#solisoccasvm

[annedelapole]

closed starter for @solisoccasvm location: princess elizabeth’s chambers

        the aching of skilled feet was a sensation which signified the drawing of a most joyous evening to a close, though they may not yet rest until those of more importance had turned in for the night. only once royal jewels were secured, sumptuous fabrics exchanged for the comfort of a mere shift and regal locks of hair cared for and braided could anne seek to retire her own person for the night. on many occasions her role has required her to sleep upon the floor of the queen’s chambers, allowing her service to be called for at any given moment and also in a bid to secure her majesty, but not on this one. no. anne, much to her own surprise, had a room of her own. usually such luxury would be cause for celebration and yet she could not shake the feeling that it was to be a test of sorts; wondering if the queen was suspicious of her lady and sought to tempt her into misusing the chamber. even so, it was not her own room that anne sought as she left the queen’s presence that night, nor was it that of any gentleman who might thing themselves so fortunate.

passing the servants as they made their exit, a warm smile graced the de la pole lips as she looked to the princess elizabeth through the candle lit darkness upon entering her chambers.  though anne adored life at court - aided greatly by the fact that she was very good at making her way to the centre of it - there were moments when even she sought respite from it all and there was no greater presence in which it might be found than that of her dearest friend; elizabeth. “ did your highness enjoy this evening? perhaps we shall present you in such a manner one day, though i expect many more roses to adorn the room. also diamonds to fall from the ceiling! ”

[lancastricn]

♱ @solisoccasvm​.

The halls of the Kremlin were eviscerated, starved of their usual activity and pandemonium, and all too quiet.  Courtiers were doubtlessly bewailing and attempting to numb the pounding in their fragile skulls –– the result of copious consumption of wine, ale, and feasting the evening prior.  Richard, a seasoned veteran of filling his gut with such poisons, was of a clear, limpid mind, yet agitated.  His mind itched for some diversion, some pastime that was not spent in the company of beasts, neighing mindlessly in their stables.  To his surprise, that diversion came in the form of a letter, address to his sister, Elizabeth, planted firmly upon his cypress desk.  It was thus to her apartments that he strode, trekking across the creaking wooden floors that led to her chamber.  He was granted access by a chambermaid, not much older than he, employed to guard the princess’ doors; she reddened to her ample breasts under the weight of Richard’s stare and wordlessly permitted him entrance.

‘Sister, I bid you good morning.  I trust you are in fine health after the reception?’  Richard asks, his eyes sweeping across her chambers, to the windows, and then, back to the princess.  ‘Tell me, Lizzie, why is it that a letter from Lord Somerset, addressed to you, landed on my desk this morning?  I would read it myself, but––,’  Richard pauses, huffing a humourless chortle.  Richard often jested with his sister over the close company she kept with Courtenay, though it was certainly beyond his knowledge if anything more than a commiserating bond had been broached between the pair.  He continues, words spoken under a thick guise of disapproval: ‘well, I would not risk my eyes bleeding over the contents.’