location & setting: château de la tournelle
closed to @castilianrose
the king of castile’s patience was wearing thin. his eyes narrowed askance as another footling noble approached the dais and bowed before the king low enough that it appeared he had collapsed, and not simply displayed his fealty. the lord then wrestled to reach forth and painstakingly kiss each of the ruby jewels glinting upon alfonso’s fingertips, marveling at the towheaded monarch who sat regally on the throne. surrounded by a knot of humbly attired, and yet masterful and ambitious men of the cloth who advised the king in all matters, alfonso had received numerous delegations of nobles, masters, and landholders all seeking for the crown to rule in their favour, whether to return lands, prestige, or execute pardons. obsequious behaviour prevailed, intended to be as intoxicating as the wine the king and his court imbibed –– and yet resulting in a smarting headache, rather than a pleasant stupor. his annoyance diplomatically registered as thoughtful quiet, only the flick of his wrist indicating his verdict to his advisers. the king’s head lowered, and the noble lord was dismissed; his fate unbeknownst to him.
“ the marquess de las salinas awaits your audience, ” chaplain siodina alerted, a gentle touch upon the king’s velvet arm, “ unless you wish to reconvene until the morrow, your grace. ” the king sternly requested that the marquess be brought in, reaching for a goblet of ale perched upon the salver beside him. one could infer that the king maintained a special fondness for salinas, though he was reticent to display undue partiality. as he sipped leisurely, the bitter tonic curling around his tongue rather like a serpentine, the oak doors leading into the grand hall where the king took council pried open and an apparition flashed between them. alfonso’s brows arched in recognition of the marchioness, expecting the aged appearance of her husband in her stead. inhaling a swift intake of breath, an unhurried smile smoothed across his mouth; his lips then twitched, and the untimely reaction dissipated into an emotionless stare. he made no attempt to speak, nor address the marchioness.
tartness marked the tone in which he spoke when, at last, his voice rose to greet her. “ tell me, marchioness, do you frequently masquerade as your husband? if it was an audience with your king you desired, you need only ask. ”