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@felipaed
𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 ⸻ and if it come not , no matter ; if not he , then another in his place will understand and suffer , and judge and condemn himself , and the truth will be fulfilled . believe that , believe it without doubt ; for in that lies all the hope and faith of the saints .
introduction ⸻ full statistics ⸻ pinterest ⸻ spotify ⸻ tag drop .
Mary's heart and face alike softened as her son came close, clasping one hand in her own once the proprieties had been dealt with. She would gladly bear the accusation that she doted too much, eager as she was to show her children all that her own adolescence had lacked. She had been denied the experience of a family, separated from both father and mother, and had no desire to see her own family suffer any such fate.
Squeezing his hand as it grasped hers, she smiled tenderly, warm with Felipe. "Now, do not speak ill of your sister," she chided, though she was well aware that the words he spoke were likely true, knowing Catalina as she did. His words were soft and honest and Mary nodded as she settled into her chair. "You are always too effusive toward me, darling. Take heart, I am well, and very happy to see you. Any lingering malaise is easily cured by the opportunity to be reunited with you."
As he spoke of Inés, the Queen's smile faltered and she looked down at her hands. "My heart, I only wish I had better news I could give you. There is no easy way to explain." She paused, taking a moment to consider her words carefully. "Señorita de Ivorra was found to have died, not long before I left. I am sorry not to have told you sooner, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from my lips directly, rather than through a messenger." She hesitated, looking back up at her son, taking a deep breath. "Your boys are safe. Nurses have been instructed to see to their needs."
it seemed to be in the nature of siblings to quarrel over the affections of their mother ─ doubly so, in the case of a twin - pair with one being heir to the glittering wealth of spain with the tempestuous tudor blood in his veins, already familiar with being the most important person in the room after his royal sire. just as her quick and chiding defense of his sister was an intuitively as breathing, so did the furrow in his brows appear at her words, bottom lip pushing out in an expression better seen on a young child than the prince of asturias though just as a temperamental child, his moods changed at her appreciative recognition of his concerns, softening his minuted irritation at his sister being deserving of their mother's patience and understand. ❝ you will tell me if anything is amiss or if you require my assistance or attention, yes ? no matter the hour, mother, promise me that you will call on me for anything. ❞ all princes awaited the death of their fathers, their kings, for that would mark a change in their lives, a progression from boy to man, but if he could barter with the almighty, he would not wish for anything but the continued health of his mother.
felipe would be contented to sit in silence for a moment, greedily absorbing the changes in her features as though an additional wrinkle or spot could be discovered in the brief few months that they had been apart but his mother continued, the hesitation in her smile and her downcast gaze seizing his heart with anxiety. he had worried, for a brief moment, that she would tell him something had been discovered by the physicians, inspiring her visit to england to rekindle a relationship with her estranged siblings before she returned to their maker but her words had pierced him with a similar sense of grief, leaving him hollowed as he exhaled a trembling breath ─ he had been infatuated with inés in his youth but after their love had burned fast, hot, it had faded into familiar companionship and gratitude, on his end, for her constant support and encouragement. she had made him father, forcing maturity onto his shoulders at the risk of her own reputation, and for that he had never thanked her enough and would never be able to do so.
❝ ... found dead ? ❞ inés had inherited a robust health from her mother, mistress to the archbishop of zaragoza and mother to his eight bastards, so felipe had never worried insofar as childbirth had been concerned and she had never hinted at any struggle even after the youngest had been born earlier in the year. had it been his fault, his oversight, that caused her death, or had she been killed for the mere relationship that they shared ? ❝ her ... she wanted to be buried in zaragoza, near her mother. ❞ it had been an idle conversation, provoked by his insistence to join the armies, to fight, and inés' demands that he cease chasing death with a sword. against his wishes, the initial burn of tears began to gather at the corners of his eyes and he dropped his head down, lifting his mother's hand to his face so that his features were concealed ─ still, mary would be the first to feel the warm drops of salt on the back of her hand and the clench of his jaw, determined not to be overwhelmed with emotion. ❝ is it my fault ? is it because of the babe ... ? is it because of who i am ? ❞
Where most of the courtiers were nothing but sons of Dukes, or if you were lucky, some distant relation of the King himself, none stood out more than the son of Spain. He glimmered as if caught by the sun, causing every single person who lingered to turn their necks in order to catch just a glimpse. Héléne, who was no more special than any other, saw him as soon as he entered — for he radiated something magnificent; not that there was any question or riddle why he did. He was the son of Mary Tudor, the usurped true Queen of England, and the King of Spain. Both as Holy and zealous as a good Catholic came. And so in that order, Héléne respected him in the same way she had been when first presented before the rulers of France in her first years at court.
Though most of the maid of honour’s life was kept behind warped rumours and tattle-tales, most of the rumours that surrounded her were indeed one of truths. She had laid with the King of France as soon as she was able, henceforth sent to a convent where she had one of the many illegitimate children to be educated and taken by someone in the country. By that, she had proved herself a loyal French servant, thereafter installed as part of the de Medici court where she used her womanly vices to twist the knives of her Queen deep into unsuspecting backs. She had been married, that was known to almost anyone, and had been blessed with a son. But, both had died quickly, and so the slate was once again wiped clean to instead present Héléne as a piece upon the chess board.
So, there was no stage fright when she met the Prince of Spain, for she had been touched by other souls of grandeur — that, and if a match was ever to be made between Spain and France to threaten the heretic English, then someone must scout the land. “Your Majesty,” she gasped, her bow just low enough to deepen the cut of her dress, the black of her eyes flickering up towards him for his audience — a dare then put on the table. “I am Héléne d’Halluin, on behalf of Caterina de Medici.” @felipaed
cautious was not a word that one might use to describe the prince of asturias ─ at least, not at first. the choices that he had made in life seemed to prove the opposite, rather, marking him as reckless and licentious for the bastards that had been fathered upon his mistress but felipe preferred to consider himself as a man of many facets even if some sides to him were kept concealed, downplayed to ensure that he appeared humble and satisfied with his role in life even as he actively prepared for kingship and kept to the faith with the devotion of an anointed priest. still, even if he were not the sort to keep vigilant over those who approached ( like many princes, he had men for such trivial things ), the increased french interest in his person was near - impossible to ignore, their dark eyes watching his every movement and their thickened tongues whispering in rapid, regional dialects. most of the women seemed to be ladies of either the princess or the regent of france ( for that was what caterina de medici was ), seemingly sent on an errand to decide if the prince of asturias was worthy of the greatest jewel in the french crown, so it was with a raised brow that he greeted the woman before him, flicking his gaze towards his companions to send them scattering as she bowed.
following the line of her slender throat to the cut of her neckline, fitted against the swell of her chest, felipe raised his gaze slowly, purposefully, to offer her a warm smile ─ perhaps it was a test to see if his eyes would fall to the offered flesh on display, supposedly by natural accident, but he was not like other men, allowed his vices so long as it did not harm and there was no insult to be perceived in his gaze or in the hand that he extended towards the lady, inviting her to join his foray of the halls of hampton. ❝ lady d'halluin ... please rise. i am glad to receive you today though i must confess to being perplexed by the growing attention i have since received from your fellow countrymen after but a few conversations with the princess elisabeth. will you enlighten me to the truth or have i unexpectedly caused insult against her majesty, the princess ? ❞ while he had been unappreciative of the attempts to push them together, felipe had not been disappointed by elisabeth de valois in body or in mind, though he would not confess to having grown fond of her to anyone but his companions. ❝ come, walk with me as i search for something to slake my hunger. ❞
@felipaed
The badges of the Habsburgs and Tudors welded together, the copper-tressed English King to one side, hands clasped, eyes swirling with gilded intensity; the Spanish prince on the other, a hawk at the wrist, dripping in Iberian jewels; above, a band of heavenly angels singing in choir, rising into a background blue-as-blue – the colour of the carpets stretched along Westminster Abbey. William feasted his gaze upon the double-portrait, depicting himself and his young nephew, Prince Philip, as the very picture of Renaissance glory, and gave a triumphant nod. The painting commemorated not only their individual strengths – two rulers at the height of physical vigour – but the successful summit convened at blustery Dover, this blessed November 1559.
In centuries to come, would their descendants gaze upon such a work of brilliance and wonder if it were possible for two such princes to have walked the Earth in unison? Was their world not indeed a splendid Camelot, now united in filial harmony?
William grinned to himself, his leer conspiratorial. The wounds his father had sliced across the continent were beginning to seam and sure and cauterize; all of it thanks to him. Who would have suspected only five years’ past that Spain was rapidly becoming more ally than adversary? Tho’ it was war and immortality he desired, peace and prosperity had begun to trickle across the length and breadth of England to the sound of overwhelming popularity – and this he would but seldom object, for though he embraced it now, the time for battle remained ever near, a devil lurking in the shadows. Turning to his nephew, the King lauded: ‘aye, your mother’s Leevina Teerlinc is indeed a maestro, young Philip.’ Bading the Prince with affection, the Spaniard’s eyes like fiery pits, Wills released a low chuckle. ‘But do you not think our noses are a little… grand?’
As he clasped the boy on his shoulders, his cheeks bloomed pink – for all his venery, the King of England was a pious man, after all. ‘Or is that merely the continent’s way of symbolizing a large… ah… apéndice? Flattering, I should think.’
less than a decade spanned between them yet by nature of blood and birth, the king of england was his superior in all things but one ─ it was understandable, then, that there were stars where his eyes ought to have been as he gazed up at the portrait that placed him beside his uncle, varnished with a sheen that caught the lights of the candleflames and made the image seem alive before them. felipe was not so preoccupied with his own pride to believe that relationships between spain and england could be mended by a few discussions and the presence of his mother, an english princess, on the soils of her motherland but no matter which way the thread spun, this moment would be remembered for centuries to come, if not through the grandiosity of the celebrations at hand then through the painting that commemorated the time king and prince stood side by side in tentative peace. called back to the present by the voice of his uncle, felipe matched the amusement with a smile of his own, dark brows raising in silent agreement.
❝ i hope this does not mean that you intend to convince her to remain in england long after we have returned to madrid, sire, not unless you allow us to borrow master holbein for a summer. ❞ it would be interesting if the two courts aligned not only through shared blood and political agenda but through a cultivation of arts, music and culture, livening up the gilded interiors of aranjuez with something other than incense and iconography. ❝ ah. ah ... ? ❞ with his chin lifted, the prince studied the painting and then his uncle, a laugh curling at the corners of his mouth until his shoulders shook. ❝ we ought to thank mistress teerlinc for her generous ... estimations. perhaps this will be the new portrait that you send overseas to appeal to your bountiful qualities as king and husband ? ❞
@felipaed , hampton court , iberian banquet
Moments spent with the principe had been few and far between in the previous weeks, and most recently he had been gone from court altogether. Elisabeth had only just learned why that was the case, the grand reception revealing the arrival of the Spanish king and queen a welcome surprise as opposed to the rumours of illness and danger which had previously swirled.
Elisabeth bowed her head as she encountered the prince, who seemed to stand at the heart of the celebration, his family reunited. "I am very glad that you are returned to court, your highness," she said warmly, her Spanish still somewhat rusty as she smoothed her skirts of red brocade. "I wondered where you had gone, but I am glad to see you tonight in good spirits." After a moment, Elisabeth flushed, offering a slight smile. "If I may be honest, I found that this court has seemed quite a different place without your presence. I have enjoyed each opportunity we have had to speak."
the prince of asturias had been a part of the scheming courtiers that filled the royal palace of aranjuez for too long not to recognize when he was being maneuvered, slowly but certainly, into the direction of a particular lady in court ─ unlike prior attempts, however, the woman in question was not the daughter of a spirited and ambitious nobleman that hoped that the prince would take her to bed if not to wife, but a princess in her own right, the daughter of the late king henri ii of france. it was understandable, considering their near - equal positions, that there was an element of restrain in their interactions with his reluctance to play into the hand of the french until his mother had expressed her knowledge of their intentions but he was never one to turn away from a beautiful woman and so had gladly indulged in and initiated friendly, casual conversations with the princess until he had been called to escort his mother from dover to hampton.
now, his fingers weighed down with the wealth of spain and his shoulders padded with furs to ward off the onslaught of an approaching winter, he was less uncertain, fattened with the promise of success between spain and england and bolstered by the presence of his kinsmen when she happened across his path. dipping into a low bow, his gaze rose before his body did, dark hues studying the swell of her cheeks and the curve of her smile that evoked a mirrored response, features brightening with boyish delight. ❝ you have improved since last we met, your highness. ❞ the iberian language was still stunted upon her tongue but he found the thickened hints of her accent charming enough to bring a warmth to his cheeks as he stooped down so that their voices could be kept soft amidst the distant crowd. ❝ though i see that it will be a while yet before i convince you to do away with our titles. do you not wish to call me by my name, your highness ? ❞ a pause, dark brows raising as he sought to tease. ❝ elisabeth. ❞
lifting his head to survey the crowd, felipe extended a hand towards the princess in a silent invitation to join him as he made his rounds through the banquet hall, seeking for her agreement with a gentle smile. ❝ will you forgive me for leaving so abruptly ? his majesty wished to set upon the road with haste else i would have written a note to explain my absence. dover lacked the warmth that hampton possesses ─ i see now that it is not the place but the absence of the person within that i had sensed. allow me to make it up to you by acting as your armpiece to present your beauty to the hall. ❞
It had been Dover Castle itself that had fired an inspiration within Thomas’ belly, so much so that he found himself wandering the grounds in the same way a groundskeeper would do when trying to find the difficult shrub causing a rot among the many. As he paced the outer walls, he looked out into the sea and how the waves went from the less appetizing tint of brown to a magnificent blue-green patched with sea foam in a way one would imagine Aphrodite rising from the scallop shell. Against the stonework he scribbled into his journals, his mind henceforth high above the clouds and far from the reality that tempered every other courtier’s brows. As his wife matched the temp of her son, the Spanish made haste and the lower nobility closed ranks, Thomas remained beyond the precipice. Let him wander on nature, indeed, but it would be Wyatt who would comfort or advise his family if they so needed it — even if, some thread of his person seemed to worry of his security in that infamous house of Tudor.
Upon the ramparts, where the King’s army stationed themselves en guard for any sort of trickery sent by the King of Spain, Thomas met the son — a handsome, broad Prince who seemingly adopted nothing of his mother whom Thomas had always wagered was quite plain, if not too sober for his attitude. Rising to his grossly tall height compared to the others bar his step-son, Thomas could not help but welcome Felipe into his inner sanctum where the birds passed over their heads in search for warmer climates. Wrapped up in velvet and furs which had long been a gift from the Dowager, the Earl of Allington bowed formally before inviting him with a single gesture. “I see you, too, have grown tired of the constant meetings. Though I am a faithful servant, and would do as much as I can if asked, I have always found happiness among the wilds. Will you join me before the eve grows too cold?”
@felipaed
amidst the constant rotation of foreign guests that clamored over each other in their haste to greet the prince of asturias and possibly entreat him into conversation, felipe had been forced to nurse a goblet of watered down wine as the shift between languages and faces with each new introduction squeezed more attention from him like a leather belt being tightened around the head. as easy as it would have been to depend on the skills of the translator that had been assigned to shadow his every step, he had been determined to exhibit the lessons that had been imparted upon him since childhood, navigating the coarse english tongue and the swallowed french pronunciations until he was able to slip away from his father's councilors who now served as diplomats, ambassadors and glorified watchmen over the prince and princess of spain. out of respect for their efforts, felipe did not venture too far from their eyeline, braving the elements and the narrow steps that led up to the ramparts where he was greeted by a familiar face, shrouded in myth and scandal in madrid but otherwise a seeming gentleman by the side of the english royal family.
❝ my lord. ❞ uttered with an inclination of the head, the prince strode forth upon invitation, hands clasped behind his back as he took in the figure that thomas wyatt cut among the skies with no small hint of appreciation. a huff of amusement escaped his throat, misting in the air before him as he turned his gaze down in acknowledgment, boyish mischief lightening the dark scrutiny of his gaze. ❝ it would bring me no greater delight, sir. as fond as i am of learning the art of diplomacy from the veiled barbs through pinched smiles that i have witnessed thus far, i fear that the quick shift between languages has stirred quite an ache in my head. i would welcome any advice or proposed remedy that you might be kind enough to share. ❞ the cool air had done wonders in clearing his thoughts, however, allowing his sights to sharpen on the leatherbound journal held to the side of the earl.
❝ do you still write sonnets, my lord, or have your words taken a more historical recollection ? ❞
the wind tugged at catalina’s untidily covered hair, which poked out from underneath the cloak that covered her riding habit. hastily fastened on the insistence of her lady in waiting, it seemed not such a bad idea now that the clouds were growing darker by the moment, as if the princess’ dour mood had summoned their very presence, and soon they might rupture into a torrential rain.
england had not been a gracious host – it had rained terribly, and her favourite horse, erebos had caught mud fever. it meant she was riding a cob pony, her feet practically dragging the ground. it was an ugly thing, back like a mule’s and a short, stubby neck jiggly with fat. it was stubborn, too, and only went forward when she rode behind her brother. of course.
it seemed like all she was tasked with, these last months – following her brother, her keeper. while she no longer had any trouble understanding felipe’s softness, or his eagerness to please god, it frustrated her greatly to be tethered to him by responsibility.
blood of her blood. the flesh on her bones. uña y carne. he was her father’s son, her own saint of a twin, bearer of her bitterness. it would give her great joy to relieve him of his burdens, ones he so gracelessly carried.
❝ the lord has granted england a good king, hermano. aunt elizabeth ought to have no qualms about his rule. ❞ the king had about him a grace her brother so severely lacked. in its place nothing but the husk of a boy void of true purpose, or drive. she pitied him. ❝ he is experienced, dedicated and graced by god to rule with unlimited power. if you were the same, i would see no problem with your right to father’s throne. ❞ her words were blunt, shaped like two hands squeezing around a throat.
❝ you are my father’s son as much as i am his daughter, and for that i have always felt ashamed. you robbed me of my rights, and you made me into this. i will not apologise for wanting what is mine. ❞
like cain and abel, two twins in a field was enough for the tragedy to start.
perhaps this was a struggle that all twinned siblings shared in common, no matter their status and rank in life ─ as the eldest, he was bound to seek out her companionship and support, burdened with the responsibility of stepping forward and stepping first to ensure that she did not falter, and as the youngest, she was fated to seethe within his shadow, coveting his privilege as the firstborn son and his seat as the king's heir. as a young boy, he had endeavored to involve catalina in as much of his day to day lessons and obligations that would prepare him for his position as the future king of spain but there was not much for either of them to do with their father still holding the title of the prince of asturias and by the time felipe had assumed the duties and responsibilities once assigned to their sire, the relationship between the siblings had fractured so greatly that he did not trust her enough to offer her a position on his council of wise fools. ( once, the mere suggestion that his sister would not be by his side through life was enough to make the young prince scream and howl in protest. now, it was more common to see them apart than it was to see them together and only their mother could bring them beneath one roof, seated at one table. ) perhaps it was the months apart that had fattened him to the soft praises of his mistress and the passionate reinforcement of his companions but her words had done as she intended, gouging deep wounds into the softness of his underbelly, exposed willingly to the one he had come into the world with ─ there was no one on earth who could get this close after leaving so many scars, yet catalina slipped through like an eel against the barred watergates of his heart to bite down on his liver, hoping to deliver a killing blow.
❝ it is good to see that your exile to the nunnery has not blunted your claws, little sister, though i fear that your time away has robbed you of a chance to see just how much things have changed in court of philip, the second of his name. ❞ fatherhood had filed down the rounded impulses of boyhood and princeship had, in turn, strengthened his kinship with the sons of his grandfather and father's greatest councilors and if he were as bitter as his sister was, felipe might have pointed out the allies that she did not have or the powerless ones that she did. instead, he graced her with a patient, almost amused look to his features, the darkness of his eyes burning with lingering irritation even as he attempted to be kind to the one that would willingly hold a knife to his throat with no provocation necessary.
❝ your rights ? ❞ one corner of his mouth lifted, more cruel than indulging. ❝ your rights to what, exactly ? if you wish to blame me for the order of our birth, sister, you ought to look towards our lady mother or perhaps pin your blame on the almighty himself, if you dare, but allow me to share some brotherly wisdom with you since no one else will. ❞ certainly not their aunts, bitter in their age and widowhood, indulging in her delusions of queenship when they knew better. ❝ even if i had been born after you, i would still be ahead of you. even if you kill me, there will be another man ahead of me ─ uncle ferdinand, perhaps, or one of his sons. even when your hands are reddened with the blood of your kin, the people of spain will never bow before you because then, you would be a kinslayer, cursed by god. ❞ like cain, she would be marked and shamed, shunned by the world for an eternity. why then did she insist on being jacob to his esau ? could she not see that power could be shared ? that he was foolish enough to forgive time and time again when another would have had her strangled in her postulant robes all those years ago. ❝ you may blame me for a great many things, catalina ... for not fighting to keep you in madrid, for rising to your childish taunts but you cannot blame me for being an indulgent brother. you cannot blame me for the matter of your sex or mine, or for how the world has been shaped by our predecessors. ❞
@felipaed, dover castle, mary's apartments
Mary was weary, travel and events doing their part to exhaust her, but there was little in the world that could bring her as much joy as her children did. As soon as they had been born, they had been a saving grace to her, and she had endeavored to do what she could to show them tenderness, to honor what she had seen in her own mother. Goodness and softness, but strength too.
Granted, there was no denying that her children each had their own troubles, and it would be a lie to say that Mary found no disappoint in that. But she had no heart to see them hurt, and turned her eyes from any indiscretions so long as no one was being hurt.
She sat with a book in her lap, attempting to settle her mind after a long day, when Philip came to her rooms. The news she bore was painful, but it would be best to get it out of the way, and she knew that she would be a better messenger for it than her husband, indulgent as she was with their feelings.
"Come, mi principe, sit with me," she bade him, gesturing him close to her side. "I have missed you both so terribly. Have you been well-treated? We have hardly had time to speak since I arrived. Spare your mother no details."
though he had been chomping at the bit for a chance to establish himself as an aspiring leader among the men that had guided his own father from princehood into kingship, the decision to send the prince of asturias and his sister as part of the diplomatic entourage that had been sent to hampton court to represent the spanish crown had been borne out of a serious concern for the healthy of the queen ─ in the days that had led up to their departure from a coruña to dover, felipe had presented himself as a thorn in the side of her physicians as they attempted to reassure him of her recovery, leaving court with a threat to have their heads if her condition worsened under their care. thankfully, it seemed as though his sword was not to be bloodied by their incompetence, though he was quick to answer her demands when a page boy came to call him to her side.
it was not uncommon for the prince of asturias to spend his evenings with the queen, be it in silent prayer or gentle conversation over a soothing cup of stewed tea leaves, and the change in scenery did not make him any less enthused for their continued routine. he had rather missed spending time with his mother, unaware of just how much he had taken her steadfast presence and unwavering support for granted until he was surrounded by harshness and doubt, though he would not admit to longing for her gentle guidance. ❝ mi reina. ❞ with his feet together, he greeted his queen with a low bow before the propriety of a prince faded from his rigid stance, boyhood melting his expression into one of fondness as he hastened to take a seat by her side, his warm hands engulfing one of her own. raising the heavily bejeweled weight of her fingers to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to the back of her palm, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfumed skin ─ all was well when his mother was near. even if the world doubted him, felipe knew that he was her pride no matter his many faults and it was mary that made him yearn to be a better prince and man, if only to be worthy of calling her mother.
❝ our kingly uncle has been nothing but kind and accommodating to your daughter's many, many demands. ❞ he knew that his sister was more likely to complain and so endeavored to paint england and his uncle in a favorable light. ❝ though i agree with her on one thing ... we both have missed madrid and your esteemed self like one might miss an arm. can i be without my right arm ? certainly not, and so i cannot be without you by my side. i was both gladdened and concerned to hear that you would be making the journey to england after all ... are you certain that you are feeling better ? ❞ she looked well enough if not a bit pale but perhaps that was only because of the dreary english skies, incapable of producing warmth for longer than a few minutes. ❝ do you bring news from inés and the boys ? she has not responded to any of my letters since we left spain. ❞
the franco - spanish family three ─ c. 1500s to 1600s.
felipe de zaragoza, carlos de seville and pedro de seville are illegitimate children of philip iii of spain by his mistress, inés de ivorra. the castle in which they both dwelt in seville from 1555 to 1559 will have a statue of inés in the 1700s, surrounded by her three children, erected by her eldest son in memory of her unsolved death.
philip iii of spain and elisabeth de valois will marry in 1562, becoming the prince and princess of asturias, after meeting in england in 1559. they will go onto have six children :
maria, archduchess of bavaria, in 1564.
catalina, holy roman empress, in 1565.
felipe, prince of asturias and future philip iv of spain, in 1568.
isabella, queen of norway, in 1571.
enrique, archbishop of madrid and future pope clement viii, in 1573.
afonso, king of naples, in 1576.
i could fix him but honestly whatever the hell is wrong with him is way funnier
& @felipaed
Other than tales set forth from Alice Seymour's lips regarding the late Catherine of Aragon, the Spanish were somewhat of a mystery to Bridget. Catherine herself had died the year Bridget was born, and her daughter Mary had sailed two Spain two years later; her return after so much time naturally garnered a great deal of attention, and though Bridget had no political interests of her own where the Spanish were concerned, her aunts valued any information she could garner.
From what Bridget could tell during their first days at Dover, many of the Spanish seemed utterly boring. Queen Mary was notoriously pious (rumor had it she spent most of her time on her knees in the chapel, which was not something Bridget could claim to have in common with the eldest Tudor) and much of her court followed suit; how unfortunate, since the Spanish palaces were known to be the most glorious in Europe, dripping with the most lavish of decorations. It was a wonder, then, that the queen's children were known to be quite unlike their mother in all way, doing as they pleased with whom they pleased, as might become the lives of young royals.
It was the prince whom Bridget had the pleasure of discovering first, in the midst of courtiers moving from one group of conversation to another. The first thought that struck her as she found herself before him was that he was even more handsome than rumor suggested; his skin shone with the glistening kiss of the strong Spanish sun, his dark eyes twinkled with mirth that echoed those of his Tudor counterparts when a jovial mood struck them. She managed to tear her eyes away from his face to dip into a respectful curtsy, raising her gaze again as she rose. "Your Highness, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope your journey was pleasant."
as he was courted into conversation by a succession of pockmarked englishmen, the prince of asturias could not help but wonder if the perpetual gray skies were the reason why the grounds were softened with mud and the moods were dampened with a lack of amusement in his companions ─ in the distance, a group of young courtiers made towards the stables to tend to their horses before the tournaments were scheduled to begin and felipe was left with a sense of longing to join them, hindered only by the stern, sideway glance that he received from the count of lerma as his thoughts began to drift into nothingness by the weariness of the conversation. it was between studying the stitching of another gentleman's doublet that his gaze first caught on the approaching woman, the roundness of her expectant features prompting him to slip away from the circle. kings and princes were afforded few excuses when it came to politicking with foreign entities but a pretty face was certainly one that all men could justify, the sound of their muted amusement following him as he regarded the woman before him with a curious eye.
❝ my lady. ❞ though he could have gotten by with a respectful nod of the head, felipe decided to bent slightly at the waist in greeting, allowing his gaze to lift firstly before his head followed, granting her a small smile that sent the ends of his mustache curving upwards. she was beautiful in a way that the poets and artists might admire, pale lashes upon pale skin dusted with the warmth of the morning ─ briefly, he wondered how far the rosiness on her cheeks might spread and decided to make it his challenge of the day. inés would grant him a trashing for his wandering eye but his mistress was not here and the english had promised to attend to his every need. ❝ it was uneventful which is the best hope for any journey though i dare say it would have been a sight more pleasant with you by my side rather than my petulant sister. ❞
somewhere in a distance, catalina must be biting her cheek from his subtle dig ─ he hoped it bled. amusement growing at the thought, he returned to the woman before him, a dark brow raising. ❝ i fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lady. you know who i am but i do not know who you are. shall we become better acquainted as we sneak towards the stables ? i hear a hunt is being organized and i have been looking for an excuse to get away from my advisors. ❞ here, he paused, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that he knew made him look less austere like his father and more approachable. ❝ will you allow me to use you as that excuse, my lady ? ❞
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 . . . catherine of spain ( @lainfanta ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 . . . on the road to dover .
though prior negotiations had been led by the spanish ambassadors that had accompanied the prince of asturias to the muddy shores of england on the account of his youth, felipe had watched with proceedings with rapt attention that was broken only by his attempts to curtail any disruptions from his younger sister. at this point, he was certain that their english kin were more than aware of her desires to prove herself equally as capable in the role of heir to the throne, lobbying for the spanish cause where he kept silent in observance but he had very little to prove to their distant relatives, content with allowing the political dialogue to take place between those who knew the wishes of his father more intimately while he fostered good relationships through conversation and sport. as the twins rode ahead of the retinue of people that had followed them from madrid to london and now to dover to greet their mother, the infanta was more akin to the dark clouds that plagued the english skies, the weight of her stare heavy against his back ─ felipe was aware that her displeasures with him numbered more than the stars and, were there not others around them, he might not have turned his back so easily to his sister for fear of finding a knife struck between his shoulders, but it gave him no delight in correcting her so publicly. the insides of his cheeks bore the abuse from his teeth as he stifled each harsh word and irritated look until they were in private but with the wind in his hair and their servants at a distance, he felt more comfortable in addressing now.
❝ you are doing a poor job in disguising your hatred for me, little cat. ❞ in spite of knowing better than to proke a coiled serpent, he could not help but dig into the cesspool that was her disdain for his very existence. it was his right as her older brother to torment her till the end of her days and there was still blood in his mouth from the past week of showed restraint before their english allies ─ it was only just that he poked at her a little bit. ❝ can you not be more like our aunt, elizabeth ? i am certain she, too, must be vexed by our uncle, the king, as all younger sisters seem to be but she bears her frustrations with more grace than you ever have. ❞ though only an hour and a few minutes older than the infanta, his tone had taken on a natural grumble best associated with longsuffering older siblings. it was not his usual intonation but one that was chiefly reserved for his sister if only because he knew how much it irritated her to have him nag at her as though the gap between their ages was so great that he held more experience than she had. ( in some ways, he did but not for a lack of trying on her part. had catalina not been sent away, felipe was certain she would rival him in accomplishments. he only wished she could channel such determination and passion for spain towards supporting him rather than praying for his downfall. )
❝ mother entrusted us to present a united front, catalina. if you mess this up, i will bear the weight of father's disappointment. ❞ something that he would do gladly, though he would cut out his own tongue rather than admit to protecting her whenever he could ─ the prince was certain she would only find insult in his brotherly concern. ❝ if you want to interject, why not speak to me and have me act as your mouthpiece ? or one of the ambassadors, if i am so heinous to deal with. ❞
James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room
“if there is a light then i am going to swallow it. if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.”
— s. osborn, from “blasphemies at the 5th street station,” published in The Rising Phoenix Review
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And by the time this story is over, they will be covered in blood. Some of it will be theirs. Some of it will belong to others. But they will drip with it. They will swim in it. They will drown in it.
Grady Hendrix, from The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires
