The Soldier

June 18-21 = 435 June 22-28 = 185 06/29-07/05 = 650 July 6-12 = 130 (380-250) July 13-19 = 345

July 20 - 26

Replies (14) x10 = 140

Starters (2) x15 = 30

Graphics (0) x10 = 0

Para/HC (0) x20 = 0

Memes (0) x05 = 0

Mentor (1) x50 = 50

It wasn’t any surprise to William to find Thomas in the library and quite frankly, that was exactly where William wanted him to be as William planned on making use of him to assist in William’s latest goal. 

With primers on German carried in his arms, William dropped them onto the table in front of Thomas before taking the chair across from him and reaching for the book on top. “You’re going to help me learn a language.” William declared, which wasn’t the most unheard of thing for him to do. After all, when Katrinka married Harry and England became allies with Russia, William set about learning their language in an attempt to prove their dedication to the bond and William practicing his Russian with Katrinka regularly. While he still had room for improvement and not as skilled in it as he was in French, William was still good enough to converse, which was something.

Since arriving in Portugal, William had taken to delivering many messages personally instead of sending anyone to deliver them and the reasons for this were numerous. Firstly, he thought it granted a higher level of respect to go in person instead of sending a servant, and secondly, it allowed William to familiarize himself with the ins and outs of Portugal, to witness who was doing what and where, and finally, because it meant he could converse with people that he might otherwise not have.

In this particular case, what attracted his attention was a lovely woman was dark hard that, unless he was mistaken, happened to be the Tsar’s mistress. Perhaps that would be something against her character to most, but considering William’s own sister was a mistress before she was queen, William didn’t look down on her for it and instead approached her, bowing as he did so. “Don’t worry, I swear we’ll only borrow him from you for a day.” William commented, having just passed along the invitations to the Russian court for the hunt he was throwing for his brother. 

It wasn’t only the Tsar that had been invited, but the Tsarina as well, which wasn’t meant to be a slight to this woman and William didn’t want her to take it as such as once again, Isabel’s previous role as a mistress left William well aware that you didn’t need to be a queen to have power over a king. Or a tsar, in this case.

          Nodding in agreement with William’s assessment, John rode peacefully next to his brother. With a distinct age gap between the two of them, they did not grow up discussing much at all. Beyond that, once John was old enough to take the Earldom of Northumberland, he was not around for much of William’s life, and William had taken off in military pursuits when he came of age. The thought had not crossed John’s mind, how perhaps the last year was the most he had seen of his brother in a long time, until this moment. “I used to host more at York Castle, but it is so far from London it is not practical to entertain state guests anymore,” John explained. He had a residence he kept on the Thames as well, but that was for when he and Eleanor were at court, not for hosting guests. “I am glad you are being so diligent brother,” John said, genuinely. 

     Riding in silence for a moment, guiding the courser with a practiced hand and allowing himself just to enjoy the landscape - while still noting anything he thought may be of import - John let himself think in the silence. Blinking at Will slightly when he asked about Eleanor, John let himself have a beat before answering, not even noticing the pattern himself. “She said something when we were at the pageant that disturbed me, is all. Well, maybe disturbed is the incorrect word,” John did not check himself as much around Will, not feeling a distinct need to and allowing him to hear him talk through something more, “alarmed me. Has sat in the back of my mind like a point of concern causing me to lie awake at night. I plan on addressing it with her, but she is well in terms of health, you have no need to worry. I would not let anyone harm her, of course.” 

      Giving what could almost be described as a snort to Williams concerned, John explained the reaction a moment later, “I am also convinced they can be bought because I have bought a fair share of people in my life. It is always easier than one would hope.” John had a good deal of people on his payroll, both within the English court and elsewhere. Therefore, he shared William’s concern almost tenfold, because he did understand how easy it was. Quirking an eyebrow at his brother, he reined up his horse slightly so he could look at the younger man. “She told me nothing,” he said flatly. There was clear displeasure in his voice at his sister’s failure to inform him of an issue. Choosing to table it for the moment though, he nodded to his brother, “I agree, its an uneasy calm. I have been finding myself like the caged animal you have described.” 

It was odd to picture John hosting a party, but then again, he could easily picture John with a drink in hand and never becoming drunk, listening eagerly to see what secrets spilled from loosened lips. It all depended on the sort of party, he supposed, and William nodded in acceptance of the information, wondering just how many of the individuals in Portugal had called themselves John's guest and how many of them were offended by it and how many of them were indebted to him for silence. While usually William termed his belief that his brother was always up to something sneaky by stealing information and out thinking everyone like some sort of villain, perhaps it was closer to the truth to say that it was the idolizing of a younger sibling who found that no matter how much he learned, his brother always seemed to know more.and it seemed a simple fact that John would be the smartest person in the room when it felt like William spent his childhood being outwitted by an older and wiser sibling.

"You know me. Constant vigilance," William muttered, not attempting to prolong the conversation as he watched his surroundings, viewing it not as a tourist or admirer of Portugal, but one that thought he might go to battle. buildings good for archers, dark places people could disappear into, crowded forest paths, they were all essential to know and yet so still was knowing if anything was wrong with someone he considered family. "Well, good to know she's of fair health. Although I can't imagine what she could have said to disturb you." After all, it was hardly like she was close enough to Isabel that something would be slipped to her instead of John when it came to succession. Maybe he'd need to have a chat with Eleanor later, depending on what the issue was.

Seeing his reaction made her second guess giving in so easily, she could not let him win the argument with a present. It seemed utterly unfair, so instead she smirked slightly before raising her eyebrows. “Is your effort to catch up? I suppose I should slow myself for your very benefit.” She knows even after now three meetings that she can tease him this way without him taking it personally, it felt reassuring to have someone who took little to no offense at her words so she could speak more freely. 

Remembering all the exploits she would bring home, and how the older woman would kick open the door in mid-coitus and grab the men by the collars as if they were only small kittens and booted them out the door. Most of the men were lower ranked enough to not question who the woman who gave the princess an earful after their departure, it wasn’t their place to push on and they never did come calling again. Back then, the rebellious princess resented Johanna for this very act but in retrospect was thankful for the intervention that could have hurt her reputation if found out. “She is a bold woman indeed, apparently she was quite like me as a youth.” Remembering all the stories she would recall about her times chasing skirts and pants alike and caring not for her reputation, it was a freeing lifestyle that Emilia was envious of. For as many times as she pursued others with sexual intention, she has to be secretive or thoughtful or risk losing everything even with her mother backing her. 

Emilia is not sure what she is expecting as a reply to her apology, but a criticism of the very apology was not on the list of anticipated response to be sure. The earl made sense, she should have inquired if he had deeply offended before presuming that she had and make the apologies necessary. Brushing her hair out of her face, she meets his eyes for a moment curious to see if he will expand on what would begging the question on his feelings on the matter would bring. “I did not want to overstep,” she begins but realizes that he has already moved past this bit of contested beliefs. “Then I will act likewise.” She nods to herself but already knows that she will pull back even a little, even if he reassures that she is not behaving badly Emilia knows better then to believe anyone at their word. Although, this wasn’t anyone. It was William. 

Hesitating only a moment, she reached out and takes hold of his arm before smiling up at him. “Remote, so I can claim somewhere else as our kingdom.” Walking forward, she moved through the open door and down the hallways, a few servants moved quickly out of their way until the reached the front door in front of the Palacio Da Correio-Mor. “Should we go by horse back? Or I can call for a carriage.” She glances around as they step outside, “have you a spot in mind?” 

"Don't you dare." The words came out like a rumble, low and caught somewhere between sincere and teasing because he knew that Emilia wasn't serious, but also because the swiftness of her mind was what he admired most about her, if he were to pick one thing. What intricate hallways her thoughts had to wonder, the complexity of her thoughts exquisite when it seemed to him that most princesses talked only of the same thing. Or perhaps they merely assumed it was unladylike to discuss more than a few approved topics with a man that wasn't their husband, but no matter what the culprit was, it left William captivated by the tongue that hid behind Emilia's inviting smiles, her charm hiding the ability to cut you with sharp remarks the same way a rose invited you to pluck it only to catch you with its thorns if you dared to touch. Useless as a flower, indeed, how could this woman ever underestimate herself so much?

It reminded him unexpectedly of part of their conversation on the boat, of the way she declared herself easy and how he announced that she should be chased, that only one couldn't capture her didn't deserve her, and perhaps that was what guided the path of his thoughts, the idea that she may even in jest diminish herself when William wished to know all faucets of her personality and knew that he would never be able to unlock the true depths of who she was if she presented him with a challenge enough to prove he was worthy of such trust.

When did getting to know her so well become so important? It wasn't a question that came with a clear answer, but Johanna seemed like part of it, a woman that saw Emilia from infanthood into adulthood, a woman that knew how she grew up and likely knew why. "I imagine she was quite formidable, then, and that she has many stories I wish she would share." Although would she dare talk about the woman she served? Perhaps, but that didn't mean she would talk about the girl she watched over, and it was clear how she viewed Emilia even if he'd known her for only a moment.

"Consider yourself invited, Princess." It was an assurance that perhaps he shouldn't give her, but it was one that he'd pressed tenderly into her hands the moment she reached out for him and he didn't deny her. It wasn't polite manners that kept him from pushing her away and he'd thought she would have known that he didn't feel the need to stand on such formality with her. As her hands found his arm where they were supposed to be, William nodded and managed to hold back his smile to only a flicker of emotion as he responded, "Remote sounds perfect, we should have a basket made up and I'll steal you away once again."

To see her daughter laughing and playing with another was a curious thing. It warmed her to know she was enjoying herself, laughing and enjoying another’s company but it also hurt her. She should be having this experience with her father, not a stranger but Alis was thankful still. “You truly are a remarkable man, I’ve been trying for hours to settle her and you do it an instant.” She was envious of his calming nature but it was rubbing off. Already Alis herself was much more at ease. “I will admit I am not all too familiar with English names, it isn’t something my mother thought was a priority.” The way her mother and uncle understood the world was that women had no place in politics. All Alis knew was that France and England had a tense relationship but that didn’t concern her, not truly.

.

"Not remarkable at all. Is she your first? Perhaps I simply have more experience and that contributes to it. And if you've been trying for hours, perhaps your efforts were simply tempered by your own exhaustion? Which is nothing to be ashamed of," William was quick to add, not wanting her to think that he was implying she was a bad mother or that he, a stranger, had a better idea of how to tend to her child than she did. "I'm no one too impressive, my lady. The Earl of Lancaster, if that's what you wish to know." As well as the heir presumptive to the title Duke of York, the brother of the queen, the Lord Steward, and the man formerly in charge of the English forces in Normandy, but this was hardly an interview and none of that was as relevant in the moment as his skill and experience with children happened to be. "My apologies, do you want her back now?"

Katrinka. He said her old name again and though she swallowed at the fond address- she shifted where she stood, eased by the way it fell so freely from him, from his English tongue without even the slightest influx, tremor..  Thus, she relished this treatment most deliciously, expanded on it, likening it to the same feeling as a favour worn by an admirable knight before a joust, or an extra portion of rich sweets, savoured in secret. In return, a slow-drawled tease as her lips bounced in inconspicuous amusement, “I have another secret for you, then: it is that I haven’t decided to reveal such powers to you, yet, on the sole fact that you, Will– you’re one of the rare, few people I’d ever wish to scare. Consider yourself lucky. I suggest you keep me in your fond company, hmm?” The princess gestured for him to walk alongside her amongst the dim-lit hedges, through the winding path of tall-sprouting flower-bushes. 

Slowly, she strolled, inclining her head to hear him as he replied of duty and obligation, a true fact she shared: the forces tied to their stations proved too combative with any notion of personal wish. At his question, she stifled a blunt laugh. “How dare you place any ounce of personal desire into that mind of yours over familial obligations- there’s no room allowed for such nonsense!” she teased, eyes rolled before she shot him a sideways glance, “You’re just as sane as anyone else brought here for honour- even if we pour ourselves into this craft, we all want. It can be mind-numbing until it’s quelled, even with a small, selfish act. Don’t tell a soul, I’ve no patience to be reprimanded over it, but I’ve stolen time away. Taken our host’s horse for a ride from the stables without announcing. Studied the Portuguese Carracks black sword from afar, craved holding one, myself, to compare their art of sparring- though you and I both know I’m too clumsy with weaponry.“ Smile glowed mischief, intrigue at the thought of a tournament. “Now that, I’d imagine those who gather here, could rally behind! Country or man on display, I could see it turning into a mess of a time. Perhaps your sister could implore our king to host? Who would you hope to compete against, first?”

Smiling at the way she shared secrets as if they were conspirators in some great crime, William couldn't help but feel fond of Katrinka and he felt a bond with her that he never would have expected from anyone married to Harry. Of course, perhaps it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise since it seemed that preferring the company of a man's wife to that of the man himself seemed to be a trait in William's life, one that was proven by how frequently he listened to Isabel and Eleanor take offense at the choices of the men their lives were tied to. Perhaps he hadn't grown up with Katrinka and they didn't come from the same culture or even speak the same tongue as their first language, but she wasn't an exception to the rule. "My, what a grand distinction I seem to hold. I'll make sure to tread with care, your grace," William countered, falling into step beside her and offering her his arm.

        a  brow  delicately  arched  at  his  statement,  ❛  to  the  east,  yes,  but  i  must  confess  to  not  have  looked  past  the  ottoman  empire,  yet. ❜  she  spoked  earnestly,  resisting  the  urge  to  roll  her  eyes  at  her  husbands  antics ;  there  was  little  doubt  in  her  mind  that  edward  had  spoken  in  jest,  yet  such  was  the  problem  with  kings,  oftentimes  it  was  hard  to  decipher  was  was  sincere  or  not.  ❛  of  course,  brother,  you  shall  always  have  my  support. ❜  a  small  smile  stretched  across  her  features.  isabel  listened  as  her  spoke,  silently  nodding  her  approval  to  all  that  he  spoke  ––––  he  was  making  himself  useful,  and  isabel  greatly  appreciated  that. 

❛  one  of  the  sultan’s  daughters ? ❜  this  peaked  her  interest  tenfold  and  a  rush  of  excitement  coursed  within  her,  a  million  and  one  questions  suddenly  upon  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  focussing  her  thoughts,  isabel  glanced  up  at  her  younger  brother.  ❛  and  what  did  you  think  of  her ?  i  hear  they  most  delightful  and  talented  creatures. ❜  from  their  father,  it  must  be  said  and  thus,  isabel  was  eager  to  hear  william’s  opinion.  ❛  an  invite  has  been  sent  to  them  for  my  garden  party,  i  very  much  look  forward  to  beholding  them  myself.  ❜  

his  question  brought  a  frown  upon  her  otherwise  lovely  countenance,  ❛ nothing  that  i  was  not  prepared  for,  it  appears  the  portuguese  courtiers  endeavour  to  besmirch  my  reputation,  no  doubt  spurred  on  by  queen  crara.  ❜  she  could  not  help  but  roll  her  eyes  at  the  mere  mention  of  her  portuguesse  counterpart.  ❛  i  have  invited  her  to  the  party  also,  as  tiresome  as  i  find  the  woman,  i  am  hoping  that  we  might  all  enter  a  new  chapter. ❜ 

To be truthful, John had also made comments to push for William to stay in the country, so William knew that Isabel wasn't his only source of support in this particular topic, but he didn't mention that part because for one, there seemed to be no reason to harp on the subject when Isabel had already given her opinion and secondly, while John had come to his side, he'd still taken part in the beginning and there was a childish voice in William's head that announced simply 'John started it.' No matter how lofty their titles,  they were still siblings at their core and sometimes that reduced them to infants - or at least William, who it seemed would always be their bratty baby brother even if he did attempt to act properly.

Perhaps that was why William couldn't help but tense slightly as Isabel repeated his words and turned her attention towards him, the weight of her gaze reminding him of being young and without guile, saying something and revealing more than he realized. "I think that she is someone that admires art and that she is perhaps giving, but also very used to having things her way. Of course, she's a sultana, so I suppose that part should go without saying." After all, he couldn't fault royalty for saying something and assuming it would be done when so many of the people who surrounded them were there simply to fulfill their whims. "I can't yet state if she's truly talented, but..." Pausing, William hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to phrase things. This was Isabel, after all, and not John. "But I suppose we shall see, and she was one of the more charming people I conversed with."

“Well said –” Vasily smirked and nodded, still stable on his seat though the few rushed sips he had taken attempted to make him less than graceful as he sat. He was too good at holding his drink to be undone so easily by a few sips, though should his book not hold his attention and the supply last, the prince might end up making a fool of himself unintentionally. Still, it wasn’t something he concerned himself with too much, as luck seemed to find him in discreet places when he was at his most drunken state. Most in his circle knew of his fondness for the drink either way, which was one of the other things that gave Vasily a lack of care when it came to his image. 

But that was back home, where he was allowed to be shameless without fear of how it made his entire country look. Here, there were a great many responsibilities on his shoulders to uphold a standard, and that was why he, in that current moment, was still within his right mind. AT least, enough so to stay upright and speak with elegance expected of him.

“I agree with this, that all should, but it is not always the case. I have seen brides so miserable on such days… It does little to change their fortune, but I believe that how a bride feels on her wedding day…it is foretelling…” He paused, shrugging. “ Sometimes….” He added with a smirk.  He was too drunk to recall the state of the Tsar’s wife on her day, but if he was right, she must have been miserable.

“It is indeed what you think it is.” Vasily admitted with a smirk. “ I would suspect it is… You are used to wine, yes? A fine drink, but sweet, much like the fruit that it comes from. Where I am from, things are not as fair. Our drink must be harsh as our winters. It puts hair on a man’s chest. That hair keeps us warm. At least, that is what my father told me the first time he sat me down for a drink.”

.

"A very wise point, your grace." William conceded, as he imagined that there were many a princess that didn't appreciate the man she was made to wed. After all, princesses were most often treated as commodities, items to be traded, and their happiness wasn't something that people always took into consideration when making a wedding arrangement, a fact that William needed to look no further than the Princess Beatrice to prove. While William tried to make Katrinka comfortable in the English court, there was only so much that could count for and he knew that there were still rumors spread about her and about the reasons why Russia was so willing to share a bride to the far off country.

He imagined that Isabel was happy on her wedding day, but she'd chosen Edward before he was even free to wed, so that wasn't the same thing at all and while there might have been royalty in their family tree if you looked into the past, Isabel wasn't born with the title of princess. Was this man happy on his wedding day, or his wife? The fact that he brought up the fact of being miserable implied to William that the man was familiar with it, but William wasn't going to be so impertinent as to ask. "I think that drink of yours would help to make anything a happier occasion." He said tactfully.

"I've heard stories of your winters that make the land sound bleak and inhospitable, a home for ice queens to rule from frosty thrones, and I can only imagine how hardy you must be to tolerate the weather." Ah, the weather, what a favorite topic for the English, if William was being honest, and he truly did not think he would care for a winter in Russia no matter the pleasant things he'd also heard of the country. 

"Wine is better when it's sweet, although sometimes it is sour or dry, depending on where it comes from and the conditions the grapes came from. I suppose that is true, of everything, is it not? The circumstances in which something grows determines it's character, it's flavor. It is a shame you don't care for our wine, or I would suggest a trade, something of ours for some of your vodka, if you'd be inclined to share."

The company Richard had chosen that evening were a group of fine men who had followed him from the Florentine taverns, to the skirmish of boys rough-housing and then to his Earldom of Richmond. They were, it seemed, as lost as the Earl and Richard, who had a fondness for people so lost, took them into his embrace. Housing them, feeding them and rewarding them for an unbroken loyalty. he was sure indeed that they would not mind the presence of another, after all, William was not an ageing Duke swept up by the past or a stubborn mule who would turn his nose up to men with no land or estate — or even legend.

 With the nod of his head, Richard put his arm around William’s shoulders and squeezed, his lips merrily stretched into a smile as he manoeuvred them back into the room that smelt of pine cones, the salt of the sea and the overwhelming spice of wine. Finding small comfort in rubbing his lips together, Richard hummed and walked towards the table he had been at before to grab a newly placed goblet of wine — seeking the jug of water to mix it with before turning back to William. Holding it up, he waited for the gentle knock of cups, Richard’s own sensations daring to traitor him — to send him back to those moments in the taverns where he had once found girls of questionable rebut. “To us and England, and our success!”

Stepping inside the room with Richard brought about the sense of entering a disreputable pub and something inside of William relaxed ever so slightly as he wasn't a stranger to establishments that would make most royalty turn their nose up. No need for pretense or airs here and William followed after Richard with an eager mind to get himself a drink. A tip of his goblet against Richard's, William found one corner of his mouth curling upwards in amusement at the toast. Just what would count as their success, securing new alliances or getting out of Portugal without anyone being poisoned or attacked? He could be a pessimist, he knew, but William resolved to keep those thoughts at bay and washed away his disparaging words with a sip of drink.

the little prince pouted, an attempt to stop himself from wailing, but one could see it in his little eyes, he was in so much confusion and sadness. ivana wished she could take that sadness away from her son,she would in a heart beat. she watched the gentleman carefully as he approach her son, her motherly instincts kicking in. lucca seemed to have behaved at the sight of william, who was a stranger to him, well to both of them. the poor child rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stood up right just like how his governess taught him. every time william asked, lucca merely shook his head sadly, unsure how to put into words his longing for home. 

the mother on the other hand could not help but crack a smile at the softness william has shown to her son. she knows other royals simply could not stand the sight or thought of children and feared it might’ve offended him. “home,” ivana quietly replied. “he’s lost sight of home and all things familiar to him, my lord. he doesn’t know this environment, im afraid.” in a way, she resonated with her son, wondering how soon they could be back in croatia. “but he is trying to be a good little boy and enjoy his time here, is that right my love?” the little boy looked at his mother with his wide eyes before looking back to the older male and nodding his head. “why don’t you introduce yourself to the nice man, my love?” ivana coaxed her son, a hand running through his blonde hair. “m-my name is lucca, my lord,” her son sniffed, a small smile on her lips. “were you in the palacio to visit someone, my lord?” the mother inquired. “i apologize, i know a wailing child isn’t how one should treat a guest. has someone attended to you?”

A trick an old governess for one of the children told William was that if you gave a child a cup of water when they were crying, it would help them to stop. William wasn't entirely sure why, but perhaps it was to help replenish what they lost from their tears and to distract them from their woes, much like an adult turned to a cup to drown their own sorrows. There wasn't anything he had to offer the child and he wasn't going to be presumptuous and send for anything, but it seemed as though the child was inclined to listen even if he wasn't conversing, little head shaking 'no' to every question that William asked. Really, it wasn't a surprise to him when the mother spoke up, naming home as the issue and William turned his attention towards her, nodding understandingly. "Home is a terrible thing to miss."

Maruis sulked in the background, leaving himself to remain in the shadows rather than to take a fore-running position. And though some may find hope and comfort in the spotlight of important people, Marius always found that his work was more fulfilling when completed with a back turned. Keeping himself to himself, he only branched out to talk to the people he thought were important — leaving the Prince to plan his advances. So it was a surprise indeed to find himself approached instead, leaving Marius to shift in his boots as his hand pressed firmly against the neck of his chosen stallion. 

Refusing to bow due to the royal blood that pumped through his body, Marius only turned and gave the horse an extra pat before releasing — his eyes narrowed as he looked to the English King’s brother-in-law. He held no love for the English, nor did he care for his liege, but Marius had always wondered what made them tick and what, indeed, kept the reputation of their Queen and sister at bay. 

Disgruntled at the idea of the English boy smearing his name with not a preface of a title or recognition of his royal heritage, Marius’ nose shifted and wrinkled, his emotions on the forefront - not caring to hide them as he normally did. “Of course,” Marius replied, allowing the usage of English to feel odd against his tongue — rightfully refusing the French that he had born with, they did not deserve his country. “But I never found the joy in it as my late brother, King Ferrant, had… I find more pleasure in chess… and proper warfare. But I doubt you have witnessed such extremes, sir.”

It was obvious from the look on his face that he wasn't pleased with the conversation - that or he took umbrage to William's existence, but the distinction didn't seem to matter at that moment. Did he perhaps have a similar distaste for the English as William did for the French, but if William had to play nicely because of the alliance, that meant the same applied to Marius... although perhaps not, considering he was required to flee France and hide behind the Holy Roman Empress' skirts.

Did he agree with the alliance between France and England, or did he wish for war? Was he aware that there wasn't any ill blood between England and the Holy Roman Empire? Marius was an individual that William wasn't entirely sure how to qualify and while that was amusing, entertaining, in some cases, it wasn't in this one as William didn't know the likelihood or the extent to which Marius might one day be able to change the political landscape.

She refused to look at him, holding herself to her side as he weaved such softened words over her — cloaking the Sultana of the Ottoman Empire with tendered whispers before bringing another petal to her nose. Taking pride in his ever-present gaze and the way his lips curved to reveal an English scented smile, Mihrimah stood and waved her ladies away with the smallest of gestures — her gesture sure enough allowing them to be alone in the gardens (but still, her translator stayed so the two could talk). She could, without hesitation, simply imagine what her father would think if word strayed that she was alone with the English lord; but she took no care for it. Mihrimah was a good Sultana on the whole, and would never allow shame to bleed on her family’s cloth. 

She brushed the rose petal against her veil before she released, dropping the second to the floor as she turned to meet his eye from beneath her guard; her eyes keen and needy, as if her gaze alone would coax out true honesty from a man she did not know. “I will tend to believe you,” she answered, giving into the softer nature that took place of stubbornness, as she sat against one of the marbled seats, her eyes gesturing for him to take the place to her side as she looked to the space. The Pageant had been an overwhelming sensation for the Sultana — not only had it been spectacular and a short introduction to the many cultures and people she was yet to meet, but it had also taken every inch of her energy. Ever since the first feast, Mihrimah had taken to lounging on her bed, staring absently out into the horizon with her daydreams grown around her thoughts. She imagined him, Yazid, Zeynab and all the others she had met - wondered, to herself, if anything was to come of it all. And if, of course, her father would allow it. 

She laughed gently at his stumbling sentences, his voice no longer refined and pretty but nervous and full of tricks. Mihrimah enjoyed igniting such a response, as she clapped her hands together — her fingers intertwined. “Do not worry, I invited you here — and we have new rules whilst we are here — it would be odd to stay so isolated and contained when we may never return to such a place again… I told papa that I would spend every waking moment experiencing something new — and I never let him down,” with a shift of her head, Mihrimah placed her hands in her laps and watched quietly as her lady translated his words. “Perhaps there are to be some secrets between us, William. I find it quite thrilling.”

Did she ever grow warm from wearing that veil, or was the added layer of protection something that she would feel naked without when in the company of others, William wondered as he took a seat next to her. There were so many things about her and her culture that William didn't know and yet he wasn't so much worried about misunderstanding her as not being sure that she would accept his actions in the same way they were intended. To cause her insult wasn't something that he wished, not when she had been one of the greatest pleasures of the pageant and while William wasn't a stranger to going without a few luxuries, losing the pleasure of her company will in Portugal would undeniably put a damper on his stay there. That was merely personal thinking, however, and not professional, it wasn't putting his focus on what was best for England, but William was certain that his family wouldn't be too thrilled if he were to offend a Sultana, either, so that dovetailed nicely.

The laughter that spilled from her lips reassured William that despite his unintentional error, his presence in the space beside her wasn't an unwanted one - or at least not one that she took as an unpleasant invasion, if nothing else. "In that case, I'm pleased to be one of your new experiences and I hope to be a favourable one. What other new thrills have you  tested since your arrival here?" What held her interest beyond art and weaving, what called to her from all the wonders of Portugal? Flowers, perhaps, and William thought of summers in England and the girls in flower crowns, wondering if the Sultana ever wore one and allowed herself to be crowned as part of nature's beauty, a peerless attraction in a garden.

“Attend?”  Apollonia flicked bright eyes at him, a grin washing across her features as her strange brand of humor reared its head.  “I do not attend.  I hunt.”  She laughed, shifting in the saddle.  

The Empress was not insensitive to the thrill of this event: the heat of the chase, the breathless anticipation beforehand, the formidable task of bidding a wild beast between one’s thighs.  Yes, exhilerating, she thought, was an apt word.  As a girl, Apollonia had always been an avid equestrian and, as a young woman, she’d gained additionally interest in falconry and hawking.  However she cut it, however, it went, the hunt had always been a favorite sport.

Mouth curving at his flattery, Apollonia tilted her head.  “There’s nothing to perfection,” she said.  “Only tirelessness, determination, practice, and a most artful court chronicler to report the events most pleasingly afterward.”  Apollonia laughed softly, shaking her head.  Her spirits were high, filled by the soaring heavens, the brilliant sunshine, and the prospect of good sport to come.  

“But you must instruct me,” she adeed, smiling at the young man at her side.  “I was taught to hunt in the Roman fashion and I have…adapted to the Austrian ways.  Is there a different artform best utilized in this chase upon your Isles?  I have always had a taste for cultivating new techniques.  If there is something here to learn, will you be my instructor?”

In a different setting, that would have been an intimidating sentiment to hear as William didn't doubt her for a moment, but considering that they were indeed taking part in a hunt and he'd done nothing that he knew of to incur the wrath of the Holy Roman Empress, he instead let out a low chuckle and nodded. "I feel sorry for your prey." Be it animal or human, the Empress didn't strike him as one that gave up pursuit easily.

While there were tales of the decadence of the Empress, William found her remarks to be utterly practical and he admired the dedication to practice as he was familiar with the long hours of repeating a task over and over again, learning through trial and error instead of being good at something simply because you wished to be. Certainly some things came easier than others, but perfection wasn't instinctual no matter what some would like you to believe.

"It's always good to find someone who understands the value of hard work. It seems far too often people forget that the capacity to do a thing isn't the same as doing it well." In particular, William sometimes found himself questioning if rulers understood all the motions that needed to be undertaken by those without a similar bloodline in order to keep their kingdoms going, but it didn't seem like the time to talk about politics even if he was praising her. It was hardly like his approval was something she needed, after all.

The orient, her mind flashes to raven hair and porcelain skin and how his name fell from her lips so delicately. So perfectly, as if she was made to say his name. Any names honestly. How she would have preferred to hear her own from her lips. Yicheng did talk about how she used flowers in her baths, she was unaware that water and flowers seemed to be such a winning combination in the east. “Flowers?” A single raised eyebrow as she swallows this fact, seeing the expression on her face has her shaking her head realizing what he’s implying. “Oh, you clever man.” Stepping over so she now replaces Johanna’s place in front of him, “we shall see if they truly compliment more senses than just sight,” she teases as she looks about the room before whispering. 

“Sorry about before, Johanna can be…protective of me. I’ve had many men be thrown out personally by her.” To be honest, she was slightly surprised that her nursemaid responded so well to his presence, whether it be his honesty or maybe how he responded to her all seemed to maybe culminate into what was whispered to her. “I like him…for you.” Without meaning to, she probably locked eyes with the earl as soon as her words met her ears. Even remembering it now had her face flush slightly with embarrassment, that was probably the servant’s aim. To fluster her lady, and tease her for inviting him in so shamelessly. If this was a new way of punishing her, it obviously worked on her greatly.

Clearing her mind, she nodded at the offer of a picnic. Though Emilia wasn’t terribly familiar what laid past the confines of the extensive area where all the royals were staying but maybe the general had more luck exploring what Lisbon had to offer outside of their sanctuary. “I haven’t been on a picnic since I was child!” She goes to take his hand in hers out of the sheer excitement of the proposition but pulls back holding her hands to her chest before clearing her throat, “William, I was up all night after we departed last time.” Her head hands as she keeps her eyes at where her dress barely grazes the floor and clears her throat as she looks up, “I feel guilty for how familiarly I behaved…it’s in my nature and yet I subjected you to it without regard to your personal feelings on the matter. Even though we have disposed of propriety does not mean I should behave that way with you and make you uncomfortable.” Her mind flickers to how he looked at her breasts, and how his eyes looked when she welcomed him here only moments ago. Flukes, all of them. She was putting him in a dangerous position with no regard to his feelings on the manner, which was selfish and not friend-like. “I vow to learn to be a true friend moving forward.” With that last piece of business addressed, she dropped her hands from her chest and turned and looked back at him. “Shall we go then?”

"Thank you, I thought so. Of course, one would need to be clever to keep up with you," William replied, her reaction only increasing the sense of pride William felt. Perhaps Emilia wouldn't care for the taste of tea, but William certainly did and the fact that it could possibly enable trade relations between England and China helped prove a use beyond simply if Emiia enjoyed the taste or not. It still felt like an accomplishment, a point for his side in the eternal back and forth they seemed to be caught in. There would be some other challenge, he was certain, a debate of some sort about tea and yet he delighted in the idea and looked forward to watching the swiftness her thoughts traveled in.

Considering what he knew of her, both of her wit and inclination to do things that would be considered reckless if attempted by any other young princess, William couldn't say he was surprised by the idea that Johanna was protective, especially not if she'd lost her own child. "Really? That seems terribly bold of her, I see now why you're so close," William teased, giving a short laugh as he imagined the matronly woman pulling on someone's ear to toss them out. It was far from one of the most forward or inappropriate things that William had said to her and her pinkened face didn't make sense, but William appreciated the glow it gave her all the same, just as he had that day on the boat and the night they first met. That had been the first curiosity about her, hadn't it? The first thing he hadn't understood and that pulled him in like the ocean to the shore.

the english, ivan still wasn’t sure he had made the correct choice with sending his sister there. and while she had given the crowned prince a daughter and so soon, it caused him to have his spies keep a close eye on her there, seeing how she was and if anyone seemed to be plotting against the rurik duchess, and anything else they may uncover. he straightened hearing an odd accent speak his mother tongue. he nodded, picking up his sword and arrow. “i love a good hunt,” ivan gave the english earl. “but i do wonder if these forrest will be as lively as a russian forrest would be.”

Her saint remark remained. If the man had no children then he was doing this simply because he was good at heart. a rare find amongst men. As Juliette laughed as did Alis. “So she’s not much older than Juliette.” It was comforting to know that there were other children about. Nevielle… she wasn’t as familiar with the english famalies but names didn’t matter much to her. “I am Alis Delafose and this is Juliette.” She rarely gave out her daughters last name. Either people assumed she was married or they quickly found out that her daughter had her mother’s name. Her father couldn’t do the small thing of giving her his name if nothing else but even that was too much.

.

"That's much better, little one," William said in approval as her cries had given way to laughter, although William didn't know if her amusement would be brief or a good mood that lasted through the day. "It's a pleasure to meet you, and you as well, Miss Juliette." While Wililam didn't recognize the name of Delafose, he tended to consider that a good thing considering that most of his experience with the French was when he was fighting in Normandy and there was often pain attached to recognizing names. "I think she's all better now, Lady Alis." Likely she'd been picking up on her mother's distress, but he wasn't going to be so cruel as to blame her for her child's cries.