blood and butter

Paint the picture in blood and butter

[jamescecils]

@thmagdalene

In the autumn of that year, James was staying at the Seymour residence; Alice having come on horseback herself, to claim him. A faint suspicion rankled his heart, but he was so glad of his change of scenery. Time was never better spent than in her company; it flowed smoothly, by her side. Youth had departed them both, and so their hours passed did not fly with swiftness -- to others it would have been a bland existence, like the gliding of a bird across plains. James no longer desired the charm of variety. He had never realised that he would enjoy peace so well; the years he had spent brooding til his spirit was affected, seemed most wasted. Alice had told him that he was a sensitive man, but not a practical man; how James wished, to turn back and renege all assertions this was false. 

   Their little scene now was not a wordy one; James had got wanted he had wanted, all that he wanted. He was content to sit by her side, in a trance of content. He took her hand, opening the unresisting fingers, and closed them one by one round his own -- he nestled against her, and desired that they both be satisfied. "Would it not be nice, to remain here? Allow the young to fill the courts and worry endlessly about the state of affairs -- you could finally allow another lady, the mantle of the jewel of the court." He needed not to glance at his serene goddess, to know he had won a smile. A most ruthless and terrible pressure surrounded them -- James' instinct had to move, but all he wished now was to remain still. "But it would be selfish to keep you from your public; as it is unreasonable, for me to dream that this bliss will remain uninterrupted. I suppose, all that I desire to say, is that I would not make the same mistake twice. I will choose you, over all others things." 

[jamescecils]

  for:@thmagdalene

 With delicious intent, James bethought himself, to intrude upon his circle in his regalia; as quick as lightning he gathered her round -- sparing a breath for her visage, differed from a pet plan of his. With little ceremony and modulated courtesy for her companions, James betook her to dance; he did not desire mere submission or attention. He knew he would be met with acrid opposition, accompanied by a round of reprimand, for his scandalous interference. "Do not scold me too fiercely, my love -- or accompany each scalding remark, with sweetness; you know you will never find resistance, in dominating my person. Honour me with your earnest fury, and I will give you only my love." Perhaps James conquered, taking her round the room; victory did not shadow his temples, which were alighted by a fire altogether unholy. Taking her sleeve, he willed her round and round; his lips, pressed to her ear. "You are enchanting, glorious; do many talk yet, of our bold choice? We shall face repercussions -- I await all charges."  In his shamelessness, James resembled a great emperor -- his eyes flashed danger, his lips bespoke love. Whatever sneer Alice could present him, would only be fit to warm the blood in his veins, and sent pulses, to his heart. "Arthur could do with a little playmate -- a sister, perhaps? One with the brilliance of your hair, and the curls of mine; to be named Thomasin, or Penelope." 

[jamescecils]

for: @julicnn.

location: pageant uwu 

     Idle, happy, and plump with contentment; a distant and haughty demeanour was the result of James' entirely scandalous choice of attire -- intrigue lay not in his manner of dress, but with whom he had declared himself, as his other half. Thomas Wyatt flounced about the room -- he was as silly and frivolous a little flirt, as a sensible woman was love sick enough to marry. Erebus, his Julian, was generally devoted to the serene; the merriment, soothed him into a gentle mood. The league of acquaintanceship struck up between Erebus and Eros was not one quickly dissolved; true companionship and admiration, lay buried there. 

James endeavoured to seduce Julian's attentions by means of temptation -- beckoning the other to an open chair, he whispered to him low. "Let us talk no more of Florence; no good will come of it. Shall we turn perhaps, to the acknowledgement that many a fine lady has asked me to describe the current state of your heart? Whether it turns to love, or at least lust, at last? I am a pious man -- but I offer you my services entirely." Julian was tall, handsome, and well-made; there was such a clearness of health in his cheeks, and a vivacity in his cheerful, fine eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity the man had lost a bride, and seemed unwilling to claim another -- but Julian was a man of sensitive feelings, and grief was something he did not comprehend, but simply endured.  "The identity of your partner this eve has not escaped me, dear friend -- it puzzles me, but I will demand no explanation beyond what your heart wishes to divulge." 

[thquldnunc]

Though it may have seemed rowdy or raucous, Thomas was far from calm enough to enjoy the plight of Florentine wonder. No, his mind instead raced to all possibilities, to try pre-plan scenarios that had yet to even take place. Whether the Italians truly claimed the righteous existence of a boy who had once been rushed across the country by his own two hands or not was beyond any importance, and so what remained was what to do with the information of which was about to come. To have a spare Catholic heir roaming the continent was far from ideal, if anything it was one of the worst things that could’ve happened — for the entire world could turn on England to seat this illegitimate son of Henry VIII, that and William, who’s father had made the job of hiding the infant Thomas’ priority, had the right to blame Walsingham how he saw fit. 

As soon as the Lady Percy rose, her visage appearing before the two men as if caught in a flurry of importance, Thomas straightened, his brow creased into worried lines. As James charmed with his usual spiel, Thomas remained in observance, before unfolding himself to draw a pitcher for the three of them, filling the cups with his eyes flickering between them. “Come sit with us, my lady… If there is anything we could do for you, you must ask,” He added, his speech simple and less adorned, his hand already rushed for what was to be said as he pushed a cup towards Lady Percy before falling back into the seat beside James, a professionalism then adopted in place of the stray smiles that had first adorned his face.

[unconqucred]

sibella  does  not  linger  in  the  doorway  and  crosses  the  room  in  quick  strides.  "i  require  nothing,"  she  replies  gently,  descending  into  the  lone  chair  left  at  the  table.  lithe  fingers  reach  for  the  cup  filled  for  her  and  yet  she  could  not  pick  it  up.  "i  only  come  forth  with  information  i  discovered  whilst  giving  alms  this  afternoon  at  il  convento  di  san  marco,"  she  paused  a  moment,  glancing  at  their  faces.  "regarding  edward  seymour."  sibella  would've  preferred  they  believed  that  she  happened  upon  this  knowledge  than  sought  it  under  pretense.  she saw no point in seeking glory at a time like this. initially she'd planned on  withholding such damning information  from  all  three  of  them. an  adherent  to  the  true  faith  herself,  the  news  of  a  living  catholic  heir  to  the  english  throne  should  have  sent  waves  a  joy  through  her  person.  she'd be declared a saint and history would revere her for her steadfastness and devotion.

and  yet,  the  expression  upon  lord  oxford's  face  when  she'd  imparted  the  information  to  him  remained  with  her  even  hours  later.  with  an  exhale,  she  began. "when  i  visited  florence  many  years  ago,  i  fostered  a  friendship  with  the  prior  of  the  monastery.  i  mention  this  to  demonstrate  that  my  information  can  be  trusted,  as  the  prior  wields  much  influence  over  the  medicis  and  is  oft  included in their business, though to some it appears to be manipulation .  i  inquired  upon  the  rumors  of  the  late  king's  son—  under  pretense,  of  course." he  all  but  confirmed  that  it  is  indeed  edward,  that  is  housed  by  the  medicis  in  their  palazzo." @jamescecils

[jamescecils]

Fiercely accomplished was Sibella in the art of surveillance; she spoke low in the words she dropped to them, yet the hum of woman's voice pervaded, through the whole conventual ground. James had not been inspired to think of her as more than an academic; but she caught all imitation of things transpiring. Sibella had caught a glimpse of something remote and deceptive, of Thomas' transactions; his pulse quickened at the potential suspicion busy in her mind. "God help us." He had occasion to smile - nay to laugh - at incredulity as the madame continued. "I wish you sought us in some feeble matter; the transgressions of the heart, would be better than this - but continue my lady, and let us bear your findings with as much grace as possible. 

A delicious little plot lay tempting her to disentangle -- in the midst, folded round the cobwebs, were secured James and Thomas. The Florentines undoubtedly boasted this exploit as a miracle - he wished Edward's existence to be nothing more than a holy man's extravagances; he knew this, not to be true. "Edward lives." The name alone was burning hot; his temples and heart throbbed so fast, that James knew his later sleep would be broken with excitement. Prudence recommended henceforward a swift clearance of their persons from this place -- he felt a stronger call to to the task of taking up testimony to the King. To tell him the truth? What was the use of tempting such a catastrophe? To lie; Sibella was safe as a spy in her love-poverty, but he and Thomas, a grief was shared in the heart between them. Complicated, disquieting thoughts of losing his head and thus Alice, broke up the whole repose of his nature. "Does Julian know?" James commenced, quiet as a church mouse -- he owned he should have felt a much greater difficulty in moving forward; but finding the path straight and orderly, he continued. "And these reports; of those who know - are they ardent to divulge this secret? Are any of this Edward's desires, known? Shall he live in quiet; or shall he emerge as a claim to the crown?" 

[thmagdalene]

Arthur and Catherine were sent for after being taken to Wiltshire, and Alice made sure to wear something as bright as the rubies cast on the Dowager Queen’s fingers for such an occasion. At last, it seemed, that the court was to reconvene at Hampton, leaving Alice to no longer be in fear of her safety but enveloped by the comfort of James Cecil instead. As she twisted her own jewels around her fingers, she could not help but give in to the ways of anxiety that swallowed her stomach whole, her blood then trembling against her wrists in constant pulsation that left Alice almost dizzy with ache. Rushed to the courtyard where the procession of their lost King had only just taken place, the Viscountess waited — following the Lord Privy Seal’s image as the crowd dispersed into smaller groups, Alice mirrored the actions of the many before then coming to his side with haste, her skirts against his legs, her face suddenly flushed with something unsaid, her countenance visibly changed from the norm. 

As the world continued to move around them in waves of small talk, joyous whispers and loud exclamations, Alice sought only James, her eyes searching for his in some manner to coax his silent thoughts from him, to try and understand what had happened during their voyage across the wine-dark sea. Carefully, she shifted closer, her hand finding his between lappings of velvet, twisting her fingers against his own as the court began its slow return into murmur, Alice pressed just close enough to whisper beneath the hard shell of his ear, her index finger crooked around his in some lurid hope to tie herself to him before all of those people. “Dare I confess my ache?” Her voice all but a whisper, before she loosened herself from him, falling into a step just inches ahead of his person, her stature as if she were but a young girl, akin to when they had first met. @jamescecils

[jamescecils]

His love was alien to his whole life and views - its grave was well dug, and well heaped; each winter there was a resurrection, much to his soul's consolation. James was much changed in form and feeling - he rose not for earth, but for heaven. Thomas would believe him too infatuated, where he ought to be as cool as his name; but he would willingly laid out his neck, for her pleasure. In Florence, his heart had smote him; his temperament was nervous, morose. His temerity perhaps, met the punishment it deserved; but he mourned her presence, for no artful Italian speeches, could inspire pleasanter content than Alice's wordless presence. But now at last he had Alice; there she was, the very beauty herself - curling from her lips, the pale blue breath of the words darling, beloved. James was provoked by these particulars, and could not contradict her sentiments. He was happiest with her kindness, the manner in which she spoke and listened, more impressive than the impetuosity of her nature. For she too, there was content; the deepest happiness filled her blue eyes. 

Alice was a rare specimen, he had no control over his passions; an unspeakable and active love, impelled him to a war of devotion. Still holding her hand, James played with her fingers unconsciously - he patted his palm against her hot cheek, and at last, having cleared his voice as naturally liquid as a lark's, spoke "Confess, sweet Alice - offer me indulgences, and all shall be assuaged." James would tell her all; it would give him pleasure and relief to tell her now. Alice had settled herself, resting against his arm -- resting not with fatigue, but gentleness. The seal on her letter had nearly been to beautiful to be broken; and so he had cut round it, to savour her impression. His plan upon the precipise of Florentine borders, had been to return to her with speed and good faith; to leave all consequences, for future settlement. The burning notion he might be, by one grand, sudden, inhuman revelation - be crushed by the mocking spirit of the crown, was an astounding apprehension he forbade to be ascribed to him now.  "I imagine you wish to speak of Florence - I must present a caveat, it was a dull and tiresome affair; bettered only by your presence, for you alone can succeed in the Herculean task of making a city of sub-par qualities, glimmer. Would you have been gladdened, if I had stayed? I would risk the head you proclaim to admire, for a moments respite by your side." 

[unconqucred]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒. closed to @thquldnunc & @jamescecils 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. undisclosed lodgings, florence [ a rose with thorns. ] 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 & 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄. 4 november 1559, midnight

when  they  first  arrived  in  the  gilded  walls  of  mightly  florence,  the  sun  shone  ever  so  brightly  that  the  city  seemed  seemed  to  shimmer  in  its  wake.  yet  by  midweek  the  gods  reared  their  disapproval  by  placing  bloated  clouds  in  the  sky.  rain,  thunder,  and  lightning  had  become  their  sudden  companions,  knocking  on  every  door  they  seemed  to  enter.  sibella  and  julian  hurried  to  return  to  their  humble  lodgings  in  a  brief  moment  of  respite,  before  rainfall  entraped  them  once  more.  as  they  parted  ways  to  their  separate  rooms,  she  watched  the  trail  of  droplets  they  left  behind diverge,  her  eyes  following  upwards  until  they  landed  on  the  drenched  satin  ribbon  that  was  tied  around  his  wrist  until  it  was  hidden  behind  his  closed  door.  sibella  spent  the  rest  of  her  night  in  solemn  silence.  her  mind  volleyed  between  the  damning  information  she'd  learned  that  day  and  the  man  with  whom  she  spent  the  day.  she  picked  up  a  quill  to  sort  out her  thoughts  yet  for  once  she  did  not  know  where  to  begin.

through  her  door  she  heard  cecil  and  walsingham  return  from  their  outing,  rowdy  and  raucous.  the  table  and  chairs  clattered  as  they  sat  down  (or  so  she  presumed).  sibella  could  hardly  make  out  any  of  the  words  they  were  saying,  yet  she  was  half-sure  that  they  spoke  more  of  the  italian  women  they  encountered  and  less  of  the  illegitimate  tudor  son.  with  sarah  already  fast  asleep  upon  the  bed  that  they  would  share  for  their  stay  in  the  florence,  sibella  fetched  a  silk  robe  and  fastened  the  ties  against  her  waist.  she  inhaled  a  solemn  breath  before  placing  her  hand  upon  the  door  handle,  pulling  it  gently  so  that  she  could  slip  out.  arms  crossed  across  her  chest,  she  whispered  sternly,  "i  must  speak  with  both  of  you.  it  cannot  wait  until  morning."

[jamescecils]

 It was a fine, frosty Florentine afternoon; the autumn sun, already setting, gleamed pale on the tops of garden shrubs. A great pear tree - that of a nun - stood tall like a dry skeleton, grey, gaunt and stripped; much like James, subjected to Italian air. He had spent his day with Thomas; he was much in the habit of consulting him with matters he broached with no one else - his truest confidant. Thomas, a model gentleman, was the essence of what was discreet. James was no judge of what expression crossed his face, at being greeted by Sibella upon arrival; but it was one which provoked her, into speaking. 

Sibella sought their presence now - though she had never professed herself fond of either, their society had become to her a sort of necessity. She was much taken up with her translating interests; keen and somewhat oppugnant in her pursuits, she seemed to believe she was still regarded much as a child - despite others, namely a willowy, handsome man in possession of a single jewel, looked down on her in a different light. With Julian, she was not shy; she made efforts to shun him. In James and Thomas' company, she was serious, and as devout as thought could make her. "Then let us make ourselves comfortable, and we shall do our best to assuage whatever plagues your mind; be it the matter that spurs us to lodge in discomfort, or the quandaries of a young lady, in possession of fortune and a sound mind." 

[boleynsrex]

bloody days muses + taylor swift lyrics (pt 2/?)

meg welles ft. others as sweet nothings (midnights).

[jamescecils]

for: @thmagdalene

a letter, marked by an unfortunate residence in an unfortunate place, is delivered under instruction, directly to the lady herself; as to avoid any detection by her odious spouse. 

Dearest Alice,

  The people here function in lower positions which degrade morality - I safeguard myself from the Florentine's debasement of all sacred. Concerning the identity of the pretender, I have as of yet entertained a suitable answer to be delivered; I neither entertain nor care for this visit, but for that question. The Percy girl is a surprising presence - I own I was not prepared. With all her fire, she is sensible and severe; she tramples Julian under heel. I do not doubt he would be averse to sharing her fire - she shines in her best in this presence. Their amusing and well-acted scenes of antipathy cover my deficiency in interest, and my obvious relief of direction, in your absence. 

  I long for the delicate life of your complexion - your letter alone shall rouse me; I am listless, servant to sloth and whatever beast love and lust bear as a bastard. The devils which find tenement in me, cry sore and; yet they still refused to be exercised. If so much unholiness can rise from my person, may not an equal influx of a good, sacred essence, one day be brought forth? I, the volatile, pleasure loving little man; I am apologetic, repentant - my contrition is that I have left your side, but the bed I occupy is one I unlawfully claim. I think only of you. Your hair, flying loose in combat or revelry, is still an angel's hair; glorious, under a halo. Place you now before any slug or lady, and one would witness you cut through the masses like a scimitar through flesh. With malicious intent, you may think I pen thee- I do not possess as many faults as I wish. I do not trouble myself with the loss of dignity in my missives; my veins are dark with a tincture, the essence of love. It is not a mere tenderness I feel for you - but of a stronger, more formidable sentiment, who is seated not only in my heart, but in my head. Unblushingly I would carry on a system of deceit and subrafuge to love you; I posses the art of making the most of what I know. 

It has been remarked I am quite the specimen - I have no control over my passions. The obstinacy of my sex is to love within confines; I enter into a strong battle with it, of exaction and the expulsion of impulse. What does it matter if I fail in my pursuit of your heart? It would do me good to fail. I shall make a simpleton, an example of myself - pay whatever fine, in knowledge I extended to you every inch of my person. I am by nature a cypher; I deny all the reclusive peace of knowing my true person. Yet it would take the darkest angel of God's kingdom, demanding his pound of flesh, to extract all of me I have given you. There is no higher starting point than the one your love affords me - dear Alice, do I have an ounce of reason in these words? I would do well in a reply less emulous of men greater than I; but I am never prudent, when it in involves you. 

Recall my warm affection for you as you reserve judgment on this letter - my faith, in your deep excellence. I must tend to the Florentines; they are bearish and repellent. I do not write to show my talents; I wish only, to express my love. 

Forever your most humble servant -

With love,

James Cecil 

[thquldnunc]

Florence itself was but a radiating city of orange hues, brightened conversation and shifting eyes caught behind the backdrop of shadows. But to Thomas, who had never quite found the itch to move anywhere beyond English borders, it felt only stale with awaiting punishment. Why he was there, alongside the esteemed council skill of Cecil, de Vere and Lady Percy who acted as their gilded translator, was a matter of the gravest importance. As their King went to Dover to meet his feared half-sister, Thomas had received word from a certain ambassador set upon Italian soil a troublesome kind of news had broken against his own better judgement.

When Edward Seymour had been given to the world in some last laugh of the Tudor’s want for another son, Thomas had been given the role of guardian. It had been his first proper role after the fall of his old mentor Cromwell, and had been given with great importance. But, Walsingham was not a wet nurse, and still sore from an infant loss of his own, Thomas had decided to extend the babe at arm’s length. Instead, he gave him away to another in some seclusion within Boleyn focused land — of course, he had met Edward on occasion, when he would not be missed beside the backdrop of Henrician court life. He had grown plump from over-indulgence, and wore such a look that once belonged to his natural father that Walsingham was forced to look twice — but, he left most of the care to his surrounding maids that had been plucked from both obscurity and desperate nature to do what the Spymaster would insist upon. It was only his fault of misjudgment that all had blown up in his face.

He had been eager, then, to split their group of four into two groups. Though he felt he could trust de Vere, he did not know Lady Percy well enough to be alone with her — or to indeed confide with her for the mistakes already made, Thomas was only in need of Cecil and his confidence, and so caught his company in some effort to walk along the Arno before the council would reunite to witness the matron who claimed the youth of the illegitimate Tudor. “To think that our first European tour is spent in such mockery. I do hope de Vere does not fool the gentleness of that young lady, though better he than yourself,” he added, his smile playing upon his lips before he lead the way into their suited apartments, already rushing to inspect the security, pulling back sheets and wooden slats in order to banish any looming spy. Once their isolated was confirmed, Thomas mood shifted into paranoia.

“Do not ask me how a Seymour has found himself in Florence, I do not know, I do not understand myself. Someone has sought to undermine me and it has worked… Gods, if William does not see my neck upon the block then I would be a lucky man. You must promise me, Cecil, to make sure Penelope and Cecily are out of the city, that they are deep in English countryside and you must, you must swear to keep them safe." @jamescecils

[jamescecils]

 A restlessness and fear beyond the average assailed him; they had entered into this dreary fellowship with so little known, so incomprehensible. The keen, still cold of the Florentine morning was succeeded in the day, by a sharp breathing of English winds; a heavy firmament, dull and thick, sailed up, and settled over James. Repairing to their little room, there they found a bright fire; tall candles stood on each side a of a great-looking glass. James had observed the look in Thomas' eye, the expression about mouth; how could he avoid being led by association, to think of darling Cecily? She had the velvet grace of a kitten; such a lively, patient child - so patient with all his blunders in play, so wonderfully to be depended on, to afford joy to her parents and godfather. Cheerful as James naturally was, he made a point of being, there was no true enjoyment to be had; still, his tone was changed from grave to gay. "Lady Percy has already encountered my charms and deigned them tolerable; perhaps, even pleasurable, though she is slow to the truth that she admires me deeply. Yet she and Julian seem well suited - his majesty may have secondary motives, in our unfortunate tour of a subpar city state." 

Both men had been pained with the terrible unerring penetration of instinct - discerning under florid veiling, the bare, barren place of truth; no calamity so accursed could be felt by they two, but the affects of this tour's grand failure. They attempted to do justice; for James' part, he doubted whether they, mere men, had the right to do such justice - it was difficult still, to shake the firm conviction the work they did was righteous and needed. Perhaps he was tired to death of a life of seduction and mindless labours; that he longed to have the means and leisure for a good life, such as Thomas had built. Thomas had made peace with his fate somehow - too readily perhaps; he ought to have stood out longer, but he looked so kind and good. Thomas held out his hand with amity, good memories reproducing sorrows in James mind - a mandate to care for Thomas' family should he expire, was issued; in James' soul, rankled a chronic suspicion he would not survive the loss of the man dearest to him in this world. 

"It was never a task you should have been assigned - we are reminded so oft we are beneath the monarchy, yet they desire us to smote or contrive to wipe out those deemed our superiors; Thomas, William shall not have your head. I love our king, as I have loved his father before him - but the Tudor dynasty is a wriggling worm beneath my foot, if placed beside my love for you, in direct comparison. I will not entertain notions of your death - but I swear to you, that I make the protection and care of Penelope and dear Cecily, my life's work. My own life will be placed in harms way, to protect theirs; I swear to you, my dear friend."

[pcppyy]

closed starter for @jamescecils!

in different circumstances, thomas' playful smile upon her request about james cecil's location would have sent penelope in a proper frenzy, yet sadly there was little space left in her bosom for anything but a righteous sort of fury. the same anger that she often held towards her elder brothers when they were children, penelope chasing them out of trouble at her mother's request. now, penelope seeks out a fond companion who's name has graced her ears within the circles of women that she frequented as of late at court, all sorts of unsightly rumors. ones that made her sigh in soft fondness coupled with mild annoyance, more so that she was meant to listen to such outlandish tales rather than hear them from james, himself. in a brief amount of hurried footsteps, the woman spots him with a sharp quirk of her lips as they make eye contact, a mischievous look on her face that spells the danger that remains ahead for cecil. " my lord," she greeted loudly, so that he was unable to run from her ire less he make them both look foolish. penelope lifted her skirts enough to stride confidently towards james, smile dropping from her lips once she passed other courtiers, a mild glare directed at him. once he is within a close enough distance, penelope stretched on her feet to grasp his ear in reprimand, tugging him none too gently. " why must i hear from other ladies that you are chasing the skirts of every young woman who breathes within your proximity? if you yearn so desperately for a wife to warm your bed, will you not listen to my pleas and allow me to find you a worthy woman?" with a gentle huff, penelope released his ear and fixed him with a pointed look. " you wound me, having such little faith and trust in me, james. i am incredibly hurt, i shall not forget this slight against my character."

[jamescecils]

Penelope's quick eye had seen him; her hand, as quick, snatched him up - he awaited her piercing shriek, her visage of alacrity. Gently she railed against James a rake; she declared he dared not afford maidens an instance of his dangerous prowess. James, in first rate humour and spirits, took his ear from her hand, and clasped her hand with a kind encouragement. "Pray dear lady, give me the name of whoever has slandered me so viciously - to say I am after the skirt of every young lady, is a violent lie; I prefer a woman of a suitable age, save for my kind attentions to a young lady or two. Or do you produce these fibs, in order to have the pleasure of my company? I am flattered, but I protest; you need not sin, for me to stay by your side." He stood in her presence bashful and subdued; yet decided in his purpose to decry her misapprehension of his dealings and character; he objected to being docked by her coral lips, though there was pleasure to be found in her clear voice, sweet like a lark's. Still, James was animated - no tyrant frostiness clouded his tone - his countenance let forth, a flow of exultant enjoyment. "You know I value your opinion, my beloved - but your choices in a wife, no matter how handsome she may be, will never withstand the scrutiny of the list I have made, detailing what I desire in a bride. Only you fit these qualifications - and my dear Thomas would send me to the tower, for even entertaining such a thought. Do you have a twin, perhaps?" He cherished her and her estimations greatly; he patted the palm against his own, soft gratitude round his eyes - close acquaintance revealed in Penelope what was intelligent and good. 

[thmagdalene]

If anyone had walked in then to find the pair embraced upon the bed meant for Cecil himself, Alice couldn’t have cared. Carve her head from her neck, have her stripped and lead before the city itself, what was she to do but allow him to have her as He himself allowed? Alice held his face, her fingers eager to scratch and make her mark, her lips needy with kisses as he touched her dire wetness, as he prodded and provoked with the knowing touch of a man made for her pleasure. As the candles flickered with the need to die down, Alice moaned into his mouth with the same echo made upon a violent scream, her eyes clenched shut in fear of opening them to nothing but a dream. Some part of her felt a sheer drop of weight when he touched her, for the last time she had met they had danced a merry jig to the pleasure that came in their union, she had been happy as a mother to a cherished son and absent from the strict, knowledge of her husband who cared not for her affairs as long as they brought him glory from the late King. But so much had changed, hadn’t it? Her daughter had been born, her body kept behind the lock and key of her husband, her mind then focused on the administration of Wulfhall that was slowly being rebuilt to the splendour of the previous Seymours.

So, she was different then. A new face, a new layer of skin to protect both herself and the children born from within. Arthur, with his dark hair and handsome inheritance. Catherine, pale and flame-haired. Even if they were of different loins, Alice could not help but love them all the same, and in turn James must love all of them — for they were her, and she was of them. She commanded it in the same way the Queen Dowager commanded her ladies, she pushed and pulled at his hair and skin in the same way an old ancient King would ask the tides to stop at his feet. Never did she think herself unworthy of his love or his promise, and perhaps that was where the fault lay, in her unbridled hubris.

If he thought to really and truly impress her, then it had already been as such, and so Alice thought little of the girlhood nerves that had once plagued her whenever she caught a moment alone with the aspiring politician — gone were those days of coy glances, happy smiles and breathless stances. Now, she could meet him on the playing field as the King would a friendly spar, there she could hold his face and kiss him with as much dire need as he had first shown her as an adolescent. Holding his face, it seemed that the power of his embrace was all that she was in need for, even as he whispered poems that trickled off his tongue like freshly cut honey from the comb. With her lids heavy, her breast heightening with each breath, the Viscountess pawed her fingers through the thick curls upon his crown, neatly cut nails pathing a way already stepped before. How could she have been away from him? Was it only to secure a lucid, almost unthinkable future for her kin? Born to the tainted Seymour brood, there was little faith in their salvation — she had begun the rekindling of Wulfhall, for-going her own father’s lack of care over the Parr estate that thus lay in uncelebrated ruin. She thought to create a home for them to hide among if the wheel of Fortuna spun in a different and sudden direction — there, perhaps she could lure James, if he could bid the court a sober goodbye.

Her words were laced with something else, belladonna soaked upon the wetness of her tongue as she pushed herself up to kiss him, as he waxed lyrical of sirens and sea salt, she could think of nothing but him and perhaps the indiscreet ploy made towards his chambers. “No? Will you not?” Alice whispered, her voice cut with the rumbling hurt of her throat, the warm cusp of her palm cradling the back of James’ neck. “James, James…” she echoed, her hips rising then falling, her own eyes rolled to the dark escape of her sockets as he nurtured her body with the same care due the most treasured object, her hand releasing the bow of his neck to search the bed for the excess of sheets, to fist the material into her grasp before she buckled towards him with the same vigour cast all those years ago. If only she could speak, if only she could make some cheerful and sarcastic comment upon her cunt and the cock she wanted above all else — then, perhaps, there would be something to break her uneven, luxurious breathing that left her cheeks to turn a pink-ish red. “God,” she blasphemed, holding herself up then to look at him, to admire as he lay his tongue against her sex, as he held her thus with her thighs against the broad curve of his shoulders. “I would have the entire Court hear me come by your tongue,” her gluttonous nature already picking at him, her slick sea salt coating her thighs and perhaps even his chin as she yearned for him in all, knowing very well that within hours she would be expected back in the quarters arranged by her children.

With a heavy hand she soothed down his chest, the temptation of busy fingers trailing against the sheen of loved skin smothered with kisses from all over the place. When she had been away she had imagined him with lovers of all quantities; women cast in black, girls new to his charm… But it was only an entertainment to her, for in some way she thought herself the only constant condition. Lovingly, a tenderness flooding ocean-blue eyes, Alice took her grasp to his hardness, her lips plump with expectation as she soothed her touch around him, her hips jutting forward with some natural need for his devotion as her body clung to his in some desperate call for his in turn. "Will you tend to me beneath Hampton? I want. I want, I want. Do you understand?"

[jamescecils]

The moonlight poured in through the window and illuminated her entirely; her scent intoxicated him, the warm embrace of her mandrake body fussing itself into his nostrils. He suffered like a saint, he was but a monk who falls into sin; his tongue traced paradigms across her flesh, she tasted heavenly, sweet. James could see nothing but her; she summoned him to enter as soon as possible - a low whimper, a mere syllable from her lips was enough to cause a man to spill his seed. Her breathing hitched as he moved lower down the column of her throat, towards the swell of her chest. He kissed and nibbled along the edge of each delicate breasts before taking one rosy peak between his lips. She gasped at the sensation, arching up into him with a moan so pure it could only be described as divine. Encouraged by this response he began to lavish attention on each breast in turn until Alice was writhing beneath him; it would be the wetness between her legs, that received his most ardent praises. 

   Alice occasionally stretched her hand down to his own and caressed it; then she brought that same hand to the back of his neck and grazed the tiny hairs, tugged gently at his curls - she could but sigh. Her toes, curled up, released, and curled once more; her breasts heaved, but James was unable to take his eyes of her face; what ghost of a sound she made, a most delicate sigh through her nostrils that said ‘love’ with a rueful smile. Without thinking much about it, James registered every freckle that fell across the small of her stomach. The smattering of red that encroached upon her porcelain skin created the rarity of a beatific smile. Although his features grew only more pronounced with his passing years, the glow of a smile lifted at least a decade from his skin - rendering him a young man once more. “Alice, my dear Alice.” Her name was the culmination of a single breath from his lips, the warmth of his words tickling the light hairs sprinkled across the small of her stomach. Whatever splintered part of his heart rendered him susceptible to a thousand loves, it allowed him the capability to revere Alice in a manner idiosyncratic to all others. James submitted himself to the endless cycle of love when he was a mere fifteen; the years had left him nauseous, longing for reprise from his torment and anguish - Alice was a door to freedom to a one, true love. She had not the slightest inclination to offer him such a salvation; she could not bestow herself such clemency. 

He wished for her eyes to rest forever on him the way they were now; Alice’s eyes kept swearing he was the dearest thing in the world. There was grace and beneficence in her gaze, which favoured her within its beauty, and promised there was no less beauty and piety in his own. They couldn't have enough of each other; long past holding back, awkward admissions, past the restless unease of people who had yet to make love. Alice and James played at residual flirtation, long after courtship had served its purpose; her marriage, having been the end result. He envied Alice and her husband; but he feared the loss of love far more than jealousy. As Alice lay there, her body still trembling from their passionate embrace, James couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as he thought of her husband. He wondered what it would be like to be the one she came home to every night, the one she shared her life with. But he knew deep down that it was a desire he could never fulfil. Alice was not his to have, she never would be.

He turned his gaze back to her, taking in every inch of her perfect form, and felt a sense of contentment wash over him. For now, in this moment, she submitted to he alone. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Alice's eyes flickered open, a soft smile playing across her lips. "James," she murmured, her voice still husky from her cries of pleasure; her mewling sighs, playing unfettered in the back of his mind. James leaned in, his lips but a breath away from hers. "The court and all the saints - mercy. You would make sinners of them all, if they were offered but a taste of your sweetness, and but a moment of your trembling, pleading. I thank god for your foresight in removing my trousers - I am weeping mess." James' gentle reverie was perturbed; his eyes searched hers for any sign of duplicity - he found none; instead he found understanding. He felt his heart swell with love for this woman who knew him so well - better than anyone else ever had. What Alice possessed, he discovered, was all he was missing; she guided him to her womanhood, in which one wants to bury oneself in never to return. James knew what awaited him : he would come out of her as though emerging from the earth, and collapse by her side; a dead man revived.

Alice reached out and stroked his face, her hand moving down to his neck and finally coming to rest on his chest. She leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses against the sensitive area between his neck and shoulder as she drew ever closer to James' most prized possession - that which had bestowed them, a curly-haired, cherub of a son. Alice's fingers deftly found their way around James' manhood; as she felt it swell under her touch she smiled. Her movements became more confident now, each stroke more determined than before - faster, firmer - as though she wanted him to remember every moment of this night forever. His breathing grew ragged as desire swept through him - his hand covered her own, his eyes near watery. "Alice, Alice; how could I ever deny you. I love you - I want you, however you will let me have you. I beg of you, to let me show you my love now."

[kismctt]

" perhaps i seek to test your resolve, my lord. if i were to allow you residency in my heart and beside my hearth, the most sacred place a lady may offer. well then i must assure that you shall not leave as soon as the summer draws near, yes?" the words drip from her lips, full of amusement and a bit of gentle reprimand before she may stop herself from speaking. as if his presence and good nature embolden her in ways that she previously had not felt, her heart racing in her chest as a grin appears on her cheeks without her noticing. a slip in her demure act that she so easily had worn since the beginnings of her girlhood, a reveal of the jovial nature that she hid so as to not embarrass her kin on accident. her body shivered at his promise, unable to help herself from briefly imagining james truly indulging in her pleasure, the wicked thoughts that it created which flushed her features. " if you dedicate to my pleasure, then indulge me, my lord. will you recount the grandest of your tales for me? please?" she pleaded, resting her cheek against his arm as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. as if they were daringly closer to lovers which the level of comfort that she granted him as they walked, arms intertwined, steps easily matched with one another. 

kismet took a quiet moment, considering deeply the request that he asked of her, wondering if perhaps she may endear to play further coy games with the lord - yet, she had heard the rumors that he was an experienced lover of sorts, and she hardly desired to lose such a honey tongued man over girlish tricks. her chin lifted to regard him with a quirk of her lips, mirth still heavy in her gaze as it rested upon him. " if i requested that you meet them on battlefield, returning to me only once you were certain that there remained no air in their lungs to question your claim to my heart or bed?" her tone is soft, despite the viciousness that she asked of him, as if it was nothing short of a teasing flirt between courtiers. it was strange, never before had a man captivated her as much as james did now, nearly hanging onto every word that dripped from his delightfully sinful mouth. any edge to her softened beneath them. " i shall care not for any reputation that precedes you, my lord. i shall only worry myself with the tender image you present before me, i swear this to you."

[jamescecils]

  "Clever girl; beautiful girl. What pledge of loyalty do you wish of me? That I shall not taste you, then tell you later, that I feel different? I will never look at your face, and feel different." In his eyes, she was a glacial prodigy; beautiful, proud, and pre-natural. Kismet was a little proud perhaps, with her naive delicacy and beauty; she squeezed the arm of which she had now obtained full possession - she coaxed and conjured 'til James was obliged to pause, and laugh. Throughout their time, she poured up him most fanciful changes on the theme of love - he was unusually perturbed by a sudden reflex to force bravado to champion veracity in its place. "Will you give me a thousand and one nights to craft my tales? I promise you, you shall not be in want of leisure or pleasure; I will fill your nights with the demonstration of my oral abilities, however you best see fit." His heart smote him - he was stirring up contents, but with a gentle and caring hand. James wished to do her what good he could; Kismet was not a child, whom one should not speak of the truths that exist - yet her goodness, her innocence, was alien to his whole life and views. 

Kismet charged James to prove himself true, ere she would cherish him; he knew not to mark this page in his life with a red cross, or a blackened heart. He would have given him beloved manhood to possess the goodness she ascribed to him; he deserved condign punishment for having half the treasures she believed. "You are a Dudley, true and true - do you know this? How masterfully you evade an answer to my question; do you believe I will be too well acquainted with your rivals, or so inferior, that I shall offer not challenge to their affections? If you are courted by his majesty, dear George Boleyn has already paid every man handsomely in the kingdom, to allow the young King to to feel unrivalled in his romantic pursuits." This bright young creature, a delicate, loving, silky haired thing, moved with expressive, attached eyes on his face - her lips maintaining their precious smile. Kismet was so loving, that one could not but feeling loving towards her. "I jest and I prod, but I come to you now in earnest; how does a man earn the goodness, you afford me now? Pray, how am I not to be eternally ruined, by offers as to take me for what I am? If you were not a sweet angel, I would think of a Machiavellian devil." 

[unconqucred]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒. closed to @jamescecils 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. hampton court palace, great hall 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 & 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄. 13 september 1559, post execution of elizabeth talbot's servants

england's  nobility  possessed  more  land  and  riches  than  the  layman  could  even  imagine.  yet  they  did  not  have  the  simple  freedom  of  protecting  their  peace.  but  what  was  one  man's  peace  to  a  kingdom  of  muzzled  men  under  the  guise  of  peace?  sibella  imagined  it  was  a  widely  held  belief  that  such  bloody  spectacles  were  especially  engineered  to  squash  dissident  and  to  inspire  fear  and  obedience  in  the  hearts  of  the  king's  subjects.  and  if  it  was  indeed  a  widely  held  belief,  one  would  be  oblivious  to  it  if  they  saw  king  william's  court  on  this  balmy  september  morning.

only  an  hour  prior  did  all  of  these  merry  faces  bear  witness  to  the  slaughter  of  her  aunt's  loyal  servants.  sibella,  of  course,  was  among  them.  she  followed  the  crowd  into  the  great  hall  where  a  feast  that  rivaled  christmastime  was  set  for  the  guests.  what  a  perverse  display;  they  may  as  well  have  stuffed  the  freshly  harvested  head  of  poor  margry  hallows  with  an  apple  and  roasted  her  upon  an  open  fire.  a  greusome  if  not  apt  thought.

sibella  could  not  dare  face  the  dukes  of  northumberland  and  norfolk,  who  likely  conspired  to  do  away  with  their  kin  as  they  filled  their  bellies  with  venison  and  ale.  she  sulked  among  the  wallflowers,  eager  to  take  leave  as  soon  as  it  was  appropriate.  yet  at  present  she  was  trapped  in  conversation  with  a  member  of  the  king's  council.  despite  her  sour  mood  sibella  decided  that  she  would  be  as  courteous  as  possible,  lest  she  hear  from  her  father  afterward.  "you  must  forgive  me,  lord  burghley,"  she  offered  apologetically,  "my  mind  —  and  my  ears  —  have  apparently  been  absent  by  cause  of  today's  events.  what  is  it  you  were  saying?"

[jamescecils]

    "I would not fault you for being absent; least of all, wishing to be so in conversation with me. I remarked upon the weather, but you are much to intelligent, to be plied with niceties - do you wish to rail against me for the actions of the council? I would accept your blows; should you wish for an ear to bear your grief, I would lovingly service you now with equal zeal." Sibeall's demeanour under his attentions at first excited a smile - it was not puerile, rather patient and firm. She addressed him with such suddnesss and sharpness; James saw her large eyes contrived to give him pain - he wished to work with extreme care and gentleness, spairing her what pain he could. The English wind owned a terrific influence upon the day, making all the pain more poignant, all sorrow sadder. Under their weight and warmth, all energy died. As the moments passed, a resetleness and fear beyond the average, assiled him. 

  The gentleman - the sensible gentleman - would swallow his true thoughts, and lock up his emotions during these moments of inward violence. Those upon the block had done their very best; but they were poor, wasting wretches, despite having once been the best. The fiat of fate was a painful sequence for the lady - bitter trials, the miserable defection of hope, birthed the intolerable encroachment of despair. Was there error in their judgement? He knew this to be true, and tried as vainly as assiduously to cheat himself of this knowledge. And so James had recourse to find distraction; her curls, half undone in the damp air, fell loose and heavy upon her slender neck. Sibella was beautiful, not with the plump, pink attributes of girlhood; she was full of the promise of interest and grace. Her attractions were very real and engaging;  her bloom made her rival the superior to the brightest orchid; she was given a scarlet distinction, the fullest rose to have ever bloomed. "I will not discourage your antipathy or skepticism in your dissatisfaction with my forthcoming litanies. But our young King is blessed by your presence at his court - or perhaps his youth and vitality, is merely mirrored in your own?" 

[leiccsters]

Familiar faces at court brought the breaking of a grin, one of amused indulgence, across Dudley’s bearded face; black, silken bristles tickling the undersides of a full mouth. Cecil was a robust figure, and Dudley knew his reputation well. The King surrounded himself, as cleverly as his father had done, with men of power, men possessed of great charm, soaring wit, and lusty gallantry, and James Cecil was one such gentleman: his influence exerted not merely in the privy council and matters of delicate state affairs, but in King’s plush inner-circle, where his ambition smoldered. Dudley’s chest ripples with quiet laughter, the twilight’s dark indigo reflecting in the black of his pupils. ‘My wife would protest the drawing of my breath if she could. Alas, the countess’ rebukes are more often just otherwise. I’ve learned to count my blessings, Cecil, in each liberty I take.’

Given Cecil’s station, and the high-favor Dudley demonstrably held amongst the Tudors, it was inevitable that conversation should steer toward amicable diplomacy. His face retained its jaunty smoothness, though his voice sharpened with solemnity. ‘I won’t demean His Majesty by speaking ill of the King’s half-sister. But this country has known enough Spanish queens, and shouldered their failures.’ His mouth twisted at the mention of dead Katharine. ‘I would not see another alliance brokered at our detriment. Of that, you can be assured of my loyalty.’ Dudley breathed out another leaden cloud, swirling like the mists above the Tower’s forbidding keep. ‘If, as you say, our kinsmen seek to grovel to Spain like hounds to their master.’

[jamescecils]

   Dudley smiled; he was quite satisfied with James' English phrase. The difference was marked, between his countenance now, and that he wore astride a stead. It was a marvel, to witness the smile of pleasure round his full lips, or in his eyes. The sarcastic, passionately exultant man he had witnessed hundreds' of times before, was illuminated by a wholly new sign of warmer feeling in his visage. That dark brow which spoke his Dudley blood, was displaced by a lighter hue. In a pretty humour in turn, was James - he found now the advantage of proximity. "Your good wife reminds me of my own mother; at times, it caused her great offense to hear my father partake in his evening meals. Does the court of our new King please her? The Princess would readily adopt her into her harem, if she did disobey her beloved commandment of piety, in possessing a husband." 

    James' companion possessed eyes which would readily abandon a screen, so that their blaze may sparkle freely. Being on the alert, James gleamed up every stray look. Dudley was a man wise in his generation, whom could claim filial sympathy through his justice. "A well-shared diplomatic answer; I share your opinion, and levy that the Spanish would find a wealth of satisfaction, in accepting this fact." It was behoved to any to speak ill on the matter; but they could gaze upon the opinion, forbidden to be embodied in words. If James had replied meekly by an unqualified affirmative, he believed Dudley would have stretched out his hand, and bid him goodnight. "It has been remarked by my contemporaries adopting such a stance is unwise; am I such a man? I cannot sincerely believe myself to be an ignoramus, or else I would be ruined - but I fear my heart is moved by the same depth of loyalty to England, as yours. A large armada has been spoken of; would it reach our shores and be doomed, or would God himself see it fit to sink their ships amongst the waves?" Down would wash the waves, clouds above, through their blackness, turning pale white in terror. "I would be pleased to see you by my side; you would inspire our kinsmen to abandon all notions of submission." 

[jamescecils]

The gallantry of fine ladies present were of hazardous splendour and luxury; they possessed means of leisure and relaxation; left at liberty, to taste pleasures. Still, they were a pretty spectacle to be presented; each bearing in her countenance, a bounty of felicitation. James like to see these flowers growing, but once picked, they ceased to please. Presently seeking to prostrate on the sad state of future wilting, James was jostled with the force of a sweet church mouse; this interloper begged for her pardon, with eyes calculated to impress upon another imagination and admiration. 

  The blunders of young ladies were sweet to him; habitually they relieved him of his balance or a drink, smoothing their error with cool social assurance, to spare them both the pain of embarrassment. Marguerite's modesty and diffidence of character afforded her stumbling into his presence an air of levity. Their acquaintance being muted, James had cause to ascribe Marguerite's the most distant pretension to perfection - he had no reason to abuse her for pretentious virtue or insufferable pride, for he yet knew if she suffered from these natural consequences. Intimate intercourse, close inspection disclosed in Marguerite what was intelligent and sincere; an admiration in James more superficial might have been more demonstrative; his however, was quiet. "Fear not my lady, for each limb seems intact, and my visage unaffected - thus, your apologies are unneeded. Do you seek to hurriedly flee the scene of a crime, or escape the attentions of ghastly courtier? You may find solace in my company from both." There was no courage in her eyes as they met his; no coolness on her cheek, nor a transient blush, but a gathering of inward thought which raised its tint. "Tell me - at affairs such as these, what is your primary delight? Save for wonderfully erudite instances of endearing clumsiness." 

[ladymegwelles]

The men who made up the king's council had all earned their place through years of experience and favor with the king. Meg did not know any of them particularly well, had rarely had the opportunity or need to engage them in conversation, so busy were they with matters of state at hand. Cecil in particular, however, always seemed to lurk around one corner or the other, engaging a beautiful woman in conversation or talking politics with other gentlemen of the court. Meg had to admit that he gave off an intimidating air, so formidable was his presence and reputation; however, he spoke with such grace and eloquence that his words had the power to immediately put one at ease. She did suspect that he was more than capable of also employing words that drew the opposite affliction when need, and did not envy those who might be on the receiving end of such.

"The scene of a crime?" A brow lifted in amusement and Meg granted him a light chuckle. "Do you imagine me a criminal, my lord? Capable of such dastardly deeds that I might run from?" Recovered from her blunder, Meg smoothed her skirts and gave the statesman her full attention. "I fear my answer may disappoint you," she answered, only then a bit of embarrassment creeping back in. "I must admit that I am, more often than not, distracted by those around us. With so many people in one place, it is nearly impossible to hear oneself think." The deepest of secrets were, no doubt, whispered behind locked doors or in the corners of corridors, but there was much to be gleaned from public conversation. "Though one does hear the most interesting things, especially after the wine has been flowing. Would you not agree?"

[jamescecils]

  Marguerite received James with perfect, well acted-cordiality; he had reason to write Elizabeth, and commend her on the strength of her beloved maidens. She fixed her delicate eyes on him, twinkling at him gleefully. Meg was a study of a character he had not yet encountered - a great and new planet, but in what shape James new not. He awaited her rising. She stood, not merely dressed, but draped in pale, antique folds, long like a sculpture. 

    "The ripped cuff of a rivals sleeve, perhaps? Or a horrible blotted stain upon the dress of a maiden who stole your lovers attentions?" The whole hall was a stir; clouds of gentlemen broke into fragments, mingling with the rainbow gathering of ladies; Marguerite glowed all over with satisfaction, as children of pleasure were apt to do. "You are an Englishwoman, are you not? Save for your French blood; I know your sex to be capable of presenting a handsome visage, whilst partaking in nefarious deeds which could exceed my own." He found her pleasant; a prospect more redolent of pleasure and comfort than what was offered by his companions unlovely visages. "I find no disappointment in your answer, though I believed you to contain more multitudes than you would like me to believe you possess. Does the splendour of the court still enrapture you so, after a lifetime sleeping besides the Princess? If so, treasure this; it is a gift, to return to the same scenes and still derive joy." A gleam flickered in James' eye - a derisive, playful sparkle. If she were to allow it, James would wholly enjoy be absorbed in discourse and mirth. "My own tongue is all the more pliant, after a glass of spirits; will you indulge me, dear lady, with a taste of what you have heard?"

[thquldnunc]

To take the King out on an isolated hunt without a scrawling litter of servants was indeed a feat within itself, securing the perimeter, making sure the trophies were lingering beneath the shield of the forest… It was an unending list, but he had managed it alongside the helping hands of Julian and James — his fellow councillors; one being his equal the other being a son of a friend thus kept beneath his safety. On horseback he kept a slow and steady pace to prepare the sparsity of servants on their missions, one eye upon their handiwork with the other upon the King. 

Alongside James, Thomas drew up with the shake of his head, his gaze low as he looked between the thick tree trunks for what bounty would please their treasured chess piece. “You should be glad that there are no Medici maidens at our English court, dear James, or you will go cross eyed by their beauty. I have my own tales about the Habsburgs and their jarring jaws. I should show you a portrait, now that is the kind of woman to keep at bay,” he teased, before dropping back to Julian’s side, walking with some pomp to his step. To entertain a King was normally a frightful, tense affair. But himself and James had known him since his infancy, and so, Thomas himself sometimes found it hard to see him as anything other than a boy donned in pretty furs. 

“May I suggest the unknown, your Majesty? You know, I don’t think I’ve ever caught sight of de Vere being quite so successful at the hunt — perhaps he should lead us in some display of his worth,” Thomas smirked, his hand going to Julian’s shoulder in an act of quiet jest before a final release, the forest twinkling with dew and the last night’s downpour of Autumnal rain. “Go on Julian, show your elders just how to chase the hunt.”

[julicnn]

julian kept to the rear of the pack of men, allowing james and thomas to fill the air with incessant sort of chatter - the banter they seemed to keep up so easily, whether it be on a hunt or a meal shared between the men. occasionally, he chimed in with a comment but he prefered to ruminate on the careful and meticilous design that he had placed into their hunt this day. at times it felt more like the trio of men were brothers of his, the kind that he had not been privvy to as a young boy raised around a bevy of sisters. " careful, the day is young and james' wandering eyes have yet to settle. perhaps he shall go cross eyed for lady mendoza. the court is in quite a fit over her beauty, i've heard," he jested, flashing cecil a teasing grin. it did little to ease the slight anxiety that ate away at julian, worry and doubt that perhaps the king shall not be entertained by the hunt. the scent of blood still hung heavy in the air from the talbot murder, and julian had little desire to join her in the grave. 

at thomas' suggestion, julian sat up straighter on his horse. " surely, our majesty may go as he pleases without the chattering of an elderly hen?" the earl teased with a playful grin directed at thomas, though his eyes spoke of a gratefulness that he often attuned to the other man. it was not easy to take the place that his father once held, but he tried nonetheless. " yes, i shall go ahead so that we may actually catch something before it runs off at the sight of your hideous aim. or yet, your majesty, perhaps you shall like to have the first kill of the hunt? it would inspire us greatly, i do believe. far more than the words of old men."  @boleynsrex @jamescecils @thquldnunc

[boleynsrex]

The sun’s rays pierced like silver arrowheads through the leafy canopy of elm and pine, brandishing a red-brick welt across the King’s waxen forehead. Having ridden far beyond the walls of court, where the wind proved absent of the chatter of the palace, the devout practicing of Latin, the pervasive odours of Hampton Court’s scalding kitchens (privily roasting a feast for the King’s hunting troupe), all was swiftly replaced by a wave of fresh arboreal air and the snap of branches breaking beneath the troupe’s charges. Wills breathes a deep lungful of it, grinning wolfishly at the gentleman’s lewd jests, his smile as magnificent as the cloth-of-gold woven into his horse’s caparison. For, even astride a mud-splashed charger, Wills was determined that his subjects should know that the King of England was no pauper prince; amongst a coterie of noble courtiers, His Majesty glittered the brightest, even in a state of relative dishabille, as the pack picked their way through the dense parkland of Richmond, their quips and the deep baritone of their collective voices sending the nearest boar hightailing to safety. Whipping the reigns of his stallion, he sprints ahead, dauntlessly ducking beneath a lowly-hung branch.

The King's ambassadors clustering around him fell into a natural, unspoken order – the youngest, de Vere, to the back, and Cecil, his most senior advisor, spearheading the band – as Wills plucked a brow at Walsingham. ‘Our royal niece and nephew are Habsburgs – half, anyway,’ he remarked, feigning a sudden and morose seriousness: a volatility in emotion that too closely resembled his father’s to prove amusing for any man who’d survived that turbulent reign. Then, suddenly, his face ruptures with a blissful wickedness, a flask of wine palmed out of his breeches and driven to his wry lips. ‘And for those poor souls and their wretched jaws, I raise you gentlemen a toast. Are you dry, Walsingham?’ He queried, not waiting for an answer before he tossed the spymaster a vessel of his own. An avid hunter, but also a shameless hedonist, Wills would have drinking and merriment or he would have death.

He cocks his head, recognizing the name on de Vere’s lips – Mendoza. One of his sister’s hounds, who, despite her buxom beauty, was rather becoming an irritant to the King. ‘Does Cecil not already have a fine rack of antlers to grace his walls?’ Wills gallantly importuned. ‘I daresay we ought to consider our dear de Vere, and show pity upon a man with as little skill at the hunt as he has in his prick. What say you, Cecil, Walsingham? Do you not marvel at your King’s generosity?’

@jamescecils @thquldnunc @julicnn

[jamescecils]

William's manner now reminded him of the qualities once observed in Henry; he was determined, enduring, and sweet-tempered. Who among them, could help liking him? His cool eye shot no morose shafts to render one rusty, breathed a single caustic word; beside him, the gentlemen were offered rest and refuge - William sought to foster sunshine. James followed his king, apostrophising his liege as the most flourishing monarch it had ever been his good fortune to be charged with. He would justly proffer the plea of ignorance in the extenuation of most of William's faults. Throughout their journey, Thomas and Julian rang the most fanciful changes upon themes, coaxing and conjuring until James was obliged to pause his stead to laugh. "Perhaps that is what saves them from entirely surrendering to the Habsburg chin." Ever the pliant servant, a flask of wine was readily produced to honour William's exuberance and proposed felicitations."To the accursed jaw, a fine remembrance that ones kin do not make for excellent brides; may the King, Vere and I be awarded brides of heavily distant relation."

 The seclusion, the very gloom of the hunt, was what attracted James. Honey-sweet pendants of fruit were renewed in the shape of old fruit trees; mossy earth, half bared roots, littered their path. The turf was verdant, sun-bright lilies clustered beautiful about the roots of forrest giants; birds pealed out, their tones a sweet, exulted sound. The quartet were detained by the mellow coolness, the fragrant breathing of flowers and sunshine-dew. James cried out at William's quip with a coquettish laugh, both proud and bemused, "I possess a fine rack, like many a fine lady of his majesty's court (maria); but it is the King's possesses, which are chiefly of interest." He rather believed William regarded most women who sought his attentions hideously plain; nearly moved to hysterics by their voices, or a careless, calculated, tumble upon his feet. English women were the very best or worst of their sex. "Poor Vere; his skill is dampened by his singular family jewel, which he must now guard with care. Do the ladies find it endearing, Julian? But I defer to his majesty's goodness always; a fine king, we have been granted." 

[thmagdalene]

To embrace James Cecil was to nourish one’s body — as soon as skin was set upon skin, no longer were they separate entities but one intertwined web overbrimming with the honeyed wax of slick lovers. As he undressed her, one layer at a time with the same precious shift of peeling the petals of a delicate flower, Alice shimmered and glowed, following the fall of his head as the shape of his lips nourished her exposure. Leaving his hard cock absent from the warmth of her hand, instead — and against either protocol or her own lust for him, Alice put her palm to the top of his head, running her fingers through thick curls to unmask his face, to stare upon the warmth of his dark gaze. Features that haunted her dreams and broken nights, eyes that had been passed down to their union, familiarities playing on her absent thoughts. 

Their separation had been enforced by her lawful husband, the Viscount thus exhausted by his wife’s constant flirtation with the Lord Privy Seal, the strange break between himself and his first child an unfeathered weight upon his shoulders. By his plan, he took his wife to Wiltshire in some ploy to coax her back into the family seat of Wulfhall. But how on Earth was she ever meant to have appreciated a man who had turned his back on his own siblings? Who had made her a Seymour when she had been perfectly content as a Parr? The gasp between the lovers had remained as such till her return upon his daughter’s fourth birthday — a girl, who had been his with some surety of her paternity, who had thus become Alice’s own imprisonment. 

And yet, within moments of their reunion, she became James’ all over again. With adept fingers she took his clothes from his body in turn, lifting cotton over his head as her own curves pushed forward, a hand then laced against the back of his neck as her thighs split before him in the same way a peach gives to the opening of greedy thumbs. Having already grown wet and affectionate from the first glance shared between herself and the Councilman, Alice’s chest lifted then fell with a breath that filled her lungs, her lips heavy with a slick moan that dripped off her tongue in the form of a hymn.

Though she could’ve whispered that she missed him, or wanted him — Alice thought better than that. To waste time on sentiments already known to the pair of them would be useless, especially when neither knew when such a moment would end. So she curled her fingers into his hair, drawing on her bottom lip with her two front teeth, her slick cunt against his mouth as the midnight blue of the sky flooded into that room, a tickle of laughter slipping past her lips before she craned his head away from her, holding him thus so he was forced to look at her instead, her other hand tracing the line of his mouth with the pad of her delicate thumb, basking in that moment of pure stillness before holding his chin in place. “Won’t you make me yours again? Hasn’t it been too long? Devour me whole, and will not let me go?” She asked, a heartbeat separating them before she fell back atop his bed, forcing him to follow with the tug of one arm, taking his lips beneath her own with one coaxing kiss.

[jamescecils]

    With his hands resting on her thighs, it occurred to James that he was one of the luckiest men on earth. There was no saying how long this joy would last, just as there was no sense in second guessing what Alice's desire would amount to. Every minute was stretched on tender-hooks; peace could snap in a flash. James was experimenting with mitigated bliss, Even that one touch upon his manhood bore an infinity to pleasure; he closed his eyes, his desire sitting in his stomach like a settling swell upon a rock base. He heard Alice from a world so high above, that all sounds of pleasure were made lullabies. He loved her candour; it was in every sound she had offered to him that night - untamed, human - and in the manner her hips responded to him now, without exaggeration. James kissed her on the mouth, pressing and coaxing her wetness with the flat of his palm, relishing the candour that bound them together. James enjoyed rekindling the lantern of unsuspected shame; shame trailed instant intimacy, but theirs endured once indecency was spent. 

  A depressing and difficult passage has prefaced every triumphant page James had turned in life. He wanted love and confession; he could find none of these in a church or confessional. To Alice he found prayer; he knew what he was willing to give up if only to rewind back to his first dosage of her beauty. Tall of stature and made of full grace, she was but a nun in all but name. His heart had almost died with him in their separation; miserable longings of Alice strained its chords.A sorrowful indifference to exist often pressed upon him - without Alice, the dumb future spoke no comfort. Months were drawn heavy black curtains; grey down with the dust of a town since departed. The conviction Alice would be another man's bride would grasp him that love, his permanent foe, was never to be conciliated. A vague malevolence gripped his mind, and mischief made itself dispensable; so mortally did James fear the sin and weakness of longing. 

Trembling, James lay above her in a strange fever of nerves; he wished to impress upon her the depths of his feelings. In his vision crystal moons rose above their window, but he could not live in their light, nor yield them his affection. It was Alice who was empowered to give others strength and offer shelter with her bending form - she became a heroine to him. She was grateful in secret; a separation of a hundred leagues could not cut through the electric chord of love between them; bound by a fine chain of a sustaining union. He made her lips his own once more, as he ventured to speak. ""Kiss me, and I will show you how you have always been mine. I do not wish to be conscious of where my form begins and yours ends; my seraph, my siren, it is you who devours, and rises with your red hair. I am yours, Alice; the noise that surrounds us means little to me. I am but yours, and will make no quick work of my demonstrating my feilty." He paid his dues by awarding her lips, then each breast, a molten kiss - before he dipped his head, to obey her trembling commands. 

Her smell reminded him of the brine of the seashore on days stilted by a lack of breeze; where a raw, ashen scent of scalded sand scent lingered. He loved the salt of her sex, of her shoulders, along the curve of her spine; they were made new to him. This height of bliss could not be stolen from them; they yielded to an impulse that could not be anymore natural. She was his siren; he paid his debt to his doom. His exaggerated aquiline nose was put to good use, to capture her scent and venture to part her silk curtains; he would have given his right hand to possess what lay here. Alice's taste was an overwhelming triumphant, bringing him to him his darkest desires, astoundingly realised. Impulse was his maddening master; some-long trembling sob was placated by the occupation of his tongue. He sought no breath, her sex offering him vatification that God imbued existence with significance. Curling his tongue, opening his nostrils, there was only one form of appeal to which James would listen; her desire for him to move faster, or to further relish the mewling sighs his lavishing of venus mound gave. He recalled the passage wherein his love had been past buried; James felt the obligation of pleasure, and sought to deliver it to her. He wanted her pleasure to cling to him, for no bath to be capable of washing it away from his lips or hair. Having served a sentence in her exile, James was rewarded with the constant, radiant scent of her pleasure. He broke from his lavishing for a humble request, "Tell me to devour you and I shall only cease my ministrations when it is certain you shall not walk in soreness for a weeks time."