CLAUDIA.

♚

For all her perceived austerity, Claudia finds the extravagant majesty of where her birthright has swept her up and dropped her in the middle of not only attractive, but worthy of her brief visitation. Sasso Corbaro, with its glistening spires and wings, its magnificent ballrooms and lavish dining halls, its labyrinth of age-old corridors—the very ones she pads through at twilight in grave solitude, on the prowl for something treacherous to unveil itself—is a castle befitting of a queen at war. Important figures have come to gather here in the belly of Switzerland, and where she has seen discussions nip at the patience and confidence of more powerful men, she, in searching for emotions of her own, can come away with nothing but invigoration. She does not fear war—it has been her steadfast companion since girlhood, after all. No, she is anticipating it. What’s another blood-streaked stallion rippling under her command? What’s another one hundred men roaring her ruthless name, another one thousand enemies slain like sheep by her ruthless blade? 

Sasso Carbaro sits far from her own German kingdom, but Claudia finds she would not be opposed to claiming this stronghold for herself someday, when war does break out. It’s become dear to her: she enjoys hunting in the nearby woods, walking in fragrant gardens bearing blooms of every genus and breed, reading on the balcony that faces west, so that at sunset, everything is awash in rich tones of red and gold. In fact, this is where Claudia has chosen to take a brief reprieve from the day. Her book, however, sits abandoned on a chair she has gracefully risen out of. She has moved further out onto the balcony to simply stand, quietly, lost in one train of thought or another as she studies the fields and waters below. It is not until she hears someone approaching, that she turns her head. If she is surprised, nothing on her face betrays it.

She knew, of course, that Vitória was here—and doubts that her own arrival, so laden with novel speculations and intense debate within every political circle of Konrad’s empire and beyond, would have passed unnoticed and unacknowledged by the Portugal Infanta. As such, it would only be a matter of time before she and her...old friend would cross paths again. A castle, however majesty, is only so large. A history, however deeply buried, can only be ignored so long. Claudia studies the woman wordlessly for a moment, ignores the hard feeling in her chest.

"Hello, darling,” she greets, finally. It’s painfully awkward, and it’s the easiest thing she’s done in years. “You’ve found me.”

@claudiablanche​

Friederike has never been a patient woman, nor one to sit back and wait for others to take action. She has always seized opportunities with both hands, somethings with a reckless abandon, and this is no different. Perhaps she should have thought it through more completely, or sought guidance from those who knew better than she - but then, who could shed insight on this kind of treachery? Who in the world had been rattled by such circumstance? 

And so it is quickly that the invitation is issued to Princess Claudia Blanche. It is better, she thinks, to meet her swiftly, to try and figure out what place they had in each other’s lives. As wary as she was, did this little sister not deserve a chance to stand amongst her kin, shoulder to shoulder? It may be a fanciful hope, but perhaps there is a chance, and she owed it to the both of them to try. 

And so Claudia Blanche is led into the Duchess’ chambers, and Friedi is face to face with the sister she has never known for the first time. Her gaze travels over her features, and there is no denying her heritage. Only an utter fool would choose not to believe the story based on her appearance alone. “Oh, but look at you,” she murmurs. She did not think she would be so struck in seeing her for the first time, but the life they could have had dances before them, just out of reach. She does not know how Friedi and her sisters loved each other so dearly, does not know the affection that could have been hers. She isn’t one prone to tears, and will not cry now. Instead, she locks her fiery eyes to Claudia’s own, and gestures for her to take a seat. 

“Thank you for coming to meet me. What would you prefer that I called you?” She asked, an eyebrow raised in anticipation of her answer. There are so many other questions she wants to ask, but she is far too angry, and Claudia is not the one who need give her the answers she needs. She is an imposing figure, but Friedi is undaunted in her approach. “I hope you’ll forgive me for cutting straight to the heart of things, but I have never been one for tact,” she pursed her lips and paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “How long have you known?” 

Of all the bizarre, extraordinary things that come with discovering she is Claudia Blanche, she finds this the most intriguing part: the having of sisters. That she has so many of them, that each slots perfectly into some place within Maximillian’s expansive web, and that since her arrival, they have one by one cast their gaze and judgement upon her; the naive ones warmly, the clever ones with justifiable caution. it’s been a refreshing exercise in socialization, at the very least, to interact with her blood and attempt to pinpoint what parts of herself are mirrored back.

Friederike, however, appears to share little in common with her. She is dark-haired and dark-eyed, graced with rich, lovely features and an air of indelicate fervor. Claudia, who is of iron, of winter-grass, who turns her severe, silent gaze from one corner of the throne room to another with little to offer but pithy remarks and imperial arrogance—she can hardly begin to recognize an elder sister in the more vivacious duchess standing before her.

“Not long enough to come up with anything too interesting,” Claudia offers, coolly ambiguous. Nothing of interest to you, at least. Her plans include a different sibling; one with a gold-paved future and a crown on his head. Besides, lovely sister Friederike, if she is as clever as she looks, ought to know matters of the court can never be discussed candidly. One can only speak in cunning tongues and subtle gestures. As such, she ignores the inquiry on how she’d like to be addressed as a gesture of her own impassivity on the matter—whatever name Friederike will take to calling her, she suspects it will mean little to either of them.

“Grandfather has a sick idea on what constitutes family entertainment,” she says, before beginning to take a turn about the room. She runs a gentle finger along the furniture, prods and pokes at various trinkets and knick-knacks she sees laying around. Exploring. Observing. “We ought to start looking in all our infantries for the next missing sibling, I think.”

Abruptly, Claudia pauses at Friederike’s bedside table, where she picks up a pair of earrings to admire more closely. “These are lovely,” she comments. “Up until recently, I’ve no opportunity to wear jewelry at all. It’s a shame, because I always thought they looked so radiant on the women.” 

In fact, Claudia is not overwhelmingly taken with the earrings at all. But she is taken with this new sister of her’s—at least for a little while. So Claudia takes only a second of silence to rearrange the blasé expression on her face, before looking back up to fix Friederike with a rather playful look instead. “Give them to me as a homecoming gift?”

Cunning tongues. Subtle gestures.

@claudiablanche​

he had never fathomed the possibility of elisabeth and his first child alive. they told him the babe was a stillborn, not even bothering with the sex. konrad had gone farther than even maximillian had believed capable. to steal the firstborn as leverage against him and elisabeth was shocking and gutturally cruel. the more he thought upon it, the more he wanted to hurl. 

yet the time had come where the meeting was inevitable. 

he needed to know this daughter of his, who she was. he needed to see if she was like minded, to see if she was as clever as konrad had sought to make her be. from appearance alone, her resemblance was undeniable - as if he were looking through a mirror. his teeth felt as if they were smashing against against each other as his jaw clenched. 

he had debated how to approach. to be unkind was his natural reaction but … as he stepped forth, he felt a strange peace. parts of her were her mothers, perhaps even more reminiscent than the other two true borns. she had softness but the steel in her eyes were just like maximillians. such a feeling felt like a knife slitting against his throat. this was the daughter he could’ve raised as his. yet she had become a tool to finish his own head. he maintains a distance, the expansive space between them enough to slaughter a battlefield. 

“what do you want?” and yet the words fall without demand. there is an unprecedented softness and curiosity, combined with fatigue and confusion. “… what do you know?” the second phrased forced forward. there was fear. fear that he had never thought possible. he knew not the lies that she had been fed. knew not the woman before him who was his own flesh and blood - a stranger. 

“and why?” a whisper from his lips as his eyes gaze at her, unfaltering as he bates his breath in anticipation. hellfire surely would fall upon him. was this divine punishment for all the sacrifices he had made along the way? retribution by a man as wicked as the devil himself. 

Few men who look upon ruin, can recognize it. They mistake it for love, or forgiveness, or a gold-haired girl who’s put up her armor to pad through foreign halls in silks befitting of an imperial princess. And they do not see, this is the beginning of their end.

Luckily, her father is no such man.

He greets Claudia with no warmth, no loving embrace—yes, Maximillian will know better than to expose his chest to her, lest she drive a blade through it. Instead, he simply watches her, a pair of familiar cold eyes leveled intelligently against her own. She has his eyes, Claudia finds herself thinking. His tall, authoritative nose; his grave mouth; his stature; even the unaffected tones of his voice, rising and falling in familiar patterns. 

She tries not to dwell on these uncomfortable details. Perhaps it should reassure her of the place she holds within his family—that it’s real, it exists for her, that she did come from somewhere, someplace, someone. Instead, it only makes her more afraid. 

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” she says in rebuke to his questions. Plain and decisive, with no room for negotiation. She is careful to remove all traces of anger, of hurt, of any indication of feeling whatsoever from her tone. He doesn’t need to know how often she once ached for him: for his guidance, his pride, his protection. For anything, really. And in her weakest, most vulnerable years, to have received nothing—

No. Just as he will not be privy to the information she knows, he will similarly be barred from her emotions. If she will not be the vessel to an emperor, she certainly won’t be the child to a lower king now. 

♚

Any hunter knows this to be true, that the most rewarding part isn’t in the killing, but the chasing: to ride like a tendril of wind through bottomless woodlands, hands steady and eyes watchful; and to level your crossbow at a creature, in anticipation for the perfect moment to squeeze—release. In the moments it takes for an arrow to land its mark, everything goes quiet. She forgets to breathe.

The fact that the animal has to die—that’s a side effect.

While Claudia rides, the sun begins to crest lazily over a yawning horizon, still pink and groggy. By the time she’s finished and making her way home, weak beams of light have illuminated the grandiose drawbridges and spires of Sasso Carbaro Castle—and the much smaller figure standing before it, at the foot a dewy hill. 

“Brother,” she greets, once he is within earshot. The word is meaningless and void of any affection, but fulfills some unspoken courtly necessity for exercising good manners. She is, after all, a guest—one who will be visiting the Schleswig-Holstein family for the rest of all their lives, but a guest nonetheless. She wouldn’t pretend to fit in.

Claudia dismounts from her steed and collects the body of her game from its back—a beautiful deer, still warm to the touch.

“You needn’t worry,” she says, biting and coy, before motioning in the direction of the woods from which she had emerged. “Plenty more left for you.”

The princess is in a good mood today—and she’s in search of another good chase.

✧ ━━ the courts of switzerland present CLAUDIA BLANCHE VON SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN of GERMANY, the FIRST PROTECTOR of the TEUTONIC ORDER. the TWENTY-FIVE year old has been GUILEFUL and ABSOLUTE before the break of war but has now become HAUGHTY and POWER-HUNGRY. SHE is often remembered by her likeness to ELIZABETH DEBICKI and THE THRUM OF FARAWAY DESTRIER STALLIONS IN WARS BYGONE ; CALLOUSED PALMS SLIDING BENEATH A TORN SILK BODICE ; THE INVIGORATING WEIGHT OF A JEWELED CROWN RIGHTFULLY CLAIMED. the rumour mills of europe claim that her allegiance lies with HERSELF and that she is for WAR.