of roses.

vitória has tucked herself away in an armchair, a stack of books to her side — mostly italian, some french. king diebold has his faults, but his literary collection is not one of them; she would be unrecognizable if she did not immerse herself in it. captured most recently by petrach’s il canzoniere, she is only drawn from its pages when someone approaches.

a vague recollection clouded by sweet wine’s hold comes back to her: a clandestine gathering in one of the many rooms of montebello, a man on the fringes of the world, an outstretched hand. in that winsome way of hers, she’d danced with lord alexeis trubetskaya, a man come back from the dead — people whisper his head is caught in a fog, that there isn’t really a man left there at all.

but who is she to say what separates lies from truth? she doesn’t know him. she has never heard of him until now. and a young woman who has never seen a battlefield cannot fathom what a soldier dragged through hell and spit back out has been through.

Location: Vitoria’s room 

with: @vitcrias

Teresa would never describe herself as a lover of literature. She preferred to spend her time outdoors, exploring or socializing but she did find a book before bed to be relaxing. So she went to the one woman who’s book suggestions she believed more than anyone, Vitoria. 

Growing up Teresa used to always say Vitoria was her twin soul, born only about a month apart Teresa practically knew the other since birth. Vitoria was her confidant and knew her better than most, so any book Vitoria thought she would enjoy she often did. 

That is how Teresa ended up sitting in a comfortable chair in the other girls room flipping through different books. “I swear Vivi you will one day own every book in the world.”

“ I would quite like that, I think. I’d adore it — imagine, all those ideas and stories in a library of my very own. I’ve already found so many different ones here, with all these people gathering from across the world. ” Vitória laughed from where she sat languidly amongst cushions upon her settee. Regardless of the strained Spanish-Luso relations as of late, she loved the infantas of Spain as she would her own sister and cousins, and was comfortable in their company. Teresa knew of her insecurities and doubts, just as she knew of the other’s heartaches and hopes. 

“It was not a challenge,” Sebastião furrowed his brow, shaking his head with vigour. “But indeed, I speak with the certainty of his love for us. He is merciful, do not forget.” Nothing about him doubted his words, though it was clear from Vitória’s speech that her own faith did not hold Him to such high standards. “He listens, Vitória. And he will be there for us, even when it may seem otherwise.” He reached for her, his hand finding her upper arm and squeezing gently in an affectionate gesture. “I do not think peace is so far away,” he reasoned. “After all, we are all still here, together, despite the terrible things that have happened. We have all shown commitment towards making it so. That has to mean something.” 

“ I know, Tião. ” She huffed out a sigh before offering a small smile. “ I know He is there —- ” She cut herself off, unsure how to continue in the presence of someone so steadfast in their faith. Did her brother not stop to question once God’s plan? Or to question his place in the world, or really — to question anything? Such surety was both frustrating and enviable. “ You couldn’t be wrong, of course, ” she continues hurriedly, waving a hand absentmindedly. “ He must be listening, and He will guide us. ” Though her words were meant to be said with the same conviction as Sebastião, they erred more on the side of attempting to convince herself of their truth. “ Again, I hope you are right. It means something, and that is a good thing! But just as many of us fight for peace, there are others who would quickly take their blades up and strike once again, ” she pointed out. “ And I have been here since winter. I thought peace was not so far away then, and yet it still has not be found. I won’t give it up, but I’m very worried, irmão. I do not want Portugal to fight another thankless war. ” 

starter: @vitcrias​ location: common grounds ; afternoon

women take pleasant afternoon strolls, men have heated conversations despite the calming aura of the garden. the common ground isn’t a place nagasani expected to visit so soon, but for a curious and restless woman like herself, sasso corbaro got boring sooner rather than later. westerners are a majority in bellinzona amongst the own swiss court, and she finds guests from castelgrande to be in higher number in the common garden this afternoon. one in particular strikes her attention.

her skin isn’t the color of most westerners - if she didn’t know better, nagasani might’ve placed her as another nationality. but she has seen the portuguese family roam the outside of the castles when she arrived; she has studied the people who are to keep her company in this godforsaken village for who knows how long. that woman is vitoria, the infanta of portugal. she is beautiful, nagasani thinks. 

and as if fate means to say something, her eyes watch as a piece of cloth falls to the ground behind the young lady. “pardon me,” nagasani is quick to say, keeping herself in the most ladylike manner while reaching for the object. “i am afraid you have dropped your handkerchief, milady." 

“ oh! ” vitória turns in surprise, skirts brushing against the ground in a flutter of deep blue. gaze settles on her handkerchief’s savior, and she wonders if she can find kinship in this woman, who wears a similar shade of skin color like she would not scrub it out for all the taunts and derision in the world. vitória does not know what it is like to leave her homeland for one of ice and frost, but she knows a little — a lot — of what it is like to be different. to be an outlier. ( the truth of europe is this: it is easier, far easier, to be born with the visage of botticelli’s venus. you’ve such a lovely face, but if only you weren’t so dark, once said her distant aunt, lifting her chin. )

but they both stand their ground, no? women like them do not go quietly, and though vitória has often folded parts of herself away to fit in with court, there are parts she refuses to lose. she wonders how much of it is the same with nagasani. she wonders many things; though they stand on opposite sides of the war, she is curious. 

location  :  outside the hunting lodge rented by matthias- -  status  :  closed to infanta vitoria braganca of portugal @vitcrias​

her heart bled to be away from her friends and family, but after matthias’ reaction, she had felt the need to hide, to stay safe - to nurture the child within and to protect their relationship. after all, was the kingdom of germany’s king capable of murder? to desire war was one such thing, something giovanna held no love for but was he truly so malicious to think of putting a woman with child in danger? just for his dignity and the family’s pride? nonetheless, giovanna found herself anxious and full of unneeded worry, so she took to walking instead. trudging the paths around the cottage as her mind worked over and over with worry. a long way from the hunting lodge’s sanctuary she found herself spotting the infanta across the way, yet she dared not jump and shout for her attention - who else would see her on the fringe of bellinzona? with her voice stuck in her throat, she moved in closer - her eyes all the more on ends to make sure no one else was around to spot them. “vitoria?” she called, her voice shaken. “you are far from the castelgrande…” 

she sits beneath a tree, thumbing through a book recommended to her by ippolita. as expected of her friend’s taste, it is an excellent work of literature, momentarily diverting her attention from politics. not that she believes she has much to do, anyway — letters from portugal have reported nothing out of place and the colonies continue to thrive despite the two princes landlocked in switzerland. 

but her focus shifts once again as a familiar man passes by, and she smiles. closing her book and standing, she smooths out her skirts as she gives him a polite nod in greeting. “ has luck favored you lately? ” she asks lightly, eyes sparkling. though she has only known ahmad briefly, she still treats him as she would an old friend; it is simply in her nature. “ i would very much like to prove nature wrong in its omens. ”

she purses her lips, doubtful to voice the truth. she loves them both dearly, but sebastião has always seemed almost untouchable, a part unknown. she doesn’t know where he gets that unflappable confidence of his, that surety that the world can do him no wrong, and if it does, god will be there to save him. 

it is easy to see why portugal loves him, for such conviction is inspirational. still, she worries. will he make a good king? or will he fall before he realizes it’s happening?

i know tonho better, she thinks. perhaps it is because they do not carry the same weight of responsibility as eldest daughter and son, or because they are of a similar temperament, sharing the same concerns. the same insecurities. 

she furrows her brow. court whispered the king of portugal spoiled his children too much, coddled them — perhaps if he’d been harsher, they said, vitória would be more like beatriz. they blame him for the failures of his sons; wives and sisters relay information back from their husbands and brothers in brazil, spinning their resentment into vicious gossip. 

“ i feel as if i have not seen the sun in ages! ” vitória enthuses, looping her arm through mariana’s as they walk through the gardens. after friederike’s wedding, she had fallen ill with a spring fever, not unlike the ones suffered in her childhood. at least she not had inherited the constitution of her mother, and made a fairly swift recovery. “ perhaps i am being a bit dramatic, but being confined to my chambers for weeks is an awful time. ”

she turns her gaze from rosebushes to mariana. “ and what of you? ” with sebastião here, she can’t imagine anything good coming out that meeting — though it is not her place to play peacemaker between the two, it still hurts her heart. she cares for them both, after all. “ has anything happened since i’ve been holed up, reading whatever i can find to pass the time? ”

location  :  the main hub of activity around bellinzona  status  :  open to both sides of the peace treaty

he had given her a task, he had entrusted his vision, his voice and his message within her very mouth ( her tongue suddenly thick and heavy behind small pearls of ivory ). the sultan would join her soon, or so he had said. but till then, she would be amiss of her two younger children; her dear husna and habib, who were to be nurtured by the consorts and the sultan himself. 

she strayed from the confines of sasso corbaro to take to the common ground, her traditional garments put aside for warmer wear - western clothes pared with her nath piercing worn, a large ring decorated with amber jewels given upon her wedding day by the sultan himself. her older children were left with their nalini, a nanny who both educated and cared for them in gulbadan’s absence. 

it was perhaps overwhelming for the consort, as she stepped into a world unfathomable to the loyal people of the mughal empire. and yet, she tried. her mind cast back to the teachings of the goddess lakshmi; for she was the one who would take gulbadan’s hand, guiding her forth to opportunities of the west. 

“excuse me,” she announced, her tongue rough and strange around western words as she held her hands upon her belly. “i am gulbadan devi sultan begum… i have just arrived from hindustan, and though i am late… i wish to extend courtesies from the sultan of the mughal empire himself. may i ask, how long have you sought sanctuary within these borders?” 

“ it is a pleasure, ” vitória replied with a smile, the very image of iberian warmth. her father might have been more suited for such introductions, but perhaps there was something to be said about woman to woman. “ vitória de bragança, infanta of portugal, daughter of king joão — i also extend courtesies both from him and our kingdom. i hope your journey was not too arduous. ”

and it is has been too long in bellinzona. what was supposed to be perhaps a month or two at most had become nearly half a year, and she found herself missing portugal more often than not. she missed the walls of paço da ribeira, the shores of cascais. still, a stranger, no matter her importance ( for this woman carried herself as a woman of status, of worth ), did not need to know of her homesickness nor her suspicions.

( for one could not really call it sanctuary either, as that would imply seeking safety — what safety had they found here, where their family members laid slain, found dead in lakes and carriage yards, and talks of war took root again? )

“ since january. and think it is already spring! ” she answered instead. she knew little of hindustan, having been more concerned with the lands of the new world and africa, but upon meeting ahmad ali khan, thought it prudent to educate herself. if she was going to be envoy for portugal and its wealth to elevate them from simple sailors to commanders of the sea, she should do it well. so she wracked her mind for the title equivalent of begum in the west, and spoke once more. “ your piercing, your imperial majesty, it is beautiful. ” it was not empty flattery — she thought the jewelry truly stunning, and liked how gulbadan wore a piece of her homeland without shame.

open to all.

after the circumvention of what could have been a political catastrophe happening in swiss with the death of so many nobles, louis had been grateful for the opportunity to seek some peace of mind away from the stony castle walls with its less than graceful interior.

with rays of sunshine beaming down on anyone who did not wear the proper attire to shield their skin from its warmth, louis enjoyed the comfort of his hunting attire — it was certainly less restricting than his everyday wear — and was looking forward to a day spent in the forest to remove himself from the tense political situation at the castle. he’d eventually come back to revisit the manner in his own way but for now, he wanted to enjoy the hunt.

in a distant corner of his mind, another question had etched itself there to be remembered for the remainder of his stay in switzerland: what if the murderer of his nephew could be found in these woods? the ones responsible for nearly causing an uprising among so many allies and foes? it was a foolish line of thought but it made more sense to blame such cruel actions on an unknown foe. a religious fanatic it may have been, then.

perhaps in light of recent events, louis should have remembered to bring more people to accompany him on this trip rather than equipment. but he was a man who’d seen war and loss alike: there was little that could shock him now. not even the rustling sound of leaves as a pair of hooves trampled through the forest in all its calm grace.

his lips quirked into an expectant smile at the silhouette of another rider appearing in his vision. “so i am to be accompanied then, i take it?”

courtiers called her father too relaxed and her mother too indulgent for letting vitória run amok with her brothers in her youth. how she wanted to be like them, and how she tried, riding astride on a horse in borrowed breaches and waving around a wooden sword until she was deemed a young lady, boxed into a role that suited her mother and sister more. they dressed her in gowns of brocade and silk, pinned her hair, kept her from running through streams and grass. you’ll never be a suitable consort looking like you just fell from a tree.

but sometimes she thought she might make a better forest nymph than princess — it would be a simpler life, living as a creature of ancient mythos. she supposed the closest she’d get to such fairytale freedom would be riding, and so they could not take horses or the call of the sun from her. she’d taken her favorite horse out today, following a chosen route now familiar to her after months of being in king diebold’s land. carlos would have loved it. the sting of loss did not so easily fade.

her thoughts were interrupted by someone’s voice, and she shifted direction, leaves rustling beneath her steed’s hooves. isabeau’s brother was far from terrible company, and vitória was hardly one to say no to kindling friendships — though she didn’t think herself as confident or assertive as her brothers, she did share that lack of shyness.