𝔩𝔞 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔞.

open starter 

__

Mateo sucked on the wine, allowed it to soak into his tongue as though it were the Blood of Christ, itself- for the prince swears it heats the soul, cleanses him of the previous night’s sins, to his own hoard of fair-weather squad. A raucous troupe of noblemen, emblazoned with youth and invincibility on their chests as the evening’s festivities ran deep into the night. Late enough for even jesters and courtiers to become be interchangeable, indecipherable. His sister had managed to facilitate a soiree to remember, and who was he to refrain from indulging? 

Particularly, when the entertainment had ceased for the night, who was there to call upon to keep his insatiable mind busy? 

“You, there…” he turns on his heel to face a figure, hearty grin on his lips. Arms raised as if permitting an army’s riders to gallop apace, to welcome the revelry under guise of night. “I am told there’s a bet floating around as to who among us would have the poorest face during cards. I’m not so sure your visage is so… convincing. Tell me a truth or a lie about you, and we shall see if you’re decent at deceit. Prove me wrong.”

×

a string of most accomodating servants had seen to the guests’ comfort and instant replenishment of their goblets with wine and ale. cécile had indulged in both the refreshments and the fine company. the princess seemed rejuvinated by both her return to france and the opportunity to reunite with kin and friends of old. taking turns about the room, conversing animatedly with courtiers and nobles, she proved that a life in exile was not what she was suited for. the final notes of the estampie reviberated about the hall and a round of applause concluded the night’s festivities. cécile bowed to her dancing partner and excused herself; a breath of fresh air would do her good before she departed for the aragonese quarters at the abbey. short of breath with a soft buzz in her ears and cheeks burning, the princess inhaled pulling her cloak tighter around her frame.

her small solace was interrupted by the most inappropriate of addresses; one better suited to a servant. fully determined to put the poor soul in its place, cécile discovered the prince of viana approaching. her determination deflated, a  — dealing with mateo required the kind of energy that she lacked in that moment. knowing his tendancy to tease, the princess doubted this encounter would be any different. ❝ are you so deep in your cups that you wouldn’t recognise me, nephew? ❞

though accustomed by now to his ways, the wording he used brought back memories of his own deceit years ago; of clandestine meetings she had agreed to unaware of which aragonese prince was her intended. ❝ i would never dare claim to be more apt than you in deceit. you have proved your proficiency, after all. ❞ — and had it not been at her expense, cécile would not have given it a second thought. alas, she had been at the receiving end of a cruel and humiliating, in her mind, jest; one that had led her to remain guarded around the prince. the act itself forgiven for the sake of family, but not forgotten.

CROWNS CHALLENGE #002 — THE HISTORIANS CRAFT

FORGOTTEN QUEENS in medieval and early modern Europe - volume vi. cécile of asturias

a brow rose as he reached for his wine once more and took a long sip from the goblet. “do not all grandchildren believe themselves to be the favorite?” he inquired. “i daresay if alexandrina, francisco, catalina, and mateo were to have met their grandparents, they might all claim more favor.” he was baiting her, mostly in jest, though cristobal was a man who took pleasure in confusing others, in making them wonder just what he wanted.

( a long time ago, he had been quite adept at ensuring the information he requested was received without the giver being so much as aware of it. now, time and circumstance had changed many things, with others seeing the aragonese as lesser. )

for all his attributes, cristobal trastámara was still a man, one who reveled in the simple luxury of his wife stroking his ego ( and more, if the feeling of her fingers over his double was any indication ). the smile that grew on his face was genuine, though no less wolflike than the one before it, and he shook his head in amusement. “young is no excuse for a lack of wits,” he pointed out, though his free hand reached out to clasp cécile’s and he lifted it, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“is there something you wish, wife?” he inquired, eyes fixed on her. “other than your honeyed words to distract my thoughts?”

×

perhaps there’d be a time when such a challenge didn’t warrant a response although considering the princess’ disposition such an occurance wasn’t in the least likely. ❝ well, i have given her the least amount of grief overall. ❞ any indiscretions of her younger years were either conccealed [ she thinks ], forgiven or looked over in light of other far more serious matters the crown had to deal with. despite enjoying being the center of attention, cécile had enjoyed far more the small liberties she was granted and often interpretted such occurances as a clear sign of her grandmother’s favor. ❝ — and francisco is her first great-grandchild and only great-grandson, so far... ❞

the recurring theme of their conversations revolved around diplomacy and alliances, her cousin, his niece, their union; aragon and france; aragon and portugal; the emirate and its allies. a gruesome endless list of possibilities —most of them foreboding. cécile was aware that to have her husband’s ear and trust was a rarity among married couples of their station but the task after a certain hour of the night and following a long journey was a struggle.

Starter for: @ofasturias​

Location: celebratory pageant

It was the duty of royalty to spread their roots far, it seemed - to marry into different houses, to create lasting bonds. The family of Anjou was no exception, with cousins spread around Europe. Of course Adalsinda had gone to Russia, Philip had stayed as France’s king, Marius had feld to the Holy Roman Empire - and Cecile, some years ago, had gone to marry the prince of what had once been Aragon. It was a choice that surprised the Tsarina, but seeing her now, she could only think it suited her well. Her aunt’s daughter now seemed to almost glow with a sense of purpose and contentedness with her position that Adalsinda could hardly help but envy.

“You must tell me,” Adalsinda said, seated with Cecile now that the pleasantries had been exchanged and finished. “How do you find life with the Prince? It must be…. Difficult. To marry into a family that is so…. unsettled. But it pleases me to know that your husband is a friend of France.” She studied her for a moment, quiet. “It grows tedious, does it not? All of the diplomacy and maneuvering. Being in Paris makes me long to speak as the girls we once were.”

×

the house of anjou; once focusing on alliances within the country as evidenced by the marriages of king ferrant and princess therese to members of the french nobility, had set its sight outwards in the later years, hence the strategic unions connecting the anjous to the other royal houses of europe. scattered to the four corners of the continent, they now came together to celebrate her late uncle’s memory and honour his name. to be reunited with adalsina held a special significance; the two girls separarted after the later’s betrothal and nuptials nearly fifteen years ago. cécile studied the tsarina’s profile with a smile. she’d hate to think of her childhood companion as a stranger but the circumstances have made them so — perhaps this summit would aid in breaching the distance between them.

with the precession underway, music filling the air and the wagons nearly in sight of the royal boxes occupied by the crown’s guests, cécile leaned closer incling her head in her cousin’s direction. ❝ it is— challenging. there is hardship in instability and uncertainty but i have faith in the prince’s capabilities to reclaim his homeland. ❞ she admits after a short pause to decide on the best word to describe her current circumstances. ❝ there is hardship in instability and uncertainty. ❞

her cousin’s observation elicited a soft chuckle from cécile’s lips; ❝ it does. ❞ she confesses reaching out to take adalsina’s hand giving it a soft squeeze and offering a warm smile. ❝ but i hope we can dispense with it between the two of us, same way we once did much to the trepidation of our tutors. ❞

Mehdi looked back at his guard—Aftab today—with amusement, at the stiff back and scowl constant on his face. “You are very likely right,” he said in undertone, though it likely did not matter much, considering how little of the local languages his guards’ spoke. “Unfortunately, there is little to be done to avoid this; safety, after all, is everything. Though he could stand to look friendlier.” 

He bowed in response, offering a smile, all offense forgotten; it was not, after all, as though she could have known him, no more than he could have known her. “It is my pleasure to meet you also, Lady Cécile. How does France find you?” Asturias; the name was familiar, and it took only a moment to remember that she was of the family of the deposed crown whose land now found itself under Cordoban hands. Mehdi had little knowledge of them, his own attention having turned to Cordoba, ignoring largely those who had been unseated because of them. Was it strange, for these deposed nobles to find themselves here, where their enemies would also be? All things to discover. 

“My journey has been long, it is true, but it has been a beautiful one as well; there is much to appreciate in this land, and barring a hint of seasickness, it has been pleasant travels. And yourself? I admit I am not entirely familiar with your home, nor how distant it is from Paris.” That was easier than to admit he did not know who housed them, lost as he believed their own land to be.

×

out of all the royals that were gracing paris in this joyous time, the aragonese court knew the importance of safety better than anyone; uprooted and overthrown; forced to live in exile without a home. the emirate had cast a mighty shadow over the trastámaras and the emir’s power was only growing. with the memory of her brother and sister-in-law’s deaths so fresh, cécile demanded the presence of guards at all times. she feared for herself, her husband, her nephews, but most of all for her son. ❝ we’re in agreement on the matter, your grace,. safety is of the utmost importance but this — ❞ the princess notioned to their surroundings, ❝ — is a house of GOD. it would be a horrid day if anyone dared harm another within its walls. ❞

a radiant smile appeared on her face, ❝ overcome with joy, your grace. i was raised in this very city. my mother was the sister of the late king ferrant. ❞ being a frenchwoman by birth, a return to france could only be described as a return home. especially considering the lack of one to call her own following her marriage to the prince of asturias. ❝ i understand it might be too soon for you to form an opinion but i surely hope you will come to think of france in a positive light once your business here is concluded. ❞

location :: CHÂTEAU DE LA TOURNELLE, EXT date :: FEBRUARY 5th, 1459 [MORNING] status :: closed for @magdahlena

in her youth, the royal court hardly ever visited the château in this time of the year. to see the towering ivory walls reflecting the cold sunlight, brought to mind memories of feasts and leisure walks in the gardens or along the river but always on the spring or summer months. housing the castilian and holy roman empire’s courts, a visit to la tournelle provided the perfect opportunity for cécile to call on both her uncle and magdalena. even though the two women had reunited in lisbon, between all the formal engagements and diplomatic frevor there had been no opportunity to properly converse or exchange news as they often did in their correspondence.

however an unxpected appearance at the queen’s chambers without a former arrangement or so much as a note, would be considered inappropriate and cécile would not lapse into a faux pas. upon arrival, she inquired after her uncle’s whereabouts and bid the paige to deliver a message from her to the castilian queen. ❝ if you would be so kind as to inform her majesty that it would be an honour to call upon her after my meeting with the prince if she is not otherwise engaged this morning. ❞

there was an ease at the feeling of cécile’s hand upon his shoulders and he was struck with the thought that he had missed her counsel more than he would ever admit. at times cristobal felt as if he was a man who held the weight of the world — or at least the weight of aragon — on his shoulders. those that supported aragon’s right to their own lands had not provided him with troops, had not gone into battle with him. at most they would provide a place for his family to stay, a temporary home for his court-in-exile.

( there was little he hated more than feeling like a bedouin heretic; moving his family throughout lands that belonged to others instead of stepping foot back onto aragonese soil. )

cristobal inclined his head in agreement at his wife’s words. “he will likely not make the decision without the support of his advisers,” he pointed out, well aware that kings so young relied upon the opinions of others, often to their own detriment. “your grandmother has already requested a meeting; she holds more power in one finger than your cousin could even fathom of holding in the entirety of his body.” a smile played upon his lips at that, one that was filled with a tinge of cruelty, the ruthlessness that so many on the battlefield often saw. 

×

it was her firm belief that they would continue to have the king’s ear regardless; with his aragonese queen, cécile’s standing as an aragonese princess, her grandmother’s support and the influence the de guise family name exerted on french court, the only way to alienate philip would be to pester him endlessly about the contract of his marriage. what use would it be to appear as desperate as they sometimes felt?

a meeting between her grandmother and her husband is an affair she would love to attend. hopefully, the two parties involved will be willing to share details each one from the own perspective. ❝ that she does. ❞ cécile agreed with pride. the queen mother was a force to be reckoned with and for cristobal to share in that opinion— that must have been the highest praise she had ever heard coming from him. ❝ i believe this might be your chance to gain her approval for marrying her favourite grandchild. ❞

The journey to Paris had been a long one, and one over the course of which Mehdi had learned much and more about the culture, religion, and people, of the kingdom he was visiting. The followers of Christ were not without some appreciation of beauty, and he had heard much and more of the grand cathedrals of Europe, worship houses that aspired to the heavens. He had seen several, as well, if only in passing, their journey of too much import to delay for the simple matter of satisfying his curiosity, as some of his advisors’ liked to put it with barely-hidden disregard.

In Paris, however, there was to be no stopping him. To be sure, the Notre-Dame was admirable from without; its great structures were intricately carved, and its complex of flying buttresses and pillars and arches created an effect of visual pleasure, quite distant from the straight lines they themselves preferred. Within, however, Mehdi had been almost—disappointed. Rather than the tiles and patterns he was familiar with, here he came face to face with stone and more stone; bright and painted through it was, it was a blank canvas, simply waiting for the life that the masjids at home held. 

He kept the disappointment from his features for the duration of the ceremony—again, not very different from their own prayers, though they were led by a single man of God, and spoken in Latin, lending to Mehdi understanding perhaps one word in five—though there was something admirable about the quality of sound in this great stone house—and rose once it had ended, for the chance to explore, and see more of this famed glass. 

At the sound of someone calling out, Mehdi turned, greeting an unfamiliar face—though most were unfamiliar in this place as of yet. That was to change—preferably soon. He would gladly begin here. “Thank you for the offer, Madame,” he replied with a smile, nodding as they did here. “I have not met anyone who would offer to be a guide as of yet. May I introduce myself? Shah Mehdi, of the Great Realm of Iran. Here you know it as Persia.”

×

with the cathedral coming alive around them as the last of the service’s atendees began to rise  from their pews and depart, princess cécile took the man’s smile and words as an invitation; an indication that her intrusion was not cause for distress. ❝ i believe i might have unveiled the cause of such an occurance. ❞ she pointed out with a slight inclination of her head in the direction of his unwavering guard.  

a soft intake of breath followed by a slight adjustment of her posture was all the reaction she allowed herself. of all the comings and goings of locals and foreigners and cécile had turned her attentions on the shah of persia. ❝ your grace— ❞ bowing her head and offering a small curtsy, the princess addressed him properly now that his identity and rank was revealed. ❝ it is an honour to meet you. welcome to france. if i may be so bold as to introduce myself, as well. cécile of the asturias, your grace. ❞

rumours and whispers had spread amongst courtiers and diplomats in lisbon spoke of the shah’s intention to attend the summit and yet his presence didn’t grace the halls of the braganzas. whether it was delay or a change of heart that had kept him from such a magnificent event, no one knew. ❝ you have truly travelled a long way to be here. i hope you were unbothered in your travels. ❞

location :: HÔTEL SAINT-POL, QUEEN MOTHER’S SOLAR date :: FEBRUARY 1459 status :: closed for @blanchedanjou

upon stepping on french soil cécile’s spirits were lifted and confidence restored. as grateful as the princess was to her husband’s relatives in portugal for their hospitality and protection, the prospect of returning to france and surround herself with people she trusted and knew her whole life was a great relief. five years she had been princess of asturias and yet she had no place to call home other than france.

a wave of nostalgia and sweet memories of years past filled her mind as she was being shown to the queen mother’s solar; though the notion that she required the assistance of a paige to navigate the halls of this palace was laughable. as expected, her grandmother had granted  cécile’s request for an audience upon her arrival in the french capital; their correspondence over the years served as proof that the connection between them had not suffered from the distance or the years that had passed since their last meeting.

her arrival was announced and cécile was met with the sight of her grandmother sitting by the large windows. older but no less commanding, queen blanche retained all the strength and resolution she was known for in earlier years. she approached and sank into a deep bow before lifting her head and looking up at the older woman with a beaming smile. ❝ grandmother — ❞ as she rose, cécile reached for the queen’s hand and leaned closer to place a soft kiss on her cheek, ❝ it is so good to see you again. ❞

CROWNS CHALLENGE #001 — THROUGH  THE  LENSE  OF  HISTORY