tempus edax rerum

julian de vere. earl of oxford. exclusively for bloodydayshq.

[julicnn]

julian de vere , EARL OF OXFORD & LORD GREAT CHAMBERLAIN. | exclusive blog for bloodydayshq.  written by sunny. ( they/them )

intro. threads. musings.

[unconqucred]

the  voyage  was  seemingly  neverending.  at  least  the  last  time  she  excursed  through  the  continent,  she  had  a  companion  with  whom  she  could  both  share  a  laugh  and  bare  her  soul.  aside  from  the  singular  maid,  sarah,  for  whose  permission  to  accompany  them  required  litigious  advocacy,  the  other  members  of  the  retinue  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  elizabeth  talbot,  not  in  her  heart.  this  fact  is  ever  soured  by  the  presence  of  a  man  whose  memory  made  her  skin  crawl.  upon  her  immediate  summons  she  expedited  her  malicious  writings  of  which  he  was  the  prime  subject;  the  ink  had  not  yet  dried  once  their  barge  left  hampton  court  palace.  should  she  meet  her  maker  in  the  land  of  the  medicis  her  account  of  his  cruelty  would  be  the  first  thing  they  would  find  upon  her  vanity.  sibella  would  be  satisfied  with  such  an  end.

with  neither  elizabeth  nor  her  elder  siblings  to  counsel  her  on  the  thunderous  feelings  of  disdain  that  rumbled  in  her  belly,  she  kept  mostly  to  herself.  occasionally  she  would  share  brief  niceties  with  the  other  two  men  of  the  entourage.  she  even  entertained  a  game  of  cards  with  thomas  walsingham.  james  cecil  had  even  made  her  laugh  with  a  joke,  for  once  void  of  lewd  suggestions.  the  third  man  was  to  be  carefully  and  politely  avoided,  if  such  a  thing  was  possible.  but  of  course,  she  was  not  stupid  enough  to  maintain  such  a  hope.

it  quickly  became  apparent  to  her  that  the  men  intended  to  use  her  strictly  for  her  translation  and  not  the  rest  of  her  mind.  she  grew  restless,  converting  scraps  of  sentences  from  one  language  to  another,  interpreting  italian  verbiage  so  simple  they  could  have  hired  a  child  with  rudimentary  knowledge  of  the  language  and  have  done  well.  sibella  desired  a  challenge.  the  second  night  in  their  cramped  quarters  (she'd  insisted  on  a  private  room  for  her  and  her  maid,  of  course)  she  concocted  a  plan,  and  immediately  petitioned  the  lord  privy  seal  to  permit  her  an  excursion  to  give  alms  to  the  poor.  she  would  accomplish  it,  even  if  that  meant  julian  de  vere  was  to  be  a  necessary  part  of  the  plan.

the  morning  of  their  excursion,  sibella  and  sarah  took  extra  care  to  dress  her  in  more  local  fashions.  they  traded  heavy  brocade  for  softer  silks;  she'd  left  behind  her  hoods  and  allowed  her  tailbone-length  hair  to  fall  behind  her.  multiple  attempts  were  made  to  intertwine  ribbon  in  her  hair.  even  when  sarah  was  satisfied,  she  was  not  entirely  convinced.  when  given  news  that  they  were  to  finally  depart  into  the  city,  sibella  took  a  moment  to  reevaluate  the  circumstances.  could  she  trust  herself  to  focus  on  the  task  at  hand  without  exploding  at  the  most  quaint  of  comments?  she  was  impertinent  that  she  must.

along  the  road  she  spotted  a  familiar  merchant  and  began  to  speak  to  him  in  hushed  tones.  her  eyes  flitted  to  her  companion,  catching  him  in  a  moment  of  respite  in  the  sun.  davinci  had  once  written  something  about  florentine  light... 

she  concluded  her  conversation  with  the  man,  pressing  a  florin  into  his  dusty  palm.  when  sibella  returned  to  julian's  side  she  greeted  his  remark  with  an  unamused  expression.  "perhaps  you  do  know  italian,  my  lord  oxford.  i  might  be  inclined  to  think  that  i  was  invited  onto  this  expedition  not  for  my  translation  skills  nor  my  knowledge  of  florence,  but  simply  because  you  enjoy  my  company."  it  was  then  that  she  produced  a  bar  of  rose-scented  soap  from  the  pockets  of  her  skirt.  "it  is  not  a  bauble  but  information.  and  a  gift  for  my  sister;  she  has  a  particular  fondness  for  these,  though  they  are  almost  impossible  to  find  in  england.  they  are  produced  by  the  priests  at  the  monastery  at  the  end  of  this  road.  that  is  where  we  are  to  give  alms."  she  processed  past  him,  hair  brushing  past  her.

[julicnn]

an apology of sorts sat on the tip on julian's tongue, but he remained an ever prideful sort of creature so the moment that sibella turned back with an expression devoid of any amusement or merriment - any sort of redemption he might've sought from her died on that dusty italian street. sibella remained a curious woman to him, not one who sought out the voyeuristic, lavish activies that other courtiers gorged themselves on ( as her own brother did ) nor was she whispered of as a coy beauty the way her sister was spoken of in the halls of hampton. sibella percy remained on the fringes of his realm within court since her return in months prior, and aside from their encounter previously - julia knew nothing of her.

he supposed that he knew now that she spoke a bevvy of languages, wrote in a similar fashion to a man driven mad, and held a grudge far sharper than most woman of her standing.

" perhaps for cecil, he is rather fond of a maiden untouched in god's garden," he mused, eyes drawn to the soap in her hand - what an endearing gift for sibella to procure for her kin. " and how shall you explain away where it was that you plucked such a peculiar gift for her?" julian watched her brush past him, the faint scent of her caught on the wind and teased at his senses. a faint quirk of his lips before he followed behind her, his longer stride catching her quickly. " alms? surely - you must not have dared to drag me about the city to simply give alms, lady percy."

[goldsilked]

@julicnn

Hands outstretched, seeping with jewels. Chin thrown backwards, another raucous rush of laughter escaping her, a magnificent smile dripping from her lips. Madeleine de Limeuil shone, pirouetting across the dance floor with white silks billowing about her like sails of a Grecian vessel, her step light, her demeanour graceful, brighter than the comets that soared above the English isle. It mattered not that this was not France, not Rome, but England –– dowdy, forbidding England, its people as dank as its palaces. Madeleine had a talent for making a room her own and infusing it with her particular brand of magic, of light, that Caterina demanded from her ladies, a charm that proved untaught, as she watched from the velvet-strewn dais, an air of approval wafting about her. Casting her gaze across the crowd, Madeleine's eyes sought to ensnare a familiar face within her trap and, no sooner had one turned up, did a devious smirk settle upon the bourne of Madeleine’s lips, smoothed with Moorish honey, the column of her throat reddened from hours upon hours of dancing, her skin glistening –– like the ripened curve of a cherry, shining moistly in the morning dew and drizzle.

‘You, Mon Seigneur de Vere, I choose you.’ Diana, goddess of the hunt, nearing upon her prey, her French tongue rolling with delight. Laughter poured and the smell of Parisian wine spilled from her; making light the swishing of a hand, swaying in Julian’s direction, coaxing him to her side, a finger crooked toward her breast. She leveled a mirthful grin upon him, the arch of her brow questioningly raised. ‘Shall you honour me with a dance, old friend, in the eyes of all Europe?’

Madeleine openly taunted him, relishing in the gawping of those around the pair, as her eyes scanned his for any hint of disapproval – finding, in its stead, only the vicious vicissitudes of time shaping the Englishman’s – now much older – visage: the lines stamped around his eyes, the creases furrowed between his brows, the silver bristles woven amongst the sable threads of his beard. ‘I would recognize you by voice alone, monsieur. The decade has been kind to you and I, let us dance whilst we still might.’ Finally, she believed, persuading him to dance, Madeleine released Julian from her gambit and glissaded coyly to his side, the picture of contentment – a woman in her element.

‘My passion for English dancing is not so very fine, do you remember still the volta? A favourite of ours, on the continent.’

[julicnn]

his trips around the continent as a boy had been marvelous, full of fond memories that julian still recalled to himself at times when he found himself wanting, they had been long before mary, so they remained safe and untainted with the tendrils of grief and longing. he'd barely had hair on his chin, nor much of anything but a promise of title, when he had trailed behind his father and uncle into the french courts, shoulders held high and a spring in his step that spoke of arrogance fastened like a pin to his chest. he was hot blooded, youthful, when he met madeleine there - with her dark, gleaming eyes that called to him like a siren song, a grin that he'd later devour in alcoves and sheets while she came undone a dozen times over beneath his touch. julian had never heard the french language spoken as beautifully as when it came rolling off madeleine's tongue in the heat of ectasy, with her slender fingers entwined in his curls, nails that scratched his scalp and sent shivers down the length of his spine. the time had been brief, the weeks flying by till soon enough their torrid affair came to an end, julian passing one last, heated look at madeleine before he returned to england and the life that was set out for him.

now, a decade later, julian could still recall the sound of madeleine's voice as if little time had passed, as if they were truly old friends returning to one another with nothing but a content sort of joy in their minds. his gait still was confident, full of spring, but now julian carried himself as a man of full title, who sat astride the king's council- who had begun to garner a name for himself aside from the one that was passed down to him by his father's death. madeleine remained a vision still, full of french beauty unlike those of hampton, and while he could see the telltale signs of a woman aging, there was no belief in him that her gaze held any less heat than it had all those years before. " you speak as if the honor is not mine entirely, to dance by your side, while the bevvy of your english suitors wait with bated breath for any acknowledgement," he jested, taking her hand to place a teasing kiss on her knuckles before gently leading them towards where others danced gayily. " i suppose that i owe a man, many a pretty penny, for betting against french women aging more gracefully than the english." 

with a laugh, julian nodded as they took position. " i remember the volta, though you must pity a widower such as i, it has been a few years since i've danced with another woman." 

[julicnn]

the family tree of julian de vere, past - present - future.

[unconqucred]

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 — a playlist for sibella percy & julian de vere ( @julicnn ). 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍 & 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍.

[julicnn]

the other two men had jaunted off early in the morning, saying something about an old friend of sorts that they must meet - though julian had half a mind to believe they were simply going to drink, considering the rougish wink that cecil had tossed him as they left. there'd been an uncomfortable silence between the pair left behind, as if neither one of them dared to speak considering their last encounter had ended with them both far more upset than they'd been before meeting. foresight had granted julian the ability to see later that perhaps he'd been too harsh on sibella, she was a young girl compared to her father and uncle, and it had been cruel to needlessly taunt her when he knew talbot's warrant was already signed. his eyes had half watched her across the rooms they occupied, curious as to why she was writing so fiercely in a journal, though he hadn't dared to interrupt her to ask. the silence carried on for another hour while julian ruminated on the task that thomas had thrust upon him before leaving, half considered if he could negate it entirely and tell thomas that she had not desired to leave.

yet, julian could never lie to thomas like that and it was evident to the other men how restless their young translator was getting, only leaving for brief moments to translate bits of information. his voice had been steady but devoid of most emotion when he'd finally shattered the silence to inform her that he'd be accompanying her to the city to give alms, her request granted by the other two council members who held seniority over julian. her face had been a conflicting mask that nearly made julian chuckle, as if a war waged within her over the hatred she surely felt in her heart for him and the passionate desire she had to leave these stuffy rooms and walk the streets. 

it took only a few quick moments for them to set off, an odd pair of sorts that descended upon the city of florence with an uncomfortable sort of gap between them. julian minded his pace, so that he did not leave sibella behind with his larger strides and gait. when she paused for a moment to speak with a merchant, julian did as well, eyes drifting shut as he basked in the warm sunlight, faint smile on his lips. he remained a thick blooded english man, but julian had never been one to shun the beauty of a sunkissed cobblestoned path.

his ears tingled slightly as sibella spoke in italian to the man, an inclination that sounded effervescent and lilting on her tongue, but stirred an unfair insecurity in julian that he did not understand the language that they shared. when she returned to his side, julian inclined his head in mild question, miffed slightly when she simply nodded and continued onward. " you know, i find it quite odd how italians accept charity in this city," he said quietly, a teasing jest in his tone. " for that exchange to an english man looked rather more as if you were buying a bauble to hide away."

closed event starter for @unconqucred ! | florence delegation.

[bridgctparr]

A powerful man held opportunity firmly in his grasp; the Lord Great Chamberlain's position was unique given that one might think of a king's advisors to be wizened old men with their best years behind them. On the contrary, Bridget could see that in spite of the pressures of his office, Julian's youth was not yet fleeting. It was important to note that he was a man, not a boy; a man knew what he wanted and would get it, while a boy would stand by and wait for something to come along and happen to him. Bridget despised inaction, and had met enough boys still simpering at their fathers' knees waiting for their day in the sun when Bridget was already strolling in it, her own father's opinions discarded. "I cannot quite blame him for it; I have been an equal thorn in his side, though I would not trade my brother for anything in this world."

She slipped a delicate hand around a sturdy bicep, glancing up at him through pale lashes as he led her and the animal into the fresh autumn air. The days had not yet grown so cool in the afternoons as to require a cloak, and for that Bridget was grateful. Fall would turn into winter before they knew it, and then the courtiers would be stuck inside to avoid the chilling winter winds. "You have the time to indulge in a young lady's company when such responsibility lays on your shoulders, my lord de Vere?" Bridget questioned lightly. "Certainly a member of the king's council has many important matters to attend to." Her words were not pure flattery, though she knew a man did like to be praised. Bridget's free hand rose to toy with the pendant secured around her neck. "Though I cannot claim to be displeased with your fellowship on such a fine day."

[julicnn]

" i suppose that is the burden all siblings must carry within this life, yes? to remain an ever present thorn in one another's side so that they may not rise to such lofty heights without our presence." it was not a sentiment he necessarily shared, remaining distant from his own sisters, but he saw the frequency of it within his own children. the teasing they shared that was ringed heavily with love and admiration, the kind shared between kin - it warmed his heart on the days that he struggled most, as thoughts of his brood often did. " my kitty does greatly adore mercilessly teasing her brother, perhaps you may seek to teach her a few new skills of torment," he said, a half jest while the rest remained in reality. while this woman spoke clearly of a beautiful vanity, he could not seek to make her his wife if she held any ill will towards his children. he needed a woman who may welcome the near orphans into her warm arms, soothing their troubled sweet brows. 

as they walked, julian was unable to keep his gaze from noting how the woman seemed to shine beneath the delicate autumn sun, her appearance bordering on divinely blessed before a cloud gently slid them into shadows once more. his gaze returned to their path ahead, he took slight note that she had yet to supply him with her name but he did not desire to interrupt her words with a callous repetition of it. " our majesty is generous with allowing his men to tend to other interests when time allows it, and i find no more noble pursuit in this moment than helping a lady breathe fresh air and bask in the beauty of such a fine steed." julian smiled faintly at her praise, enjoying the way it stirred something charming and endearing within his chest. " am i meant to believe that you desire my company for more than simply a chaperone to your equestrian mischief?"

[thquldnunc]

“No,” he answered, his hands and mouth then caught on pause, his smile flickering before disappearing, his emotions tucked behind the shift made to eat and fuel his body for another meeting held by his assigned flies that fluttered around court without notice on a daily basis among the shadows, forever readying their knowledge to be passed back into Thomas’ own ear. As he pushed his food from one side to the other, he nurtured his own time, his hubris colouring the tilt of a smile before he disguised it with a single spoonful of their shared dinner. “Do you wish me to be soft on you, Julian? Come, that’s not my style,” he pushed, before his patronage of the Earl of Oxford turned again to talk of Cecil and his overt attraction that often had the girls of court go to him in the same way a bee drunk on honey took to dive among the flowers. With the shake of his head in a trusted, playful manner he took another forkful, his eyes then rolling in retaliation. “He may have, he is a tease — you may only offer a rumour back, that would shut him up. But, wait, an accident on your horse? Julian, I thought you were too grand of a rider to fall into such mistakes. Whom was it who played your shining knight in the shape of a beloved maiden?” He then provoked, gesturing his fork towards the other. 

It was no easy task to be a widower of a woman once loved, but as time went on with the steady drum of a war march it would only be a matter of time till you were either drowned of loneliness or tempted to a far more enticing fate. To Thomas’ own private life, he kept his affairs secret — his wife was barely talked off, if only to protect her from foes who would wish to harm the Spymaster in some way, his daughter also hidden behind country estates whilst governed in the same step given to a son. That, and Julian had his own to think off, for a mother-figure would not harm a child as long as the potential woman was not as irksome as some other women of court. With a gentle shrug of his shoulders, the Secretary of State took to his half-emptied cup, sipping at its contents with hesitant denial. “Oh? Won’t you describe her fully then? I’m sure I could find a name for you, if that is what you would be so after…”

[julicnn]

there was a piece of julian, self serving and arrogant in a sense, that took amusement at plucking thomas over the rivalry that at times far more resembled young brothers attempting to outdo the other to keep any residual boredom at bay. as frequently as he spoke mischief about james to thomas, julian was awaiting cecil at his office so that they may share tales and overhead whispers. the meaningless ones that spoke of other men's too soft cocks and failings in marriage beds. " no, i suppose like a whore's cunt, i prefer you sharp edged and mean to me," he jested, laughing easily as he considered thomas' suggestion. he absentmindedly scratched at his beard, a light shrug of his shoulder. " it is difficult to find a rumor that he shall not spin into a fanciful tale that begets him, perhaps i whisper that he wets his sheets often enough that the servants have begun to resent him. oh the woman was of little consequence, she was far older than even you and i believe she may have hoped that such an accident would divine i seek to court her." he waved his hand in a brief, meaningless dismissal of the subject at hand. 

julian was not a naïve man, he knew that he could not carry on for much longer without a wife, rumors would start to speculate and his children deserved to have a motherly figure within their life. not a governess who kept them occupied while he attended his own duties, and a father who split his time unequally between his duties to them and to his title. at thomas' request, julian set aside his food, leaning forward over the table as he wracked his mind for the memory of the woman that had thus bewitched so far. " we met in the stables, yet i could sense she was from a far more proper upbringing, out of place amidst the muck and hay. her features were flush with a youthful glow, hair that shone beautifully beneath the sun - as if it was freshly spun golden wool." he took a brief pause, humming softly with a faint smile. " with eyes that looked as if they were stolen from the sky itself, they were reminiscent of cloud watching as a boy. and she kept up an interesting conversation, thomas. every remark a spit of fire within it."

[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." 

[thquldnunc]

Though the health and wellbeing of the English people somewhat relied on the testament of the council, Thomas often felt obliged to turn a blind eye from their prayers — what were they to him but passing noise whispered in the background? He felt their whims were due only to King William, their noise satisfying an itch that came with being a ruler of their time — keep him to English shores and all thought of glory that came with expensive and mostly useless wars would stay adrift. Though he was his father’s son, for with each passing day there was something essentially Tudor that grew larger than his skin could conceal, and so it would be sooner rather than later when all came to a halt, that the noise of his people would mean little to soaring ambition or stubborn dreams — to put strength behind his grandfather’s war on Bosworth field or to justify the schism carved by the other that stretched between home and God himself. 

And yet, despite the weight that drew beneath the canopy of English woodland, the four men traced their way across the carpet of fallen leaves as if they were anyone else. As if caught in a single day of pure leisure and gallant, beating hearts. As they talked of women, the conversation swaying to the tantalising question of who would one day be picked as their assigned Queen, Thomas could not help but smile in the same way he would his own small brood — for these men were his family, in some way. James, his long standing ally. Julian, an old friend’s now grown son and William, a surrogate son he had never had. “Julian, the Duchess of Medina is our treasured guest, I doubt she would be too glad to hear of James’ wandering eye,” Thomas reminded the younger fellow, his eyes then shifting ahead, watching from behind with the observation that had once earned him the moniker of surveyor of court. 

Choosing to ignore the very mention of being called an elderly hen, Thomas rolled his eyes from one side to the other, his hand then wrapped around the rein of his horse as he drew the mount to a slovenly walk — the grandeur that came with the first kill of a hunt was not something he had ever thought worth his time or attention, and so allowed the others then to take their chances, his head only lowering upon the renewed mention of the Habsburg — whom he knew as his cousins, a smirk made in reply to the quirk of a single brow. Perhaps another would’ve shuddered at the chance of forming a grudge with his Royal Majesty, but what would he do to his sole Spymaster? Thomas smiled then, ignoring William’s burgeoning irritation that coloured his face in a stark, sudden stroke of reaction before it folded to flamboyant cheer; to be the child of Henry Tudor and Anne Boleyn would mean only one thing, to be constantly led by the whipping lash of emotion. 

Catching the skin of wine, Thomas put the drink to his mouth, savouring its flavour in the moment’s celebratory toast before gaining ground upon the others, his tongue then pressed into the inner warmth of his cheek. “Please, James — a singular family jewel is nothing to bemoan, though I do worry you are on path to strike a nemesis in the grandiose of de Vere. It is certainly something to celebrate, to awaken such a reaction within someone normally so tranquil! Show James, Julian, how one may truly strike the heart of an awaiting foe and do such in the name of our merry King.”

[julicnn]

it remained to be seen if it was a blessing or a curse that julian had yet to begin his tenor on the king's council when henry passed, his father had served under him but as ever an obedient servant, he shared nothing but complimentary tales of the departed king before his own death. julian's entire life had been afforded to him by the crown, so his father saw little reason to ever speak ill of it. this is to say that he lacked the finesse of james and thomas in recognizing bits of the former king in the current one, instead rather simply seeing the prince that he had known for most of his life. a bit fair bit haughty, as royals often were, but a youthful, playful man regardless. one that julian enjoyed the company of, despite the frequent jests at his expense - he was aware that his title being freshest meant he was believed to be green, so he sought little annoyance in the ribbing of william. a fond laugh leaving his lips at his own expense, steadying his shoulders so that he may prove himself in this hunt. declare himself a bit of victory to ease the ribbing that came with initiation onto the council.

" i implore you to keep your wandering eye far from family jewels, james, though i admire the ferocity of which you admire them." with a grin, julian nodded his head out of respect for william. " i shall revel in your generosity, my king, and allow it to capture a worthy beast." 

julian turned his horse slightly away from the men and their chatter, slipping off it so that he may move forward on stealthily feet towards the buck he had spotted from the corner of his vision. the world around him momentarily fell silent as he focused on the task at hand - the antlers were a decent size, and julian knew that if he could bag such a beast that it may garner him some favor with the young king. with a quiet exhale, he brought the crossbow that his father had gifted him some years ago, to the correct sight- lining up with where the buck stood unsuspecting. with little fanfare, the arrow soared forward and struck the buck, the animal letting out a distraught noise before falling to the ground. a grin on his face, julian rose once more to a steady height to observe his kill. " what a glorious buck, i dare say larger antlers than the ones that cecil boasts of?"

[bridgctparr]

The man who stepped out of the shadows was tall, and grew taller still with each step he took towards her. The light peering through the boards above them revealed his handsome face in snippets, and Bridget recognized him instantly as a councilor to the king. Still, her countenance did not betray her thoughts, and she regarded him as she would any other man who dared interrupt her sacred time alone, with a slightly raised brow and the wisp of a smirk upon her lips. "It is I, then? I assure you, my lord, I am not easily startled. I have a brother," she replied, the smirk turning to a coy smile.

Much to her father's chagrin, Bridget had never wavered in service to her own interests, not even in the presence of such a man as Julian de Vere, or his betters. His dark gaze slid over her fleetingly, and she did relish the feeling of being admired. "Ever so fond, I am. They are good and loyal creatures, strong in battle yet wild when permitted to be. Much like people, would you not agree?" The horse let out a whinny that echoed through the structure and Bridget joined the animal with a light laugh. "That would please me very much, my lord. You are kind to make such an offer."

[julicnn]

an easy sort of laughter came from his chest, amusement clear in the way that he gazed upon her, wracking his mind to try and place where such a beautiful creature may have came from. julian was unable to place a name to her lips, allowing himself to briefly wonder if perhaps that may make it easier to gift his own onto her - though it seemed far from likely that this vision was not yet claimed by another man. if cecil had not sunk his own teeth into her pert body beneath all those skirts, ones that did little to hide the natural essence of feminity and womanhood that drifted off her form. " shall i persuade your brother to be a kinder soul to you? a lady of your nature should hardly have to live with such an uncouth man." 

at her words, julian motioned for the stable hand to join them and set upon bridling the horse so that they may take it out for a stroll. perhaps, in different circumstances he may have offered to allow her to ride the beast under his mindful guidance and firm hands, but julian had no desire to sully her reputation with unseemly rumors of the nature of their afternoon spent together. " i suppose you are correct, my lady. though i believe that with the right sort of inspiration, a man can be far more wild and loyal than any other animal." he offered her his arm as his other hand took hold of the reigns of the horse. " shall we walk? i believe it slipped my mind to greet you properly, my lady. julian de vere, at your service." 

[thquldnunc]

Thomas stared observantly, handsomely, some might say like a Greek God. a work of art.* Though outwardly he may have been perceived as such, Thomas thought little of it — what mattered was within, his long years spent studying the law and then the work undertaken by the order of his previous Senior, Thomas Cromwell. Julian, whom had once been only a son to a fellow councillor and friend, was one such man whom Walsingham thought to understand at a deeper length, to guide as he had once been taught, though to pretend he was anything as grand and intelligent as Cromwell was only to ask for the fall of his own good name. But who would mourn Walsingham over Cromwell? Who would find such a vacancy in their lives if the King thought of his death the betterment for the realm?

As the table between the company spread thick with lashings of cooked meats, warm breads and the Tudor favourite sweet treats, Thomas returned to his seat, his gaze heavy with the appointments previously lead before he absolved himself of such worries. With the lift of his chin, Thomas huffed and puffed, rolling his shoulders in some manner of flexing his bones before putting his hand to the hair on his chin, a look of confused amusement then colouring his keen eye. “An old mare? Is that how you treat a friend? Nay, an ally?” He asked, picking his knife from the table, pointing it towards Julian with a weak wrist before putting it to the meat, slicing through a breast before retrieving the awaiting fork. “If it was Cecil, I would remind you that to have such a connection would be one to savour. He is a good man, if not a little led by his prick,” Thomas mused, the slip of a laugh passing by stern lips before he took the food to his mouth, his chew heavy and with purpose before laying the instrument aside.

“But who is not? There must be something to occupy your days when you are not signing death warrants… I fear you make as many eyes as he does, and that my friend is saying something,” Thomas chose to jest, his rare smile peeking from beneath his facial hair before he took to a goblet of wine. "How do you fare?"

[julicnn]

the man grinned mischievously at thomas, head ducking with a fond roll of his eyes as he began to help himself to their meal. " am i meant to believe that you have shunned me so greatly that we are ally and ally alone? you wound me dearly, far more than any accurate truth i may speak on your gently aging features." at thomas' gentle nagging, he fixed a pointed look on his friend - perhaps thomas' ruggedly handsome looks worked to persuade his wife to heed his words about others within court, but julian was far more stubborn and prone to prideful attitudes. " it is a wonder he captures any woman's attention with such a loose tongue. i was accosted by a lady the other morning who sought to offer me her condolences on my accident with a horse. somehow, the court believes that i am grieving the loss of my manhood - a rumor that i am certain cecil started out of anger that he lost in our tennis game." 

julian's good nature was still evident on his face, an amused smile that only dimmed slightly at the mention of him making eyes at court as well. it was not a lie, yet he'd been hard pressed to attempt to court anyone since the loss of his wife, while it had been a marriage arranged by their families - he'd grown to love her and the loss still stung at times. on the nights when he returned to a cold bed with no one there to welcome him back nor brush the hair back from his forehead as she had once done. " are the children not enough? they occupy most of my evenings after we have split," he said with a shrug, reminiscent of a child hiding a secret for a moment. " you must keep this between us, thomas. court has dulled for me, i must admit, certainly the council keeps me busy frequently but aside from dudley's wife - i rarely indulge in conversation with a woman. though, i crossed paths with an intriguing bird the other day, i did not yet get her family name, however."

[thmagdalene]

Her stare was made with a serious intent, silent secrets passing by the plump fall of her lips in some bid to gain some inch power — as if she knew just who it was who kept the King to his private chambers, as if she knew anything with the tilt of her chin. Of course, she knew nothing and it would remain as such for in truth, Alice didn’t care to think of the King and his paramours — rather, she only sought the safety and wellbeing of her own tribe; the Greys, the Parrs, the Seymours. With her curiosity thus satisfied, she returned to the breaking of her fast, her headdress pinned atop of her head in some hope to cover wild red hair — her fingers adorned with the gems that had been given to her husband in return for his service to the crown when his own siblings had been put to the block. It was not by choice, but instead a costume meant to tell any onlooker what house she thus belonged to. 

“Oh, please do,” she whispered in turn, adept at weaving a moment of intimacy for them both, the bright sapphire blue of her gaze staring into his own in some manner to anchor him to the spot before she supped at her cup, humming quietly, expressing a quiet delight at being named by her bloodline as she looked to him from beneath the lure of delicate eyelashes. “He is a bore, isn’t he? Sometimes I worry he has had some influence on myself or my little ones — but mostly, I’m glad he is away. I’d rather have you all to myself, as it should’ve been for quite some time,” Alice wooed, leaning back into him, her tone as low and tender as if she were to share some illicit secret. 

With the attention of others yet lingering on the executions, Alice thought merrily of how the day had come to pass. The only thing worth her fret was perhaps Agnes, or Phillipa. But as long as they toed the line, then the Viscountess felt no quarry to linger on such worries, and instead basked in Julian’s attention in the same manner she would’ve done when she had been unwed by various secret rendezvous’. “They are well, but do you really wish to talk about children? Why, I would’ve thought such a man as yourself would have more pressing affairs to quench. Perhaps I could ease your heavy load, my Lord?”

[julicnn]

julian believed himself to be a pious man, strong within his faith and belief to never claim another man's wife as his own - but it seemed as if though alice existed to shake the very foundation of it all. with her alluring gaze, and quirk of plump lips that sang to him as if she was a siren while he remained a hapless sea captain. oh, how he longed to plunge within her depths to plunder whatever treasure may lie beneath the vast layers of skirts she so often wore. it was a blessing and a curse that her husband had married her, for she was a breath takingly beautiful woman to behold - yet, julian held little respect for the man and his title. and with each soothing swipe of her voice in his ears, julian further sunk beneath her spell, a man captivated. " a terrible bore," he agreed, leaning forward ever slightly, as if they were simply whispering secrets to one another. " they whisper that he is as dull in his bedchambers as he is within court." his words are sharp, for julian is tossing a line to alice. testing the stormy waters between them, for a sense of a woman unhappily married.

" fret not, beloved. you remain effervescent in his attempts to dull you, far more radiant than any woman has right to be." his words are honeyed, eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he ducked his head in easy laughter, a soft one meant mostly for her. twinkling with amusement and barely concealed fondness for her as he spoke. " tell me, lady alice," his thumb lifted to wipe a spot of juice at the corner of her mouth, dragging gently along her bottom lip afterwards. " what more pressing affairs do you believe i must tend to? how shall you seek to ease the heavy load that i am burdened with, unjustly so, within your presence." a faint, dangerous near predatory grin on his lips as he regarded her. if alice wished to taunt and tease, then julian would not hesitate to call her on such a challenge, for he may be on his knees in the morning asking for god's forgiveness, but he desired to spend the night on his knees devouring the woman before him. till the only name on her tongue was his own. 

[bridgctparr]

Traipsing off alone in the middle of the day was not the sort of thing that a lady was supposed to do; however, despite her family name and her relations' best efforts, Bridget endeavored to do exactly the sorts of things that ladies were not supposed to do. A bird impossible to cage, it seemed to be Lady Parr's mission in life to forge her own path, regardless of what others thought appropriate. That afternoon, such determination led her to the stables; Bridget never felt so free as she did on the back of a horse, wind whipping through her long, golden locks as the animal tore across an open plain. She would not go so far as to try to ride out on her own - that would provoke consequences she was not in the mood to endure - but there could be no harm in visiting the animals deemed worthy enough to be housed at His Majesty's court.

All was quiet when she arrived, and Bridget wordlessly made her way through the stalls, stopping before one horse who whinnied quietly as she approached. She carefully reached out and gently ran her hand over its long neck, meeting the horse's large, dark eyes with her comparatively small, blue ones. The horse's attention shifted in an instant, drawing Bridget's gaze to the presence of another. "Careful, we mustn't startle them."

[julicnn]

the earl had already been in the stables, checking in about a few horses that were meant to be used for a hunt with the king in the near future, when he spotted her. a tantazling vision of english beauty, with soft features and hair that shone like woven gold as the sunlight kissed it through the slats in the stable roof. julian found himself unable to move as he watched her garner a horse's approval, curiousity mingled with the hints of arousal he had not felt in quite some time, as if she cared little that she was a lady in such an unkempt place. with little thought, julian moved quietly to attempt to catch a better sight of her but his movements only caught her companion's attention. revealing him in the shadows of the stable, as if he was some unbecoming lesser man. reprimanded slightly by her tone, julian stepped once more into the light and closer to the woman, a polite smile on his face. 

" it is not them that i fear startling, my lady," he spoke quietly, eyes sweeping over her form briefly before he glanced at the horse instead. hand reached forward to brush along the neck of the creature as they spoke. " are you fond of the horses? if you may like, i shall ask the hand to allow us to walk one for a lap around the yard, if it pleased you so." julian offered, returning his gaze to her again. " i am quite skilled with the animal, i would not let any harm befall you."

[julicnn]

closed starter for @thquldnunc !

there was a sense of arrogant contentment that hung close to julian within the presence of thomas walsingham, one that allowed him to sit comfortably at the other man's table awaiting to spend a meal together. more petulant child returning home to prod at an esteemed father, gentle jests that do little to conceal the underlying desire to be praised. to be given the words that his own father never spoke before his death, not that julian would ever grovel so low as to beg for any kindness from thomas. despite the warmth he sought from the other man, spurned by the loss of his father and wife within the same few months. face tilted towards walsingham often for guidance navigating his new appointment within a young king's court, to spare himself from a misstep that may upseat the legacy that julian sat on entirely alone now. kept warm till his own son became of a reasonable age to take his place, as he had done from his own father, and his father's father before him. 

at the sound of thomas' return, julian lifted his head from the pamphlet he'd been reading to smile widely at the other man. " you certainly took your time strolling back from your appointments, old mare," he taunted, with eyes that spoke of nothing malicious. his shoulders lifted higher as he subconsciously straightened within his chair, tilting his head in mild gratitude when a plate was placed before him. " tell me, what has kept you so long? if it is cecil, i shall be unkind with my words about his taste in women. certainly he has no need to sully your clothing with his filthy tales of the company he keeps," he jested, raising an eyebrow at thomas as he helped himself to the food.

[jamescecils]

@thquldnunc @julicnn @boleynsrex

THE HUNT

  Beautiful was William's adroitness in the search; exemplary was the care with which Julian's designs were accomplished - Thomas' efforts, satisfied with their trim compactness. James sat in fascination; but his stead urged him to break this spell. He enjoyed the men for their capital sense - affection and deep regard has fastened in a bond. They had come thither to enjoy a hunt; outside the magnificent gates of the palace, a forrest awaited to take them home - the green sweeps of turf spread round them, the palace rising at a distance. White as a wraith, the morning sun shown above them; England's wind, born with a penchant for sobbing, scarce stirred. The hour was yet still and sweet; this pretty scene, save for the group, was solitary. 

 James was bonded to these men - an influence spread over all, a mutual concord. Without any colouring of romance, a perfect happiness was felt; a crowing prize of glory, awaited. Habit and a sense of duty reign- it bade him to rally quickly, to catch attention. "Without the weight of skirts to impress, or the greying beards of misers to rally against us, what speeches are we free to deliver as men? I shall commence - it has been told to me on good authority, that the Medici woman is only in possession of three teeth of her own, and the rest have been fashioned from a brood mare." Known to speak for so long, so often, out of a multitude of rumours, James would be bound to arrive at some intelligence; this growth of wit, had yet grown to fruition. "I appeal to our beloved King, so handsome even without his customary ornamentals, to choose our next path; do we venture to the left, or tread down the unknown path, offered to our right?"

[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

[robsartd]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡   …   julian  de  vere   (   @julicnn   )   𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞   …   the  dudley  family  quarters   ,   hampton  court   .   𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧   ...   9th  september   ,   1559   .

there  seemed  to  be  a  noticeable  absence  of  warmth  throughout  the  rest  of  court  when  dawn  had  broken  with  the  whispers  of  treason  upon  the  tongue  and  though  she  had  been  assured  that  the  palace  was  secure  with  all  the  traitors  awaiting  their  sentencing  in  the  tower,  she  had  announced  over  breakfast  that  the  children  would  be  kept  indoors  for  the  day  through  their  vocal  distress  at  the  news,  unmoved  by  their  tantrums  until  the  meal  was  finished  some  thirty  minutes  later,  tasting  of  honey  and  salt  from  their  tears.  the  mood  had  brightened  considerably,  however,  when  the  earl  of  oxford  had  deigned  to  darken  her  door  with  his  presence,  the  diminutive  figures  of  his  two  children  peering  from  behind  his  legs.  their  friendship  would  seem  unexpected  and  ill - suited  to  the  common  eye  but  a  bond  had  been  built  over  the  memory  of  his  late  wife  who  she  had  adored  and  comforted  at  the  end  of  her  days  and  it  was  in  memory  of  the  promise  that  she  had  made  to  mary  de  vere  just  days  before  the  sickness  had  taken  her  from  the  world  that  saw  the  door  widen  just  a  fraction  to  allow  his  children  into  the  warmth  that  she  had  built  for  her  family,  the  sound  of  the  combined  joy  of  their  young  prompting  a  moment  of  shared  peace  between  the  two.

silently,  amy  had  extended  a  hand  to  rest  upon  his  arms,  fingers  squeezing  gently  in  assurance  before  he  departed  to  fill  his  seat  as  lord  great  chamberlain  upon  the  court  of  jurors  consisting  of  the  king's  finest  magistrates.  the  children  had  been  oblivious  to  the  somberness  that  had  descended  over  court  and  if  she  had  her  way,  it  would  remain  as  such,  a  determination  that  had  driven  her  to  spent  her  morning  with  them  as  they  invented  games  and  stories  until  the  governess  had  arrived  to  take  robert,  gideon  and  anne  into  the  study  while  the  youngest  of  the  four,  sweet  katherine,  kept  her  company.

the  girl  had  grown  too  big  to  perch  upon  her  hip  for  long  but  katherine  de  vere  was  a  far  gentler  child  than  her  own  daughter,  fond  of  the  attention  that  amy  would  shower  upon  her  and  peering  at  her  needlework  with  a  fascination  until  her  dark  eyes  had  drifted  shut  from  the  exhaustion  of  a  morning  spent  chasing  after  the  older  children.  seated  on  the  plush  carpet  by  the  fireplace,  the  countess  of  leicester  was  happily  weighed  down  by  the  child,  hands  cradling  her  small  body  close  as  she  rocked  the  girl  into  a  deeper  sleep  and  laid  back  on  the  carpet  herself,  head  cushioned  by  the  pillow  that  she  had  been  stuffing  and  sewing  shut.  with  the  oldest  three  preoccupied  and  the  youngest  asleep,  amy  drifted  in  and  out  of  consciousness  herself  until  the  door  was  parted  by  a  servant  to  admit  the  earl  of  oxford  into  the  receiving  room,  prompting  her  to  sit  up  with  some  haste.  a  small  noise  of  surprise  escaped  her  throat,  hands  coming  to  tighten  around  katherine  as  her  features  twisted  into  a  small  grimace,  waiting  for  the  girl  to  wake  ─  when  she  did  not,  amy  extended  a  hand  towards  the  approaching  man,  requesting  for  his  assistance.  ❝  you  are  back  early  ...  a  break  for  a  meal,  i  am  assuming.  ❞

(  briefly,  she  wondered  if  robert  would  return  as  well  but  did  not  dwell  on  it,  the  strain  on  julian's  face  distracting  her  from  such  hopes.  )

❝  the  other  three  are  with  the  governess  ...  she  will  be  teaching  them  some  numbers  and  history  until  the  food  is  ready.  will  you  join  us,  jules  ?  ❞  she  had  heard  the  moniker  uttered  by  his  wife  almost  a  thousand  times  and,  in  the  privacy  of  the  room  with  just  his  sleeping  child  stirring  to  awareness  against  her  shoulder,  amy  felt  brave  enough  to  name  him  thus.  ❝  ...  are  you  alright  ?  ❞

[julicnn]

the loss of mary still weighed heavily on julien's soul, it mattered little that years had passed when he was haunted by her features often in their two children - in the way that katherine cried at night for her, or how gideon grew each day into his mother's sharp cheekbones. at times, he was envious of others who moved on so gracefully, who allowed themselves to find love in the comfort of another when julian struggled to not find guilt in entertaining other women now that she was passed. perhaps, that is why julian continued to entertain the friendship that had been fostered with amy dudley before mary had left, in hopes that he may steal some of the strength she possessed to marry robert , or to keep close one of the few that recalled his once love so vividly. another voice to pass stories with on the nights when her light seemed to grow dim.

though at times, julian could not help but selfishly wonder if he adored amy still for the comfort that she graced him with, the soft touches and knowing looks -  for the way that katherine sat perfectly on her hip, as if in another life they may have shared a hearth and home together. bound by loves long past, and love that was forged anew. 

yet, amy dudley was not his wife nor would she ever be, julian reminded himself sharply as he gazed upon the sight of her dozing comfortably with his daughter. with a faint smile, julian moved forward to help amy lift herself from her seat, the hand not grasping hers was placed on katherine's dark curls, keeping her steady till amy was righted again. " yes, i fear if i spend another meal with cecil and walsingham that i may pluck a knife from the table and place it within my own ear," he jested, voice low and quiet as to not wake the sleeping child. it was a playful lie, julian reveled in the attention that the older men offered him for he had never been blessed to have older brothers, and at times they felt dangerously close to what he had dreamt of for it. 

julian's hand remained in hers for a breath longer than appropriate before he pulled back, a step away from her so that he may drift towards something - anything - that was safer than the siren pull of another man's wife. her voice rang out with the same moniker that mary had once used on him, her tongue teasing him with it often in the company of others, till he was grinning and begging her for a kiss. it makes his entire body ache to hear it once more, another hint of a smile on his lips. " i would be honored to join you, i am certain that gideon will be beside himself with stories already." at her question, julian swallowed deeply, staring at her in a silence. " will robert be joining us?" he finally asked, a cruel weapon but the one best suited to remind them both of the duty that bound them to a certain level of familiarity. 

[unconqucred]

of  all  the  people  that  flocked  to  hampton  court  palace  and  squeezed  themselves  into  the  various  cramped  courtier  quarters  all  to  garner  favor  with  the  crown,  it  was  just  her  luck  that  it  was  the  lord  great  chamberlain  to  find  her  in  her  moment  of  grief.  as  one  of  the  king's  most  chief  and  trusted  magistrates,  there  was  hardly  an  inkling  of  doubt  that  he  had  a  say  in  the  fate  of  her  aunt  and  her  servants.  she  had  seen  him  at  the  front  of  the  crowd  that  morning;  if  she  had  a  cruel  bone  in  her  body  she'd  have  been  sure  to  imagine  him  soaking  a  handkerchief  with  their  blood  as  a  token,  a  tangible  symbol  of  his  power,  his  transgression  against  her  kin.  but  from  where  she  stood,  she  needn't  imagine  it;  he  was  bloated  with  the  very  thing.  he  was  aware  of  who  she  was,  who  her  family  was.  despite  his  seemingly  harmless  inquiries  into  her  troubles,  it  did  not  make  her  blind  to  his  gloating.

"i  needn't  explain  it  to  you,"  she  replied  flatly.  "voice  with  exquisite  precision  the  cause  of  my  grief.  for  i  fear  that  you  already  know  all  the  details."  and  if  i  knew  better,  i  think  you  would  take  delight  in  my  retelling.  she  did  not  voice  these  thoughts.  she  stepped  aside  from  the  clearing,  motioning  up  the  stairs.  "i  would  sooner  seek  comfort  from  a  starved  bear  than  i  would  confide in  you  sir,  so  i  would  ask  that  you  continue  as  you  were.  but—"  she  grits  her  teeth,  "before  i  give  you  a  reason  to  place  my  head  on  the  executioner's  block,  i  must  have  you  know  that  my  tears  are  shed  for  a  beloved  aunt,  beloved  for  no  greater  reason  than  that  she  was  my  truest  friend  my  whole  life.  my  parents  had  their  favorites,  and  i  was  hers.  that  meant  a  great  deal  to  me."

[julicnn]

her words amused julian as he watched her, faint hint of a smile upon his lips as she wielded her tongue as if it was weapon against him. perhaps in a different circumstance, julian may have feared the sharp insults that she so carelessly tossed at him, but he knew far too well that she was more at his mercy than even she must be aware. the youngest percy, so fiery when her family balanced so precariously within the halls of hampton. what a peculiar thing, sibella was. " you speak so cruelly, my lady, do you believe me to be a heartless man? i assure you that even i am not without fits of empathy," he said, hand pressed to his heart as he feigned her wounding him. " i am not unfamiliar with loss, i unfortunately am quite well acquainted with the heavy hand of the reaper." it was not that long that he had lost mary, and he cannot help but wonder some nights if she would be proud of the man her husband had become in her absence. " if you wish, perhaps i may attempt to sway the king and his council to pardon your aunt," he offered, despite knowing the lie that which he spoke. 

despite the way sibella shifted, julian does not move forward to continue with his path, he is near certain that the children will not mind the company of the dudley's for another few minutes so that he may proceed with this conversation. " i wonder, lady percy. if your aunt shares the same habits as i, confiding in her truest friends," his tone is the hint of mocking, a sharp grin at sibella. a threatening one. " it would behoove you to learn to be careful with who you whisper to in hallways such as this, less you make an enemy of the wrong starved bear."