the feast had little to do with alexandrina but she attended without a second thought, knowing it was the diplomatic choice. the french had hosted the aragonese royals many moons ago and negotiations for an alliance with the english remained frustratingly stagnant thus it would be unwise to risk offending the party. the event swirled with familiar faces, for there was only so much a mask could obscure but drina skirted the fringe, a silent shadow, absently observing those around her. the queen of england had thankfully made a full recovery and was in attendance as was french regent’s mistress, a charismatic blonde who had a great presence despite being even smaller than alexandrina. if anyone was recognizable though, it was the lady salisbury, her flaming hair essentially rendering her mask obsolete.
“aye, the wine no longer seems cause for concern though now that the grand duchess anna has been attacked, i do wonder if hosting quite so many factions in one city was wise. it appears women remain targets no matter where we travel.” her tone was conversational, tempered, and her dark eyes gazed into the red liquid in her cup, as if looking long enough would reveal a secret or tell the future. she had no desire for discord between herself and lianor considering that she already possessed an abundance of enemies and consequently, drina was cautious not to inadvertently provoke her.
she had paid little mind to the raven-haired beauty next to her, but once the voice is heard, lianor is nearly immediately familiarized with the taste of bitterness she had felt when first making herself acquaintanced with the infanta of aragon. of course, the spanish woman’s gown suits her well: a blood-red cross against porcelain skin reminds the countess of the princess’ kin, now sitting on saint peter’s throne, fulfilling only one big ambition of the trastámara; it made sense alexandrina would be inclined to flaunt both her bloodline and her godliness in such pivotal event. lianor may find herself comfortable enough to behave as its hostess, but if god smiled on the spanish any more, soon it would be the princess’ job and not her own to put up the appearances.
“i am inclined to believe dance and good company does not always suffice in moments such as this, and many may self-medicate wine to dull themselves to a tragedy we must stand helplessly by.” she thought it was of bad taste to continue the festivities in such lively manner after what has happened to the grand duchess of russia, but she did not allow herself to share her opinion clearly. instead,, the countess abided by the english party in attending the feast -- it is not as if she would find much ease in resting or praying when glee booms so loudly within the walls of the palazzo farnese, after all.
quietly, lady salisbury attempts once more for a truce -- hopefully a more successful than the normandy treaty -- as her pale hand extends to rest on the infanta’s ruby clad arm. “tell me, are you well? i have not acquainted myself entirely to the florentine streets, but the villa pazzi is of considerable distance to the sforza’s, aye? however that may be, i do not think any of us, of the gentler sex, can bear witness to this horrifying tale and remain as we were. the princess was so lively, dancing on this same room just a night ago, i can hardly believe this is not just a bad dream.” the appearance of the infanta in one of her nightmares was no rare occurrence since they have arrived on italy, too, but the alexandrina of her subconscious was ever more dazzling, without that cool sadness she now carried herself with, which made the countess believe this was indeed just their wretched reality.
his presence had been politely exempted from a grand majority of the papal celebrations prior to the poisoning of the english queen as differences in faiths as well as his delayed arrival upon florentine soil had made for an adequate excuse ─ his tentative plans to broach conversation as the celebrations had shifted from piety to intoxication had been sufficiently nipped at the bud as fear seemed to run rampant throughout the land though it would seem as though the english did not wish for misfortune to be their only mark upon such a monumental gathering. though mehmed still held a heavy measure of apprehension towards any festivities hosted by the europeans, the reputed normandy unification called for his attendance as a representative of the empire. to feign illness would only serve to display weakness to the courts of the world and though he loathed to partake in the games of masquerade, he did not want to seem timid in comparison.
little attempt was made to truly conceal his identity as the delicate steel boning and silk covered mask had been removed from his face multiple times throughout the evening ─ it only served to further complicate his already strained sight and, with so many covered faced, he was undoubtedly more on guard, a tension squeezing at his chest.
❝ i believe the general courts are permitted a certain level of purposeful ignorance to properly celebrate such a long awaited treaty. as for myself, i would much rather prefer to fill my chalice with something less … intoxicating. it seems as though my choice is narrowed to only water. ❞ gentle amusement hints at the curve of his bristled mouth and in the low timbres of his voice, brows furrowed beneath the grand mask of feathers and silk that he had donned to better assimilate among the courtiers. ❝ pardon me, my lady but i was not aware that the two countries were formerly at odds with another. my understanding of your histories seems to only stretch so far back. am i correct in assuming that you are english ? ❞ her words were not so dissimilar from the lady beauchamp, who had been his tutor in the english language and culture for the past month or so and though the woman before him was a mere stranger, he felt temporarily at ease with the familiar accent spilling through her sentences.
the presence of the foreign man clad in emerald silk luxury caused her interest to peak as the memory of her recent encounter with her sister was taken by chaste confessions about elizabeth’s first meeting with the heir to the ottoman empire -- lizzie, possibly for her own sake seeing as it was lianor who was tasked with the young beauchamp’s keeping, had been rather curt about details, instead focusing on conveying her cheek-tinting embarrassment over the fashion of the situation, one many would take offense, especially a man in the highest rank as the prince would be. this ottoman did not offer his identity through his well-engaged conversation, but lianor’s eyes quietly lingered through his frame, to the certainly purposefully eye-catching wealth he displayed -- could he be the dear son the sultana she met at the maestro’s studio, the very same who had been most merciful towards her beauchamp kin?
“do you not take kindly to wine, my lord? may i ask, do you have replacements other than water in the empire?” the countess inquires. “i find myself to fall for the same affliction, so i am most understanding of your plight, though your lordship must be the first man i have ever met to disagree with the drink. would that make us good acquaintances, then?” she gushed with vibrancy, bright verdant eyes smiling as she sought to extend the kindness she believed this man to have offered elizabeth. “i may not be the best to question so, but do not fret. it is entirely too easy to grow confused over the many armistices in our history as the one that we celebrate today, albeit i am hopeful i shall not need to see its end in my lifetime, for england prospers her best when we are at peace. that being said, indeed, you are very keen to accents, i come with king edward’s court. my name is lianor, lady lianor montagu. would it be bold to assume you have recently met my sister? elizabeth beauchamp? as much fire in her hair as in her eyes.”
Crara saw the scarlet hues on the Countess’ cheeks. The rush of color made the younger woman ever more beautiful a sight to behold. Not a wrinkle on that youthful face. And her words could soften hearts made of stone and steel. Men fell easily for her, Crara thought. Her nephew was a fool for love but at least, he was not a blind fool. Had Lianor been her niece, Crara would even champion the girl as she did Drina and what a blessing that would be! She would hardly need to speak to Edward to arrange a marriage. Everything would be a formality and she would trust that she and Harry would even bring about a happy marriage as did Crara and Cristiano. But sadly, the red-haired girl was the daughter of a liar. Lying in such blatant manner was a bold move on Mistress Beatriz’s behalf. To send her married harlot of a daughter to her was a spit on Crara’s face. She wondered how much the girl enjoyed being Harry’s mistress: was she forced into the position like many daughters of ambitious noble men of all courts? Or did she relish in the sins of adultery?
It would have saved both parties so much trouble had Beatriz inherited her late friend’s subtlety and quick mind. Crara’s silence should have suffice in conveying the Queen’s reluctance to converse and grant favor to the House Beauchamp. It was without a doubt that Elizabeth was a lovely woman by her own rights, but her mother had nipped her prospect of a marriage to a Portuguese nobleman in the bud when she allowed her eldest to roam free in Harry’s bed. The Queen was no more angry at Lianor and Beatriz than she was at her own nephew. Yet she knew an explosion of ill-temper was unbecoming of a woman of her stature and serve nothing but lessen Drina’s likelihood of wedding the heir to the English throne. Thus, the Queen continued to smile gently at her companion and even poured the tea herself once the Countess’ cup had been emptied.
“Nonsense,” Crara said in response. “This world has taken so much of women that cleverness and silver tongues are exactly what a woman should possess should she survive this cruel world.”
The piece of advice was not insincere nor simply out of politeness. The Queen meant it. Sipping the tea herself, Crara continued: “I am not in the mind to leave matters unaddressed. I believe you have sought my audience on behalf of your younger sister, Elizabeth. Am I correct?”
with the queen’s response, lianor thought it was no wonder that her mother was so keen to support and elevate a woman she has never met -- a rarity in baroness beauchamp’s character, whose own self-worth had only been increased upon the subject of her adoration’s passing a few years ago; the countess of salisbury imagined her mother’s fondness towards the queen of portugal was built partially on her longing for her homeland, partially on greed for the beauchamp name to have pull not only in english lands. however, the red-haired still did not see herself as her mother’s successor, for she believed scathing wit had skipped her bloodline (or so she wished, vehement on the desire to remain pure from the venom that rot westminster).
when the queen finally takes notice of what she had missed, lady montagu perks up slightly, shoulders rolling back quietly as she straightens herself, putting down a pastel de nata before licking any remaining grease off of her lips. “it is in my mother’s pleasure that if not herself, her blood shall find joy in portuguese shores in this lifetime, your highness. her ambition was eclipsed by my father’s on mine own nuptials, but dear elizabeth -- i am not certain if you have paid a visit to our queen, but you may have seen my fair sister faithfully caring for our majesty -- is fortunate to be available, though i fear her fate has fallen at my hands -- thus why i seek to impose a little upon you, minha rainha.” the queen advised a sharp tongue and wit, but the first remains soft as buttered words seek to fulfill the countess’ obligations and to caress crara’s willingness in complying to beatriz’ aspirations. “perhaps your majesty have any idea as to why our line of communication with your most commendable noblemen has fallen short? i wonder if….something has propelled your countrymen to take offense? i understand mother can be rather overbearing at times.”
crowns’ history meme -- (01/??) : lianor montagu, countess of salisbury
lianor montagu, countess of salisbury (neé beauchamp; 10 october 1427 -- ??) was an english noblewoman living at the court of king edward of england. she was the eldest daughter of beatriz de meneses, a portuguese lady in waiting and long-time friend of queen eleanor of england. like her mother, she joined the princess of wales’ household whilst still a child and was raised alongside the plantagenet children on the royal nursery at ludlow castle, wales. on 1499, she became the second wife of thomas montagu, 6th earl of salisbury, with whom she had issue.
recent interest has sparked on uncovering her part on the english court due to her extensive affair with the then prince of wales, henry plantagenet, who many historians argue to be the true father of her children.
inspirations were taken from history edits around tumblr, particularly from scotlandsladies & sansaregina’s gifset series.
a metallic taste had flooded her mouth, almost blood-like, an indication of alexandrina’s oft-repressed rage rising to the surface. would this be her life should she and harry wed? would she be constantly subjected to what felt akin to an interrogation? she had many obligations but defending a plan that had been set in motion when she was a child was not one of them.
“aye, the church has been a great source of comfort as is my faith in god and his earthly vessel on the throne of saint peter, my cousin, his holiness the pope.” alexandrina’s pious reputation had followed her from portugal to the italian peninsula but few realized she did not practice piety simply for the sake of her reputation. religion had been one of her only solaces during exile and she became sure that god had chosen her and her family to be leaders, to usher in a new era and that he would eventually see to their success and safety. she had been placed in the path of the prince of wales for a purpose and her mission had been clear since childhood. marry well, strengthen her family and the creator would reward her devotion. scattered across the continent were people she had loved and left behind, those she would never lay eyes on again and it was imperative to her sanity that she believed it’d all be worth it in the end.
lianor’s comment on equestrianism brought a wave of déjà vu over the princess, and she suddenly recalled a similar conversation with the prince of wales, their first meeting as adults laced with innuendo involving andalusian mares. how well-matched he and lady salisbury appeared to be, the thought drawing a whisper of an amused smile on her fine features. “i too possess a passion for riding, lady salisbury. horses, i find, are much easier to understand than people. if you care for them properly, they shall love you in return or at least it’s lovely to think so.”
“ah, i do not doubt you, nor discourage you. i would reprimand myself, in private, immensely if you would have the wrong impression of my own piety - to which my invitation stands true.” the same invitation that stood ignored between veiled insults and poised prodding, however lianor could not blame the infanta for it. it should horror her, as a rather pious and god-fearing noblewoman, she would be seen as ungodly -- when she learned her prayers, mother had made a scission of the sort of woman she should be seen, always associating the whore facade to very vivid examples of within the english court and punishments for behaving as dishonorable beyond bearable; thus, the madonna was the minimal a proper lady should aspire to be. right now, after years of a scarlet brand following her for its good and its bad, the countess of salisbury doubted the alleged future princess of wales would see her as anything but a harlot -- why should she? lianor would not have spared her the judgment had the positions been different.
but they are not, and it is much clear on the foul insinuations she spews, while the princess of viana attempts to remain cool and steady through the encounter. “indeed, horses are sensible and sensitive - the finest stable boy i have ever once had told me horses have a great memory, so that must be the reason they remain loyal and, well, as you put it, sincere.” the red-haired wonders what it would be of them, the human race, if such social delicacies were translated to their own lives in court -- surely it would be the end of the so called polite society. certainly the conversation transpired between them would have made impossible, but lianor is unable to ponder if that would have been fortunate or not, for a knock on the door disturbs the thick atmosphere. with permission forthwith given, the eldest recognizes the girl on the door as one of the princess of england’s maids in service.
“it seems my dearest friend has returned from her appointment and longs for you to call on her, infanta.” lady salisbury reads from the note offered to her, the handwriting familiar enough for her to regain any sense of property lost during the meeting. emerald gaze goes from the english woman who delivered the correspondence to the spanish -- even as lianor takes a deep breath in order to steady herself further, she can not shake the feeling of insecurity, though she certainly should praise herself for acknowledging the notion that, while the jewel of the trastamara did not glitter one bit less than when the english woman’s verdant hues caught her countenance, the feeling of imminent loss had been somewhat tamed. for now, at least. “i believe you have had your fill of my presence for today, so i must excuse myself from accompanying your highnesses, and hope my mistress is a better host than i was. pleased to meet you, alexandrina. i am certain we shall see one another again soon enough, shall god desire it so.”
costume series: medieval fashion in period drama → snoods (crespines and cauls cont.)
The snood, like crespines and cauls was a thick hairnet made of gold, silver or silk thread, shaped like bags. Instead of being worn on the sides of the face it evolved to confine the hair at the back of the head. During the 14th century, the snood changed in designs and materials. Thicker cords replaced fine threads and the nets were decorated with ribbons, beading and other accessories. Later, woven nets were made to hold chignons or buns in place while still showing the hair. These nets came in plain or decorated designs. [x]
She swallowed hard, past the moment, and smile softly, slowly extending her hand as if to take Lia’s, but pausing. Should would understand if Lia wanted nothing to do with her, now - after all, she had not wanted anything to do with her for years: never having replied to her letters had made that point clear enough. All she said, instead, was this: “It is good to see you, again, my friend, looking so well.”
one further glance at the painted ceiling and lianor understands she has been speaking out of term -- even for someone as ignorant as she was when it came the finer arts, the beauty of the interior of the dome, as nearly all else within those four walls, held a beauty that could hardly be questioned. “no, senhora. i am thoroughly mistaken - who am i to question such masterpiece? i can only imagine how arduous the artist must have worked to perfect every curve in the flesh of the subjects, for each gilded halo…” lady montagu sighs out loud, overcome with that feeling of awe one is struck with only by the glance to an immeasurable treasure. it was no wonder the medici and their florentines spoke so fondly of their long-awaited dome. “this duomo should serve as a way for us to rejoice, to find kindling in foreign soil as you and i do, no?”
laughter bubbles out of her lips at the compliment, entirely unfounded she would believe, but a stroke to her ego nevertheless -- countless were the hours young mistress beauchamp spent devoted to a language so few spoke, the portuguese almost became a secret tongue for love swearing and vicious tongue-lashings at the same time. her lips part to voice words of appreciation, sweet flattery she did not often indulge on when speaking in that melodic, swaying language, but the title announcement promptly stuns the englishwoman into silence. she imagines how silly the crown princess of portugal must find her, how improper she is not to regain consciousness in enough time for her to even offer a courtesy -- but then, as she recalls from the last they wrote, it was not a missing beat of etiquette that would soil her reputation in liana’s eyes, for that was already rotten in her regard, as the princesa had so eloquently penned.
she realizes, as the princess continues to speak, that she has been the quicker one to notice they were not simply strangers sharing words of admiration in a familiar tongue, but something else entirely. there is a certain kind of upper hand there, on those few moments the raven-haired is consumed by longing for home, which allows lianor to regain composure, for her to soften her features and for the vexing red in her cheeks to dim as she recalls that the words liana last offered her were in the past, and they did not define her. she was lady salisbury, a mother of two, and the manner in which she maintained her high position in court should not arise within sacred ground, nor should it matter if liana wished to portray herself as diplomatic as her spanish cousin. however, the red-haired carried a certainty within herself that the warm offer for housing in portugal would not stand once liana realized in full who she acquaintanced herself with.
with grace the elder waits, allows the princesa to recompose herself -- it takes a while, and lianor is not certain if she should be pleased or worried eliana is so transparent in how ambiguous she felt towards the englishwoman next to her. emerald eyes not miss the physical touch extended and retracted, and the countess of salisbury is thoroughly overjoyed she does not display any visible signs of anxiety, of the high-strung nerves that pricked her like tiny needles, heightening her senses to what would be the outcome of the princess’ inner battle. “i see your kindness has not changed over the years, your highness,” lianor greets, lips curving to allow a poised smile to break through her countenance as she dips in her reservoir of candor. “our meeting surprises you, i could not expect otherwise. i understand if you hesitate to engage, and i shall not impose if you wish to cease our brief relations. i beg you to believe me innocent in approaching your royal highness - i must take the blame for it, how silly of me not to recall your lovely eyes, multicolored as the waters of the antique pond i observed you play with once when you graced us with your presence in ludlow.” she could not say if liana remembered any of her visit to the english lands, but the beauchamp had been the elder one, involved with overseeing the portuguese and english children alike as their parents partook in less naive matters, so she accepted blame for that, if her silence denied her to damn herself for her other mistakes.
“ NOT AT ALL, ” lizzie chimed in with absolutely NO DOUBT as to who was hiding behind the other mask. even with half of her face concealed - not to mention the many years they had been separated throughout life - elizabeth could hardly mistake the afire locks nor the caring gaze for it was exactly the same as their mother’s; if her memory served her well, their dear, lost brother john was BLESSED so too.
“ do you believe my advice was overheard? perhaps i am more skilful than initially thought. ” amusement laced rosy lips before a smile broke out upon her porcelain features, hands reaching to take hold of her sister’s so that she was able to draw her close and speak to lia without raised voices. “ you may not believe it - JOHN visited me in my dreams last night. it has not been so for some time, not for many YEARS actually, but it was him, i know it to be! he asked me to tell you that all will be well and you should not worry so. ”
the most genuine lilting fit of giggles slips between her petal-soft lips at her sister’s words, and it takes not much longer for lianor to lean on to her need of touch, promptly wrapping her arm with the tallest’s between them, fingers intertwined together. there is no hesitation in the intimacy, nor in the way their verdant eyes meet -- they may have been kept in distance through their childhoods, but lady salisbury made sure she would never forget her younger sister’s voice or delicate features for as long as she drew breath. “oh elizabeth, you look positively divine!” somehow the younger beauchamp looked even better in this light, better than at the dimmer ones at the seamstress’ and at her own chambers, when they joined excitedly to decide which of the gowns ordered would be the chosen one just a couple of nights ago. “that would be a terrifying thought, dearest. one would hope at least between family we should have some privacy - i would much rather believe you have indeed grown wiser. perhaps your place of service is not so bad after all.” the eldest adds, the malice heightened even as it is uttered in a whisper.
a carmine brow raises behind the gilded mask, somewhat alarmed as elizabeth ushers her closer. the subject brings reason to the gesture, and lianor can feel her disposition dull -- they did not often speak of john, but she remembers well of the dark period of mourning when the youngest sister was comforted by his presence in her unconscious. the memory of her younger, prized brother elicited guilt and longing for the boy who had once been her favorite sibling, the mixed sentiment hardly ever failing to render lianor to tears. tonight, she imagines that scene would be a spectacle she would prefer not to engage, so instead she takes a deep breath, emerald hues seeking out elizabeth’s as her thumb caresses the back of the girl’s hand. “tell me what plagues you, sister? i do hope you have received no offense on my behalf.” she often wondered poisonous words towards herself would find their way back to her family, and now with the both of them in intricate masks, their flaming locks the only discerning feature, lianor thought herself unable not to worry she was the cause of elizabeth’s unusual melancholia.
“When you are born,” the golem said softly, “your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk, and crusty things, and dirt, and fear, and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you’re half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it’s so grunged up with living. So every once in awhile, you have to scrub it up and get the works going, or else you’ll never be brave again.
Catherynne M. Valente: The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making
alexandrina nearly physically took a step back, abruptly wondering if she had made a mistake in accepting an invitation. her instinct was to defend the union, to put forward the benefits, but it was as if something had stolen her voice. habit, perhaps, prevented her from speaking her mind and so she glossed over the harsh words, telling herself that the alliance would speak for itself soon enough, that is if it ever came to fruition. “the alliance represents a common interest in strengthening the catholic cause, lady salisbury.” was all she offered, her smile refusing to falter, the voices of her mother and aunt instructing her never to let her emotions be read on her fair countenance. she had become adept at ignoring life’s ugliest moments.
“ah, darling joan.” it was the name drina had always known her by, for she was a spanish woman now, bound by the sanctity of marriage to a land that she had not visited for the duration of her union. it was a bleak fact, but such bleakness had become par for the course with the house of trastámara. “my uncle’s dear wife might be my greatest advocate though i am not worthy of her love. in any case, no i do not enjoy politics but as they are all-consuming, i partake to the best of my ability out of love for my homeland of course. my uncle would prefer i not fret over men’s business but i believe the princess recognizes that i ought to retain what control i can when it comes to matters that affect the entire family.” in hindsight, alexandrina supposed she would have made a clever and skilled queen of aragon but she had been done the disservice of being wed to ferrando’s savage kin as opposed to his heir, drina’s kind and frankly simple brother. “and what of yourself? do you find that you are partial to politics or do you find other matters more fulfilling?”
the infanta’s manners remain well-practiced even in face of the harsh insult to her promising union -- lianor can not help but to rejoice to know she has gotten through the spanish as much as the princess had to her, nor to stop from wondering by herself how many times the younger had to tell herself those words to convince herself of the match, place christianity as her reason to walk up to the scaffold that is a loveless marriage such as the one the countess imagined it alexandrina and the prince of wales' to be, if should it occur. certainly the long years abroad offered alexandrina plight, it was no wonder she remained so strong even in the meeting of a woman most unholy such as the lady salisbury, who, despite claiming out loud her innocence, was well known to be one of the most public sources of discontent over the match. “are you much devoted to the church, infanta? perhaps we ought to attend service together, once we have a new holy father.” her smile, too, is impenetrable, falsity of will permeating her sugar-coated words of friendship -- as much as it pained her to admit, she would rather if this meeting was cut short, perhaps then she would find herself more prepared and less inhibited by the presence of the alleged future princess of wales.
“joan?” bitterness floods her mouth as she raises her eyebrows, trying her very best in remaining unaffected, though she finds it impossible not to wonder that as much as unworthy her brother would be as a match to the de guise princess, at least john would have never stripped her of the name she was christened on, the name lianor herself wrote countless times over the years. would her jeanne be an entire new person now, as her repatriation would suggest? the countess’ gaze glosses over at the realization of such possibiliy, a bite to the inside of her mouth the only barrier to a sigh she does not exhale, momentarily overcome by a sense of defeat that would be, the least to say, unbecoming. “it can be tiring sometimes, to cling to what little authority one holds, no?” the corner of her lips twitch in what is the smallest, but perhaps the most sincere smile she has offered her guest on this day -- she did not need to be an exiled woman to feel such, nor to regain her sympathies towards the princess of viana, even if they are, as of fashion, short-lived.
“i am a wedded woman, your highness. my knowledge and ability in politics is well restrained, it is not wise to contradict one’s husbands in his method of ruling his own lands or himself.” though she had always been less reticent in doing so at kidderminster, and the manner she had been spoiled in ludlow also allowed her some freedom of thought, but there was only so much she believed pertinent to share with alexandrina. “accompanying the princess keeps me well occupied, i can not complain. albeit my interests may widen from time to time - as of the last years, i have enjoyed all aspects of equestrianism, from breeding to recreational activities. do you enjoy a good ride? i believe many would consider me quite an expert at riding.”
Though the Russian royal family was still wary of the danger that lurked about Florence, Anna was finally allowed to be let out of the palazzo to join the feast. Of course, not without guards flanking around her like a barricade wall. A childish part of the Grand Duchess relished in the idea of donning a beautiful gown and a mask to a ball of such significance. But Anna had promised to be careful and not to be out of sight of the royal guards. Ivan’s command felt stuffy yet Anna understood his concern. She even teased that no one would dare hurt her when her fearsome brother was around.
With her gown and mask in place, Anna tip toed over to her new friend. The English countess had been nothing but kind to her. And Anna had grown to love her little ones as well. In her own hand, the Grand Duchess held a goblet of wine herself. At her friend’s words, the Grand Duchess looked down and swirled the liquid inside. “No but are we going to abstain from wine forever now just because of something that occurred a month ago?”
it is not the grand duchess lianor sees first, but the men surrounding her, making her reminiscent of the last they had met, when the russian woman’s attempt to enjoy solitude was spoiled by the loyal men of the tsar -- the english countess wonders if now is much the same, but she prefers not to voice her curiosity, opting by promptly greeting the guards with as much grace as she does their mistress. “far from me to dictate what one must indulge themselves with, your imperial highness. perhaps my eloquence fails me, or is it my sense of humour?” she would have a wicked sense of the later if she could imagine another unfortunate affair would occur, so soon after the queen’s recovery. “i believe it is quite the contrary -- her majesty certainly would rather be seen strong and magnificent as it is her right, display opulence and offer the most exquisite flavors for all to enjoy, including yourself, tsarevna. please, do let let me dissuade you from treating yourself with my abstinence; i know as well as any woman that sometimes good drink and food is a much grateful comfort for the ache of our feet after so many rounds of dance. have you found many partners yet, grand duchess?”
The first night of the feast proved to be exactly what it had promised to be. The sun needed not touch the horizon for the English palazzo to burst into celebration. The Queen of Portugal was immensely impressed by the revitalization of the English presence in Florence. Only a moon ago, their Queen was plagued with poison. The peace treaty must have been an attempt to show off the country’s political prowess once more. Knowing Edward, Crara knew her once brother in law would not let the English reputation to falter in the eyes of other countries. She would not and she was only Cristiano’s consort.
Her companion for the the first half of the night was no other than Beatriz Beauchamp’s eldest, red-haired daughter: Lianor. Even with the mask, the red hair betrayed the young woman’s effort to conceal her identity. And who could forget such a pretty face. And she was bold: greeting guests to the feast as if she was to step into Isabel’s shoes any day now. If Lianor’s claim was true, that she was not her mother, one thing was certainly shared by both Mistress Beauchamp and Mistress Montagu: shamelessness. “A skilled assassin does not use the same dagger twice, my dear.” The Queen said. No doubt the girl would recognize her: Portuguese accent was thick on her tongue. And you are not worthy of any blade yet, little girl, Crara meant to say. Yet it was foul manner to spoil someone’s mood so early into the night. “Drink. You’re young: this fermented purple water works much better with youth. When you grow older, everything shall taste bland on the tongue.”
partaking in vanity should lead to an offense punishable by god, yet lady montagu imagined herself exempted of falling victim of pride, as it was custom for a woman as high born as she to ruffle her feathers as a pretty little song-bird -- and so she did, wreathing gold to her fire-kissed curls as if she was vesta incarnate -- but it had been a foolish notion, she realizes the minute the once warm, familiar portuguese accent, now cutting as shards, slashed against her. discomfort sours her visage, stubbornness and entitlement bubbling through as she decides that if the queen of portugal, a woman she spent large part of her years admiring, showed no intent to cloak her distaste, nor should she -- especially now, when she was partially secured by the mask that concealed most of the vexation in her features.
“our english majesty’s may not, for he now meets vengeance on the hands of the unholy, but would you not find such thought naive, majestade? men and women alike bleed in every street, and evil is not always punished, as much as one would wish so, thus feeding my belief some wicked men find themselves bolder in face of injustice.” her spine is akin to a steel blade, rigid, cooling her posture to anything but practiced courtesy, marred by a silver tongued impertinence. “is that how you find your palate to be, your highness? i fear i must decline your command, for wine tastes foul in mine own -- i have never believed myself much agreeable to it, as a girl or as a woman grown. will the years as they amass change my thinking, i wonder?”
“I do not fathom it shall ever be wise for one of my company to indulge in wine after the events of weeks prior - nor do I believe it realistic, that we shall never again enjoy the spirits.” His own glass supports a healthy presence of red white, whose still surface provided stage for the lights of the hall to dance and gleam. Edward’s mind had long sufficed to divorce the failed poisoning from the sweetness of wine itself; and if he were to maker his maker upon easing the weight of his thoughts, he would be glad to mark the night with a grand exit. “Do you avoid drink then, my lady? Taking precaution against a elusive band of attackers, who seek to humble the English empire abroad?” He spoke of the attacker and his presumed accomplices in a lofty air; he had no fear in his heart for their malice towards he and his family, lacking a concrete vision of those who sought to harm him. Edward knew little of Lianor’s thoughts on the matter; nor could he fathom her thoughts on any particular events, other then a slight chill she offered him - politeness, tinged with a palpable desire to grow no closer to him. “How little we have conversed in Florence; and even less, in these past years. I trust you well, or my son would have made his displeasure well known.”
though the king of england dresses in splendor, girlhood memories quicken her senses in recognizing the man next to her, and her eyelashes swat against porcelain skin masked in leather and gold-based tints, before she offers her godfather the smallest of courtesies -- mindful of his superiority over her, yet thoughtful that perhaps he would enjoy a degree of anonymity for those who did not acknowledge the plantagenet sovereign with as much familiarity as lianor did. “if you will not find me so bold for speaking so, your grace, i believe we share sight in this matter. i have not seen our queen as much as i probably should, but the last we met, by circumstance, i noticed she is well recovered -- perhaps more than that horrid man would have wished, which only makes england prevail more. i was not as intricately involved in this feast as your highness was, but i command your success as english supremacy is all too visible tonight.” they did not share intimacy anymore, none of the kind that she was eager for when she was a girl, rushing to the ground to give the young king the respect he deserved, but lianor believes to partake in half words of praise to the french would cause her more disregard than anything in his eyes.
“i do not care for wine, your grace,” she continues candidly, the corner of her lips twisting upwards, as her feet guides her a step or two backwards -- she would blame it on a minor lack of grace, or perhaps on how her heels bounced as the melody of this round of dance restarted, rather than her desire to further the distance between them. she does not recall of edward ever showing her unkindness -- if anything, it was the opposite, as however her lover bragged of his affection by gifting her exorbitant possessions, the royal coffers still belonged to the king, who, by some reason, decided to indulge his son and his whore -- yet nature guided her to remain poised, to forget of how sweet and wholesome he had once been in her eyes, nearly as honorable as her own father, whom she saw considerably less than the red-haired englishman next to her now.
yet, contrary to her confession, she turns to the drink in her hand, now warm against her tongue, as the king voices his realization of her tepidity towards him. a smile, saccharine and thoroughly false, blooms in her lips, and the wine aids in the color to spread through the visible skin under the mask, as if she was bashful of his recognition -- though, well, that wasn’t entirely far fetched, as lady salisbury did not expect the king to remember of her company when he was otherwise constantly occupied by others’. do not speak to me as if you know any of your children, she wishes to attack, as was her nature to do when it came to the man she imagined her dearest friend’s cruelest torturer, but lianor bites her tongue, just in time. “why, your highness, you speak as if we have not seen one another in years. do you not remember me as your most loyal - nay, excitable - subject? i merely could not impose, for your lordship certainly has company more jolly than mine own.” self-deprecation is a second tongue for lady montagu, whose smile only grows as she persists. “you flatter me, your grace. i pray that one day i shall be worthy of the high esteem your house places upon me.”
FOURTH CHALLENGE — character personality tests for lianor montagu: (4/12)
wc: 1,592 / points earned (thus far): 20
tw: light mention of abusive parental relationship; sexuality discourse (with mentions of: religion, homophobia, internalized misogyny and traditional gender roles); a ridiculous shitload of word vomiting without proofread yike !
1 — creepiest thing about you
𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖘: you are a disturbing control freak — caring for people and things does not work the way you think it does. you are so invested in making sure that everything around you is perfect that instead of showing you care, you plan and control without asking for any input (which, of course, you justify by telling yourself that you aren’t burdening anyone else with extra work). you call this “dedication,” but it’s not - it’s needing personal control so badly that you’ve confused it for real connection — which is not really a great quality in a friend, but a very helpful quality in an aspiring serial killer.
𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖞: i remember when this challenge first came out -- lmao why am i such a sloth -- i wrote an intricate, awed response at this result, but my computer turned off on itself so i guess i gotta content with this whatever lmao.
anyhow, incrediblé. i believe i have touched on the controlling nature lianor has in her -- it is born from her own mother’s, how the woman had wanted her daughter to be a puppet from a tender age; not to displease beatriz, lia was to assure just that. she easily became a sort of dominating figure in the welsh nursery, gently advising and guiding the royal kids to do her way, which is the right way. unlike her mother, she knew honey would catch more flies than vinegar (a mantra she tries to live by whenever ugly, awfully humane sentiments rush through her) and, thus, lianor continues pulling strings quietly, with a caress there, a gentle word here.
she grows impatient and vexed as her powers begin to fade on people, and now that she’s older, she more actively struggles against being controlled by others, though she is wise enough to know that, as a woman, in many situations she just will not have control and she must bow her head and follow. still, she tries to manipulate the outcome to favor her in some way, even if it is a minuscule silver lining she clings to in order to maintain her sanity and her illusion of power.
2 — four temperaments
𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖘: your temperament is phlegmatic (15) — the phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, ranging from warmly attentive to lazily sluggish. phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. they are accepting and affectionate. they may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. they are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. they can also be passive-aggressive.
𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖞: let me just say, i took this test on my first week portraying lia and i got a tie between sanguine and melancholic -- who is lying then?? are you telling me i’ve grown her enough for that to change??? fight me!! but hey at least sanguine and melancholic tied again, only two points behind phlegmatic so!!!
dumbassery aside, i guess this makes sense. as i usually take most of these tests as i am building my muse, i base their behavior on these results as much as the muse that flows through me on the day i am writing, but i think it’s silly to deny this result just for the sake of being a hater -- especially when the phlegmatic result does fit her: lianor is not particularly lazy, as her anxiety and fear of becoming useless makes that an inability, but if she does allow herself a time off, there is little she would really want to do other than partaking in that noble girl lying on a ottoman couch fantasy!
more importantly, she is definitely on the quiet side, and kindness and warmth are traits she intends to display and, though i haven’t said it outright, i believe it can be assumed rightfully so that she is a good administrator, with a good head for finances and overall stability over risk.
3 — tea type
𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖘: chamomile tea — you are a warm blanket in the form of a human. you’re welcoming and comforting, and loved ones know they can turn to you when they need a hug or a soothing word. you appreciate the cozy things in life, like wrapping up in a blanket and listening to the rain. in a world full aggression, competition and noise, you believe there’s bravery in being soft.
𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖞: reading this blurb makes me feel so uwu, in a very romantic way i imagined when i first wrote lianor (if you ignore how big of an angst whore i am lmao), so sure, i will take it. lia intends to be this sort of safe, cozy harbor for her loved ones, where they all can forget of the harsh realities of ruling -- though she found herself quite able to do so before, she becomes more cynical, and fearful this ability will become an impossibility soon enough (which in return makes her despise those she judge that are to blame for this demystification of her idyllic world).
4 — sexuality
𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖘: for 40% you are heterossexual. this means that you are attracted only to the opposite sex. this is the most accepted and ‘normal’ sexuality, so don’t worry about fitting in with sexuality -- you will be fine.
you could also get this result:
for 30% you are bisexual. this means that you are attracted to both sexes. this sexuality is very broad -- you can love whomever you want. in reality, both boys and girls. it’s also fairly accepted, as you are both straight and gay.
𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖞: as someone with about 5 scorpios in my zodiac map, i have no qualms about discussing sex and sexuality in any way, so this is going to be an interesting ride. as always, i thought i should discuss character origins, as lianor really has bloomed ever since i began planning her, to as she was actually played. so, originally, she was as straight as a board -- as someone who has had primarily one romantic and sexual connection, she remains constant with her affections and desires, which are invested on a cismale, as it should be expected for a pious noblewoman as she is. thus, i insisted she was a hetero for quite a bit, only for her to come at me and make me proud with just a huge amount of gay -- god i love one (1) sapphic babe! because, well, i envisioned her relationship with the princess of england as one of sisterly love, but because there was a sapphic route me and the princess’ former player went by, i am interested in discussing that again with her player (who shall hopefully be here soon).
lia enjoys women -- she thinks they are gorgeous, strong beings, and she also envies them, well rooted in the environment she is at. the fateful night she did engage in intercourse with one, she powered through with mild distaste, making her purpose to appeal for the male gaze, to prove to her male partner she was not just another whore he would take to his bed and forget the next morning. she claims kissing women have become a boring affair, that she has tired of pretending and would rather go for the real thing -- a man, in which she would be expected to conceive with -- but everything she speaks must be taken with a grain of salt, since this is the 15th century and even if there is no penis, so there is no sodomy, a love for a woman that is something more than fraternal is wrong, for a woman is made for a man, and she believes she has already found her match.
this single sexual encounter and her insistence in telling herself she is disgusted by homosexuality rings to me not only of religious-infused prejudice, but also of a notion many claim secondary: the ace aspect. being a literal assexual definitely does not work for lianor, who has fire running in her veins and is not at all against asking for her earthly desires to be quenched by the right man -- but demisexuality’s definition interest me a lot; demisexuals require a good amount of bonding to be able to enjoy the sexual act -- they may do it anyways, as i know people in real life to have done and as lia does in her marital bed, but enjoying it is a whole other thing. thus, it makes sense she could not find sexual joy in a random encounter that was fashioned more to please her partner than herself. when she did think of a woman she had a deep connection with -- her dearest french penpal -- though there was an immense shame, lia found no difficulty in enjoying herself.
however, again, this should all remain entirely circumstantial due to the mentality of the century; she would rather not strain from what is normal, and resign herself to her feminine position, in which she should please her man and bear his children, regardless of her own pleasure in the matter. female friendships should remain just that, and otherwise she would seek to distance herself from the personification of sin for her own sake. to go through with modern, anachronistic notions would strip the verse of what it is and instead would make me speak of the bi icon lianor beauchamp that was born in the 1990s -- and that is a whole other talk.
she wonders if it is an auspicious sign that her sister’s words have come true -- the feast is grand, and though it is held in good faith, in celebration of union and, thus, with enemy foreign aid in organisation, the decorated saloon bustling with life only reminds her of home, of the lively english court she had not truly missed until the tightness in her chest begged her so. the countess of salisbury ignores the feeling with poise, blaming it on the restrains to hold her gown in all its luxury, instead glancing towards the merry crowd.
“it seems the wariness over the wine has finally passed. do you believe it wise?” the red-haired queries the masked person closest to her, a welcoming smile playing in her lips as if she was the hostess herself--those who identified her as who she truly was, perhaps would find no harm in her courteous inquire, after all, she was an adept of the notion alcohol only fouls those who indulge on it.
