“A letter, Your Highness,” greeted one of Liana’s ladies as the Princess returned from her walk. “Sent from the palazzo of His Majesty the King of Croatia.”
“Indeed? Read it to me,” she instructed, allowing another of her ladies to help her out of her cloak. She listened with interest to the roll of the words, the subtle swirling lilt. Liana enjoyed the sound of Latin: soft sibilance intertwined with acerbic architecture, its sentences unfurling and breathing like a pennant upon the breeze. She could almost imagine a Roman legion marching before it, guiding by the rhythm of word upon word upon word.
“Will you send a reply, Your Highness?” inquired her secretary.
Liana’s inhale was sharp and, at last, she inclined her head. “That is the thing, isn’t it? I must write before I call.” Quickly, the scribe caught up his pen, inkwell, and some fine parchment. “No,” interrupted Liana. “Thank you, but no. I shall write it, myself. After all, I mean to meet with His Majesty, myself. I may as well write to him, myself. This letter, after all, does not appear to be the work of a scribe. If a king may find the time to write a princess in his own hand, she may find the time to do likewise.”
Quickly, the secretary vacated his seat and the princess assumed it. Gently, she ran a smoothing hand across the parchment, thoughtful, feeling the gullies and hills of its surface slowly, ordering her thoughts. Then, a decided nod of the head and her stylus came to hand, ink rolling and pooling in the neat lines she traced upon it. First, the long and lofty salutation, fixing his string of magnificent titles, then, the meat of the letter, writ bold in neat script.
❛❛ I am most pleased to report to Your Majesty of my continued wellbeing. The trip was pleasant as any such excursion may be, its hazards few and its vistas of great interest to myself and my companions. Few are the princesses so fortunate as to leave their home with the hope of returning once more to that state which she has left – a fate which is my happy good fortune and my greater joy in leaving Portugal behind. _
❛❛ Your Majesty may well count upon my continuous friendship. It is my hope that goodwill may proliferate throughout all Christendom, giving rise to peace and prosperity for all. Yet, the sad condition into which mine own uncle, His Majesty the King of Aragon – yes, it is this title which is his due – has fallen remains most troubling. So long as this condition persists, our relations with the Ottomans remain equally tense. I am in hope that these grievances, too, may soon be rectified, particularly in light of Your Majesty’s most noble support.
❛❛ The climate is most agreeable in large part, but then perhaps it is not so very different from my own home climate - though I do admit to missing greatly the sea breezes from my own home. I hope the clime has struck Your Majesty as most pleasant, as well. There are few challenges like being both mentally and physically taxed. As to the individuals I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, though I have only lately arrived and therefore had little opportunity of interaction, I have found each encounter to be most elucidating. It begins to be my impression that a greater number of such gatherings might well suit future generations. I may add that sometime soon I may add Your Most Gracious Majesty to the list of those whom I have had the very great honor of meeting here in Florence. Pray advertise to me a time and place that will suit Your Majesty that we may converse in person.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌. Just as they wanted to secure the whiff of compromise, the vague promise of a future alliance, she had her sights set on the present. Nikola would probably state that all pragmatic rulers did: the future was too tenuous, and too spurned against people, to avow any insight. Jakov had not the inkling of an idea whether that held any truth. His own future seemed at times to have been a match played by another - an elusive body of present elements, comprising his family, his lineage, but also his own proclivities, for power, for fulfilled pleasure, both just as undue to him. Even when he felt he was holding the dices, he cast a spiteful throw with them, like he longed to pull the plank from under his feet. It was like this when Jakov's father had died and invested him Ban: months and months of his estates not even seeing the shadow of his steps, laying duties aside with delicious abandon, as if not caring was a feat onto itself. But he had cared, hadn’t he ? Even then, when the outline of his own power was feebly forming up, he’d already insinuated himself upon another’s.
He would have to bring this forth to Nikola, he knew. They had bargained for a lukewarm prelude, some tokens bestrewn here and there, gifts and boons and oh so royal gratefulness. At the opposite end of the parchment, the Princess bargained for a conference.
And what of this Aragon nonsense ? Did that even take place in the same bloody century they lived in ? His tongue pushed against his teeth, thoughtful, and yet somewhat remote from it all. There was a shortfall between him and the king when it came to the full ambit of state affairs. It was caused by more than Jakov's lacuna about foreign events, or in streamlined etiquette — it was also, pure and simple, disinterest. He liked the spin of flavors in holding authority. He exerted it well enough, but he took it where he found it, sometimes in a contest, other times in provocation, even more often in the bedchamber. The Duke did not know how to handle this all-encompassing, indistinct sense of power. This dominion that seemed to reach everywhere on the continent and yet reside nowhere at all. Irked, distracted, but not so young enough anymore to permit himself to divert it, he thought Francesia would have known a way out.
❛❛ We can only concur with the hope that future gatherings shall be a steady tradition for the future princes, and the present one a prolonged and fruitful conjecture. Of the second matter Your Highness broached to us, we will consult with your advisors and try to secure a breach in our appointments. Our correspondence sends to a future full of promise, and it is thus why we cannot in good conscience expedite our personal meeting, or otherwise risk hosting it at an inopportune moment.
❛❛ Beyond measurable doubt, the noble eminence of Osman has many more summits to reach and ensigns to impose before we can foresee any reliable conclusion. In the wake of this, how fare your most illustrious monarchs, His and Her Royal Majesties of Portugal? Do they share the younger need for rectification that you so boldly and rightfully exhibit? We leave you in good faith and in our most present graces.
𝔎𝔯𝔞𝔧𝔩 𝔑𝔦𝔨𝔬𝔩𝔞 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔅𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔠, ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔞 ℜ𝔢𝔵, 𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔢𝔵 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔬 ℌ𝔢𝔯 ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔓𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔩, 𝔈𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔞 𝔡𝔢 𝔅𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔫𝔷𝔞.