BELOVED CHILD

to get used to the very different atmosphere of her sojourn residence, there was little else what to do but to brave the sun to acclimate herself. agnes could hardly complain about this, though, seeing as the greek’s architecture was stunning, stretching its magnanimity even to their gardens. furthermore, diane and sorrel were growing impatient to be locked in an unfamiliar place, and agnes made sure to walk out the pups herself whenever she was able to get up before noon to make up for the evenings she was absent.

the fairy - like voice calling to her belongs to an equally nymph - like being, the young princess of sweden she had become acquainted to upon arrival ; the princess agnetta, though much younger than she was, had become a frequent companion for her liveliness matched agnes’ own, and often had the raven - haired countess found relief and joy in the other’s company even when their feet ached after hours on the great hall of the palace. so, naturally, the english woman smiles brightly at the newcomer, stretching out a hand, so she may bring the girl closer and press her lips against the other’s cheeks in a warm, if not impertinent, form of greeting a darling friend. “your highness, i envy you. your skin is soft like a petal and so shiny, how are you so lively after such a late night ? oh, youth !” the eldest bemoans dramatically. 

“in a way, yes. my other children are asleep, thankfully.” she responds to the other’s query, the corner of her lip twisting upwards as she glances towards the toy spaniel and the beagle that nose at the grounds. diane, the toy spaniel, attentively approaches the women and agnes picks her up with a gentle swoop, cooing as she brings the dog closer to herself, careless of any possible paw prints upon the rich carmine fabric. “this is diane, your highness. my other suspicious little girl,” the english woman babbles in a soft voice, pressing a kiss upon the spaniel’s furry head. “do you care for dogs, your highness ? i feel you would have birds. they are lovely little things, much like yourself. am i wrong, darling ?”

A sweet giggle escaped her lips as the other pressed a kiss to her cheek, still ever so soft with a chubbiness that had yet been shed by age. She did not mean to be deciphered a vacuous lady who did nothing with her time but smile merrily and giggle gaily, but every time the lady Agnes talked to her, joy kindled in her warm brown eyes and a smile of pleasure lit up her whole face. Her heart was set in full bloom ! She was nurturing a garden in her heart without her even knowing it. 

The young lady Agnetta who knew nothing of the world and was so very readily swept off her feet at the enchantments that were provided to her before her eyes. At first, Agnetta had met with the English Rose not without  fear of how she might be received by the woman who seemed to command the room she moved in. But she noticed, though not right away, that Agnes liked her. It was quiet evident, and especially now that the words were being said, that her beauty and youth had given Agnes pleasure, and it pleased Agnetta in return, made her chest swelled with a kind of joy she never seemed to know before.

It had seemed that after her encounter with Agnes, she was experiencing things all over again. It was the same old things, only slightly different, and made her tremble with an emotion she wished not to put a name on.

‘I did not know that you have canine companions, nor that you’ve brought them here. How lovely, my dear Agnes!’

She watched as Agnes pressed a kiss on top of Diane’s head and wished rather mindlessly that she would be looked at with such fondness as well, but the thought escaped her like a wisp of wind as a question came her way. ‘I don’t know, actually,’ she started, letting the plush pads of her fingertips stroke the well-groomed furs of the spaniel. ‘I rather think I like them all  —  house pets that is,’ and she would be speaking the truth by saying that. The thought crossed her mind to just agree with what Agnes said, to say yes you are correct  — in fact, there was a small push inside her that urged her to do so, just to please the other and to appear as how she had made her out to be. But she refrained, what good would it do?

 – head tilted upward, eyes closed as she breathed in the twilight air. one moment passed, and then another before finally the princess sighed and opened her eyes. “try hard as i might, my imagination is not strong enough to conjure up home. i never thought i’d say it, but i miss the rain.”

‘You miss the rain?’ Agnetta asked, her befuddlement clear in her eyes. She knew it would be more acceptable for her to say that she missed home as well, and that she preferred home to Greek, however, she did not.

The young woman had so thoroughly enjoyed every second spent in the place that she had sometimes forgotten the reason why they’d come in the first place. ‘Well, I don’t miss the weather back home. It’s so perfectly pleasant here, to feel the sun kissing my skin most tenderly. And oh the historical structures I’ve yet to explore  —  can you believe there are so many of them?’ Agnetta was elated and so full of joy as she marveled at the wonders she had came across since coming here. Always were an avid reader, her interest had, at some point, taken her to the great Greek tragedies and perhaps romances, and so, was immediately enraptured by the prospect of visiting these places that she’s only read about in writings in person. 

@bcloved​ | Agnetta Nystörm 

She was no great proficient at the instrument in her hands, but despite that, the sound produced from her lyre were enough to frame the rhythm of the song stuck in her head. While during the day, Sigyn was free to distract herself outside, it was in these late hours, tucked back in within the walls of the palace, that she found herself missing home. While she didn’t regret her decision to leave, knowing that it was necessary to secure her rule once her parents’ reign dissolved, among foreign customs and music alien to her ears, she longed for these small reminders of her home and her culture. Over idle plucking, her voice found the lyrics, which drifted lightly into the air around her, far more delicate in sound than one may expect from other otherwise brash Norse princess, “Sól tér sortna, sígr fold í mar; hverfa af himni heiðar stjörnur; geisar eimi ok aldrnari; leikr hár hiti við ━━ ”

Footsteps abruptly ended the verse, and she turned to glance over her shoulder at the one intruding on her solitude. Eyes hard, she finds the other woman there, “aren’t you up past your bedtime?”

'Oh I don’t have a set bedtime. I’m not a child anymore, you see,’ came her answer, in voice as soft as moonlight, taking no offense at what others might perceive as one. It was the truth that most insults seemed to flew right past Agnetta’s head, whether she was oblivious to it or chose to ignore it remained a mystery, even to those closest to her, for the same reasons, she was also quite impossible to anger. 

If the other had meant for the comment to draw her away, Agnetta instead came closer towards Sigyn. Small tentative steps at first, which turned quite quickly into the usual confident and light gait. ‘I heard your music from down the hallway, and dare I say, I’ve never heard anything as lovely,’ that was to say, not at the moment, when she was so enamoured with the song being played from Sigyn’s lyre. It was a rare occurence to hear a song in words she understood in this place, one that was closer to home to anything she’s been exposed to in the Greecian court and culture (splendid though it might be). 

Dark eyes and dark hair had always bewitched her, she spent endless times staring at them, getting lost in them, drowning in them until she’s snapped back to reality and her own rosiness engulfed her as she was, yet again, caught in the act. But she couldn’t help but marvel, they were bewitching, like the river of text she’s read about in texts, and the gleam of the darkest nights. She wondered, rather absent-mindedly, what kind of secrets could she found there.

So she spent her time staring, which would had been deemed impolite perhaps, but her youth and her pleasing countenance had let her get away it and she knowingly took full advantage of this.

The lady Yelena of Russia, however, was one that she did not dare take look at for too long, not a for just a second. There was something sharp in her eyes, and Agnetta was ever so afraid of getting cut, of getting hurt. She did not, however, shy away when fate brought them together, so with a smile, she approached the other woman across the room and gave her a disarming smile.

The only reason Eric had bothered accepting the invitation to Greece in the first place was out of intrigue. Stories of mad kings and the like intrigued him, but now he was here, it seemed like it was too little too late. When the king died, so did everything that was interesting about the wretched country. 

Not that Denmark was any better. Marginally so, perhaps, but only because in Denmark, Eric made the rules. He spoke what he wanted into existence, and nobody attempted to argue with him. Not anymore, at least. Those who did had a nasty habit of disappearing hastily, and the court had quickly learned to bite their tongue. 

Greece was another matter. If he was to have any power here, it would be of his own creation. if some form of amusement could be found within that, so much more the better. 

He was mid-thought when the woman collided with him. Eric blinked a little, studying her swiftly to get his bearings. Oh. This could work. “There is no need to be sorry, my Lady,” he smiled. He knew that when he smiled, and honeyed his words, he was good at getting people to like him. To trust him, even. He had one of those faces, he supposed, and those who made the mistake of trusting him didn’t realise what an error they had made until it was too late. 

The mewl coming from her clothing caused his smile to drop, however, brow furrowing as his eyes raked over her, looking for the source of the noise. “Er… was it you who made that sound?” 

'Oh that was not me  — ’ the princess started to say, very quickly as her blush took over her, before she stopped herself and gave the Danish kingg a skeptical look. Though, paired with the incredulous smile on her face, it would be hard to take her as anything but the naive young woman that she was. ‘You are joking with me, Your Majesty, surely?’ She asked again, then, determining in her own head that he was indeed pulling her leg, opened up her coat to uncover the small feline she had been hiding under it.

There was no use hiding it, and Agnetta was half relieved that she was caught in the act by someone not part of her posse, who would very certainly gave her a rather hard time about it. But the Danish king, Eric, if her mind remembered correctly, having been briefed a few nights ago about the important figures of each country, had a peculiar way about him that made Agnetta wanted to trust him.

Wait it his smile? Or perhaps the tone that he took? Or perhaps it was just her, having absolutely no concerns nor cautions about strangers, no matter how many times she had been warned before. Always see the good in people, she was told when she had been a child, but it seemed that Agnetta Nystorm took it far.

‘I found him shivering outside. He was so cold and so wet, I had to take him in. I couldn’t see his mother anywhere  —  Oh, I do hope that she’s not out there looking for him. That would be too dreadful to think of! And in this weather too!’ How peculiar that the weather should take such a grim turn when it had been all but sunny and warm the days before.

mikael’s laughter filled the room as he shook his head. “you get enough of you young people in a room and you’re bound to come up with some kind of trouble- even if you are the most well behaved young woman in europe.” the king gave his daughter a wink.

“of course i’m taking care of myself- i don’t think your mama would be too pleased with me if i didn’t.” he grinned. “no, i’ve been busy but it isn’t too bad.” monarchs from so many nations converging in a way like this was so rare that he felt as if he ought to take advantage of every moment; in meetings, over dinner, in casual conversation. “what about you, how have you been keeping busy?”

Mikael’s response successfully elicited a light laughter from his daughter, and it echoes softly in the hallways as they walked side by side. ‘If mamma didn’t get mad at you, then assured, I would,’ she chided her father playfully, her eyes twinkling with a youthful vivacity that always captured the attention of her partners.

‘Everyone seemed to think that I ought to be married, so my ladies have been scouting for potential partners, telling me this and that about this prince and that count,’ her hand flew to cover her smile, as she remembered the tales she’s been told, but at the thought of marrying, her expression darkened and she grabbed hold of her father’s arms, holding on to it just as she had done years ago, when she was just a little child. 

It was perhaps not very appropriate of her, but at that moment a sudden feeling of loneliness and isolation crashed upon her like a tidal wave. Her brothers would marry and still remained in Sweden, but were she to be married, she must be prepared to bid her family goodbye and she was not very sure she wanted that.

Aoife would never label herself as an expert in archery. Yet out of the sports she was exposed to back in her childhood, it was the one she enjoyed the most. She always preferred the company of her piano and her dancing shoes, but her father insisted that she gets outdoors more, and it was one of the few things she did not mind doing. 

With the other having asked for her assistance, the princess could not resist. Saying no was never something that Aoife would do, and she did have a couple of tricks up her sleeve that she had learned throughout the years which she would not mind sharing. Watchful eyes examined the way the other held onto her bow, immediately noticing that the arms were way too off, held too stiffly for the shot to be successful. 

“Of course! Hitting the target is always a good step,” she said with a smile, hoping to encourage Agnetta not to give up. “If you relax your shoulders a bit more, you  will be able to get closer to the center. Try again, but don’t shoot. I’ll help you get the positioning right.”

'Are you saying I should lose my center?’ she asked, rephrasing it to a more familiar term, that of her artistic origins and her history of spending days dancing until her toes were blistered and her muscles had moaned. Perhaps it was similar in that way, dancing and sports, and Agnetta was sure that though her time on the archery field was a far cry to fun, she would soon claim it, as soon as she mastered the basics.

Or at least she hoped that it would be the case.

In any case, she was thankful of Aoife for her patience, and hoped for nothing else but to make her efforts on her (both their efforts) to come to fruition. She tried it once more, relaxed the shoulders that she had been raising, without her conscious. There was a buzz inside her, a spell of nervousness and a fear that she would hit and miss yet again. 

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 : tired eyes. coffee stains on the table. listening to the bustle of the city.  unmade beds. ponytails. sunlight seeping through the curtains. chapped lips. walking barefoot across the floorboards. dusty dictionaries. black and white reruns. huge sweaters. the ticking of the clock. hearing birds in the morning. fireplaces. falling asleep during class.

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 : freckles. the sun rising. watching the sea. taking shots of the city. historical museums. bright eyes. looking up at the clouds. walls covered in artworks. drawing in the middle of lessons. tracing your fingers on the sand. painting for hours. staying in uncrowded coffee-shops. worn paperbacks. messy braids. going to bed with your kneesocks on.

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄 : dark hair. a little sophisticated. always observing the world around you. intricate designs. high ceilings. extravagant musical pieces. dim lights. colorless photographs. fancy furniture. pale skin. hearing soft footfalls coming from outside the room. mischievous looks. bitten nails. candlelight dinners. dark shades of lipstick.

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 : chandeliers. the clinking of a teacup mug. laced clothing. modern architecture. light hair. watching the view from the terrace. hidden birthmarks. drinking tea in the morning. wandering about in an empty building. botanical gardens. old films.  ancient marble sculptures. expensive perfume. breakfasts in bed. reading stories about mythology.

@bcloved​ // it took everything within the sultana to be alone. her father and mother loved hovering over their children, and the guards were turkish, always on alert and eyes like hawks. it took a turn of their heads for nehir to be able to run by. and run she went on to do down to the lake to meet with the other. “i am so sorry!” she greeted, breathless but eyes full of life. “the guards are so hard to sneak past. you would think my lady mother and father would be okay with so many eyes on us for us to be safe. i cannot believe they do not trust me !”

agnetta knew of nehir, but only very slightly. her brown eyes alert and sharp, and playful enough to keep skipping through the faces of the court until she’s seen them all. nehir was of no exception  —  she had seen her (and had enjoyed seeing her a flower that grew in the deepest of saturations unlike the pale pastel flurries of her own court), and her ladies had done their best by informing her about the other, so that she may not appear ignorant and simple-minded.

‘oh please,’ she started softly, her smile in full bloom and her cheeks a rosy hue. it was ever so delightful to catch the presence of the youth, as opposed to the hordes and hordes of thin-lipped politicians who talked only aboutmatters that did not interest her. ‘i do not mind it the slightest  —  and i do know a thing or two about sneaking around,’

‘i am not understanding, your majesty’ she tried, in english –– a language that she did not master well, despite her gift of tongues. her soft hands were not used to the bow and arrow and the way it cut into her skin as she readied them and aimed for the dotted spot on the target. archery was one of the sports thought to be well-suited for the ladies and she had seen many of her lady friends took it up as a hobby. yet agnetta felt disinclined towards the specific activity and preferred to surround herself with nothing but music and lines and lines of letters. 

well, that is, until she arrived in greek –– with little to nothing else to do and often being the forgotten figure left behind within the royal family. and perhaps the princess of ireland would be a much gentler and kind teacher compared to the brute of a teacher they had back home (he wasn’t that bad, their brother would tell her, but they were much more talented and had much more practice than agnetta).

the sight of his children never failed to bring a smile to the king’s face. from the moment each of them were born and placed into his arms, they had captured his heart. if silvia were the love of his life, their sons and daughter were extensions of that love put out into the world. 

“of course i have time for you, älskling.” despite a busy schedule- and busier since arriving in athens, for it was no vacation despite the climate- he tried to spend as much of his free time with his family. “we’ve broken our meetings for a short while, i’m more than free.”

he glanced to the women that always seemed to accompany agnetta, before looking back to her. “what is it that you all have been up to? not causing too much trouble, i hope.”

‘oh pappa! that makes me ever so delighted!’ the young woman positively beamed at her father. it was evident in the littlest thing on her face —  her eyes, her smile, the color of her voice which had taken a page of the spring seasons. he was a busy man, she understood that, and so, never tried to impose on him her selfish whishes  —  however, that only made her appreciate what little time they’ve got even more. 

the youngest of the swedish royal family, agnetta was coddled and spoiled since she was little  ―, though by no means her parents let her ignore her studies. they were given the best of the best, the crème de la crème of home tutors were sent to meet them after school. it was fortunate that agnetta liked studying. her love for language budded early on in her prepubescent years, when english was taught at school. as she blew another candle, and another, every year, her interests in other languages grow and she continued to indulge them with her family’s support.

she is currently majoring in linguistic studies in university. always one for a challenge and a good change of pace, she moved out of sweden the moment she graduated from high school and is currently living in a flat near her university with a couple of flat mates and a cat called comet.

what a pretty little thing you are!

those were the words that others would always say to agnetta; ever since she was just a little thing, with chubby rosy cheeks and short plump legs ––– and until now. she was always a pretty little thing. childlike. blonde and petite and bouncing with life. agnetta couldn’t remember when it started: the moment where her twin sprout taller than she could ever dream to be, standing tall like the apple tree in front of her window.

oh what she would give to be a tall brunette; with graceful long limbs and mysterious dark eyes that oozed charisma –– yes, just like the lady agnes from england. she was dark as a night and beautiful as the moon. agnetta remembered clearly the first time she caught sight of her. her breath caught, and it was near impossible not to stare just a bit longer at the lady.

she was wearing red –– agnetta remembered this very clearly. she never wore red herself, the deep saturation never suited her pale complexion and she looked washed out and sickly. but the color suited the lady agnes very much, and it filled her head with things that shouldn’t even be there.

irina  had  not  been  afforded  a  great  many  liberties  as  a  royal  ward  ─  though  she  was,  by  no  means,  mistreated  under  the  guardianship  of  the  kuznetsov  dynasty,  she  had  been  doggedly  determined  to  prolong  the  unspoken  animosity,  abstaining  from  frivolous  practices  and  pleasures,  almost  as  though  she  was  afraid  to  allow  herself  a  moment  to  forget  that  she  was  surrounded  by  enemies  of  the  rurik  family.  it  had  been  the  music,  so  unlike  the  pieces  that  she  had  learned,  that  drew  attention  to  the  room,  her  pale  figure  moving  like  a  specter  through  the  brightly  lit  halls  of  the  grecian  court  as  though  summoned  by  a  siren  song.  the  laughter  that  accompanied  the  tune  had  almost  been  enough  to  scare  her  away,  the  thought  of  forcing  pleasantries  through  the  ashy  column  of  her  throat  souring  any  miniscule  joy  she  might  find  in  the  presence  of  such  unfamiliar  music.

(  her  instruments  had  been  one  of  the  rarer  indulgences  that  she  allowed  herself  to  partake  in,  along  with  her  books  and  her  horses.  the  tomes  and  steeds  had  been  left  behind  in  russia,  but  her  hands  twitched,  itching  for  the  smooth  keys  of  a  piano  or  the  taut  strings  of  a  harp  under  her  fingers.  )

swallowing  hesitation,  irina  pushed  through  the  half - opened  doors,  pleased  that  her  silent  intrusion  went  unannounced.  though  her  features  remained  passively  unmoved,  her  mind  was  awhirl.  chief  among  her  thoughts  was  envy  ─  easy  mistaken  as  common  disgust,  she  gazes  upon  the  dancing  women  with  a  longing  in  her  heart  for  simpler  times.  had  she  ever  been  this  carefree  ?  (  once,  perhaps,  when  her  mother’s  hands  were  gentle  through  her  long  locks  and  her  brothers  played  at  war  with  wooden  sticks.  )  lost  in  her  memories  with  her  eyes  glazed  over,  she  does  not  have  a  moment  to  escape  when  she  is  approached  by  another  woman,  steps  quick  as  though  gliding  upon  clouds.  ❝  the  music.  ❞  a  pause,  before  she  continues,  forcing  a  smile  to  her  mouth.  the  contortion  is  unfamiliar,  unpracticed,  but  irina  had  promised  to  work  towards  softening  the  harshness  of  her  features  as  russia  attempted  to  curry  favor  with  the  powers  of  the  world.  ❝  the  music  is  lovely,  as  is  your  dancing,  but  i  …  i  do  not  know  the  steps.  both  the  tune  and  the  dance  is  foreign  to  me.  ❞  she  does  not  recoil,  however,  feet  planted  firmly  as  her  hands  are  grasped  with  gentle  tugging  motions  ─  a  corner  of  her  mouth  lifts,  indulgent  enough  to  be  mistaken  for  agreement,  before  she  can  smother  the  impulse.

perhaps agnetta should’ve recognized the young woman in front of her –– she vaguely remembered her as a foreign royalty. a princess, perhaps, but the details were lost in her head and she did little to nothing to fetch them. why fuss about trivial things like that? why fuss when you could drown yourself in merriments and laughter?

‘i am agnetta –– of sweden,’ she offered her name as she pulled the woman towards the dance floor –– away from the depressing corner she had been planting her roots in ( agnetta could’ve sworn she had grown roots in that spot; oh how hard it was to peel her away from it ). she smiled at her compliments –– always one to receive them graciously and gratefully and never one to shy way from them. ‘i thank you for your kind words, but let me tell you a secret,’ her voice dropped to a whisper as she turned to look at the other girl, eyes twinkling as if they were speaking of a matter of great secrecy and not just small and empty talks. she tended to do that, romanticize things. 

romanticize every little thing you do, and your life shall never be boring, she used to say to her ladies, and still did. 

‘you need not to be good at dancing to look lovely when you dance, my darling. everyone looks lovely when they dance, when they’re enjoying themselves. am i right, my loves?’ she turned towards her ladies, their rosy faces and rouged lips echoed an agreement and agnetta smiled in satisfaction.

there was something about the woman in front of her –– she had made herself look tall and had uprooted herself so, that one might think of her as a formidable wall. but the moment she talked and the moment their eyes meet agnetta could’ve sworn she was a girl of porcelain, of glass. that the loud noise of their music and dancing would be enough to break her and shatter her. how could that be so? without any voice to answer her, she let the question sink to the back of her head once again.

her ladies would be furious.

agnetta knew of this, yet her urges remained impossible to be subdued and before she knew it, she had scooped out the little cat from the place grounds, holding it close to her and keeping it hidden behind her woolen cloak. agnetta was known for her kindness and sweet-nature –– and also of her naive and oftentimes immature nature. she was never known for her profound thinking nor self-inhibition, and perhaps what happened today was one of the many examples of it.

‘oh please don’t cry out,’ came the slightly distressed voice of agnetta as she tied to hush down the creature in her arms, wet and trembling from the cold. if anyone were to find out that she were sneaking a stray –– would she be punished? the afterthought came a little too late. perhaps not, she reasoned with herself. she was a princess, and surely a trivial matter would only give her a slap on the wrist.

it is not her hosts that she were so afraid of, it was the fuss her ladies would’ve thrown and the disapproving look she would certainly receive from them. perhaps that was why her heart seemed to palpitate, seemingly wanting to jump from thee cavities of her chest.