location & setting: château de la tournelle
closed to @imeldaofcastile
the shelves of the master’s study within the château de la tournelle proved begrimed with soot, littered with friable texts, folios and ancient translations, unfit to rest a bauble or a hand, let alone manuscripts of exceptional importance to the king of castile. the evening’s honoring and celebrations had not yet ended –– rarely, if ever, did the french draw to a close their intense pageantry before dawn –– and yet the matter of the austrian princess’ conjugal eligibility had occupied the king’s activities since twilight had settled over the château. rumours, like the wind, blew this way, bent that way ; he confirmed in his correspondence with the empress’ that no such mention of an impending betrothal for her daughters had been made, and yet his advisers urged him to revisit the matter, to awaken sleeping dogs, for the present summit offered an unprecedented opportunity to forge alliances where, previously, relations lay barren or frayed.
alfonso was behooved to strike whilst the iron was hot ––– and whilst the balance of european power was at its most malleable. yet, the groan of floorboards draws him, with its brass hook in his subconscious, from his perusal. there is a rasp at the door, and in his usual clipped baritone, the king utters: ❛ enter. ❜
choking the display of surprise that smoulders upon his features when imelda, his sister-in-law, enters, alfonso quirks a brow upward –– rising from behind his desk to regard her. ❛ lady biscay. ❜ perhaps he should address her as princess, or even sister, yet within her gaze of untroubled obsidian he finds little kinship: he respects imelda, even tolerates her, but would not deign to play the role of comforting in-law. ❛ i pray the festivities have not proven bothersome to your grace? or, perhaps, it is my brother that causes you to seek respite. ❜