"Yes. And we thank you. For we have all lost loved ones. This is a reprieve for us a much needed one at that." Catherine replied before taking a sip from her goblet.
"By some... yes. Not everyone, but we expected that. It is quite alright, no need for dramatics when everyone seems to be enjoying themselves." She said before giving him an amused smile.
"You certainly couldn't ask for more. It's always good to have friends, good food and of course plentiful conversations." She remarked as she gave him a warm and jovial gaze.
lukas decided in that moment that he liked the queen. it was pretty simple to win him over it seemed. he was so exhausted of all this talk of worry and woe. lukas, of course, had lost his sister-in-law. it was sad, yes, but his brother could always remarry in the grand scheme of things. did that make him cruel? perhaps. perhaps he hadn't lost the right person yet.
"of course. should anyone cause a ruckus though- do let me know. i am all for dramatics in the court, of course, but there's a time and place for such a thing." he lifted his cup of wine to his lips.
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Matteo listened to Elif without interrupting, not even once. A soft smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of the young woman, bathed in dim light. But his silence had another reason - he wanted to impress her, recalling the few Ottoman Turkish phrases he had learned through a friendship with one of the princesses. He didn't know whether he would get the pronunciation right, but he decided to take a chance and try anyway.
"It's nice to meet you, Elif," he said slowly and uncertainly, as if savoring each word.
His laughter filled the room a moment later when he was embarrassed by his poor attempt. His face flushed scarlet and he had to turn away for a moment to hide. He cleared his throat, hoping to regain his composure. Who knows what she would think of him. What if she decided he was one of those annoying men who would do anything to impress a beautiful woman? No, how embarrassing!
"I'm sorry if I offended you," he hastened to apologize, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm sure you'll like Vienna once you get to know it. It’s one of the most beautiful cities in Europe - though still not quite as stunning as Florence," he said with a slight laugh. His nervousness was evident in his hurried words. "Would you like to see this apple orchard? I'm afraid it won't be as beautiful in the moonlight as it is in daylight, but it may be worth the view - it will have a different charm."
His eyes rested on Elif's face, waiting to see if she would join him on this unexpected adventure or if she would prefer to stay in the palace.
if her heart could have melted, it would have. elif was surprised to hear turkish hit her ears. it was a little rough, and a little strange to hear it with an italian accent- but it was oh so endearing. her lips curled into a big smile. she wished she could reciprocate, but she didn't know a lick of italian. instead, she answered back in turkish, the words rolling off her tongue with ease.
"the pleasure is all mine," she responded, bowing her head once again.
she laughed, though not at him. it was a joyous one and she felt matteo's laugh to be contagious. "thank you, that is very impressive. you did a good job," elif praised. "though you could work on your pronunciation," she teased, lightly.
elif lifted her hands. "oh no, i am not offended. i think it is rather kind you spoke to me in my language." the lady-in-waiting nodded. he was right. vienna was simply stunning, from what she saw outside of the carriage windows. it was nothing compared to the ottoman empire, though perhaps she was a little biased. "tell me of florence. what is it like?"
his offer surprised her. perhaps a lot about matteo de medici would surprise her. for a moment, she hesitated. the small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that he was a duke. she'd been burned by royalty before. but he's simply nobility, she argued with herself. "i would be delighted to see it. or, at least, try to see it."
the familiar head of blonde hair acts as a beacon across the packed hall, as ever drawing lucien in -- and without so much as a second thought. truthfully, he thinks it is perhaps the only advantage of this coming together that he has a chance to see lukas for the first time in far too long. even from across the room he can see he's changed -- they both have, no doubt -- but the french prince remains enthusiastic for the reunion and does not ( or cannot ) fight the bright grin that blossoms as he nears. arms cross, head tilted to one side and he stops right at lukas' side. "i simply cannot believe you've not yet found a way to make yourself the centre of attention tonight. does this mean i get you all to myself for a little while? or have i just stumbled upon preparations?" then, a slightly more serious tone as he takes the crown prince in unashamedly. "you look very well, cher."
lukas is pretending to be interested in a woman's jeweled brooch. there was only so much "oohs" and "awws" that he could allow before he excused himself. as his family were hosts, that meant he had to be on his best behavior, which was terribly boring. however, a spark of hope ignited when he heard the all too familiar voice of lucien. his head turned faster than thought humanly possible. "have you come all this way to give me a fright?" he brightened, instantly. "believe it or not, i am letting others handle the reigns." the prince took in the other's appearance, eyeing him from top to bottom. "as do you, schatz. i have been waiting for you to come over all evening."
nina watches him with that same maddening calm — the kind that makes you wonder if she’s analyzing your soul or just deciding whether you’re worth the effort. his protest earns the lift of one unimpressed brow. “well, your ‘refined’ platter smells like it was assembled by someone who’s never met seasoning,” she mutters, more to herself than to him. but the jab is affectionate — or at least, as affectionate as nina gets when she hasn’t slept in two days and is carrying four kinds of antidote in her boots. at his not-thank-you, she doesn’t flinch. she never expects gratitude. that’s the first lesson in court apothecary work: give them what they need, not what they ask for. lukas is no exception. especially lukas. she lets the silence stretch as he breathes in the herbs. watches the tiny flicker of tension ease from his face like watching dusk crawl back from the edge of a fire. doesn’t mention it. she never does.
instead, her voice returns low, bone-dry. “dead already? gods forbid. then who would haunt the corridors with perfectly groomed misery and endless contempt for poultry?” then he gestures to the ballroom, and for a moment, nina just stares at him — blank, as if he’s suggested she take up synchronized drowning as a hobby. “…dance?” she echoes the word like it’s in a foreign language. then: “lukas, the last time someone asked me to dance, i responded by diagnosing them with early-stage mercury poisoning. i’ve been blacklisted by three barons and a bishop.” a pause. thoughtful. “four, if you count the one who cried.” her arms cross, mirroring his, but where he leans into the stone like a prince out of sorts, nina stands like she’s keeping the wall upright through sheer willpower. her gaze sharpens, amused now. “besides, you should be grateful i’m in here pestering you instead. out there, someone might try to make me smile, and i would consider poison then.”
he could feel her gaze on him. it was unnerving, something you couldn't shrink away or hide from. nina's gaze has always been so piercing, even when she wasn't interrogating you. lukas' mouth hangs open. "we have the finest chefs, you know that!" he shakes his head, muttering something about seasonings and crazy women. lukas could feel the pounding in his head already receding. it was helpful to have an apothecary in the palace, despite whatever strange concoctions she may create. if nina decided one day to turn on his family, god help them.
she stares blankly at him, he returns the favor. blue eyes gaze at her unrelentingly until they turn away with amusement. "i am sure there is someone out there who would take you for a spin. you just can't..." he waved his arms in front of her. "diagnose people...or ask for a sample...or ask about symptoms. it makes others uneasy." his brow perked, rare smile leaking through his features. "though i would have liked to see the baron cry." the prince nods his head. he can never tell if she is being serious or not. "i have danced with six ladies this evening- including a rather annoying eleven year old."
open starter !
location: the map room, during the banquet.
admittedly, antonio's capacity to freely partake in frivolity was limited anyway, but with the heavy cape of loss hanging over the event and threatening to engulf all below, it had shrunk further. he didn't like to tear himself away from his charges, but it had to be done. the earlier mention of a map room had piqued his interest and during the distraction of the banquet seemed a good time to explore. he almost laughed upon discovering the most recently used map -- or simply the one laid out on display, it didn't matter -- was one with his homeland at its centre. finger traced the familiar outline, the unmistakeable catch of emotion in his throat as he followed the indents down to the coastline of his past. about to let himself be taken by the tide of welling emotion, the reverie was interrupted by the creek of wood -- the door, or a floorboard -- and instead of finding peace, the captain nearly jumped out of his skin. a hasty collection of his wits made and he cleared his throat. "i was just leaving."
her lady was all demands tonight. usually, elif was more than happy to provide. however, with the excessive meal and conversation, she was admittedly feeling overwhelmed. elif excused herself as politely as she could before making her way through the palace halls. as if her feet had a mind of their own, she found herself in the map room. it nearly felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs. the look and smell of the room reminded her of her late father. elif remembered nights where he would pour over maps of city lines, preparing himself for court. sure, the maps were never as grand as this but...it tugged at her heartstrings, nonetheless. "oh-!" the bowed her head, softly. "i did not mean to interrupt you, sir. i was merely admiring the room."
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while genevieve was not someone to turn her nose up at a party but this? there was an air of grief which united the partygoers. something which she did not wish to bare witness to. it was in her pursuit for something to entertain herself .. when she recalled mention of the swimming pond. it was evening and the night wasn't the warmest but she could hardly help herself. perhaps it was the wine that had gone to her head. though she suspected that she would have gone for a swim in only her chemise.
she wasn't too sure how long she had been swimming for when she spotted someone by the edge. "are you going to stand there or will you join me?" she questioned. perhaps she should care too much about being caught in the pond but it simply was not in her nature - especially not recently. there were more important things to spend her energy on.
what was it and people slipping out of the ballroom? apparently, people were not impressed by the banquet his dear brother threw. oh well. lukas was doing his best to avoid tobias, anyway. the prince watched the young woman for a while, nearly chuckling how she invited herself into the swimming pond, seemingly without a care in the world.
he's taken by surprise at her words. he thought he was in an impressive hiding space. instead, he stepped forward and tilted his head. "are you inviting me to my own swimming pond?"
open to: everyone !
location: welcome banquet, ballroom, habsburg palace, vienna, italy.
The columns of the ballroom turn gold under the candlelight, marble set ablaze and giving the illusion of halos over the gathered nobility— survivors, sinners, they are all the same. Suspicion against neighboring kingdoms who mourn the loss of heirs, leaders, and peacemakers are dulled under wine. They are bountiful in hopelessness, but tomorrow should bring them all reprieve. The greatest minds from one corner of the map to the other have been brought together to pierce the veil and bring back those who have been lost. It is a banquet of promise.
But one ceremony has not been prepared, and it begins without the flutter of servants when the great hall doors creak open.
A figure stands between its crack where the shadows have yet to reach, but there is a glint that is unmistakably royal. His presence, his return, does not announcement itself with a symphony or the cry of a trumpet but some form of silence. It is only fitting when his name had been thrown into the air curled in eulogy, fate sealed in an empty casket buried under mourners and a bleak morning. One soul lost during the vanishing, but he'd only been misplaced.
Prince Auden Dieudonne of France.
"I do hope you forgive the intrusion," He grins, mockery of the word they whispered in the fear it was fragile. "I was not sure if the dead needed invitation."
raphael hung in the shadows and though he may have looked serious and solemn, his mind was working everyone in the room. he offered polite smiles and bows, only to take stock of the individual. he offered prayers and blessings until his mouth felt dry, and no amount of wine could satisfy him.
when the doors opened and a dramatic hush fell over the crowd. raphael half expected a deity to walk among them. the fingers around his wine glass grew tighter. it was none other than the prodigal son returned. so he hadn't vanished after all. interesting.
the priest makes his way through the crowd, slithering like a snake. "my prince, it is by the grace of god that you are securely safe with us once again."
₊˚⊹ (SAM REID, CIS MALE, HE/HIM, 38, FRANCE) thank the heavens, it’s RAPHAEL MONET, the PRIEST FROM FRANCE. they’re safe. HE always been so REASSURING yet MANIPULATIVE. they remind me of BLOND HAIR SPREAD AROUND HIS HEAD LIKE A HALO, DEEP RED LIPS THAT PROMISE HEAVEN AND SIN, CLASPED HANDS IN AN EMPTY CHAPEL. i wonder who they miss the most? probably MENTOR. (penny, she/her, est, 26, sa)
TW: DRUGS, DRINKING, MANIPULATIVE BEHAVIOR, GENERAL EVILNESS, PARENTAL DEATH
full name: raphael anton monet
nicknames: rap (friends &. lovers), father, your reverence
age: 38
sexuality: pansexual
status: unmarried and planning to stay that way
languages: french, latin, english
** disclaimer: i did not grow up religious and i am not an expert on 17th century french religion. i do not mean to offend or assume anything or anyone!! raphael is going to be a complete opposite of a priest or pious man should be, just fyi.
you were born into the small town of honfleur, known for their seaports and churches. your mother was a prostitute who died upon your birth. you never knew your father. your first memory is of the church. as a small babe, instead of being left on the streets to die, a nun decides to take you in. you grow up in a french monastery. your days are filled with hard work, deep reflection, and prayer. your best friends are nuns and some other orphans that were taken in.
you have never felt at home. you have never felt connected to a family unit. god is supposedly your heavenly father. you wonder why he never visits.
when you are a teenager, you cannot help but feel trapped in this tiny town. you see visitors come through the docks in colorful clothing- and even colorful language. you have been brought up to want nothing. what does it mean when you crave everything? attention...money...love... when does it end? you seek guidance repeatedly and are told to focus on your studies towards priesthood.
when you are five and twenty, you earn your priesthood. now you are able to leave and preach to a folk. only...it goes differently. you bid the nuns goodbye and set off towards paris. paris is where everything goes right-- or arguably, goes terribly wrong.
you're introduced to opium and alcohol and sex. you like staying up late and talking to strangers. you like the taste of liquor on your tongue or lips on your neck. you stop thinking about god for a little while.
but priests have a reputation to uphold- you know that. so it becomes your little secret. a pious man by day, a devil's ear by night. this continues for a long time, but slowly, you've been becoming more and more popular. you're charming and handsome and you have a way of convincing people. you like listening to confessions and keeping those secrets....until you don't keep them.
eventually, you find your way into the french court. it's magnificent and so deliciously scandalous. your ambition grows (so does your greed). you make sure to perfectly place yourself with the french family, offering guidance or a shoulder to cry on. still, you're always thinking about your next move.
you can't help but think that king raphael sounds good.
when the vanishing took place, many turned to you. you wonder if this is a test from god. if you are being punished....no, you're being rewarded. with the queen of france gone, the family is more week than ever.
you've been praying on their downfall. now is the time to collect.
laughter does not tremble from the lower pout of her features. but it does echo somewhere in a forgotten chamber of her heart. “i’ve yet to see a day where such surprises come easily from members of court,” isobel remarks. not yet turning to face the prince. though the sound of his voice carries like memory. a day spent listening to each greeting. drowning in quiet gratitude that it was his home. not her own.
“do not allow their thorns to fool you, your highness.” extending finger lost among the shadows. it is with the softest touch that she grazes the petal. grounding. familiar. “roses are some of the most tender of florals. they will listen far better than any soul in the garden…” a childlike fairytale. somewhere, she knows this to be true. but it does not make it any less of a wish from the purest parts of herself.
sigh echoes through the towering hedges. isobel lets her hands fall back to the curve of her skirts, smoothing each crease as she turns. catching the prince’s gaze. “have you finally managed to greet every last one of them? or are they to descend upon you at any moment now?”
he stands, hands behind his back in quiet observance. the gardens never seemed so special to him. perhaps he is burdened with the consistency of them. they are always here to admire or reject. lukas cannot help but feel jealous of every person who enters his home in awe. why is it that everyone had to invade his home? why couldn't his family go to thailand or portugal?
his gaze follows hers towards the rose bushes. lukas scrunches up his nose, not so easily convinced. what was the difference between roses and any other flower? "do you talk to flowers often, my lady?" lukas asks, tilting his head. "that sounds rather lonely."
he sighs, shaking his head. "i believe the party from spain are running late, i still have to wait up for them" he responds. it was a lot of responsibility to be the hosts. bitterly, he wonders why his brother even agreed to this. what sense was there? "that's why i'm hiding in the gardens," he grins. "i cannot bear for another introduction."
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Location: The Ballroom of The Royal Palace of Vienna in the evening
"Your Royal Highness." Catherine greeted with a smile, a goblet in her hand as she gave him a polite nod.
"Are such balls always like this Vienna? For I am quite enjoying myself and on behalf of Scotland, I must say we are quite pleased that we've been welcomed so warmly by your family." She said before grinning.
"I take it you are very much enjoying yourself on such a joyous night?" She asked, a friendly yet curious gaze making it's way onto her face.
he turned at the sound of a soft voice, just a lilt of an accent. lukas recognized her almost instantly. it was hard not too. for one, she was a very beautiful woman. and two, she and her husband usurped the last scottish family. it was a bold action- one that lukas was undecided on.
lukas offered the young woman a slight bow. "your royal highness," he murmured, words like smooth silk. he smiles before shrugging his shoulders. "we paid no expense to welcome everyone. it's the least that could be done, considering, well," he took a sip of wine, avoiding the dreary conversation about the vanished.
"is your family being welcomed..by all?" he asked, tilting his head. he wondered how the rest of the world viewed the scottish family. "do let me know if i should see anyone out," he jests.
lukas nods his head. "my belly is full and i am surrounded by friends. what more could i ask for?"
The melodious voice of the stranger filled the room and Matteo turned around, wondering who she was. He didn't remember being introduced to her, but he had also chosen not to introduce himself to many ladies that evening, avoiding conversation with most of the guests. His expression immediately softened, regretting his words, which had probably sounded too harsh. He didn't want to leave her with the impression that he was angry at the whole world. Yes, his sister was missing, but he couldn't hold everyone responsible. He shouldn't take it out on others. The young lady had probably lost someone close to her too.
"My name is Matteo de Medici and I come from Florence, Tuscany," the young lord introduced himself formally and hastened to bow slightly to the lady, paying her the necessary respect. "And you are? Your accent sounds unfamiliar to me as well - I find it rather charming."
His hazel eyes scanned the newcomer's beautiful face and his lips curved into a beautiful smile. He hoped he hadn't frightened her and that she would stay with him for a small talk or simply enjoy the silence that the hall offered them, far from the other guests who had chosen to continue with their conversations and dancing.
"Do you like Vienna, or haven't you had a chance to explore the city yet?" The question slipped out of his mouth without him realizing, driven by a quiet hope that their exchange might continue, and that he might learn more about her.
Something told him they might get along well - as if they both carried the same quiet sorrow in the wake of recent misfortunes. After all, it was often easier to open one’s heart to a stranger.
elif silently took in the decor of the drawing room. the molding on the walls, the delicate chairs, and the strong busts of philosophers and thinkers. it was so strange being away from the ottoman empire. she missed the constant smell of jasmine and sea salt. she missed honeyed baklava and rich Börek. of course, most of all she missed her mother. all elif could do was pray that wherever she was-- she was safe and happy.
tuscany. it seems as though they were not truly as far apart as she previously thought. tuscany was closer to turkey than vienna was. "it is a pleasure to meet you, lord de medici." she smiles, feeling the tips of her cheeks turn pink. "thank you. i am elif bayman. i am the lady-in-waiting to the haseki sultan of the ottoman empire."
she was quite found of his red hair. though she didn't know the young man well, it seemed to fit him. she hesitated in her answer. "i'm afraid i do not know vienna very well. from what i can see, it clearly is a beautiful city. i have not had the chance to explore much of it." her eyes glanced at the paintings around the room. "i have heard that the palace has an apple orchard. i am quite interested in that."
open to : everyone !
where : palace grounds, just away from the ballroom.
corridors breathe an ancient cry as footsteps echo further down, peeling away from the celebration. or the funeral. valentina had yet to decide which name best crowned an event so marred by pretense. they drank, they cheered, they toasted to the dawn of a new day. yet every face carried the violence carved deep into their ribs. grief stained each conversation. no matter how carefully the speakers arranged their words. no matter how delicately they chose to phrase their lies.
valentina could hardly stand it. the ease with which so many clawed their way forward. others working tirelessly to sew together some neat absolution, to quiet the questions still beating inside every trembling chest. they would find nothing. only the shared murmur of suspicion behind velvet curtains. and the drunken mutterings of cowards, too afraid to say aloud what they all know — there would be no return for those lost to the smog.
if only the cursed disappearance had taken the reigning duchess with it.
“do you believe it to be real?” question cut clean through the hush, her voice low. sharp as broken crystal. her gaze remains fixed on the painting hanging lower than all the rest. deliberately so, she ventures. as though demanding to be seen. how fitting. “the painting,” she clarifies, though the curl of her mouth suggests meaning runs deeper. she isn’t certain the other came seeking conversation. but patience has never been a virtue easily afforded to her.
perhaps they, too, are only here to outrun the stench of the ballroom. to wrestle their ugliest thoughts into submission, tucked far from the tongue’s reach. “or is it easier to pretend?” the words land soft, but the blade behind them glints all the same. “a portrait where there should be nothing. art where there should be absence .. i imagine deception is easier to stomach when it's framed in gold.”
lukas stands in the corridor, shoulders relaxed and blonde hair perfectly tousled. he is the very picture of perfect prince. even his blue eyes are blessed with a natural shine to them. a picture perfect prince in a picture perfect palace. from the corner of his eye, he notices someone else in the room.
the prince considers her question, rolling it over in his mind. "the painting..." he repeats, soft words falling from even softer lips. he can sense the undertones in the conversation. instead of addressing it, his eyebrows quirk up. "my great-grandfather had that commissioned. cost a small fortune."
lukas turns his head towards the young woman. "i would hope you could stomach the artwork, or the palace of which you've been generously hosted."
nina doesn’t look at him at first — just pulls the curtain aside with two fingers like peeling back the skin of a fruit, then steps in without invitation. she smells faintly of burnt sage and citrus bark, like someone who’s been rummaging through a monastery’s ruined cellar. she glances at him from the side, unimpressed and entirely unsurprised. “you say that every time, and yet you keep eating it,” she echoes back flatly, mimicking his tone with surgical precision. “either you have a death wish or a terrible palate. i'm undecided which is sadder.” she crouches, retrieving something from a pouch at her hip — a small bundle of dried leaves and something that glints like glass. it crackles faintly in her palm. “for the headache,” she says simply. not a question. never is. she always knows — the way he squints slightly at the corners, the way his shoulders hunch just a touch more than usual, like the weight of his crown has shifted behind his eyes. “unless you’d rather sulk until your skull caves in. which would be spectacularly on brand, but rather messy.” then, finally, she looks at him. fully. eyes dark, sharp, and gleaming with mischief layered over something far softer — the way only nina can look at someone she's grown up beside and hasn’t yet decided whether to strangle or save. “besides, you weren’t hiding. you were waiting for someone who wouldn’t ask stupid questions.” she tosses him the packet without warning, expression unreadable but definitely smug. “... you're welcome, your grumpiness.”
if he were in a particularly bad mood, he would point out that he didn't invite her into his presence. not that she would mind, he imagined. nina had the keen sense of attaching to anything strange or sour-- lukas was unfortunately lumped into that group. "my platter is fine- refined, actually. and i don't have a death wish or i'd be dead already, hm?" the blonde crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the stone wall. the sound of laughter and murmured conversations break through the curtain separating them from the main room.
the prince pauses as she produces the medicinal packet. how had she known? was he that obvious or was she that intuitive? lukas didn't thank her. he really thanked anybody for anything. he inhales the herbal scent and closed his eyes, the barest flicker of relief etched on his features, if only for a moment.
when he opens his eyes, he gestures to the other side of the curtain. "aren't you going to go out there and dance?"
open to : everyone!
where : the garden’s entrance.
the garden is quieter. not free of sound … hum from somewhere beyond the palace walls still reaching her. though muffled now by distance. music continues to seep through the doors behind her. laughter, too. but it is still quieter. less suffocating. no expectations or brittle politeness. isobel lets her fingers drift along the stone as she walks. candlelight spilling across the terrace, catching faint gold against the silk of her gown. beyond that breathes the shadows. roses left wild. hedges cut into impossible symmetry. the sweet, heavy scent of the night air folding in on itself.
the feast, thankfully, continues without her. glittering display of wine and false comfort. but grief clings to the walls like smoke. her gaze lifts to the garden path ahead. empty. for now. she breathes slow, steady. but footsteps brush against stone. destroying her solitude without fraction of care. she does not turn at once. instead, a faint curve touches the corner of her lips. a whisper, almost unheard. “do we find solace better among roses... or behind closed doors?”
he knew the layout of the gardens like the back of his hand. he held the mental map- knew where to turn and twist out of view. it came from years of avoiding his father or his sister running after his heels. while lukas wasn't much of an appreciator of flora, he could respect the sense of solitude they offered.
after many handshakes, bows, and the kissing of hands, he found himself needing a break. whereas everyone was uncomfortable or new this situation, this was his home. he felt at ease, despite the many strangers in his childhood home.
he happens across a young woman and falters his step slightly. for some odd reason, he thought he'd be alone. lukas listens to her musings for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. "i suppose it depends on who is in your company. roses make terrible listeners. but people...sometimes people can surprise you."
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Matteo slipped out of the ballroom to steal a few minutes of peace away from the noise of the gathered crowd. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and to recover from yet another wave of anxiety that had overwhelmed him. He knew he could do nothing, but the helplessness still tormented him. He, an active man with unlimited possibilities in Tuscany, felt like a prisoner of circumstance. That was why he was now running away from the crowd that was pressing him with their attention.
He found himself in the drawing room, which was bathed in a soft gloom. Only a few candles lit the entire space, but that was not enough for him to see the interior of the room. The young Medici approached the window and looked out at the palace gardens, which he could barely make out in the pitch-black night. He looked up to search for the stars in the sky, but at that very moment they were obscured by a drifting cloud.
The quiet creak of the door made him turn slightly, looking for the newcomer. Perhaps he was not the only one who needed a few minutes' rest, away from the guests and the whirlwind of conversation.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," the man muttered. "If I hear one more wild speculation, I doubt my patience would hold."
He didn't want to listen to absurd assumptions about what was happening. His sister was the one who wasn't with him now, and as a loving brother, he couldn't bear the thought that something bad had happened to her. There were moments when he wanted to cover his ears with his hands, just like a child. But such behaviour was not allowed for a man like him. He had to be stronger than ever.
His eyes sought out those of the newcomer and his lips curved into a charming smile that brightened his young face.
after ensuring that her lady was taken care of, elif slowly removed herself from the crowd. there was only so much polite smiling she could do. her chest filled with anxiety at the thought of speaking to another member of royalty. she knew that they probably couldn't care less that her mother had vanished. her mother was no one special, but she was special to her.
the lady-in-waiting finds the door to the drawing room. thinking that no one was inside she walked in and released a loud sigh of relief. however, that quickly ended when she hears the other person. "oh my lord-- i hope i am not disturbing you." she offers the man a curtsy.
elif rises after a moment and looks around the room. "well, you can trust me, my lord. i do not wish to talk about...anything like that. the circumstances of the last few weeks... is completely mind numbing." a pause. "where do you hail from? i do not recognize your accent."
₊˚⊹ (MELIS SEZEN, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER, 27, OTTOMAN EMPIRE) thank the heavens, it’s ELIF BAYKAM, the LADY-IN-WAITING. they’re safe. SHE’S always been so LOYAL yet AWKWARD. they remind me of A LOOSE WOVEN BRAID, THE SMELL OF TANGERINE AND JASMINE, AND SMILING UNTIL YOUR CHEEKS HURT. i wonder who they miss the most? probably HER MOTHER. (PENNY, SHE/HER, EST, 26)
TW: PARENTAL DEATH, MURDER, HEARTBREAK
full name: elif alara baykam
nicknames: n/a
age: 27
sexuality: heterosexual
status: unmarried
languages: turkish, arabic, greek, english
likes: dusty books, mathematics, seashells
dislikes: cowardice, animal hunting, drunkards
you were born into a lower noble family. your father was judge and your mother fancied herself an artist. your childhood was filled with love and laughter, warm bread and reading-oh, so much reading. your father quickly realized that you were born to be an intellectual, so he bought you as many books as your room could possibly hold.
you liked playing outside under a hot sun and cooling off in swimming ponds. you collected seashells and made necklaces with your mother- ones that you still wear today.
you are an only daughter, but your parents never seem to mind. you never think you should have been born a son. you work hard to learn both your womanly studies- and the things a young man would learn. you manage to get a little proficient with a wooden sword.
some of your peers think you're a little odd. you've been referred to as a goose for your awkward posture and wide-eyed gaze. your parents reassure you that you are a graceful orchid.
when you are 15, you learn of your father's death. he was murdered by a criminal suspect in the street. you and your mother mourn for nearly two years.
a friend of your father's takes pity on you. he has a position in the court of the sultan. he thinks you would be a great lady-in-waiting if you trained hard.
over the years, you become the perfect lady. you help with whatever is required and disappear whenever necessary. you have a new life in the court- you meet princesses and princes. you get to follow your lady to the lands that you've read about.
you get entangled with a prince who maybe didn't have the right intentions. your heart is broken and you scold yourself for your naive ways. you focus back on your books.
when that spring morning came, you look around the palace in confusion and fear. the sultan is gone. it makes no sense to you. for awhile, you think it's a kidnapping or an assassination. that is, until you find out from a neighbor that your mother has vanished into thin air. your heart crumbles.
now you are in vienna with your heart back home in ankara. you have a duty to fufill here, but that's only until you figure out a way to get your mother back.
