SULTANA.

Felipe bore no ill-will toward those who had come to the summit, and yet friendliness was far from his nature, so one might be forgiven for thinking it was so. Even if he bore no active intention of unkindness, the Prince of Asturias had thus far kept his distance from the other celebrants, even in the midst of the great festivities. His participation in the current conversation, then, had come rather against his will, and yet he maintained civility. "I am not one for great shows of celebration," he admitted, in regards to his relative quiet since the arrival in Paris. "Such gatherings are vital, I think, for the growth of friendship, but I find greater pleasure in peaceful moments, when one is better able to focus on the spirit. Do you not find this to be so?"

location: the chapel within hôtel saint-pol 

     it had been some thirty years since isabella had departed her homeland for a throne she no long coveted and a husband no longer compendious. within that time, she had returned to the country of her birth only once, then she had been a queen as radiant as the sun in splendour, basking within the regality of her status. now she was naught more than a pitiful exile, shrouded by grief, vexation and an all consuming hunger for vengeance. the experience, may have been humbling to most – a prime example of how fortunes wheel could cast even the mightiest into the murkiest of waters – yet for isabella, the turning of the wheel had only heightened her own hubris. ardent in her belief they would one day bask in the sun’s rays once more, she had fortified, exerted patience and watched henry’s court as though a predator stalking its prey, awaiting the opportune moment to strike. 

such a moment had finally arrived, after twenty long years she had the opportunity to flex her political prowess within the court of her french relatives. her letters of support may have gone unanswered in the past, but to hear her pleas parted from her own honied lips was something no king nor emperor could disregard. whilst it was true that her position had been weakened since the death of her son, her husband still breathed and as greatly as she wished their roles had been reversed, at the very least he was still a direct threat, if only in theory alone.  it was for them both that she had taken to her knees in prayer that morning, the quietude of the chapel soothing her tormented soul and offering guidance for a woman who had long-since lost any semblance of sainthood. with her final declaration of devotion uttered, isabella made the sign of the cross upon her person, raising to her feet in order to light a candle for the slain martyr sprung from her own womb.

a chapel was not something that would usually be at a sultana's disposal but ayşe had sworn to herself that she would welcome and indulge in all things unfamiliar to her during this venture... it was also be untrue to say that she was not also burning with curiosity. the sultana could not claim to be entirely certain of the customs which were called upon in this place of worship and so, as she paused by the entrance, she peered inside to spot a lone woman finding a moment of solitude. there did not appear to be anything out of the ordinary she must do, she was already modestly dressed, her hair was covered by her veil and was already in a state of cleanliness from her own earlier prayers but she still paused before crossing the threshold. there, ayşe's feet shifted inside her shoes before she stepped aside and removed them so that she could enter barefoot. she could not see the other woman's feet from where she stood but she did not wish to cause offence if footwear was as disrespectful in a church as it was in a mosque but it was better to be safe than cause offence.

the sultana entered the chapel in respect of the silence which engulfed her, her eyes drinking in the shadowy surroundings which appeared to dance under candlelight. in a strange turn of events she did not feel as unwelcome as she might have imagined, the pews did not appear to command her departure nor did the alter shun her for alternative views. in fact, she found it to be quite calming. with her gaze captured by the figure of isa upon the cross above the alter, she felt almost a comfort in seeing the prophet that she was very familiar with and for a moment became so lost in thought that her hip accidentally bumped into a wooden pew.