𝔠𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 / 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔞

EUDOXIA GLINSKAYA tsesarevna of russia penned by tilda for crownshqs

[tscsarevna]

shahmehdi​:

Mehdi nodded, looking over the tsarevna. The dhimmi people of the Jewish faith were no more unlike them than the Christians were, though more of the former lived in his lands than the latter, or at least had been for the past few years. There had been some matters, administrative primarily, raised with regards to their presence five or six years ago; then, too, the question of conversion had been raised, with a resounding and unanimous response from the dhimmi representatives. “That is admirable. I could not imagine a situation in which I should wish to abandon my own religion, though all that surround me tell me otherwise. How could one break their connection with it?” 

He nodded, eyes following her to the window. He looked beyond it for a moment, but did not see whatever it was she was seeing—perhaps it was in her own mind she was lost. “You would have been someone remarkable even then, I am certain. Perhaps one of the noble families of Iran that have been so significant in my reign; a friend of Firouzeh Begum, perhaps, or one of the advisors in my court.” Though perhaps it was unlikely; beyond the representatives of their religion, there were few who did not follow their faith who had any part in their court. He looked over at her once again, clad in the furs and wealth of the Russian empire. “But I suspect, Your Highness, that you should not wish to be born elsewhere, truly. Or do I see wrong?”

Eudoxia rose her brow towards him, as if to question the Shah’s wisdom. In truth, she did not know enough about Judaism in the other parts of the world; her father had always been keen to hear the news from across the plains, but Eudoxia had found joy in other pleasantries. But, with Yury aging each day, Eudoxia planned to realign herself with a faith lost by her own desire for the darkness. Tilting her head, she turned to face him directly — as if to taunt him into a match of stares. “Why, people convert to survive, my lord. Surely you understand that! Most of us roam this land without noble or royal blood, and so do as they must. I only refused because I was privileged enough to do so… I thank my parents every day for what they did for me.”

She laughed a little, and found herself unknowingly entertained by his conversation — much to the shock of her lady, who had always only ever seen the Tsesarevna stern and serious. “Indeed, perhaps I shouldn’t have even brought it up. But I am sure my stubbornness would’ve made way for a place at your court, even with your dismissal,” Eudoxia quipped, loosening the tightness of her furs to feel the slight chill; to feel at home. “No, I do not wish for it. I never have. Russia is my home and my greatest love. After all, my ancestors came from a world long before our great-great grandparents were born, your grace. No, I was just using my imagination — wondering if I would’ve suited something hotter,” she mused, a smile perked from the corner of her mouth before falling to one line once more. “Will you walk me to my residence? I have lost my convoy.”

[tscsarevna]

nchirsultan​:

“Treasure these days. There will come a day when your daughter no longer fits in your lap and nourishes from your breast, then you will miss the times when she would not let you sleep with her cries.” Nehir could speak from experience on this matter, having gone through it not one but three times. Again, she reminds herself to concentrate in the more pressing subject. After all, the Tsesarevna had not come to Les Celéstines to ask for mothering advice. “But alas, tis a conversation we should have over tea and pastries, not from across a work desk.”

She laughs at Eudoxia’s comment -such a true statement delivered as a joke. It was long ago when Nehir came to that undestandment, should the world be ridden of women, even the greatest of Empires would fall in the span of a week. “Then let us not waste anymore time and revise what our dear monarchs have dealt. Something tells me we both will have to make observations to them in a few hours.” She opens the drawer where she knows Iskender has left the papers of the trade deal for her to go over. The conversation, though, is amiable enough that she keeps on with it before turning her attention to numbers and trades. “ It is a beautiful place, I cannot lie, it has this -how do the French say? Je ne sais quoi. But it is not the kind of beauty that I am used to. You see, my homeland is much warmer, both in weather and people. I also must say that I do miss the food, I’m afraid French cuisine lacks much spice for me to fully appreciate. And you, Tsesarevna? Do you miss the cold of your land?”

It was true, Eudoxia could not stand small talk. But the subject of motherhood was still new to the Tsesarevna, who sought the comfort of others, for only they; made of the strongest bones, could soften the stern Russian noble. And so, she rolled her lips — her heart fluttering behind her ribcage. She could not quite imagine the idea of her child ever growing larger than the width of her lap  but soon, as she said, days would turn into months; followed only by years. She resented the idea, but offered a nod to the other. In truth, she knew little of Nehir or the title of Haseki — but she’d learn with eager hands and acute hearing. 

Fond of the Haseki by the sheer few moments spent in her chambers, Eudoxia leaned forth and drummed her hand upon the ancient oak table; her golden ruby ring tapping nonsense as she watched her oversee the parchment. The trade deal was made formally between rulers and stewards, but Eudoxia had played her part — how could she not? The truth was that the Russian crown was well-supported by her Dynastic House; and in any case, there had never been a chance that the Tsesarevna would let them push her aside. 

“I have heard great things about your homeland; the shapes and spices are intriguing enough to tease my attention. But I could never survive such heat; Portugal was bad enough. I’d melt with ease, and that would be a sorry picture — for I have much to do,” Eudoxia answered, waving her hand in the air for dramatic interpretation. “But yes, I miss the chill of the Winter. Russia this time of year is like … well, it's coated in white gold, the sun reflects off the fields and the trees are the only ones which peek up just enough to stand to attention. It is beautiful, and I feel my heart wilt to miss it. But, my country needs me as your country needs you… Now, where shall we begin? And afterwards, we may share common thoughts over a beverage of your choosing..” 

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

we eat each other’s, words, hearts, what’s the difference?

Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986, ‘Two-Headed Poems’ by Margaret Atwood (via decreation)

[tscsarevna]

shroudedson​:

⚔

———— Their dynamic was a tricky one, discomfort bred of unfamiliarity and displeasure - as Rudolf was quite aware he was not the first choice should she be able to pick which Rurik to marry. It was something he needed to come to terms with, a notion that must be put to rest and not be allowed to sprout for fear of developing contempt between their frames. It was of no import if there was love that rested in the cracks of their marriage, their only duty being to procure heirs to the throne and to follow what his brother would instruct. There was little else that was required of their union and even less so that he expected to come of it. He could not demand that she desire him nor did he believe he held the right to, for she was as free a woman as he was a man. Eudoxia was not a woman who would willingly rest beneath the thumb of a man and he intended to allow her freedoms unfit of a woman of her station - as long as his heirs were produced, he would not halt her activities. Hence why he refrained from prying into her personal endeavors, never asking more than was comfortable of her nightly activities. He was no fool, and these answers would just bring rage in their wake, thus, he decided against the inquiry in the first place.

Her reception of him was surprisingly welcoming but draped in formalities that were expected of his wife and not a result of her genuine yearning to be in his presence. Should she have acted as though her desire to see him was naught, rumors would immediately begin throughout their court. He supposed that hearsay already swirled through the air surrounding their servants, as his wife seemed to clumsily remove something from her hand. Rudolf feigned his ignorance, again not wishing to probe her pursuits outside of their room. He raised his hand in dismissal of the servants, the women moving from the room with haste as he watched his daughter fall back into a peaceful sleep. She carried all the beauty of her mother and the strength of a Rurik, a coming together of powerful forces to bring out the best in them. Anastasia was the most wonderful sight his eyes had ever been made to greet, a miracle in a very tiny package.

At the extension of his wife’s delicate hand, he pushed the ring onto her finger. It carried the mark of his family but was different from those by which his brother’s carried. A ring laid with a shining sapphire and two black onyx stones, it carried a strange air to it. It was something he had made for her months prior to their marriage but had not the courage to present - for he figured the eccentric design was something she would not prefer to display to those she came in contact with. It was on the battlefield where he had gained the courage to return the ring to its rightful owner, as it had seemingly burned a hole in his pocket when he fought. “I know it is not of typical composition for a wedding ring, though I found the stones compelling and they reminded me of both the eyes which you harbor as well as mine.” He mused aloud, standing nearer to their daughter again, as anxiety overtook his usually composed frame.

“I sent word to my brother, but I assume he never found the opportunity to provide such intel to you in the midst of this diplomatic event… It was my thought that you would not give answer should I send another letter, I found too many times you seemed unresponsive… But do not fret, I care not for words sprawled upon parchment, I understand you were occupied with the undertaking of our daughter - sure to have the Rurik fire, she must be a hand full.” His rambling was a display of the emotions he tactfully hid beneath the façade he donned much like panoply. There was a loathing that grew daily towards his ruler, one who did not take care to please his family but merely gave into what his desires were. It would be the end of Russia if he continued to be so persistent in his vices. “I must admit, my head was filled with thoughts of our daughter - of you as well, in my latest pursuits. This war is not so easily digested, with so much carnage, our family is the only thing I take solace in… she is beautiful, Eudoxia, far more than I could have imagined.”

She remained by his side as she looked at the ring that seemed all the more luxurious when cradled beneath the eager flicker of candlelight. Eudoxia wondered; when and where did he find it? And if he had stored it from before his absence, then why had he not presented it to her when in the lap of Moscow? Her eyes narrowed at the idea, as she checked the glitter of onyx and sapphire; the colours surely akin to their own hues; the sentiment alone left Eudoxia to dwell on the choices already made. She ran her fingertips along the surface, tenderly provoking the gems to call upon Eudoxia; to use them in her spell work and prayer. Rolling her lips together, the Tsesarevna lifted herself to meet her husband’s eye. 

With her arm outstretched above Anastasia’s cradle, Eudoxia slipped the ring upon her fingers, allowing it to twinkle against her dark set skin as she hummed in admiration. He may not have been her first choice, but when offered unrivalled loyalty and devotion, then Eudoxia would change her ways. She would look to him as her husband, her partner in crime — but so far, his pity insecurity only pushed her further. Alas, she still appreciated the gesture — so much so, the Tsesarevna put her hand to her husband’s arm, holding him slightly as he held her daughter. “It is beautiful, husband. Truly, where and how did you find it? Was it made just for us? Or did you see it upon a stage of splendour?” Eudoxia asked, dropping her hand to trace a semi-circle around the cradle, her fingers joined upon her abdomen as the chill of the French winter passed through the slits of wooden shutters. 

 As he held Anastasia, Eudoxia hummed and pushed back the burning migraine that dared to attack her temples — raising one hand to urge upon her skull, to bid its farewell before straying to a trunk that lay with a Persian rug atop to keep curious servants from its contents. Busy lifting it from its setting, Eudoxia kept one ear for her husband who said something about letters and his brother, the Tsar. She had heard of such letters, but they had never reached her hands. But she would not admit to that, as she fell to her knees to coax a small jar of herbs from the chest, locking the treasure behind a large copper lock procured by Moscow’s artisans. “The forty days of isolation were seemingly endless, дорогой… But she was no trouble, she was only a terrible conversation partner,” Eudoxia laughed, waving her hand aside to drop the herbs into a cup of wine as she stirred the liquid with her finger. 

“She finds comfort in the moonlight, and seems to brave the harshest of snows. She is a true Russian child, Rudolf. I am proud of her — I will forever be proud of her; you will see, she matches the might of any son… of my future sons,” Eudoxia remarked, staring towards man and child before sipping her potion to rid herself of the throb behind her eyes. Watching him thus, Eudoxia thought for a moment; reflecting upon the father and daughter, wondering if he had hoped for a male as she had done till it was announced that she had been born female. She wouldn’t have blamed him, but she would not have her mistreated, either. Perhaps other women of their status were treated poorly, but Eudoxia and her daughter (and anymore which may come) would be treated like men. They would remain in power, respected and listened to. Or they’d face her wrath. 

“I know she must be brought up to be Eastern Orthodox, Rudolf. But I thought she could learn my heritage, my long and proud line of Judaism. And if she is but a girl, perhaps she may carry on my line and the son that will come can be your Orthodox trinket,” Eudoxia mused, placing her cup aside to join him again, her hand upon his bicep as she held Rudolf in place. She had heard little of the war, neither could she imagine it in the first place. But she hoped that time away from the field and in her presence would ease him in some way. “Once you take your fill of her, you must join me for supper. It’s time we make a second child of Russia.”

[tscsarevna]

lorenzs​:

⚜

Though she had said clear enough she did not want his empty words, but the fact of what his expectations were and what opportunities he offered, that did not make her shy away from false praises herself. Or perhaps true praises; Lorenzo did not know the tsarevna yet well enough to ascertain which. He sat back, crossing his hands over his lap as she spoke of their Republic. Red and gold glinted on her fingers, drawing his attention for a moment. A ruby true? Lorenzo suppressed a smile. Your frankness is not merely in your words, Tsarevna. 

“No marvel,” Lorenzo said. She seemed a woman who valued skill. “Merely a careful balance. Though it gladdens me to hear you believe it worthy of respect.” 

He straightened, taking a sip as more wine was brought forth, and her wishes were made clear. The matter of broader trade for Russia would have to wait, he supposed. That was no great trouble; to have the patronage of the heir to the Glinski fortune—the woman who had the ear of the royal family, whose choice in trade should influence where Russia itself followed—was nothing taxing. The little display of wealth must be a hint of what she had to offer them… though Lorenzo had never any wish to decline an investor—could there be such a thing as too much gold?—and would certainly never refuse Tsarevna Eudoxia besides. “It would be more than possible… and an honour besides, to have the investment of the Crown Princess of Russia!”

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. “What form of investment do you wish to pursue, Tsarevna? A simple deposit would return you—certain presents, that might grow the sum over time. But we have factors and workshops—wool, silk, alum, certain mines—that should appreciate investment also.”

“Indeed,” she answered from beneath the lip of her cup, caressing the petal with gilded gold as she watched him turn over the sentiment behind such delightful eyes. Lorenzo de Medici was famous among the European world, indeed, but Eudoxia had yet to see him worthy of such prestigious legend. Slowly she rose from her seat, exposing herself from beneath the many waves of fur and silk. She knew, without second thought, that it would be the Medici House that would bring fortune to the world — who would reap their rewards from tomorrow till centuries in the god godforsaken future. 

She walked past Lorenzo, allowing the scent of spiced wine to linger — her satin draperies dragging upon the floor till she found peace by an opened window. Eudoxia felt caged when inside, when corned by four walls and an arched roof. So she held the wall, and looked to the horizon where horses lay near whilst taking to their graze. She had only just left the acquired isolation with her newborn baby when word had been sent to prepare for their journey to Paris; “I would invest in alum, but first I would require the documents... To see with my own eyes, and to be looked over by my steward, ” Eudoxia answered, before turning to look at Lorenzo from over her shoulder — meeting his gaze from behind her dark coiled hair. “Would you suggest it?”

[tscsarevna]

3v3linarose​:

“I will adjust to the changes and adapt… I had to do so as a child and I will do so again. I will have to learn about the Islamic faith but I am prepared for anything that comes my way. I will be happy in their realm, if however they do not make me happy then I will make my own happiness. Yes, I am indeed lucky to have Ivan. I love my siblings but Ivan is my favorite.” She admitted with a smile.

Evelina nodded after hearing her words. She had no rebuttal, it was true she needed to focus on herself.

“Thank you, Eudoxia.”

Gazing upon her as she looked away, Evelina cocked her head to the side before sipping her wine.

“I desire that most of all as well, I can desire to live my life to the fullest and for Russia to become a strong country like I know it will be long after we are both dead and buried. Conquering is difficult to do and everything holds a price, but with the alliances we make here we have the opportunity to build Russia up and conquer other places that dare laugh at our rule. I know that I am merely a piece of that complex puzzle… a pawn in chess so to speak… but no other pieces on the board will take me alive, Russia means too much for me to just give up. I may be a piece of the puzzle and a pawn but I know that I am important and Russia will never die. It will not die with Ivan as Tsar, not with you as Tsarevna, not with any of us… and certainly not with me. Ivan will reach across land and sea, he will conquer Europe and the lands beyond and I will make sure that he gets a step closer to that.” Evelina said, pride filling her eyes as she spoke.

She may not have shown it alot, but she adored Russia and would rather someone killed her than to see her homeland fall from grace.

“You would have to convert,” Eudoxia warned, her eyes sharp and observing the younger before her gaze moved forth to the servants instead; young women who poked at the hearth, as if it was not natural to thrive in the chill. “You would have to put aside all you have loved and known for a future within a Harem — do you know what one is, Evelina? You will have to study, and learn their ways of tongue… You are half Byzantine, that is true — but the Ottoman Empire is vast and far different to what came before. Do you understand?”

She clutched her goblet as Evelina continued, staring instead to the wood logs that singed beneath the performance of amber coloured flames. Tapping her nails upon copper, the Tsesarevna stared and allowed the dance to engulf her; her ears closed to the ramble of Russia and immortal legends. “Careful Evelina, you must be careful where you step in the coming days and weeks… Betrothals are made and broken with each sway of the wind.”

[tscsarevna]

thebeloveduke​:

          The youngest member of the Rurik family was not his first niece. Of the five Rurik’s, only Nikita and his youngest sister Evelina were without children, Irina also making him an uncle three times over while in Sweden. Every time he held one of his kin in his arms though, the magic was there again, and Nikita smiled softly at the small bundle that Eudoxia had set in his arms. Like a priceless artifact, something to be handled gingerly and with care, he cradled the smallest Rurik. Gently rocking and bouncing the baby less she start to fuss, Nikita continued to admire her petite and delicate features. “Eudoxia,” he said, his voice quiet as to not disturb the child, “she is a perfect being.”

     Looking up from his niece, he could not help but keep that soft smile on his face when he saw Eudoxia’s own expression. Her brusque nature with the servant made evident that some of her harsher edges had not been rounded out by her newly acquired role, but the smile on her face that had yet to vanish showed her own joy at this occasion. The baby made a small burble, pulling his attention back to her, resuming his rocking again. Situating her more, he allowed himself to free up his other arm as to bring it up to adjust the cloth that wrapped about her, brushing her soft cheeks with a finger while he did so. 

    “It is because I am prone to quiet than her father,” he jested. “Rudolf is more prone to a sword than silence, but give it enough time. This is an adjustment for most.” Of the brothers, Nikita had always been the most gentle. Perhaps it was this, or the fact that he was the uncle that had all the pretty ponies, that made him popular among his nieces and nephews. Although he did not have a brood of his own, he did count his siblings children as his own at times, with how attached they sometimes became. 

     Nikita crossed from where he had been standing still with his only movement being the gentle rock of Anastasia, sitting in a chair adjacent to that of Eudoxia’s. The roar of the fire felt good on his wind chapped cheeks, the aftermath of travel still evident in his physical state. 

    “I have seen Ivan, although it was but for a moment. I traveled here with the Holy Roman Empress,” Nikita said, raising an eyebrow at that. “After helping Katrinka with some issues regarding unrest and go on a short progress with her, I was able leave England early to meet with her. See with my own eyes what we may be dealing with. The Empress was hospitable enough to allow me to join their entourage riding into Paris, so I am sure beyond any doubt Ivan will want to discuss some things with me,” he said with a chuckle. 

“I am pleased to have you back among us Eudoxia, it has been far too dull without you.”

From beneath her lashes and the crackle of the fire Eudoxia watched; in truth Rudolf had been a loving father thus far, and had taken the babe into his arms as soon as his feet had landed upon French soil. Eudoxia could not fault him, not yet, and so she kept any other insults and quips to herself — rolling her lips together. One day he was meant to be a father; in fact, she was sure that he would take the role well — to watch him softly cradle the child was enough

With her ankles crossed the Tsesarevna exhaled and brought her head to one side, her eyes heavy from a lack of sleep as the child stirred in such comforting arms. As his words came to be, Eudoxia shifted and sat up straight, her hands clutching the arms of her chair at his sudden and all too surprising news. “I have heard of such misunderstandings between a country and its new bride. Is she alright? I intend to see her promptly — I cannot imagine the discomfort she feels,” Eudoxia mused, a hand going to her lips, to press her nails down upon her lower petal — scarring small crescents against her natural shine.

She lifted herself from the seat with little fore-thought, throwing herself instead into a stride to reach a window — her arms outstretched to push back the shutters to allow the chill to breach the security of the Chateau. The isolation that was due a new mother had worn her thin, and so Eudoxia felt misplaced; she yearned for the cold embrace of the snow, the whisk of a wind so furious with its inhabitants. She stared, stoney-eyed towards the walled entrance, watching the hybrid of French and Russian guards converse beneath her. “Whilst you are here, Nikita, I would like to pick your brain… What do you think of Paris? What do you think of this trade deal? And, do you think it is worth our time to look at the Italians?”

[tscsarevna]

total : 130 max total : 520

point page  /  point tag.

[tscsarevna]

shroudedson​:

Closed for @tscsarevna​ 

⚔

————A thick fog descended across the land the day on which he arrived, his form emerging amongst the mist as though an omen of something daunting to come. As if death trailed in his wake, ghosts following his every movement - fingers soaked in the ichor of those left forgotten. Perhaps what was spewed about him amongst battle was correct, he was a bringer of death, sat beside the devil in his pursuits. Thought to even display pieces of hell atop his very own crown, he was likely an unwelcome addition to the current summit - for why would Christians welcome those who danced with the devil into their homes, lest they admitted to being naïve? Rendered a mere man of war, with little else to provide to those around him, he would be looked over if not for his substantial stature. Towering over those he was meant to see eye-to-eye with, he oft wondered if his brother was justified in hiding him from potential political allies. Did he belong in their midst, to dance circles beneath ceilings crafted by the meticulous hands of much softer-hearted men? Where should belong, where did he fit?

In spite of such doubts, the hooves of his ebony steed wore the ground thin beneath his weight, deep-set eyes narrowing at the sight of his supposed lodgings. Russia seemed a world away from France, a far cry from the place he was made witness to - though Russia held its own beauty, they were likely considered savages who were the foils to these ‘civilized’ men. But there was something he knew that they did not - something which agonizingly plagued his existence in ways they would never experience. He understood what costs it took for them to parade through these large buildings - understood that above all else, they all died and bled the same. No matter the rank, his sword would cut holes into them without discrimination, and he found his real power in such knowledge. Yet, he must play their games; whether it was to wear the clothes his brother bid him to or speak with more flowery verbiage, it was all necessary for his plan’s eventual fruition.

As his steed halts, he exits his horse with haste, the sword which persistently rested at his hip dangling against his newly acquired fabrics. Self-importance seethed from his posture as he pushed through the closed doors, eyes greeted by an endless sea of courtiers. Should his brother be among them? Would they be dazzled by the man’s inability to communicate and his tales of success? He crossed the hall towards where he assumed the nursery would be, expecting his wife to be tending to their new-born daughter instead of attending the events unfolding. He arrived before the door quicker than he anticipated, his mind running wild with ideas of what he would find beyond it.I have not seen her in months and many letters have been left unanswered… Should I have come or would my death in battle have been a more desirable gift for her?

His hesitance preceded him, causing ample time to pass as he tried to justify arriving at court without providing her notice. There was a doubt within his mind, fueled by unanswered letters and vague replies, that his brother had even alerted her of his coming or that she even cared to be notified. Rudolf could be described as many undesirable things, but a fool was not one of them. Deep within his own heart, he was aware she did not wish to be wed to the second son and had missed her shot at the first. It was a tragic story for her as much for him, the two being doomed to linger within the shadow of his brother and his French wife. With such things rushing through his crown, he did not notice the wet nurse which opened the door to gaze upon him with wide-set eyes.

He had lost his opportunity to enter in secret as she ushered him towards his daughter. The sight of her leaves his mouth agape, lips parting in some display of shock and admiration. Weathered hands, torn by war and woe, reach towards that which is the exact foil of all the doom his eyes have witnessed. I have seen life so often taken by my own hands, I never believed I would too create life so lovely as this. As this thought flutters from his mind, he hears footsteps approach him from behind of which he could place anywhere. He lifted his gaze to look upon a woman who was barely more than a stranger. “I often wonder where you wander so late at night, though I also question my own right to make such inquiries…” His words fall from his lips with bated quality, tongue unwilling to allow syllables to pass unscathed. “I have brought you something if you will have it.”

As he gently returns their daughter to her resting place, his fingers dig in finely-sewn pockets, procuring an ornate ring. “I found myself regretting not giving it to you sooner…” He continued, eyes which were pieced together with broken fragments of the sky watching her movements for a clue to her emotions. “I have brought much more, but they have yet to unload it from the carriage… I fear their horses are not so fast as mine.” A smirk crept onto his countenance at the thought of the animal gifted him by his younger brother, which was deemed far too wild to be tamed. Perhaps the beast and I find ourselves equally matched, understand each other in ways the rest never could.

A marriage made  to secure the wealth of House Glinski was a marriage kept to public occurrence and perhaps, was made on the battlefield where the Crown Prince took the many, unsuspecting lives. She had not married the Tsar as planned, but instead the Wolf of Russia — the younger brother, the one most loved by the people and yet… Eudoxia’s eyes still straight atop the golden helm. And yet, she did not despise her husband, she did not look away only for his discomfort. For she respected him,s he respected the art he made when faced with life or death; but mostly she respected him because now, he was the father of her child. 

Though her inheritance had been swept up in her genetics, Anastasia was a calm and stoic child — often finding silence when the light of the moon shined right through arched windows. Paris, it seemed, was not affecting the true spirit of Russia from within, after all, Anastasia was born beneath the full moon with a coven of Muscovite women aiding her arrival. Eudoxia thought she was the prettiest, the most beautiful, child she had ever seen. And she had yet to turn three months old. 

His arrival however had been unexpected, and Eudoxia, dressed in fur and linen, blinked thrice before allowing him to materialise in full. Perhaps foolishly, she had allowed the rumour of his appearance in Moscow to go above her head — her mind all too swept up in her babe. She had, in truth, planned to spend the evening in bed materialising all thoughts of what she needed in Paris; she had planned to be alone. So, swiftly, she pushed the golden and ruby ring from her finger into her concealed pocket, knowing that her husband would surely recognise it as coming from the Tsar’s own hand, and approached with her head held high — as if it were a Queen welcoming a favourable knight. 

“Your presence alone is a gift,” she spoke diplomatically, watching as he held his daughter for the first time. He suited fatherhood, he bathed in it — she seemed responsive in his arms and reached up with fat hands before placed back within a cradle. Eudoxia, who felt panic arise, forced herself to act docile. She had hoped for some time before his arrival, for some way to plot and plan what to do, but ever since the birth she had remained muddled, confused, lost. Her ambition was seemingly swept aside for the needs of the child. 

Her eyes, dark and foreboding, lowered to her husband’s hands — watching, as he procured a ring she noted from before. She felt her belly swirl, her blood thumping to the temples of her head — ringing in a headache that’d force her to expel the contents of dinner. “мой муж, волк,” she began, offering Rudolf her hand, pushing it toward him for him to slip the ring upon her. The other, golden and embedded with a ruby, seemed all the heavier in her pocket — warning her, once more, that she was playing with fire. “When did you leave the battlefield? Why did you not send word?” Eudoxia asked, her eyes lifting from the jewel on her finger to match his eyes — blue, heavenly eyes that he shared with his brother, the Tsar. 

Slowly, she traced her steps around the cradle and stood on the opposing side, a hand reaching forth to brush the fattened cheek of the baby. “Anastasia Rudolfovna of House Rurik… your daughter, your blood — she has been awaiting you.”

[tscsarevna]

❀ ivan

NSFW-ish MEMES | CLOSED

before the time of the RP, a slight peek into where Ivan and Eudoxia began. 

❀ For my muse to ask yours to become their mistress

Eudoxia had arrived at court with her father when she had turned all but five years old, such a procession occurred only days after the death of her cousins who passed the riches of House Glinski onto her father. Such an act was tremendous and perhaps even scandalous; alas, her father, who had always fought for his daughter’s future and pushed for her to take her place by the Tsar’s eventual side.

She was reintroduced at the Kremlin, however, aged only fifteen. Younger than the other women who were all born into noble blood, Eudoxia always pushed for respect and Russia’s status first. She would wax lyrical folklore about her birth, and how when conceived beneath the full moon a druid had hailed as a Russian Prophet, leaving almost everyone’s eyes to loiter upon her as if she were some celestial being.

It was only after the unfortunate death of her mother, did she see Ivan for the first time. Pure (perhaps) at sixteen, their eyes met over the grand hall of the Kremlin — leaving time to slow and splinter into what seemed like an infinite divide. No one else caught his eye like that, and no one else kept it. Their eyes would meet throughout the year, yearning and starved gazes stolen at celebrations, banquets and simple processions of Russia’s greatness.

And though he may have taken many a mistress of all shape and size, with a wife who found Russia a difficult climate to take control of, Eudoxia remained — loitering in the shadows, as her betrothal to the Tsesarevich was put in order. She, who had grown up under the pretence that she was to one day marry the Tsar, remained silent in public but wrathful under the roof of her father. How could he foul up such a promise? By disgust and disappointment alone, Eudoxia took all power from Yury, and left him in charge only by name. All funds, coming in and out of their House went by Eudoxia’s lips alone; leaving Yury to nurse broken pride, and to only find some rebuttal in remarrying someone his daughter’s age.

She cursed him for it, she stripped him of his pride and left him only to act as her mouthpiece. He would learn his lesson, he would not leave his daughter to look a fool.

But it seemed, such a move was uncalled for — as only years, weeks, days before the ceremony that’d tie her to the Tsesarevich, Ivan called her name. She went without query or hesitation — draped in furs and rubies, a splendour of her wealth and good fortune. Still, only young, she moved as if she had expected such an audience. As if her time spent in the surrounding woods, with women banished by the deceased Tsar, had something to do with it. When they met, finally alone beneath the dancing hearth full of embers and ash, Eudoxia refused to kneel; and met him face to face, grasping her cloak of wolf-fur around her shoulders.

This moment would be recalled in poetry, history and mythology — it would become a moment in which the dark arts and the Russian crown intertwined. Where love, lust and need became something that took root in the bones of the Rurik Dynasty.

“My Tsar,” were her first words. “I am here.”

[tscsarevna]

wound

NSFW-ish MEMES | CLOSED

au: Someone declares war against the Paris Summit, oop

No one could’ve expected the attack on Paris, and so no one was to blame. The attack came from all sides, cornering Paris into a weaving of canon, gunpowder and roaring battle hungry men. Eudoxia had awoken to it, rising from her bed to the cry of her child and the worrying squeal of her ladies. “What is happening?” she called, looking towards the cradle before an explosion was heard from the North. “What is that?” She continued, arms outstretched for her babe, before servants pushed themselves through the door to her chambers.

Before her eyes could adjust to the sudden intrusion, the child was ripped from her arms and taken from her grasp by a wet nurse who promised to take Anastasia to safety. Lips parted to shout, to scream and demand her child back within her arms — but no answer was came, as the room fell in. The debris from the roof cloaked the room in dust

At first, she had forgotten what had happened, at first she felt light and at ease — and then everything hurt, her body suddenly heavier than it had ever been before and her arms all the more empty without her child. “Anastasia-” She gasped as she felt hands roam over her — her eyes remanded closed, her skin alight with pain. “Anastasia, Anastasia — where is she?” Eudoxia called, her effort going into lifting her arms that were promptly pushed back down upon the floor where she lay. Slowly, her lids lifted to look at the person who tended her. Her memory failed her, for she could not decipher the person but her ears hailed as champion — catching the panic, the cries and the bellowing roar of men. “Where is my child?” She called once more, her hand grasping the other's wrist to pause her aid. “Find my child, I beg, tell the Tsar — where is she?” Eudoxia spat, pushing herself up with groans that left her feeling broken and shattered. “Anastasia!”

[tscsarevna]

✿  for Ada (ask limit u bitch)

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other .

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other .

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other .

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other .

[tscsarevna]

3v3linarose​:

Evelina had quite enjoyed the French parties of the Tsarina’s homeland but once the parties ceased Evelina knew that she had to buckle down and get serious. She was a Rurik, she had no choice but to do so.

She liked being around the Tsarevna. Eudoxia could guide her on many things and for that Evelina was grateful. She sat next to the Crown Princess in the Convent and sipped her chalice of wine.

“Paris is rather nice. I quite enjoy it thus far. The banquets are plentiful and I have never been one to shy away from a good banquet.” She paused before setting her chalice down on the table.

“Eudoxia, I may seem as if I am carefree and not thinking about my role or Russia’s future… but believe me, I am. I will be meeting with Haseki Nehir Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Hopefully I will be a good match for her son… Sehzade Murad of the Ottoman Empire. I am very hopeful about the meeting. I promise you… I promise my family and I promise Russia that I will not disappoint.” Evelina said as she gazed at Eudoxia with a look of strength and promise.

“If the match does not come to be, do you know of any possible suitors? Ivan has been far too quiet regarding the suitors but Katrinka has promised to help me as well… though I know that she has her own problems to attend to.” Evelina said as she sipped some more wine. Her heart hurt for her sister, it really did.

The Grand Duchess looked down for a brief moment before setting her gaze back on The Crown Princess.

“My desires?” Evelina chuckled a bit. “I desire to be taken seriously… to be loved by someone other than my family… I desire my sisters to be happy… truly happy. I desire to have children… they seem to be little miracles, a piece of heaven… if I were to die childless… I’d ask God to send me to Hell. Most of all I desire to live everyday to the fullest… I believe I have accomplished this… partially at least. Tell me, what do you desire most in life?”

Eudoxia kept her eyes upon the hearth, watching as the flames danced before them. She had felt compelled to reach her youngest sister-in-law, to try and coax some inkling of what she wanted or needed. But at the mere mention of the Ottoman Empire, a brow arose, her lips pursed before shifting in her seat to look upon the Grand Duchess. “Do you think you would find happiness within such a realm? You may have to convert, to change every way of life you have seen fit...  You are lucky to have Ivan, he would consider your want.”

Exchanging glances, Eudoxia crossed her ankles, and sipped at the French wine that had yet to adjust to her bitter tongue. “Your sister is a fighter, do not think of her. Instead, look to yourself, your future hangs in the balance,” she remarked, offering her a warning in the place of comfort. “And I will keep an eye out, as I would do for anyone else… But you must learn how to carve out your own destiny, by yourself.”

It was a tiresome irritation that left Eudoxia to look away from Evelina. The girl knew little of what life had in store, and more than likely, held less of a desire to control it — so she twisted her shawl of fur in her hands, looking instead to the fireplace. “I desire a strong Russia, for the Tsar to reach across land and sea… That is what we all must desire, Evelina.”

[tscsarevna]

shahmehdi​:

For a moment, Mehdi was prepared to protest, lest she think his eyes on her in an unsavoury manner—something to avoid entirely, particularly where it concerned a member of the Russian royal family. In the next moment, however, he caught the twinkle in her eye and the wink that followed, and laughed. She was the playful sort, then! Mehdi preferred things to be less than perfectly formal himself, rare as such occasion was. He smiled, teasing in return, “I am sure they should not wish to marry a man twice-married already! I know it is not your custom. And though I am sure they are very beautiful, I find my eyes stray only to my wife. All in all an unsuitable match… but there are other ties to be had between us, I am sure!”

He bowed to the royal princess, raising his glass of wine in toast, as they did here. “Why, neither am I, Your Highness, yet I find myself in agreement. Pray tell, what faith do you follow? Matters of the theological and esoteric interest me.” He had believed all of the Russian royal family to keep to their sect of Christianity, but, he supposed, it may vary; was his own court not comprised of heretics and the hastily converted? 

Her eye was stern, narrowed in concentration, as the Shah answered her. No, perhaps a marriage could not be augmented between him and her sisters-in-law… And yet, she sought some route between Smolensk and the Persian Empire. So she turned, and smiled — because even though she practised a Pagan ritual when her ambition demanded it, she was a proud and strict Jew. She worked on her Judaism as her father had — her loyalty so stubborn it led the Tsesarevna to object even in marriage and by the usual command of the Court Priest, as the Tsar’s officials made effort to convert Eudoxia on such a wedding night.

“I am Jewish,” she announced, holding her eye to the Shah as their guards and servants loitered. “I am descended from one of the first Jewish caravans once based in Cairo. The blood I carry is deeply enriched by religion, and so, I refused the Russian Orthodox Practises, even when everyone told me to turn my back on my own,” Eudoxia continued, as if tallying a speech, turning to a nearby window, the Tsesarevna watched and exhaled with a softness, a softness that had cursed Eudoxia since the birth of her daughter. “If born in Cairo, I imagine that they would have passed by your lands… I wonder what I would be, if born in Persia instead?”

[tscsarevna]

lorenzs​:

⚜

Lorenzo watched, impassive, the tsarevna placed a hand on her bosom, leaned forward. This was his realm; she may be beautiful, but she would not distract him with it. He smiled and leaned forward himself, reducing the distance between them—mindful, still, to keep it appropriate. “Well, then let me be frank in turn, Tsarevna,” he replied, forgoing the flattery he might ordinarily pay Russia, pay herself, pay, for that matter, the furs and cloaks and wallpapers of the very room they found themselves in. Whether she was an impatient figure, or if it was merely an aversion to small talk did not matter—Lorenzo’s concern was moving at the pace of her preference… at least so far as she had something he wanted.

“I shall address your questions in turn,” he began, laying a finger flat on the table as he answered the first of her questions. “Venice is our neighbour. Our Republics share a border, and on our narrow peninsula, where peace is paramount and trade makes wealth, the Florentine interests are, of course, the promotion of trade in all of Italia… but the more of it that passes through us, the happier we are. I have no doubt that you understand.” 

He leaned back, gesturing in the air. “To Paris, we bring… opportunities. Our land is populous and fertile; our workshops produce cloth for much of the continent. We have marble; workshops for the new fashions in silk; mints for the coins of highest value in Europe, and… land, perfectly position between yourself, your neighbours, and Iberia. Now… perhaps I might ask that in turn? I know what I hope to gain from our transactions; but what do you intend, Tsarevna?”

In truth Eudoxia believed that a woman was to rule all states connected to trade and every state that contributed to the welfare of a country. Women were more passionate, more driven — whereas men were often distracted by the urge for intimacy or what lay beneath their garments. She wished, perhaps, to drive all men from such business — apart from perhaps her dearest brother, Nikita, who worked with as much passion as her.

And though patience wore thin on Eudoxia, she was relieved to hear the Grand Duke’s voice not play to petty small talk. What was there to say, after all? Perhaps, the Tsesarevna would find room to discuss further with the Grand Duke, if he was to keep a short tongue and faltering flattery. “I respect your trade and your Republic, ” Eudoxia remarked, resting her elbow upon the arm of her chair — her hand laying upon her cheek — leaving the golden ring embedded with a ruby on display for him to see (the mark of the Tsar). “I do, my lord. I have read on how such a realm works when in tangent with Kingdoms and Empires… It is a marvel that you survive in some aspects. But it still is worthy of respect... “

Taking the wine to her lips, Eudoxia hummed and waved her hand in the air for more, snapping in short Russian to a servant brought with the court from the Kremlin itself. “I will not speak of Russia this evening, not in its entirety. Instead, I will speak about my own needs. The House of Glinski serves the Tsar, our main heart beats in Smolensk. A city of white snow — white gold,” she began, waxing lyrics she had presented over and over to all tradesmen who thought it best to try and charm the Wolf of Russia’s wife.

“I am the sole Heir of Glinski, and so when the time comes I will choose where our trade will be diverted. Furs, investments and patronage will all change by my mouth’s order. At the moment we tend to look inward to Russia, to the Tsar and his company. But I have wagered that an eye should be kept on your Italian States; to your famed Firenze… Grand Duke Lorenzo, I’d like to invest in your name, would that be possible?”

[tscsarevna]

kingedwardplantagenet​:

 The manner in which the Tsesarevna approached him now, reminded Edward of the qualities he had gleamed, when noting her engagement with courtiers in days past – her gaze was at one determined, sweet-tempered, but mellowed, by the cool reserve in which she deposited the gift. The furs, thick with the soft plumage of a snow cloud, held influence over the King’s eye – mesmeric, or perhaps merely pleasing, he submitted for a moments pause, for indulgence. “Too often, I find myself in the midst of a remark, that my acquaintance has been delayed – I thank you, for remedying our lack of counsel with one another, with your swift approach now. I trust a woman of your qualities and rank, is much detained; your time, will be rest assured, well enjoyed. And more so, must I offer my humblest gratitude, for the bevy of furs bestowed upon me – I have quite taken to them, due to the Princess’ influence. It is a pleasure, is it not? To rejoin your dear sister in law, who I hold in the upmost regard.” 

 A prospect of redolent friendship and geniality, was offered by the English King’s visage; he bid her to be seated by his side, for the rubied cups given by the French, to be supplied with warm drink. “Allow me to congratulate you, on the birth of a daughter – do not allow my sons to hear me speak such hearsay, but I dare say, a daughter is superior to a son, in every regard. A dear cousin, for my little Mary – the little ones name is Anastasia, yes? I know my men to have delivered a gift for the birth, but I hope you will allow me, now that we have enjoyed amicable intercourse, to further bestow congratulations.” 

 She waited, hands clasped against her abdomen as the servants emptied the trunk of its contents; her eyes wafting to how they were presented. Lappings of fur, with such precious trinkets sewn it. It had been her idea to coat the English King in a well-meaning gift, something to acknowledge not only the teetering alliance between his kingdom and the new Tsardom, but furthermore in slight affirmation of her own respect offered to the King of England. “Of course, and it pleases me to know that we both hold her Highness in such mutual affection… Indeed, it soothes me greatly,” Eudoxia waxed, before joining him — her skirts, trimmed in ermine, stroking the wood warmed by the hearth, before falling into the seat by his side.

Reaching for the decorated cup, Eudoxia waved the rim beneath her nose, allowing her smell to take it’s right of place before lifting her eyes to meet the ones that belonged to the English King. She thought for a moment on spilling her truth, on how she had wished for a boy with every inch of her body till she saw what had come forth. That now, her love come was captivated by the small girl, made of her skin and her coils of dark hair. Alas, she saved it, and sipped at her cup — the King of England may seem soft as rose petals, but yonder such flora lay thorns ready to pierce skin. “My gratitude, my lord. It is a joy to share such sweet cousins, is it not? When she is old enough, they may continue such an alliance — depending on I suppose, on the Prince and Princess’s next move,” Eudoxia hummed, placing the cup aside, before crossing her ankles beneath her heavy skirts.

“Indulge me, your Majesty, where does England place France? By its side? Before its gaze to keep a watchful look? Or elsewhere, with no importance?"

[tscsarevna]

katrinkc​:

“I’m so proud of you - if your daughter’s blessed with even a hint of her mother’s might, the world better prepare all those who will be wrapped around her tiny finger…” Katherine rested her chin on Eudoxia’s shoulder, gaze lifting up to the wood-carved ceiling to avoid an automatic blur of joy as she felt her sister’s warm embrace. Secluded from public eye, allotting them a moment’s sanctuary, all she could do was beam like the sun could never set until they allowed it to. There, swaddled in wool textiles laden with intricate patterns that Katherine could only behold as old comfort, stirred the treasure the princess had prayed for over the years. Even in the initial weeks of stumbling and tripping through Western mass, speaking timidly to the Virgin Mother Mary as they became acquainted through rosary strings- Katherine devoted a thought for Eudoxia’s happiness, when the dauntless tigress could shift into formidable mother. This wish strayed from holiness, even, during their reunion at the Portuguese summit when she mentioned ladies’ gossip of ancient ones lurking in darkness, armed with earth’s ingredients, ready to push fate into providing Eudoxia with a child.

Mary interrupted, teetering and bouncing with bold toddler strength beside  the crib’s edge to view her new cousin, fussing now with anticipation. Katherine, lifted her daughter, tilted her near enough to stretch out a pudgy arm and lightly pat the babe’s side as Mary gasped, wide-eyed, chubby cheeks dropping as rosebud mouth gawked at new life. “How’re you taking to motherhood? Tell me truly… how was the birth? Has life changed forevermore?!” She asked over her shoulder, still entranced over the babe. “It took me some time to recover after Mary’s birth. Hopefully soon enough, I’ll be anticipating another to join our playgroup.” It wasn’t just a hope. It was an ache, for all the pressure that rested to bring a son into the world as time dragged on, and each month proved fruitless. “May I hold the little beauty?”  

It would pain her later that Eudoxia did not know of the true struggle that Katrinka had been forced to endure. From her conversion, to the change of names and then to the struggle between England’s view on the Russian folk. If she had known, she would’ve declared an all out siege on the pitiful island just to bring her home. But she did not know — after her laying-in (followed by a forty day isolation with the newborn), Eudoxia felt starved of gossip and knowledge. She was yet to catch up, but she would demand it in the days gone by, and would seek the people who thought to bring the daughter of Russia down. 

She stood by the cradle that held the babe, and watched with wide and honest eyes as Mary went to touch her newborn cousin. It was something otherworldly to witness it, to see two children born in two different worlds but connected by blood, who reacted as thus. It left Eudoxia, who was rumoured to be made of nothing more than bone and steel, almost tearful. So much so, she rose her hand to her hues, wiping beneath to make sure that the evidence of such softness was not visible. If anyone other than she, Ivan or Irina asked her such questions, Eudoxia would retort with a hardness that no longer resided. But as it was Katrinka, a girl she had always adored, she softened and fell back into the nearby chair — exhaustion and emotion overpowering her position.

“I thought I’d only find happiness with a boy, сестра — but I feel only love for her… And yes, carry her — hold her as if she were your own, as she is of your blood…. and your own, little Mary,” Eudoxia smiled, gesturing for her niece to join her in the seat so Katherine could hold the babe in her arms. “Rudolf will meet her when he returns, whenever that will be… I think she looks more like me, though, I admit,” she laughed, taking her niece into her arms, sitting her into her lap. Motherhood had changed her, embraced her, but there was still the threat of what was to come. Paternity, secrets, whispers. 

“I have missed you dearly, I have missed both of you. Irina helped me through the birth — it would’ve been a blessing to have you there too… Tell me, and tell me truthfully, is England home to you yet, Katrinka?”