𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍.

STATUS: closed to @isabelofyork​ LOCATION: Couvent des Celestins TIMESTAMP: March 1459, Mihrimah’s celebration. 

Her heart leapt as the guards of the converted convent called the English’s Queens name. Mihrimah had thought that such a figure would’ve overlooked her invitation; but, she had heard whispers that she had her own ties within the Empire, but mostly due to her education. Alas, Mihrimah was overjoyed to see her, and bowed her head slightly to welcome her into her makeshift Harem. “Your grace,” she called, her hands joined, her veil pushed back to reveal the true features that graced her. “Thank you for coming, I’m overjoyed to welcome you into my celebration of the Ottoman Empire,” Mihrimah announced in English; much to the shock of her translator who stood in the wings.

In truth, she had been practising such a tongue to make private conversation with the Queen’s first-born son; the legitimised Prince of England. It was shameless, but ambitious, for Mihrimah to try and converse with his mother; but, her heart was swollen for him and his family, eagerly grappling at the strands of York she could see, to make herself known and perhaps even a viable offer as a noble bride. Hopping from one foot to the other, the young Sultana gestured for the Queen to follow — her hands outstretched as she put the cuisine on display. “Here, I had various sherbats prepared for the day. Cherry, pomegranate, citrus… My favourite thus far has been the pomegranate. I feel as bold as a Persephone when I taste it. Would you like to try some?”

-

            a humbled smile etched upon the queen’s countenance, brightening her features as her gaze settled upon the young mihrimah. the sultan had been right in his letters, his daughter certainly was a true jewel of his empire and had grown lovelier still. not that she had doubted his observations, isabel had recalled mihrimah from florence and then again in lisbon, her loveliness creating a lasting impression upon the queen, yet she was familiar with a parents tendency to exaggerate fact when it came to their children. eyes widened slightly as the sultana greeted her in english, her smile stretching in noted approval. ❛ ‘tis i whom should offer gratitude, mihrimah sultan, your invitation was quite unexpected, yet i was overjoyed to receive it ––– and i must congratulate you on your swift development of the english tongue, though i must confess to have been hoping to practise my own learnings this eve.❜ she chuckled lightly, reaching over to pat her joined hands. ❛ perhaps you would indulge me later, though i would beseech you to be kind, i do not quite share your skill at languages. ❜ 

isabel would have been branded a liar to say that she did not know the reason behind the sultana’s adoption of english, and that fact alone coaxed a wave of excitement to wash over her. mihrimah would make an excellent wife for, thomas, she concluded then and there. who else could match her in beauty, intellect and willingness to please ? yes, mihrimah would suit thomas and england well. 

𝑰𝑺𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑳 – 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊 .

location : couvent des célestins 

              a few uneventful days had elapsed since isabel’s presence had been blessed by the valide sultan’s cariye, dilşah hatun; the memory of the young woman’s grace and poise etched upon her memory with fondness. dilşah had unknowingly joined a plethora of brethren predecessors, all of whom had been distinguished with the queen’s affections ever since their first parley in florence. admittedly, one such person had taken pride of place within her easterly endearments and that was the great padishah himself. such was the majesty of their bond that isabel was often left with a sense of bewildered astonishment, when she thought upon the fact that their friendship was but a few years nurtured. their regular ( some might argue excessive ) correspondence was more akin to a lifelong companionship than measly years, but a hastened friendship had blossomed swiftly and isabel was thankful that it had, no matter how unlikely it may have seemed to most. 

in her more pensive moments, when scribed upon parchments were cursive expressions of raw mawkishness and an abundance of fears, she too entertained ( no matter how briefly ) the sheer ridiculousness of the predicament. they could not be farther apart in character nor distance and yet, isabel wrote to him in unbridled dependability. in truth, he was one of a handful of people whom she could truly call a friend and whilst the attention and numerous gifts flattered and appeased her vainglorious tendencies, the greatest gift the sultan had bestowed unto her was his time. 

𝑰𝑺𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑳 𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑬 : 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆 .

previous total: 530  

weekly accumulation: 175

———— Events had always riddled her life - feasts, balls, musical displays - it seemed a repetitive existence in which she so desperately wanted to escape from. Of course, she recognized the privilege she held above those she typically surrounded herself with, their lives consumed with more trivial tasks than even hers. Thus, she attempted to enjoy the festivities as much as she could. She had been greeting the guests warmly, drinking enough wine to paint a blush across her cheeks, bringing a youthful glow that attracted more male foreigners than she was accustomed to. Yet, none of them seemed quite so entertaining as the woman she was to be seated with during their supper.

Truthfully, dread had washed over her when it was revealed who she was to entertain during the main portion of the night, as queens were typically consumed with regality, a trait she lacked in her immaturity. If her life seemed as though she was trapped in an endless cycle, she could not comprehend what the life of such a highly positioned monarch would be. It was the Queen who spoke first, leaning towards the woman and whispering a proposition.

At her words, a smirk crossed previously pressed together lips, eyes sparkling with a deviance only she could muster. She witnessed the two men growing angrier by the second, the jester mocking their faces and statures relentlessly. “Excuse my words if they are far too out of turn, but it has been rumored that Lord Pembroke is quite sensitive about his appearance.” She began, a small laugh absconding her lips that she quickly covered with her hand. “But then again, Lord Arundel is a darker shade of red than the wine we are serving tonight.”

––– 

                 the young woman beside her was not a familiar face though she knew of her. the granddaughter of queen blanche, she recalled the woman’s own mother and though they were no more than pleasant acquaintances being girls of a similar age, isabel remarked the likeness she shared, though she seemed more timid than her queenly mother had been, or so she remembered. she had watched the young woman periodically throughout the evening, noting her restlessness with a degree of pity ––– isabel knew well enough how daunting such events could be. nevertheless, she offered a warm smile as a flicker of mischievousness finally glistened in her pretty eyes and the words flowed from her lips. isabel laughed heartily at her quip.  

    x

   “To speak the honest truth, without any false rant, I find myself glad to be in Paris, pleased nearly - to enjoy the hospitality, of the French. Do not fall to the ground, my love - I am in good health, and if you will permit my eschewing civility for a moments pause, I am in possession of the facilities this night, to demonstrate my physical fitness to you….” As Isabel passed language to him that night, triumphant in beauty, Edward’s emotions did her homage. But for golden crown pressing into his brows, he was the humblest of her servants. Decades into their romance and her beauty retained its fasciation; her visage entering a new striking phase. The courtiers within their circle were thundering in a chorus, under the cover of which all dialogue had passed between Isabel and Edward - they were cheated by few a thing, but privacy, was not one of them. The others were wholly absorbed in discourse, mirth, and excitement - the crimson seats in the Parisian hall were filled with merriment. Those blessed by proximity to Isabel, and granted direct address, left all aglow with satisfaction. Edward found the night air keen; beckoning through sweeping windows, the star sewn sky boasted but a handful of dimming clouds. “You may mark me as steadfast in belief, that Arundel shall break; for he has little constitution and a high capacity, for shame. Tell him, dare he ask - that I believed Pembroke, a lesser competitor. Do you recall their previous interaction with my jester? It was our wedding banquet; no greater day, has existed in my reign.” Edward looked at her numerously; not with stealth or humility, but with conviction, and hardy observation. 

      Not all who shone, brightly arrayed and pleasantly adorned, could be as satisfied by their evening partner – the calm comfort and hope, of love long adored. Isabel’s inky gown gave her charms a triumph, enhancing through contrast the fairness of her skin, the perpetual, enduring freshness of her bloom, crowned by the raven silk, of her tresses. “I ceased scolding attentions to our children since Lisbon, and find myself better for it - little Cecily, and our dearest Anne, will never require such demonstrations. We talk of unions and diplomacy, and I value your opinion, seek it on a number of matters - but none as pressing, as my wish for an honest evaluation, of your mood this eve. Are you happy, my love? I seek to be proprietor of your sweetest hours, evermore.” 

––– 

      isabel offered a melodic chortle at her husbands locutions, his merriment that evening raising her already elevated spirits. reaching across the narrowed gap between them, she took hold of his hand, raised it skyward and placed a kiss upon his knuckles.  ❛ as do i, husband. though i must confess to prior scruples, it seemed as though we had not been home for two moments before we were once more called across the sea. ❜  at least, isabel reasoned, they were gladdened by a sumptuous yuletide, the happiest in years, she recalled with no small amounts of pride. ❛ but i am happy to be here, by your side. ❜  with a few final kisses to his knuckles, isbael finally relinquished his hand to refocus upon the scene which had previously bemused her in unbridled excess;  happy to hear edward’s contributing observation. she could feel his heavy gaze upon her and though she did not relinquish herself unto the mercy of his wiles, she did mask a growing smirk behind the brim of her glass.  ❛ i would have to disagree with my king... ❜  isabel teased in response, ❛ ...for i recall the instance of which you speak readily and it was pembroke who chased him round in a fit of rage. ❜ safe to say it had been a boisterous evening, but that was not the sole reason for it imbedding within her memory.  

once more, turned towards her husband, her features softened as she reached across the divide once again, only this time to place her hand upon his cheek. ❛ it was the happiest of days, rivalled only by the births of our children i believe. ❜ caressing his cheek, she dragged her thumb across his bottom lip –– such an intimate display from the king and queen far from abnormal. in tenderness as they were in passion, edward and isabel could often eclipse the court, that was no more true than in that moment as he spoke of his earnest desires to se her jovial and enlightened from all that would burden her. ❛  i am, edward, truly. ❜  and in that moment she was, though like the tides her spirits could change with a mere shift in the winds –– one moment calm, blissful and serene, the next, a ferocious and scornful tempest. the latter was far from surface that evening, or so she hoped.  

location & setting: the queen’s apartments, tuileries palace

closed to @isabelofyork​

         uncommon was the companionship between the queen of england the ottoman sultan –– and yet, many things about the world, including the relations between western and eastern realms, were beginning to modernize into abnormal and baffling conditions. dilşah could not begrudge them anymore than she could begrudge the winds of change themselves; to do so, to brace herself against such transforming gusts, would only serve to jeopardise her own role in the seraglio. the journey to the tuileries palace, where queen isabel had taken residence, from the couvent was remarkably swift: only the bitterly cold air throwing a wrench in the cariye’s travels. rather unusually, however, dilşah arrived before the imposing fortress without the presence of her mistress the valide; instead, she had been dispatched to represent the sultan, and the velvet-clad box resting dutifully in her hands would soon elucidate the reason for her arrival. 

with limbs as fluid as a sleek river, the cariye swept into a bow before the queen, who appeared every inch as elegant and opulent as her fabled reputation foretold. gracing isabel’s hand with the touch of her forehead in greeting, dilşah’s beryl red lips curved into a gleam. “ your grace, i come bearing a gift from his imperial majesty. ” a brow flickered upon her visage as she gestured to a groom to come forth with the obsidian black coffer, wrapped in purpled velvet, housing an assortment of jewels, letters, and tokens of regardful admiration from constantinople. “ i am told your companionship has been a great gift to his majesty … i believe this is a way to repay the kindness you have shown the sultan. i bid that you must accept, only so i might write back to the sultan of your reaction. ”

                        ❛  you are most welcome here hatun dilşah. ❜ isabel greeted as the woman before her, gracefully placed her brow aback of her hand –– a customary and respectful greeting within the empire, or so she was informed and one she found rather pleasing. the english court had already been saturated with the influences of the empire, córdoba and russia, though it was undoubtedly isabel’s fondness for the ottoman’s that had the tongues of the courtiers wagging. the fabrics now clung to the figures of ladies once inspired by the french fashions, as emeralds, rubies and sapphires adorned their necks, wrists and lobes. it had pleased isabel to witness the ladies of court so fondly embrace the fruits of the empire, yet beholding the vision before her, she now thought them to be poor imitations. perhaps the stories were true, perhaps the sultan’s harem did harbour the most splendid jewels of all.  

a smile curled at isabel’s lips, watching as the groom stepped forth, carrying the coffer; her gleam only broadened as she opened it. amber hues grazed over the offerings, a delicate touch of her nimble digits smoothing over a particularly striking emerald necklace and then over to the collection of neatly presented letter and with it her gaze softened. ❛ how could i refuse his imperial majesty, you must convey my esteemed gratitude though also enforce that my friendship need not repaid by such extravagance. ❜ with a nod to the groom, he took the coffer to her bed chambers, where she would peruse the contents further when alone. turning her attention back to dilşah, isabel offered her a seat beside the fire before claiming the arm chair adjacent. ❛  i am gladdened to finally be acquainted with you hatun, valide mahidevran has spoken of you frequently in her letters and i must confess to being curious about you. tell me, what exactly is a carive ?? ❜

   x

    A perfect crowd of courtiers was gathered round the fires, cold and vapid as ghosts.  Several satin adorned and complacent looking women, huffing with indignant glee, struck Mahidevran, as by no means the goddesses they fashioned themselves. Many scores of marvelously delusional figures flitted in circles, composing a handsome portrait of whimsy, displayed in various costumes. Favouring bemusement in lieu of despotism, Mahidevran filled a chair at the Queen’s side, denouncing said antics in silence. Queen Isabel broke through in unmatched brilliance - and there her glory lay, in absolutism. She looked the picture of ease, though she did not neglect from time to time to glance the Valide’s way - in order, perhaps, to gleam Mahidevran’s mood; or otherwise, breach some theme or conversation. To evince the Valide’s sentiments, yet, required a full comprehension of her true nature, unveiled before few. “There shall be no vivid sketches posed to mimic the gaiety unfolding this evening - I find the French tiresome, but concede tonight’s production a gallant success. The relationship between England and France is notoriously tedious, yet its courts look well upon you - did you visit often, your grace, in your younger years? I detest the word youth and revile my usage younger, as it places emphasis on one being older. It is no matter, for you know yourself to still look the part of a maiden.” She bore down upon flattery only to harness men, the lesser sex, who succumbed to sweet words in spades; to the Queen now, she simply spoke what she believed, coloured by no desire to convey honeyed feelings. 

    “I would wager Lord Arundel, but there is a weakness in Pembroke’s chin and I mark him to more pitiful of the pair - though his companion, shall not succumb long after he.” In both visage and hue now, Mahidevran displayed shades of levity; from her perch, she gazed at the courtiers with untempered temerity. “The mighty number of Plantagenet children fill the Parisian halls with vibrant hair and dark eyes - I remember young Princess Cecily, from your letters. I trust she is tucked away with a nursemaid, delighting in the prospect of your return the next morn.” 

              isabel had deemed herself blessed to have been raised by a strong and formidable woman, yet she would digress, even the brilliant elizabeth neville paled in comparison to the woman beside her. valide sultan mahidevran was a woman whose brilliance was renowned, though it seemed as though the world barely knew the sultan’s mother. she had learned from her tutor that whilst women of the harem could wield unfathomable power and influence, they usually did so in the private sphere and yet there was no higher authority than the valide herself, some would say that even the sultan held her with reverence. yet here she was beside her and isabel felt humbled ( if not slightly terrified ) by her presence. in truth, she had not expected mahidevran to accept her invitation that evening, a part of her had hoped that she wouldn’t ––– not because she did wish to bask in her majesty, but rather she feared that mahidevran may have taken offence to the rowdiness of the evening. it felt as though a lofty weight had been lifted from isabel’s shoulders as spoke to deem the evening a ‘ gallant success ’.  

❛ i was sent here in girlhood, majesty, it is customary in times of peace for the daughters of nobility to be sent to a foreign court, it is considered a grand education –– i was in the service of queen blanche. ❜ she answered, before feeling a flush of warmth spread upon her cheeks at the compliment and she gave a small chuckle of agreement; a mutual dislike of the word ‘ youth ’.   ❛ i attest to being blessed, though only in facade i assure you. ❜ ever since the poisoning and cecily’s birth, isabel could hardly fathom herself to be anything akin to youthful. ❛ what an honour it is to hear it from you though, you are truly the light of the east and i find myself humbled by your very presence. ❜ mahidevran certainly retained the beauty of her younger years, though isabel suspected perhaps she was more so now for age, often described as a woman’s truest enemy, purloined a woman of youth whilst bestowing them wisdom. just like most things in life, the passage of time revoked with one hand, whilst it gave with the other. 

She felt foolish without her child in her lap, for forty days and forty nights she had spent the time cradling the child she had once hoped was everything she wasn’t. But oh, a babe born in moonlight was promised the greatest of prizes and would one day be blessed with the inheritance of her father who was, without an opponent, the wealthiest man in Russia (above the Tsar or even the Orthodox Priest). 

But she had gone to England’s court in the hope to make merry with the English royals. The trade deal was still in effect after all and Eudoxia was joyed to play her part — after all, all trade and all money came from her House, it was she who acted as one of the main chess pieces to be played.

Sat beside the Queen Isabel with her head held high (as if she were more Tsarina than Tsarevna), Eudoxia sipped at her wine and laughed out loud for all to hear, shaking her head to loosen the mass of dark curls that were less wild now found in cooler weather. “Surely Lord Arundel will fall to the jest, look! He is as red as a freshly picked beetroot!” Eudoxia answered, waving her hand towards both fools before looking to Isabel with a satisfied grin. 

“I almost wish to put him out of his misery, but that is not the Russian way… And I must admit, perhaps I thought you English dull — but you have convinced me otherwise…”

––– 

                 dull, it was the epithet that caught isabel’s attention first and foremost and she arched her brow whilst casting a sidewards glance towards the woman, surprise emanating from the queen at the crown princesses candour. then again, she had been around the russian’s long enough to know that they harboured a particular trait of being vociferous –– had she been in a fouler mood, she may have deemed it rude. alas, the queen’s spirits were high that evening; her senses numbed, lifted and warmed by the wine swirling around her glass. a laugh sounded, sharp and brisk, and turning her attention back to to woman beside her, isabel offered a tempered simper.  ❛  what high praise indeed coming from the crown princess. ❜  clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, isabel’s grin stretched as straightened herself. ❛ i must confess, i fathomed you would find us dull also, our court is lacks the barbarity... some might say we are more cultured. ❜ words muffled by her glass, isabel drained its contents and immediately held the cup out to be refilled. 

❛ perhaps that is katherine’s problem. ❜ isabel mused, purposely aloud before offering eudoxia a saccharine smile. ❛ one would have assumed that the welsh wilderness would have suited her. ❜ suitably mollified, she turned back towards the scene before her and setting her glass down, she clapped her hands to gain the attention of the courtiers and as the room settled down, isabel addressed the crowd. ❛ our russian friends would have your prolonged suffering, lord arundel but i simply cannot bear the sight any longer. jester !! that is enough tormenting for one evening, be gone with you mischievous gremlin. ❜ despite the firmness of her voice, there was amusement and familiarity there too.