#isabelofyork

[hcrryofwales]

IN  THE  EARLY  HOURS  OF  APRIL   19th  1453,  the  future  queen,  isabel  of  york,  sailed  south  of  the  river  thames  to  meet  the  king  at  lesnes  abbey.  the  couple  were  wed  that  morn,  the  setting  an  intimate  one  ––  not  wishing  to  cause  uproar  in  a  country  still,  ostensibly,  in  mourning  of  the  late  queen  eleanor  ––  attended  by  the  couple’s  children,  prince  henry  of  wales,  earl  of  derby,  and  a  somber  queen  mother,  marguerite  plantagenet.  isabel  may  have  begun  her  reign  with  some  contention  but  in  fact,  she  would  soon  become  the  perfect  embodiment  of  a  beautiful,  philanthropic,  fertile  queen;  an  archetype  of  medieval  literature.

[dilshah]

location & setting: the queen’s apartments, tuileries palace

closed to @isabelofyork​

         uncommon was the companionship between the queen of england the ottoman sultan –– and yet, many things about the world, including the relations between western and eastern realms, were beginning to modernize into abnormal and baffling conditions. dilşah could not begrudge them anymore than she could begrudge the winds of change themselves; to do so, to brace herself against such transforming gusts, would only serve to jeopardise her own role in the seraglio. the journey to the tuileries palace, where queen isabel had taken residence, from the couvent was remarkably swift: only the bitterly cold air throwing a wrench in the cariye’s travels. rather unusually, however, dilşah arrived before the imposing fortress without the presence of her mistress the valide; instead, she had been dispatched to represent the sultan, and the velvet-clad box resting dutifully in her hands would soon elucidate the reason for her arrival. 

with limbs as fluid as a sleek river, the cariye swept into a bow before the queen, who appeared every inch as elegant and opulent as her fabled reputation foretold. gracing isabel’s hand with the touch of her forehead in greeting, dilşah’s beryl red lips curved into a gleam. “ your grace, i come bearing a gift from his imperial majesty. ” a brow flickered upon her visage as she gestured to a groom to come forth with the obsidian black coffer, wrapped in purpled velvet, housing an assortment of jewels, letters, and tokens of regardful admiration from constantinople. “ i am told your companionship has been a great gift to his majesty ... i believe this is a way to repay the kindness you have shown the sultan. i bid that you must accept, only so i might write back to the sultan of your reaction. ”

[williamoflancaster]

Siblings;; William and Isabel @isabelofyork

[princekarim]

what is your character afraid of?

at this point, ever the narcissist karim would say nothing. you have to be brave when you’re pissing off as many people as he does on the daily, so he believes that nothing could truly scare him deep down in his core. the truth, of course, is that he is human and fears things just like everyone else. a big fear of his, one that he probably hasn’t even realized yet, is being insignificant. even though he’s just essentially been fucking around for most of his life thus far, he strongly believes that one day he’ll make a lasting impact on the world as the heir of cordoba, and he fears the idea that all of that potential could be lost. he wants people to know his name and impact, fading into history is just simply, not an option.

[glcsterdux]

♕ → closed starter, @isabelofyork  Palácio de Queluz, Lisbon

Perfunctory was the tone that surrounded their meeting. Public, amid the mingling company of the English court, in a show of good faith — such was his earnest desire to spare his brother from yet another troublesome matter taking residence in his mind, should the courtiers murmur that his own brother did not show proper deference to the Queen upon his arrival in Portugal. He refused to allow his own personal disdain to diminish his duty as a faithful steward of England, even if it meant bowing to the woman who had rushed to his brother’s bed the moment Lianor’s passing had left it vacant. 

“Your Majesty,” he offers, his tone as rigid as his countenance was somber. It chafed at him to bow his head to her, here in the warm sunlight the departed Queen’s homeland, surrounded by so many things she had spoken of with such fondness while in England. Yet when his posture straightens, it offers him little relief. There’s still the matter of pleasantries, the facade that must be maintained to keep the wolves at bay and project to the courtiers that all is well within the King’s household. “I trust you are enjoying your time here in the company of your family.”

[basturkish]

@isabelofyork​, @ofcxterina​ */  𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓

         the sultan was not one to pay lip service to one undeserving –– and the queen of england certainly deserved every inch of homage iskender granted her in the company of the vizier. isabel neville was lively, articulate and evidently well versed in coquetry, able to recite the history and budding relationship between the empire from whence he hailed and the small, but vigorous isle she presided over as consort. his efforts to unify england and the ottoman were thus emboldened by the, admittedly, brief conversation he shared with king edward’s wife, as he felt a kindle of hope that she might return his sentiments as she offered him a chalice of wine. 

“i must decline, your grace, for though i have partaken in the past, my faith is renewed in the presence of so many venerable monarchs,” baştürk remarked ––– unaware that the disgraced princess of france was but a few paces away from them. “i have spent ample time in the presence of the esteemed empress apollonia’s advisers, many of whom are now suitably french, by dint of prince marius i assume. i am aware that the relationship between france and england has been, in the past, thorny. i wonder only if the recent conclave has inspired your husband to improve those relations, with philip now firmly upon the throne, and his uncle with his tail between his legs.”

[rosalindinwaiting]

The day would be long as usual, but unlike those who found routine to be a boring thing, Rosalind, who rather enjoyed structure and order to things, was comforted by it. Birds chirping near her window woke the gentle sleeper in her, giving a stretch and a yawn before moving toward the thick curtains and pushing them back to reveal that the Sun had yet to rise fully. Perfect. It gave her time to prepare herself without rushing, enjoying a bath and readying herself before moving to the kitchen to nourish herself with fruits that she as usual, helped herself to without care. She did. however, have a flash of worry as the usual staff were more than used to her throwing her weight around to get fresh bread and the best fruits in spite of who they should go to, but no one seemed to question it, which made her smile a bit more broad as she soaked in the thrill of an elevated position.

By the time she had finished, so had everything else, Rosalind leaving her things where they were and gathering a small pitcher of hot water and a clean towel from the laundry that had been dropped there. She also prepared a tray, readied cooler water for drinking and the rest of her usual accouterments before beginning her march to the Queen’s quarters. The tray heavy, Rosalind’s arms had grown strong from carrying them daily, nothing wobbling even as she ascended steps and used her backside to nudge at the door to open it. Gentle as she set the tray down, the Sun had fully risen now and it was with a hint of wickedness and joy at said wickedness that Rosalind pulled back the dark curtains and let the sun stream in and onto the Queen’s face. 

“Good morning,  your Majesty.”

@isabelofyork

[beauchampx]

         THE  NIGHTLY  ROUTINE  went  on  as  it  did  every  evening.  once  supper  had  been  enjoyed,  the  ladies  in  charge  of  taking  care  of  the  queen  in  her  private  chambers  went  to  readying  her  majesty  for  bed;  be  it  if  she  were  to  be  expecting  company  or  not.  elizabeth  beauchamp,  a  lady  getting  rather  old  for  the  position  in  which  she  currently  held,  found  herself  to  be  the  last  of  the  women  seeing  to  isabel’s  needs  due  to  her  almost  dream-like  state  as  she  was  lost  in  her  own  thoughts.  the  brush  glided  through  the  queen’s  hair  as  though  it  were  silk,  the  repeated  motion  being  so  relaxing  that  it  threatened  to  LULL  the  maid-of-honour  to  sleep,  until  she  caught  the  gaze  of  her  majesty  in  the  mirror  and  offered  a  gentle  smile.  “  forgive  me,  your  majesty,  i  find  being  here  often  lures  me  into  deep  thought.  your  ladies-in-waiting  have  been  greatly  excited  of  their  marriage  prospects  as  of  late  and,  i  must  confess,  it  would  be  untrue  if  i  were  to  claim  their  talk  did  not  do  the  same  for  myself...  it  leads  me  to  confess  that,  when  the  day  should  come  that  i  am  to  be  married,  with  your  blessing,  i  should  be  sad  to  leave  your  service  for  you  have  given  me  the  opportunity  of  my  life.  ”

@isabelofyork​