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JULIAN GALLARDO, ADVISOR OF DENMARK

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SORCHA MURRAY, MISTRESS OF SCOTLAND

—

he didn’t laugh, but the ghost of a smile flickered across his features — a rare sight — as he glanced down at jules with amusement at the comment on his height. “very well.” jules gave sound advice, as he always did. even if his neck hurt while doing so. einar had to look down at most people, save for his mother & hendrik. there was far worse company he could keep.

“yes.” the diplomatic potential wasn’t lost on him ; a hunting party could certainly relax tensions & create bonds, if not allow some negotiating on the side. he knew too that most of his family didn’t share his silent openness to working with other countries, hoped that events such as these might help to bring them closer without disturbing his brother’s diplomatic agenda. “i will speak with the king of england. he is … restless.” he’d been watching augustine windsor closely, aware of the stories of his military skill ; restless seemed to be putting it lightly. the man was lightning in a bottle. “ & i believe the poles & russians would welcome any chance to compete with each other. the austrians too, perhaps.”

Snorting, Julian found himself courting less than polite thoughts about the other royals, but then again, Jules rarely possessed polite thoughts. Or so he would claim. "That seems something that most people here have in common. It's why they all really showed up, isn't it? To compete and show off who made it out the best after these five years?" An eyebrow raising, Julian knew there were some that would say he was being unfair, and he could admit it wasn't the reason for all of them. Denmark's reason for being there was more that they couldn't afford not to be there with so many other's gathering, but Julian firmly believed they could hold their own when it came to showing off.

she could barely contain the rolling of her eyes as the door opened. yulia thought for sure that she had found a private room to pout in. the grand princess had so many emotions swirling inside her, that she wasn’t sure how to express them. “i suppose you’re here to congratulate me on my betrothal,” she replies, miserably. 

“Come now, aren’t you the least bit curious how things are going outside the walls?” He was. Yes, the assassination attempt on the queen was a terrible thing, but the rumors of the plague seemed even more deadly to him because an assassin could only kill one person at a time and likely had motive - the plague killed indiscriminately and in large numbers. And if you wanted to accuse him of just wanting to get outside for a while… perhaps that was true as well. @1642hqzstarters

Katharina tilted her head to the right, cobalt eyes narrowing as she watched the men as if reacting in slow motion to her order. One of them yelled, and the arrow had barely graced their arm which made her roll her eyes. What a crybaby she thought. With a sigh, she relaxed her stance and lowered the arm holding the bow, as she wasn’t going to fire more at them. For now.

Her attention returned to the French monarch, her right eyebrow raising as a silent question to his own. Was he truly surprised by her own words, or was he fishing for more? She never knew what to expect with these people; call it Danish allergy to foreigners. “ It has been many a year since I last saw combat, though I train almost daily. “ She answered him truthfully. Otherwise, she knew, her physicality would suffer nor would she be as fit or strong as she was - a day she dreaded would soon come with age. The day she couldn’t lift her battle axe deep down, she knew, the end would be near for her. “ While I’ve had men, and women, under my command, it’s the first time anyone asks me to train their soldiers. “ 

"In the past few years, the world has suffered enough tragedy without the need to be at war." She likely meant more than just five years in the past, but Renaud thought he made a good point that her being away from combat did not mark her as unique among those gathered. "As you train daily and the skills of your soldiers precedes you, I see no reason to complain."

—

jules wasn’t wrong, but he still felt uncomfortable with it, unsure of himself. he was used to packs of soldiers, not the finery of courts, never one to enjoy standing out in a crowd. “i do not need to awkwardly avoid ruffling feathers. i prefer it out here.” jules knew that already, but. it was simpler outside, to stay away from things. indeed, if aslak had had it his way, perhaps he never would have come back. it was simpler. & a darker thought than he needed, brushing that aside. he would go back to the events & bear it, as jules asked him to. it would not be too hard.

he gave anja a thoughtful pat on the head. “certainly. i know some who would be interested as well.” the backing of a few kings tended to help get things done quickly. hendrik jasen, for one, had little interest in hunting, but einar thought that if he asked … yes, hendrik might be willing. for him.

"And they don't need another prince banishing themselves outside for committing the crime of being too tall. If I can survive the crick in my neck, so can they." Honestly, as pathetic as it sounded, one of Julian's favorite things about the summit (possibly the only thing he liked about it, since he was being honest) was that he was finally around people who weren't taller than he was. "Besides, I'm not cruel enough to say that you should always be there. But if you're never there, that will only make them suspicious."

pale  fingers  ran  over  the  petals  of  a  fading  flower  as  the  queen  sat  on  a  bench  well  concealed  by  leaves  from  the  distance  .  she  tilted  her  head  back  and  soaked  in  the  sun  ,  relaxing  slightly  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  arrived  in  switzerland  .  it  was  always  easiest  to  breathe  when  she  was  alone  .  but  she  had  learned  to  live  on  very  little  air  ,  clasping  her  hands  and  composing  herself  when  she  realized  that  someone  was  approaching  .  one  of  the  scots  ,  no  less  .

she  nodded  politely  to  greet  her  .  ʺ  it  is  quite  beautiful.  though  out  of  its  prime  ,  unfortunately  .  ʺ  this  was  not  the  season  for  growing  things  .  it  was  a  slow  death  .  she  could  not  be  bothered  to  attempt  to  find  a  metaphor  there  ,  too  weary  to  grow  morbid  .  

Obviously it wasn't the right season for flowers - while there was a bloom for every time of year, this particular garden wasn't flourishing in the cold and perhaps it was the mentality of those who Sorcha surrounded herself with that said the flower blooming at all should have been seemed as a miracle, but she didn't argue. For all she knew, it was a backhanded remark about her own age and condition.

maxim had thought perhaps knowing she was in the wrong place would have her up and moving, exiting the room so maxim could be alone. he didn’t want to be alone, not really, but he’d rather be alone than admit that maybe he needed someone to just sit with him. like this woman, a mother, he remembers hearing, which already makes him wary, or envious, perhaps, of the protection and care this baby already has without even knowing. and how selfish of him, then, for maxim to be envious of a child not yet born.

maxim doesn’t know the scottish mistress. most of his knowledge is from the rumors alone. he isn’t sure if she knows him, the rumors about maxim, the golden prince, what have you, but he looks at her blankly for a moment. he hopes she doesn’t think her words will goad him into divulgence, but he knows he cannot act anything other than the prince he is. instead he leans forward, pours himself a drink, even offers to pour her one as well, like his own pathetic version of a test. “there’s a lot happening at the moment,” he says simply, cocking his head, the barest hint of sharpness in his tone though you’d have to truly listen to hear. “everyone’s problem seems to be the assassin floating about. have you heard?”

.

She'd expected to go, had planned to go and was going to leave once she could fold up her letter without the ink smudging irreparably, something she'd assumed the prince across from her was smart enough to realize when she capped the ink well, so she certainly hadn't expected the offer of a drink. You weren't supposed to do that when someone overstayed their welcome and although she declined the drink, she did lean back in place, making no move to leave.

"That the Queen of the Netherlands was held at knife point, but uninjured, or stabbed and hiding it, or dead?" Sorcha returned calmly. If he'd thought that her nerves would be rattled by the idea of blood, he'd guessed wrong. She wasn't sure how old he was, but there was a solid chance that Sorcha had been seeing blood on a monthly basis since before he was born. "I've heard." Perhaps she was wrong, but she didn't think that was what was on his mind - at least most people who were worried about assassins didn't usually decide to run off to a sitting room that should be abandoned. A great way to get yourself assassinated, wandering off from your group and armored guards.

Exactly what it was that caused it, Soren later wouldn’t be able to say. Maybe it was the tilt of his head, or the way that the King’s gaze seemed to evaluated him, but Soren went from confused about the man’s intentions to his mother to thinking that he needed to hold very, very still.

“I’m sure we all have our strengths,” He said evasively, starting to run through excuses to leave in his head. If what Soren knew about France was correct, then he was looking at one of the most powerful people gathered in Switzerland, and he didn’t think anyone would be amused at him if he offended the French king by simply walking away. “And I’m sure we’ll learn more the longer we’re here.”

"Very tactful." Actually, it was blandly polite, a non-answer that refused to comment either on their own worth or those around them, and Renaud didn't believe for a moment that the young King was incapable of thinking of something he considered his home to excel at, or envied another for being capable of. What unexpected hesitancy, but then, a good warrior knew when to attack and when not to, didn't they?

maxim was in a foul mood. he felt like a bird trapped in a cage and maxim gets fidgety when in one spot for too long, and with everyone already on edge from this assassination attempt, it’s not helping. he’s walked the grounds multiple times thus far and still that thrum of restlessness lies beneath his skin like a disease, a shake he can’t get rid of, the need to be doing something, but he can’t sneak out, not when there’s rumors of the plague about once more. he’s managed to stay away from most people thus far, knowing to keep a distance when he’s like this.

he’s caught off guard when he finally finds an empty room, only to see that it’s not empty. he staggers for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he tries to regain his composure. maxim knows this woman– the scottish king’s mistress. he takes a breath, straightening his posture and trying to smile but his heart is just not in it. “i won’t tell if you won’t,” maxim promises halfheartedly, wandering across the room and sitting in a seat opposite her with a sigh.

.

"I'm good at keeping secrets." She would take that as a yes, that she wasn't where she should be, which meant that Sorcha should leave before someone less forgiving found her - assuming that the prince wasn't lying and didn't go running to tell someone as soon as she was gone. Really, you'd think that the maid who originally brought the supplies for her letter would have bothered to tell her that she'd gotten turned around in the castle and strayed to possibly the worst place she could be. Perhaps she could have excused it away as the multitude of foreign royals all blending together for the staff, except the hair was usually rather distinct.

Eyebrows raising at his sigh, Sorcha set aside her quill carefully and placed an arm across her stomach as she looked at him. "I get the feeling that I'm not your biggest problem right now." She could finish the letter later, she needed to leave anyway and if the prince chose to view that as an interest in his story, that was fine. Putting the stopping back in the inkwell, Sorcha decided that it could be left behind, but she would give the ink a little longer.

If given enough time, Renaud had faith that the majority of the rulers gathered together in Switzerland would seek him out by virtue of his country being one of the strongest to come out of the plague, but an exception to Renaud's belief was Hendrik Jasen. Even for Renaud, the man's quiet nature could leave him difficult to read and if Renaud had his way, a spy would soon be in the man's court.

There weren't many Dowager Queens in attendance at Switzerland, and unless Renaud was mistaken (he wasn't), the number of them was exactly two. Looking at either was enough to prompt questions about immortality, about how it felt to not only lose one's husband, but to know your child wouldn't be the next king, that you failed to preserve their legacy and it was given to another.