&.. we were ecstasy

prince karim al-barracín of cordoba

[princekarim]

prince-wen·:

.

“Karim!” Wen said, quite forgetting his manners in the face of his surprise. He had not know Karim was here – in this church, or in Paris at all. It seemed foolish not to have realised, since he was aware that at least some of Cordoba would be in attendance, but he had had a lot on his mind so hadn’t devoted much thought to Karim. 

He wasn’t sure if he would call Karim a friend, exactly. Rather, Wen got caught up in the current of his wild adventures and wondered bemusedly how he was fortunate enough to have the company of someone so bold, so charismatic. There was a quiet voice in his head that suggested that the likely answer was simply that Wen never said no, but he tried to ignore it. Karim’s time in China had been brief, but memorable. “What are you doing here? I hope you have not decided to convert. This Western religion seems quite violent.”

From what little he knew of Karim’s religion, it seemed a far more peaceful belief to hold.

the surprise in wen’s voice made the corner of karim’s mouth turn up wryly, the tone not unfamiliar from the usual way wen addressed him. if yicheng was the hard, silvery scales on the back of the ming dynasty’s dragon, wen was the soft underbelly, coddled and coveted by the chinese. he’d been easily swept up into karim’s much stronger orbit during his time in china, usually following at his heels always ready to take a sharp jab from the cordoban’s barbed tongue. “well, I suppose I am doing much the same as you. loitering to the best of my ability and seeing where they keep that key to the blood of christ.” 

a wicked smile spread across karim’s face as wen’s retinue cringed at his words. if there was one thing karim had loved the most in all his travels, it had been making the chinese nobles uncomfortable, breaking every rule they had and flaunting it just because he could. “what, do you not want a taste of the blood of a god?”

[princekarim]

amiraofcordoba·:

—

“Yes - of course you must have been tired. I know when your father would return from his battles, he was always weary of it all.” Amira was quiet as she regarded her nephew - treading carefully around the issues of war. She knew the toll it could take, had seen how it had affected Hisham and had claimed more than one of her husbands, and it was difficult not to worry for Karim. “I only hope you take care not to push yourself too hard.”

The topic changed and she sighed, soft. “Nothing of note, I suppose. It is… an adjustment, to manage the governance. There are doubters, of course. But I am learning. I would rather be there, if only because I hate to leave so soon.” She nodded at his question, taking another taste from her plate. “It is - strange, yes. And the pageantry is quite… zealous. But these things have always been more about the showmanship, have they not? They wish to send a message to their guests of their wealth and power.” She glanced up at him, reaching over to give his hand a pat. “Tell me, then, of your adventures, if you will not answer my questions. Your mother took great pride in your bravery.”

“what is battle except the pushing of one’s limits to the very brink?” it was something one couldn’t truly fathom until being in the thick of it created a singular line of thought: to stay alive. for all the books and literature amira had consumed, she would never truly know the heat and the panic of battle, and it was all the better. “did you ever ride to battle with baba, as mama did?” he asked curiously, not sure of the answer. though of course, amira had fought her own battles with the three husbands she’d bred and lost. the red widow of cordoba they called her, in whispered tones in taverns and alleys. it was a common way to get into a brawl with the prince of cordoba, to say something within earshot of him that disparaged his aunt. though they may disagree on many things, her honor was not one of them.

“baba tells me you have become quite the stateswoman. and I’ve heard from  people that they’ve enjoyed having you in charge.” he lavished quick praise on her, a proud note ringing out from the underbelly of his words. “so you enjoy it? the actuarial work, the meetings, the tedious days?” the bias was strong and evident in the upstart man’s words, and he’d made no secret of the fact that he was disinclined to the more mundane parts of the job. “what do you want to know of? of the deserts that stretch for what seems like forever under our borders? or the tribes who live on it and to the east, in the thick brush?”

[lorenzs]

@princekarim @mateo-trastamara

[princekarim]

@sehzademurad​

though france’s air had more of a chill to it than karim prefered, the prince’s skin glistened with sweat turning his skin golden as he sparred with one of his men, the sounds of steel against steel filling the courtyard. the spar felt rejuvenating after days of feasting and revelry, and the bloodrush to his muscles made sure that karim was in top form, not a prince in sleepy diplomatic mode but a warrior in the prime of his ability. the practice did have to come to an end though, as he’d promised his mother he’d make the effort to see his ottoman cousins. they each held different qualities of his mother in them, and though they were separated by more than just distance their bond hadn’t suffered much since the days of their youth when hurrem would travel with her two children to spend summers in constantinople. 

a rough rag dried only his face as he unbuckled some of the weathered practice armor he wore, fingers quickly and deftly working the metal and leather as he realized he was late by the tolling of paris’ great cathedral bells. it was in somewhat of a rush that he walked into the ottoman quarters, a small word with a servant enough to point him in the right direction. “murad, brother! tell me of your travels, were they smooth?” his voice entered the room before he did, sauntering in with all the athleticism of his warmed up muscles. he did not want to sit and talk, but courtesy ensured at least a meeting before asking for a stroll. 

[princekarim]

hurremx·:

        “ you tell me only what i would like to hear, but as it is music to my ears i shall question you not. ” every instinct told her to hold onto him longer, tighter, closer … fear of separation from her dear boy igniting every motherly instinct to keep him close and yet she dared not to cling too tightly for she knew how such suffocation often drew children from the arms of their mother and hurrem preferred to continue as a sanctuary to her son; even if it meant suffering through separation for a time. “ i brought you into this world, might i not gaze upon my own creation? if it were not for me you would not have a heart to beat! ” she scolded in jest, her tone forceful but her smile singing of fondness as a hand sought to caress her son’s cheek in the place of where she once might have tickled his sides to tease him further.

“ all journeys which take me from our home seem arduous to me, but it was as pleasant as can be in your absence. home is joyous as the streets sing the praises of your father and yourself, you have brought much pride to our people, which you shall no doubt experience upon your return. ” the emira spoke with well deserved pride as she sought to take a seat beside the window, gesturing a hand so that her son might join her once he has finished his interrogation of their inanimate surroundings. “ i have indeed, the family appear very well and mihrimah thrives with each passing day. i shall not inform her you inquire about her first, she will only tell murad of this and he will no doubt feel great disappointment that you favour his sister above him. ” a mother feigned disapproval towards her son, pausing only to call one of her attendants to bring refreshments before all attention returned to karim once more. “ wont you tell me of your adventures? how was your journey and how do you rest? after such events it is most important that you speak of it and find the time to seek rest, your mind will thank you for it. ”

“fair enough mama, I shall let you caress the skin that you made as long as no soul holds watchful eye over us.” the embarrassment of youth sprung from karim, battling his deep desire for his mother’s affection. the bond between mother and son was one that would be sung in the ballads of the future, a love deep enough to fuel karim’s seemingly endless fire. a gallant smile spread across his face at the news of home, of his country celebrating their victorious prince. “they will have much to be proud of, this is only the beginning.” he mumbled, half to himself and half to his mother. he had plans which had yet to be spoken into existence, a dream of spreading cordoba’s glory to the lands in the south and towards their cousins in the east. perhaps his mother’s ears would be the best to hear of these plans first, to gift her divine knowledge to him in service of his ideas. 

“thank you for your silence mama, i dare not risk murad’s wrath or jealousy.” though it was far from a secret which of his cousins karim prefered. being the hot-blooded youth he was, seeing the sparkle of a threat in another’s eyes was what most excited him, and mihrimah was the one most apt at throwing his sardonic wit back at him. crossing the room to sit next to her, karim leaned out the window, eyes lazily searching the outside. “of what should I tell you? my travels? they are nothing of note, barely a cloud in the sky during the sail across the sea, and only one lame horse during the ride.” he paused, fingers playing with the gold band he wore around his wrist, a gift from his father many moons ago. “or should I tell you of the south —  it was nothing like the enormous battles baba has waged. it was attack by night and retreat by day, a real hide and seek game with the local tribes.” attracting attention hadn’t been the goal, making trouble had been. the expedition had been a warning to the small villages and tribes even further south that the mighty al-barracin’s eyes were turning southwards. “i do not want to rest mama. not when there is so much more to do. this gathering in particular has made my mind turn. why have i been waging war in the south when so much opulence and wealth exists in the north? why do we not make these europeans scared of us again?”

[princekarim]

shahmehdi​:

♚

The spirited response was as he might expect from any hot-blooded youth that sought glory on the battlefield. His father had been one such; though glory had not been his only aim. The stories that even his children grew up on, the tales that grew immortalised to legend—these were of warriors. “A noble, and natural, desire. Though we have only met, your spirit alone—and tales of your valour, of course—tells me that your words will be true one day, and sooner rather than later.”

He nodded, gesturing with his head. “Oh, indeed. As such an event has called those even more distant than us—” he raised a cup in the direction of some Ming nobles— “it seemed wrong to miss yet another opportunity to grow our connections. I have made acquaintances with several, but likely not many, not compared to those you must know.” He looked around the room briefly, counting those heads he knew—a shocking few—before turning again to the prince. “Cordoba, of course, is an emirate I have long admired. It is favourable that we have met in such a manner; these acquaintances are better, I believe, than formal meetings.” 

the flattery from the shah was a curious thing to karim, a prince so used to the slightly hostile and egotistical words of the european nobles. the battle of words was never an arena karim had taken much joy in, but he’d met many nobles here who loved to twist their words into soliloquies and paragraphs that didn’t amount to much at all. the shah struck him as one of the sort, smaller and much less physically impressive than he’d imagined. it was a silent nod, a soldier's response that led his acknowledgement of the flattery, though on this instance for once he found it wise to hold his tongue. 

“you are right in that, I have had the great honors and displeasures of meeting many nobles over my travels.” to beat one’s enemy, one had to know them, intimately so, and that had been karim’s goal when he’d set out on his odyssey, many years ago now. he’d learned their ways and their scandals, each more intriguing than the next. it’d been time well spent for the young prince, and luckily all the ale consumed at grifty taverns had not impeded his ability to learn and soak in the experience. “I must agree with you there, an informal meeting is a better way to judge a man’s character. I dread the day my life turns into the endless meetings of my father.”

[princekarim]

prince-wen·:

o p e n  s t a r t e r

In the interest of showing an open mindedness, Wen had been encouraged to attend a French church in order to experience their culture. He had studied religions of the West to a point, but it is another thing altogether to see a cathedral in person. He was particularly taken with the stained glass, and found himself staring at it through most of the sermon. It was incredibly peculiar, with strange stories and stranger singing, but he’d been expecting that. What he’d not expected was the horror of transubstantiation. Nobody had warned him about that.

“The wafer…” Wen said, quietly horrified by the violence of the notion. “Becomes the body of Christ? This is meant literally?”

The Mass has ended, and people have begun to file out while others remain in the pews. Wen is one of these people, processing what he’s just heard, wondering if there’s been a translation error, and he had turned to address the person sitting across the aisle from him.

for a while now the prince of cordoba had been loitering around the darkened pews at the back of the church. he knew he wasn’t exactly welcome here— though no singular person had dared to say it directly to his face, his ears had often caught wind of the maligned whispers of certain europeans, hushed tones filled with reproach and fear about the muslim scourge currently afflicting the iberian peninsula. but he was curious about the seemingly brutal ways of catholicism (much to the disappointment of his aunt amira) and he’d been using this decidedly catholic celebration to explore the churches of paris, if only for a clinical curiosity. 

he’d spotted wen early then made his way over as the people started to filter out, avoiding their stares best as possible by sticking to the shadows. karim had only been able to pick up a bit of chinese while visiting the east, but he was able to pick up the gist of wen’s murmurs, punctuated by the expression on his face. “ah, better to ask a more god-fearing sort that question, my observations have left me with few clues on their more opaque rituals.” he slid in without introduction, fairly confident that the young prince hadn’t forgotten him yet.

[vhsmeme]

* talk about your muse!

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[princekarim]

point call december 22nd, 2020, 10pm:  +165 pts, total 345 pts

[princekarim]

shahmehdi·:

♚

Mehdi’s own reign as king had been one of peace thus far; he himself had never had the opportunity to ride into battle, with little but border disputes to concern them on a military front, and all had deemed that as being below the attention of the shah. That being so, he could hardly respond to that remark appropriately, as he himself could only be called a king that sat on his throne and collected wives—in the most recent case, to the great disturbance of his court—but the prince was right. “Are you an experienced soldier then?” he asked, in lieu of agreeing with or denying such a statement.

Mehdi nodded. “We in Iran prefer the same. Riding is our greatest sport, apart from wrestling.” Mehdi took the offered hand, returning it with a short nod of his own, his mind reeling on introduction. The Cordobans were a direction of great possibility for Iran, if they chose to pursue it. He had been intending to make an acquaintance with their royalty from the day they began riding to Paris, and now here one was, right before him. “It is the honour of Shah Mehdi Mirza of Iran to greet you, Prince Karim. I have heard much and more of Cordoba, as well as the skill at arms of its heir. I shall assume I was correct; you are an experienced soldier—no, more, a leader of men.”

was he an experienced soldier? well, in his own warring lineage the answer would currently stray further towards the negative. it was just his luck that his father would choose to become peaceful as karim was coming into age, though his recent exploits in the regions south of the cordoban empire in north africa could not be denied. “to say I am experienced would be a slight to the warriors whom have lived many more years than me.” he paused, letting the words die slightly as he was once again distracted by the spinning dancers. “but mark my words, I will have my impact soon.” the words were far from a threat, just a fact that karim knew to be true. he’d get his moment of glory, though in whose defeat was not yet known.

karim let the shah’s flattery wash over him, peacocking slightly in it’s warm glow. he was glad his reputation had spread to the east. he knew little about the shah’s own kingdom, only that of which he’d learned from his ottoman cousins. in his travels, he’d just missed the country, opting for a more northern route through russia to get through china. “I thank you for your praise. to be lauded by one of the great strategic minds of the east is an honor. in truth, I am quite surprised to see you here, though I supposed the canonization of a king calls everyone from every reach of the globe. have you made acquaintance with many of the europeans?”

[princekarim]

amiraofcordoba·:

Starter for: @princekarim·

Location: Chateau de Vincennes

Her nephew was a headstrong young man - something he had adopted from his father, she was sure of that. But unlike Hisham, he seemed less inclined to listen to her words, though it never stopped her trying. She had no children of her own, and so looking after Hisham’s prince and princess were the closest she had ever come to motherhood.

His arrival in Paris, shortly after their own, was something of a relief, and she was content to greet him as they broke their fast the morning after. “You look well, Karim. I worried for you. It is a great burden off my heart to know you have arrived safely.” Then, after a brief pause and a taste of her food: “I did not see you come to prayer this morning. Were you sleeping late?”

his aunt had always been somewhat of a wildcard for karim. unlike his mother and father, whom sometimes he felt he had wrapped around his finger, amira saw through him better than they could. she had the ability to match karim for turn of phrase, though her words were never as sharp as his. though he couldn’t always read her well, karim did have the a sense of the times her annoyance would rise at his open flaunting of the rules of their religion. lately, it had seemed that it was all the time that he was doing something wrong, though the distance during his time along the southern border had helped a bit.

“thank you auntie amira. I do confess, the journey to france was longer and more tedious than I anticipated. I am glad to be with my family again.” he paused, letting her question sink in as he mulled the best way to answer in his mind. “and of zaragoza, is there any news? anything new?” he stalled, her eyes boring into him, willing him not to lie. “yes, I did in fact sleep late. the journey had made me more weary than I imagined.” and the jugs of wine drank after midnight with old friends hadn’t helped. “don’t you find it odd to be in a city like this, in the middle of one of the most christian affairs possible? the spectacle is enormously ostentatious.”   

[princekarim]

hurremx·:

       though she never lacked in company or matters to oversee, hurrem had never felt lonelier than she had in the absence of both her son and, more recently, her husband. hurrem knew karim for the man that he was. as much as she wished she could tuck him under her arm once again, the sultana felt nothing less than adoration and admiration for the man he had become and the paths he was choosing to take, even though they had taken him far from the safety of their home and far from her. she understood the need, how could she not? she came from a line of sultans who were conquerors, her own brother taking the land of constantinople some years prior, whilst hurrem herself had ridden on campaign along side her husband for all to see as they were required to prove themselves to the world or perish. hurrem had no fear in the face of violence, yet she would always manage to find some hesitance when it came to her beloved son.

it was those very thoughts which occupied her thoughts as she moved about her quarters, directing servants and handing her most personal objects herself, when the voice which was still the sweetest to her ears banished any care she had for anything else. turning around quickly, hurrem dismissed all others in the room so that she might greet her son with the warm of smiles and an opening of her arms. “ my lion, you do your mother a great disservice and pain her in your lack of confidence before you have even embraced her! ” her eyes sought to seek any signs of tiredness on injury upon him, as she would when he would stumble as a young child, and yet knew she must refrain from causing too much of a fuss for he would disclose all when he felt it were time to do so. “ or has the world changed you so that you no longer seek my comfort? ”

striding across the room to embrace his mother, karim was suddenly aware of how exhausted he actually was. it had been a grueling five months of guerrilla warfare in the hot North African sun followed by a journey that had seen him take a breakneck pace to paris on what seemed like every form of transportation available. it was in the presence of his mother —  and only his mother — where he could finally let his guard down and feel the effects of the time that had passed. careful he was to not look too tired, as the lioness of cordoba would surely pounce on him if he did. he had what many of the nobility in paris didn’t have, two doting parents and a family that had not been torn apart by lust for power, and though he was grateful he could also do without his mother fussing over him like he was a child who’d tripped and bloodied their knees.

“mama, even if I were a thousand miles away with no hope of seeing you, I would long for your comfort.” his honeyed words dripped graciously into hurrem’s ears, not accompanied by their usual sardonic affliction. he let her hold him a second longer before pulling away, already feeling her eyes search him up and down. “avert your eyes woman! your gaze is making me conscious of even my own breathing, and I prefer to let my heart beat without my brain’s input.” he spoke to her in a way only a child could to his mother, with just enough cheek to make her laugh but not enough to be within striking distance. “tell me, how was your journey? how is home? have you seen your family yet? is mihrimah here? what about the others?” he peppered her with questions as he walked around the room, inspecting the quarters that the french had given the emira of cordoba. 

[princekarim]

shahmehdi·:

Of the many and varied kingdoms gathered here, very few spoke a tongue familiar to Mehdi’s own; their neighbours, the Ottoman, spoke a language Mehdi was familiar with of political necessity, but was as far removed from his own Persian tongue as Latin or Greek. But Arabic—Arabic was familiar, similar to Persian of a common history, and moreover the language of the Holy Book. To hear the sharp comment, and in Arabic nonetheless, a language he had not expected to hear in these environs, was surprising enough that Mehdi’s composure dropped, only for a second—a short burst of laughter ensuing.

“Is that not why we all wear such—layers?” Mehdi asked, in Arabic himself, unable to stop the stretch of his lips in an unseemly smile. The image of ducks in such finery danced before his eyes. “It would be a shame indeed to have this be the extent of fun one has in their lifetime. Is it not a form of entertainment you are fond of yourself, then? Dancing?”

karim’s pleasure at choosing the correct language that they could both converse in was evident as his dour expression lightened suddenly, happy he wouldn’t have to contort his tongue into the shapes of the romance languages for once. “perhaps you are right, especially for the kings who used to ride into battle that now sit on their thrones getting fat and collecting women.” it was a sharp critique, one that came dangerously close to implicating half the people in the room, but no hint of hush could be found in his voice. he doubted that many in the room beside them could speak arabic, and even so there were even fewer who could question him.

“dancing is fine enough, but no I wouldn’t say that I’m fond of it. I prefer less graceful sport like fighting or riding.” to say karim was a fighter, not a lover would’ve been an accurate statement, but he wondered what the other man was. “let me introduce myself before I disparage our hosts anymore. karim al-barracín, crown prince of cordoba.” it was a curt handshake that karim extending, figuring that the man had probably already guess his origin, if not y his looks than certainly by his accented arabic that had the distinct flair of wealthy ottoman society. “and yourself?”

[princekarim]

shahmehdi·:

where: great hall, the hotel saint-pol who: open to anyone

The French manner of amusing themselves was both completely unlike, and not very different from, the manners Mehdi was accustomed to. Here was luxurious food and music aplenty, and men and women dressed in lavish clothing, dripping with jewels. And yet, the food was strange, the music completely unfamiliar, from instrument to style, and there was a great preference for mobility. Rather than occupy a good seat and enjoy the music, they seemed to prefer to dance, to mingle and occupy themselves with conversation.

It was not entirely bad, he supposed; there was something that he would likely find more enjoyable about the whole process if it were not for the fact that he was entirely without friend there. Between difficulties of tongue and tact, the event was not quite to his taste. 

All the same, it was diplomacy that brought him to France, and speech was a significant part of that. Approaching the first person that seemed a good target for conversation, he said, “Do you know, I have never seen a dance of such a manner before.” He left out that he had certainly never seen so many members of nobility dance, either; many and more at home would be shocked at the very thought. They preferred to watch. “It all looks quite complicated.”

european pageantry had always had the same effect on karim: a bit of disgust in his stomach but not enough to stop him from imbibing on their sweet wines. if there was anything the french did better than anyone else, it was petty amusement and that was really what this whole gathering was about. petty amusement and politics, the former he could enjoy thoroughly while the latter made him wish for the battlefield all the more so. he’d spent enough time fraternizing with the european royals to pick up on their customs, their dances, what sweet talk was enough to get them into bed, but to say he enjoyed it as much as they seemed to was a stretch, a part of him always longing for the smokier more sultry affairs of the ottoman empire, or the bright loud celebrations of home.

he was more than happy to stay on the sidelines of their nonsensical dances, fingers encircling a goblet of wine like it was his only lifeline in what was to be an entire month of this nonsense. an eyebrow perked up as the man next to him spoke, and karim nodded in mild agreement, glancing at him to judge what language he thought the other man would be most comfortable with. “they should be glad they have all those yards of fabric to cover up their movements, i’m sure they look like fat waddling ducks underneath.” he muttered in arabic, sharp tongue not at all dulled by the cups of wine he’d had. “this is the most fun some of them will have in their entire lifetimes. it’s pitiful.”

[princekarim]

closed starter for @hurremx

it had been a long journey from the southern reaches of cordoba’s empire to paris. he’d crossed desert, mountains and the great sea, and his mood had gotten fouler and fouler with every step. it was a farce, just as the summit at lisbon had been a farce, a ghoulish assembly of dignitaries too scared to make war, instead preferring to sell off their daughters and make sweeping declarations of peace. he’d been doing a fine job — no, a spectacular job in the south, galloping through village after village of people that dared oppose cordoba’s might. it had been fun, the skirmishes a welcome respite from pageantry and pomp. at least all of that, the blood, the heat, the pain, had been real, unlike this fundamentally christian affair.

he’d had been perfectly happy to keep sweating it out on the battlefield, but now he was facing a different sort of battle: his doting mother, who he hadn’t seen in months. he wondered — did he look different? battle hardened? hungry for more? he would soon know, as he’d inherited his particular propensity to speak the biting truth from her. he’d hardly had time to change and wash before heading over to her quarters, arms sheepishly crossed as to not show off any new injuries. “mama?” a soft knock was followed by his head poking around the corner, dark eyes darting about. “no feast for your favorite son’s arrival? i’m disappointed.” he spoke in arabic, an automatic switch in his brain that he’d have to use less during his time in france.

[princekarim]

;the birth of a warrior

Karim had traded the castles and feasts of Portugal for the grassland and blood of North Africa and truly he could say he was happier in one than the other. To cut his teeth in service of his father, his king, his country, by pushing the boundaries further, further south, that had been the goal. Perhaps an errant task, perhaps one not directly assigned by his father, but if Karim was to be ruler one day, he reckoned he had to be prepared to make bold moves, without supervision. 

The boy who had left Portugal had finally seen some of the conflict that he’d so ached for while sitting in endless political dinners. The blood and dirt of the skirmishes fought along Cordoba’s southern borders had stuck to his skin, turning boy into man and man into warrior. When faced with the threat of the sharp edges of cold, hard steel, the rest of the world faded away and the battlefield was finally able to see if Hisham’s grit on the battlefield now flowed through his son. 

With bared teeth and guttural noise, it was clear that the man revelled in the adrenaline of the fight, the animalistic purity of a fight to the death. No longer was this a spoiled prince scrapping outside of pubs — though he wouldn’t mind that either. This was a coldhearted combatant, focused not on the man he was fighting, but the next man after that, the next village after that. Though Cordoba’s bloody conquests in the Iberian peninsula may have calmed for now, it was shockingly easy to see what one could get away with where the trembling Europeans weren’t looking.

And just as soon as Karim had set his eyes on the fertile land below the Niger river, the call had come to return home. He’d thought that he’d bought his way out of the political theatre through blood and land, but even Hisham’s approval over his conquests couldn’t save him from his duty to represent Cordoba in the political arena. It was his least favorite game, the one of whispers and deals made in secret rooms, of Kings and Queens made not by war, but by wine and the exchanging of decrees.

In France, Karim is on the surface not so different from the flippant, mischievous boy in Portugal. But a danger now lurks underneath his dark eyes and reliably sharp tongue. Realizing one’s power beyond petty games changes the undercurrent of a soul, and though bodily vices still beckon, they’re drowned out by an absolute need of power.

[princekarim]

crownedprxncess·:

- &&. YICHENG ROLLED HER EYES so hard it felt as if they had turned a full 360 degrees. Oh how he could push her buttons one moment and have her eyes watering from laughter the next, ❝ The two of you will be my demise…❞ There was a glint in her dark eyes as she spoke, the unmistakable appearance of her smile she never could quite suppress whilst jesting with Karim, ❝ Perhaps we should put a wager on it…which one of you will I kill, I mean, die in mysterious circumstances, first. But I suppose there is nothing stopping the two of you from joining forces to send me to my own demise. ❞ Yicheng spoke as if she were deadly serious - almost all of her humour and sarcasm was delivered that way; deadpan, as flat as the grassy plains surrounding the lands of Lisbon.

It was always a delight to hear Karim’s tales of adventure. Whether it was a simple diplomatic appearance or an official visit to Cordoba’s territories, Karim always seemed to land himself in hot water. Those stories were best shared alongside a bottle of wine and a warm fire.❝ Yes I watch in utter awe of your spectacle. I wonder just how many brothels and noble houses you have been ‘removed’ from now.  ❞ Whorehouses and extramarital company were not included on the Princess’s agenda, but that did not stop her from living through Karim’s journeys. Oh the fun they could have together, if only she was not tied down through familia, diplomatic obligations.❝ The best way to greet your enemies is with a smile. That being said, you must warn me should you spot the Crown Princess of Russia around. I wouldn’t be surprised if had made arrangements to have me killed. In my defense, I didn’t know her husband was married, or rather, I didn’t ask - I simply take. ❞

“not i!” karim said, false shock running through his tone. “no, if i had to put money on who would take you down, it would certainly be him.” he paused, letting her get her piece in as his smile spread further apart. he danced around her, a howl of laughter not able to be contained in just his voice, but spreading to his movements as well. “dear princess, if you couldn’t get rid of me in china, what makes you think you’d be successful here, of all places?” he would wager that this close to the european cordoban capital, the prince certainly had more contacts than the princess, no matter her charm. “don’t give me ideas, i may have to start working together with jijuan next.” it was a sentence with tiny odds attached, as yicheng knew just as well as karim how much he didn’t get along with the constrained general.

“removed? no darling, they love me.” and the gold, men, and jests he brought along with him. karim rarely partook during an excursion to the whorehouse, much preferring to loiter in the front rooms and trade slander with the girls, but the whole spectacle of the thing, especially when a bunch of drunken courtsmen were involved appealed to him greatly. ”please tell me you haven’t made an enemy of russia already.” the princess’ sharp tongue against the icy heart of russia — now that was a tussel he would’ve paid money to see. “on that same note, if you see the crown prince of russia, please extend the same courtesy.” a wicked grin followed the words, indication that karim wouldn’t quite have minded another run in with that particular russian.