“Where is the Queen?” Wilhelm asked, impatiently, as he led a procession from the Main Corridor of the Palace’s lower level into the sprawling courtyard etched within the heart of the Hofburg’s structure. The high noon sun withered behind a blanket of clouds, casting a shadow upon the foray of stone. The arrangement of Sport was underway; pages of the royal household settled quivers of bow and arrows upon a wooden cask built for the occasion, others wrested with a long-table of aged Oakwood adorned with chalices and gilded plates of silver. The German King gazed upon their charcoal tunics, where the crest of the Habsburg Family was sewn upon the right shoulder.
“I do not know, Your Majesty,” responded Hans Albrecht, the Court’s Archchamberlain, who massaged his thick whiskers as he spoke. A man of forty-and-six, Germany’s Archchamberlain was a short, gaunt man; thick of limb, with a small, round face. He brandished a walking-stick as he trotted beside the King, his prance mottled with short legs and square-buckled shoes of varnished leather.
“Send for her,” commanded the King, who approached the Table and gestured for the Page standing sentry to pour him a chalice of spiced red wine, “I want her by my side when the Archduke arrives.” Wilhelm retrieved the chalice from the Page and drank its warmth without relent, taking a moment to peer over the arrangements. The Hofburg Palace surrounded the Courtyard on all four sides, casting a gloom of protection in the form of indomitable tartar and stone. The small, quaint windows that lined its walls bespoke darkened corridors and servants’ chambers, overlooking the entrails for Archery – targets strewn of hay and painted with crimson hues, and a wooden minstrel harrying wooden swords and iron shields to practice their hand at sword-to-sword combat. A glimmer of approval flickered behind his cerulean irises as he offered his chalice to the Page.
“At once, Your Majesty,” Hans Albrecht flicked his palm toward one of his servants. A young Man garbed in burnished liveries and a of cloth-of-silver sheath around his neck bearing the torch-and-flame sigil of the Chamberlain’s station, lowered into a chivalrous full-bow before forging toward one of the four arched stone entryways into the Palace.
Wilhelm traipsed toward the wooden cask to the far right of the painted targets and held out his hand. A Page brought him a bow and placed the quiver of arrows beside his calf. You are out of practice, old man. He mused, with a small smile, notching an arrow into his bow, tugging back, arching his forearm precisely, before loosing it upon one of the targets. In the briefest of moments, the arrow etched into the target’s outer circle…some distance from the red dot at its heart. Close enough. For a time he wondered if his young cousin, the Crown Prince of Austria, would fare better upon his target. With an arched eyebrow, he resolved to wait and find out—the Crown Prince should be among them soon enough.
“You shall wish to mention the Archbishop of Salzburg,” informed the Archchamberlain, hobbling toward the wooden cask, the tap, tap, tap, of his walking-stick reverberating through the silent skies.
Wilhelm glanced at Hans Albrecht as he retrieved another arrow to notch into his bow, “I will have no talk of politics, Hans,” he said, his voice lowering in jest, as he turned to tugged his elbow back and hone in upon the target, he continued, “Some wine ought to dull your senses…”
“Mm?” Elias asked, only partially giving his attention to the attendant who had been tasked with seeing to it that the Crown Prince of Austria made himself punctual. There was truly no need, Elias was eager to participate in sport. His fingers were itching to wrap around a bow. There was a steadiness in archery that enabled the young prince to truly breathe. To put focus on one task, one target, was a welcome change to the demands of his station. It was also a task at which Klaus determined Elias fully capable of handling on his own. In every other task, he felt the breath of his father on his ear, reminding, guiding, correcting. The Austrian longed to break free of such coddling and come into himself as an independent and well-educated young man. Even the journey to Naples had been a pleasure, despite his confusion regarding the betrothal. He’d been able to speak to his betrothed and her family on his own terms, with his own words.
The prince turned, adjusting his sleeve once more. “Forgive me, your highness. I reminded you of your requested presence. It would be suitable for you to arrive shortly.” The attendant repeated. Elias gave a curt nod, “Very well. Stop worrying. I am suitably presentable.” He answered, his voice quiet, but firm. He didn’t need an attendant commanding him about as well. His elder cousin would not be displeased with him for appearing in just a few moments. He had endured a long enough journey, traveling first from Naples, back to Kreuzenstein, and then to his majesty’s court. If he knew his cousin, and he believed he did, he was otherwise occupied with the babbles of those who longed to control him as well.
Elias was entirely familiar with the ways of court, even if he preferred to keep his thoughts to himself. He knew the desires of nobles reaching for more power, he knew the position of the king whom needed both to strategically appease and to tighten his hold on such nobles. He did not envy his cousin his lot in life. While he wished for more control over himself, he did not believe himself naive enough to believe the role of king was one of ease and absolute control, no matter what may be said. A king had to answer to God, to the Church, to those beneath him, or he would find himself with rebellion and uprising. It was an art, a balancing act, that his cousin seemed to handle well.
He made his way across the courtyard, his eyes falling on the prepared targets and a smile broke across his lips. Bless his cousin for inviting him to sport. There was little that satisfied the young prince more. He was, after all, a young man, who took immense joy in the hunt, in the feel of a weapon in capable albeit inexperienced hands. He took delight in racing through the cover of evergreen trees, in the weight of a falcon atop his wrist. He was also skilled, and in his youthful confidence, took pleasure in defeating his opponents where bloodshed was not the expense to pay, but boyish pride.
The Crown Prince watched with amusement as the King loosened his arrow at the target, missing the crimson heart by a fair distance. He caught the tail end of the conversation between Hans and Wilhelm before he made his presence further known. It wasn’t as though eyes hadn’t shifted toward the Austrian immediately upon coming into view. He stood tall, his shoulders squared, and a charming smile upon his lips. Blue eyes were filled with excitement for the sport, and his youthful countenance was without the tension and stress that had marred his features just a fortnight ago.
“You are out of practice, majesty.” Elias quipped, his tone identifying his jest. He was not afraid to be informal with his cousin, but he was not entirely foolish. He dropped into a half-bow, suitable enough to appease the other courtiers while not entirely formal. His cousin was nearly a father to him, and he did not feel obligated to pretend it was not so. A warmth crossed his face as the smile upon his lips tugged further into a grin. “It is because I have not graced you with my presence in so long. Surely you have been in a foul mood since I have last set foot in your court.” He continued the jest, “And pray tell, how can a man shoot straight when his mood is so undesirable?” He rose, his hand moving to cover his heart. “Not to worry further, majesty, I am here now. I thank you for your invitation to sport, it is a true honor.”