𝙻𝙴𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙴 / knight

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓

[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    .

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[lareinamaria]

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."

[felipaed]

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  ?  ❞

[thlachesis]

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

[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.  ❞

[boleynsrex]

@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.’

[felipaed]

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  ?  ❞

[princessedevalois]

@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."

[felipaed]

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.  ❞

[thdilettante]

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

[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  ?  ❞

[lainfanta]

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.

[felipaed]

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.  ❞

[lareinamaria]

@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."

[felipaed]

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.  ❞

[felipaed]

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.

[incel-wheatley]

i could fix him but honestly whatever the hell is wrong with him is way funnier

[bridgctparr]

& @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."

[felipaed]

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  ?  ❞

[felipaed]

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.  ❞

[toramona]

James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

[lifeinpoetry]

“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

[aidashakur]

[fishalthor-archive]

(◠﹏◠✿) (◠﹏◠✿

[jardimselvagem]

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