#cw.start

[goldenrochford-blog]

          It was as a result of death which they gathered, but the court appeared all the more alive for it. Every corner of the room was filled with warm bodies, all huddled in small circles, muttering to one another in barely decipherable tones        while all around the room her own ladies had been placed, positioned to listen to the whispers of others and report back to their mistress. With a sigh, Jane plucked a single grape from the silver tray,  ❛ I must not be the only one who finds eating sweet things to be a comfort in times of sadness, otherwise, they would not have prepared so much food, ❜  she pondered to the courtier beside her, while she cermoniously popped the grape into her mouth. 

[cedere--nescio-blog]

Speed was an addictive force, and although Catherine was recommended against a gallop, she tested the pace alongside her fleet of guards. The startling green of the forest, a maze of trees and brush sprawled out sweeter than a tray of delicacies for the queen. Her schedule scarcely permitted for afternoon rides, especially compounded with her newfound hosting duties to foreigners. Still, the moment allowed a short-lived yet worthy solace to whip between branches and pretend, if even for a moment, that the royal family’s safe, serene Paradise was limitless. Leather gloves gripped against her horse’s mane, back arched in an ethereal calm as Cat headed back towards court with a hawklike glare of a gaze. Raven hair whipped behind her, resounding like a greek Fury, before she cursed under her breath and attempted to halt her horse’s thunderous gallop far earlier than expected due to the the figure lingering near the entrance to the property. Directly situated in her horse’s hoof path.

Stubborn, the Queen curtly nodded for her guards and ladies-in-waiting trailing behind on their steeds to give space before she hopped off of her horse and swayed nonchalantly to the lingerer. ‘Tell me,’ velvet voice drawled extra slow as she gingerly peeled off her gloves, attempting to restrain her fluster with a steady, silent sigh, ‘Is it in your nature to play with risk? Do you gravitate towards danger? Or are you simply testing my afternoon ride?’ She let out a laugh and batted her eyes, tilting her head, imploring, slyly allowing a hint of a smirk.

[xorleansx]

open starter

England has been a gathering place for his family but it was also a gathering place of power. Friends and enemies. Everyone was drinking, plotting and trying their best to survive in the wilderness of court life. You never know who is listening, who is spying on you and the maid you had in your bed could just as well be the king`s best spy. It entertained Philippe`s mind for quite some time but as he had matured it became annoying. A simple would have been easier, harder, perhaps in a way but easier in another. Definitely better for the sanity of his mind.  An admirer of ancient Greek and Roman Empires, Philippe grew a bit paranoid over the years about who is to be trusted. He wanted to dethrone his own cousin and yet he feared being stubbed in the Senate. Desperately wanting to rule the kingdom and yet believing in the principles of the republic. He hoped to put himself into the centre of the change. A change was all that he craved. He thought the world would be much different after the end of the war and yet nothing seemed to change much. France was prospering but not fast enough. It was more about pretending that the world was doing just fine but the kings could not be sure of their crowns and countries could not blindly believe that peace would last forever.  His eyes glued to the copy of the Aurelius` Meditations, a copy he carried everywhere with himself and the cold spring wind was supposed to dismiss any curious lurkers {maybe even be a clear sign of a rebellion for the passing courtiers} but not this one. The stare was too strong to avoid and he finally looked up .... ‘I shall wish you a good morning as well, dear...

[tsar-alexander]

Wherever Alexander stepped, he commanded the pace. Even his own attendants awaited on baited breath to see his upturned nose looking over England’s grounds as though it were cattle to be purchased at a county fair. Far from extraordinary - though to the eye of many, magical, the tsar was far from impressed. Agitated, even, as he ran his hands over the fabrics and tabletops once he passed them. 

He held back a sly smirk, only allowing his lips to bounce in a conceited restraint as he moved through the room and settled, whirling around to the sound of approaching footsteps. Assuming it to be a servant, he snapped his fingers and called in a thick, low tone, ‘I’ve been expecting you to bring me wine for what seems like an eternity. Your only excuse at such tardiness requires you to have some wine with me. Though, I warn you, it may not be too pleasant to the palate.’ His smirk grew as he reached out, expecting a goblet.