#countess of champagne

[histoireettralala]

Marie de France

For six years, from March 1181 to May 1187, Marie exercised the comital office as regent for her son Henry (II). She did so vigorously and alone, without restriction by a regency council. In the great hall of her palace in Troyes, which served as the political and administrative center of the county, as well as in her other castle towns, Marie sat with a small council of barons and administrative officers to discharge all the routine business of medieval rulers: receiving petitioners, arbitrating and settling disputes, making benefactions to churches, confirming private transactions, receiving homages, confiscating fiefs and granting new ones. Since her acts continued to be drawn up by the same chancery officials who had served her husband, they remained the same in form and content. With the notable exception of appointing a new marshal, Geoffroy of Villehardouin, in 1185, she made no discernible changes in her husband's officers or policies. Although feudal tenure by women apparently increased precisely during her rule, we cannot say whether she fostered that practice. Her court, however, was perceived as being receptive to women, several of whom sought her confirmations at critical junctures in their lives.

In 1181 Marie found herself widowed with four young children — Henry II was fifteen, Marie seven, Scholastique five or six, and Thibaut III only two. She considered marrying the recently widowed Philip, count of Flanders (1168-91), the son of her husband's old friend and crusade companion count Thierry. Philip and Marie were about the same age and well acquainted: a decade earlier he had sponsored the betrothal of her two oldest children, Henry II and young Marie, to the children of his sister Margaret, countess of Hainaut. Philip went so far as to seek a papal dispensation for his marriage to Marie, since they were indirectly related, but then, for unknown reasons, broke off negotiations. Marie, at thirty-nine, seems not to have sought another marriage. Thereafter she was preoccupied with completing the marriages between her children and the children of Margaret and count Baldwin V, who had renewed, broken, revised, then delayed carrying out the marriage contract between his only son and Marie's daughter. Countess Marie called on her in-laws to force the elusive count to deliver the groom; Gislebert of Mons describes the scene at Sens where the countess, the archbishop of Reims, the counts of Blois and Sancerre, and the duke of Burgundy cornered Baldwin, perhaps threatening him, if he did not follow through with the marriage, which finally did take place (January 1186). Marie then trumped Baldwin at his own game by ignoring the second part of the contract and arranging her own son's marriage to the infant heiress of Namur instead of to Baldwin's daughter.

When Henry II (1187-90) assumed the countship, Marie retired to Meaux, probably with her youngest son Thibaut, then eight. The forty-twoyear-old countess could not have imagined that she would ever rule again. But the fall of Jerusalem to Saladin on October 2, 1187 electrified France, and young Henry II was swept up by the wave of enthusiasm for a new crusade to recover the holy city. In May 1190 the unmarried count departed with a large contingent of barons and knights on the Third Crusade, leaving his mother as regent once again. Marie ruled in his absence (he died overseas in September 1197), then continued to rule until her death in March 1198 at fifty-three. In all, she had ruled the county over fifteen years — in her husband's absence, as guardian for her oldest son and then in his absence, and finally in the last months of her life as guardian for her second son, Thibaut.

Although she was countess of Champagne for over thirty years, half of them as ruler, we know little about Marie's life and personality beyond her official acts. She seems to have been close to her half-brothers Geoffroy Plantagenet, for whom she dedicated an altar in Paris, and Richard the Lionheart, with whom she shared Adam of Perseigne as confessor, as well as with her half-sister Margaret, who spent Christmas 1184 with Marie and queen mother Adèle. Perhaps Marie saw her sister, countess Alix of Blois, and her mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, after her parents were divorced in 1152, but there is no firm evidence of any meeting. For her husband Henry she ordered a sumptuous tomb placed in the center of the church of Saint-Etienne of Troyes next to the comital palace, but she herself chose to be buried at Meaux.

Marie's role as literary patron now seems secure. She could read vernacular French and probably Latin as well, given her education at Avenay, and she had a personal library, although its contents are not known. Chrétien de Troyes and Gace Brulé state that they wrote at her request, and she seems also to have patronized Conon de Béthune and Huon d'Oisy. The collegiate chapter of Notre-Dame-du-Val, which Marie founded in Provins with thirty-eight prebends, seems to have supported not only Chrétien but also his continuator Godfrey of Lagny, as well as the earliest known copyist of Chrétien's romances, Guiot of Provins. Perhaps Marie'sinterest in lyric poetry and romances dates from her married years, for the works she is know to have commissioned as a widow in the 1180s are all translations of religious texts: Psalms (Eructavit), Genesis, and possibly a collection of sermons by Bernard of Clairvaux.

Theodore Evergates - Aristocratic Women in Medieval France

[wonder-worker]

Writers who knew [Marie of France Countess of Champagne] depicted her in several guises. For Chrétien de Troyes, the most elusive of contemporary writers, she was an assertive patron of romances, dictating for example the subject and meaning of the Lancelot tale. The mischievous Andreas Capellanus, who was close to Marie in the mid-1180s, drew a highly entertaining parody of Marie and the prominent women of her milieu resolving the conundrums of amatory conduct in “courts of love,” in the manner of modern advice columnists. In Hugh of Oisy’s musical performance, Marie cut a fine figure as a combatant in a tournament of elite women. It is striking how in three quite distinctive imaginative works written in the 1180s, Marie appears as an author of an Arthurian romance, a judge at a court of love, and a participant in a tournament mêlée.

Others who knew Marie well in the 1180s and 1190s remarked different aspects of her character. The Eructavit poet noted her penchant for the trappings of wealth, and addressing her directly during a performance of his religious drama, chastised her for her “largesse and lavish expenses.” [Canon] Evrat, on the other hand, a resident canon of St-Étienne who observed Marie closely in the 1190s, stressed her spiritual and moral character. Seeking to understand the deep meaning of the scriptures, he wrote, she provided him a copy of Genesis to translate into the vernacular and annotate with the findings of the latest “academic” studies. In an epilogue added after her death, Evrat penned a eulogy praising her largesse and renown, and comparing her, la gentis contesse Marie, to the three biblical Marys—“she would be the fourth.”

An entirely different side of Marie was captured by Marie’s court stenographers, William (1181–87) and Theodoric (1190–97), who made verbatim transcripts of her comments and directives while observing her deal with the practical affairs of governance: assigning revenues (“I assigned 100s. on the entry tax on wine”), resolving disputes at court (“resolved in my presence in this manner”), confirming prior transactions (“I approved this act”), registering acts done at court (“done in my presence”), consenting to feudal alienations (“I approved because it was my fief”), founding chaplaincies (“for Geoffroy, count of Brittany, my brother”), and establishing endowments (“for the anniversary of my lord and husband, Count Henry”). All of that was “done in public,” usually in the presence of her officers and witnesses. It was precisely in her capacity as ruling countess of Champagne that she continued Henry the Liberal’s example of performing in public as prince of his principality. Having observed Henry at court—just as Henry, while a very young man, had observed the conduct of his father, which earned him the reputation as the “good” Count Thibaut—Marie understood that the comital court, as the core institution of the principality, demanded her active participation, and she paid close attention to the great and the minor issues presented there for her disposition.

It should be emphasized that Henry the Liberal’s principality was only three decades old when Marie became regent in 1181, and the primary comital residence and chapel in Troyes were barely twenty years old, not yet fully implanted as the seat of a new territorial state and mausoleum of a princely lineage. Marie’s task was to preserve the principality and its institutions intact, and to assure the continuity of the lineage. And that she did. Evrat sensed both the precarious nature of her rule and her achievement in holding a firm hand on the levers of comital authority, especially during those anomalous years of the 1190s: “Well did she protect and govern the land / letting nothing slip from her hand, / she was gracious, wise, valiant, and courageous.” By all accounts, Marie projected a complex, forceful, and captivating character, one that proved a worthy counterpart to the compelling personality of Henry the Liberal. [Canon Evrat rendered homage to her in the epilogue of his Genesis translation: 'She had the heart of a man and the body of a woman'].

-Theodore Evergates, "Marie of France Countess of Champagne, 1145-1198"

[magicaldestinyharmony]

When The Stars Align

regressed!duke x wife!female!reader oneshot (? it could be more idk)

Duke Ercan Revaz only ever loved one woman but she no longer exists. And it’s his fault. Well, if he wasn’t the only reason then he surely was a reason. He still remembers the first day he saw you. Standing under the moonlight in a garden looking like a goddess straight out of the founding myths of the empire. He stood, not far behind you, watching. Staring. You stood there in an elegant red dress with a champagne flute in your hand leaving the chaos and noise of the ball behind you. A sad sigh escapes your lips and, for some reason, he longed to hear your voice. At the thought, he freezes. He doesn’t understand the feelings flowing through him. He’s new to this sort of thing. Having spent countless years from one battlefield to another, he has zero experience with women. Another sigh from your alluring lips brings him out of his thoughts. He wonders, What is causing you to sigh so much? He then realizes that you were the woman who just publicly dumped her fiance. Your ex-fiance was a complete bastard. He was expecting orders to eradicate this nuisance to high society but you beat him to it and did a great job of ensuring he would never show his face again. He sees a woman approaching you which he recognizes as Countess Labelle. Countess Labelle calls you and you turn to face her. She must be your mother. he thinks. You leave with the countess. As he stares at your retreating back he feels that he must have you and he will make sure that once he does, you won’t be able to leave him.

Ercan now realizes that he went about making you his wife all wrong. Instead of trying to woo you, he did something that he still regrets. Using his power as a duke, he indirectly places your father in debt and demands that if he gets you as a bride, he will pay the debt off himself. Your father, bless his heart, tried to find other means to pay back the money but you stopped him and accepted the marriage. At the start of your marriage, things were fine. He never embraced you and always kept a distance, thinking that you might not have favourable feelings towards him. Still, you had a nice marriage. Things went downhill when he got sent to battle. You discovered papers with orders to place your father in debt in his study. Without him there to at least try to salvage the situation, your thoughts went wild. He came back to the report that you had tried to escape. He was frantic. Why would you try to leave him? He might indeed have placed you in debt, but he paid them off and also made sure that your family was well off. He found you bound to bed rest by the family doctor. You looked terrible. Pale and bags under your eyes. He got into an argument with you which ended with him confining you to your room. You resisted and your health took a hit. The day you died, Ercan regrets that the last thing he told you was a “Good night” and not “I love you” or anything similar. He woke to the balcony doors being opened. His blood ran cold. He ran outside only to see your disappearing smile over the railings. Ercan went mad. He lost you. He lost you. After the funeral was over, Ercan wished that he wouldn’t wake up again. He would rather die than face a world without you in it. He was surprised to wake up and find out that his wish had come true. Well, kind of. Ercan clenches his fist while he stares out the window of what used to be your shared bedroom. What will become your shared bedroom. I promise, this time I’ll never make the same mistakes again. I'll show you just how much you mean to me. This time, you won’t die in vain.

[gingerteafairy]

dedicated to my pookie @blueikky

𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑺, 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑺 (𝑽𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑲𝒀 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹)

Your first and last ruin, Alexei Vronsky.

tags n warnings: issues, drama, alcohol, smoke, prejudice, blowjob, virginity, praise and (slightly) degradation kink. word count: 4.6k

Gossip. That’s what filled the air at balls like this one in the cold beauty of Saint Petersburg. Outside, winter’s chill wrapped the city, but inside, the warmth of cynical laughter and whispered conversations carried through the grand hall. Tonight, the focus was on the newly arrived wealthy family. New money was always a spectacle in high society, and noblewomen wasted no time trying to marry off their daughters to the richest man in sight.

This was your situation. Your mother clung to your arm, dragging you from one introduction to the next. Most of the men were old, balding, or unappealing. The few who seemed tolerable lost all their charm the moment they spoke, their words dripping with arrogance or lewdness.

“How dreadful,” Betsy muttered, waving an ornate fan as she watched your mother’s relentless efforts to match you with men far too old for you. “It’s embarrassing to witness.”

“New money,” said Countess Vronskaya with a sip of her champagne. “Like dogs trampling our lovely ball. She claims herself a baroness. Such a shame.”

“Rather harsh words for someone so refined, Mother,” Alexei Vronsky interjected smoothly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled lazily from his lips as his striking blue eyes followed the scene, faintly amused yet undeniably intrigued.

“The girl is a victim of a desperate mother with no sense of propriety and lack of decorum,” the Countess replied, her lips thinning in disdain. She exchanged a knowing glance with Betsy. “Come, dear. This place is becoming intolerable.”

The two women swept away, leaving Vronsky behind. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something commanding about the way he carried himself. His friend Golenichev approached, grinning as he held a drink, his gaze settling on you as you waved off another suitor.

“She’s had some decent offers tonight, don’t you think?” Golenichev said, standing straighter as he joined his friend.

Vronsky’s eyes found yours again, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, taking another drag of his cigarette before letting the smoke escape in a soft exhale. “She’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice thoughtful. “It’s tragic, really. She can’t be more than twenty, and yet she’s being offered to these… decrepit creatures. It’s a crime.”

Golenichev chuckled, raising his glass in agreement. “A crime indeed. But what’s to be done? It 's her ruin.”

“Perhaps there is.” Vronsky tapped the cigarette against an ashtray and straightened. “I’ll see to it that she’s spared such a fate and make sure to be her first ruin.” His tone was firm, and without another word, he began walking toward you.

You were staring at the floor, trying to hide your frustration as your mother pulled you toward yet another man. Then she stopped abruptly. You looked up, and your breath caught.

The man standing before you was unlike any you’d seen tonight. His presence was magnetic, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to lock on yours with intent. For once, your mother seemed unsure of herself, nudging you for bow reverence.

“What a small, demure little thing you are.”He chuckles at your small bow, roaming his eyes over your body, taking every inch of you, especially in your breath plumped by the exaggerated neckline your mother made you use. “Adorable, if it's safe to say, baroness.”

“Oh…” Your mother opened her mouth but fumbled for words. “To… to what do we owe this honor, sir…?” she finally managed.

“Vronsky. Count Vronsky. Colonel,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly before taking your hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a light, deliberate kiss to your skin.

“Oh… it's… such a pleasure to meet such a high hierarchy… I mean, important man.” She giggled, covering his mouth, nudging you, having you gasping slightly before fixing your posture.

“The pleasure is mine.” he beamed as his eyes burned with a desire and passion you’ve only heard in fantasies. No, it was darker. Hyptozing.

You flushed, your heart racing under his gaze. His voice, deep and confident, seemed to linger in the air. Your mother quickly recovered, rushing to introduce you. “This is my dau—”

“No need,” Vronsky said with a small, knowing smile. “I already know her name.” His attention returned to you. “May I have this dance?”

Your mother answered before you could, her voice eager. “Of course! She would be delighted!” She nudged you forward, leaving you no choice but to step into his waiting arms.

His touch was steady and assured as he led you to the center of the ballroom. The music swelled as the two of you bowed, and then his hand found your waist—not politely at your upper back, but daringly low, just above your hip. The closeness was startling, almost improper, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

“You’re very quiet, darling,” he said as the two of you began to move, his steps smooth and confident. “You’re naturally reserved, I presume.”

“My mother believes it’s unseemly for a lady to speak unless spoken to,” you replied, your voice clipped as you tried to mask your nerves.

He chuckled softly. “Nonsense,” he said, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Tell me—what are you thinking right now?”

You hesitated but decided to answer honestly. “That, of course, you would know my name. My mother has spoken to every man in this room. The pretty, reckless, stupid Baroness.”

He laughed, the sound low and pleasant, loving your adorable annoyance. “I tend to keep my distance. Crowds don’t interest me.” He guided you into a turn, his hand steady on your waist. “Did any of them catch your interest?”

“None who would ask me to dance and dismiss my mother’s rules as nonsense,” you said, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his tone warm as he pulled you closer. “You’ve caught my attention, if I may be so bold. You’re enchanting.”

Your breath hitched at his words. He was impossibly close now, his hand firm yet gentle on your waist. “That’s very kind of you, Count Vronsky.”

“Alexei,” he corrected. The intimacy of his first name felt daring, and it made your cheeks flush again. His gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he spoke. “Would you do me the honor of a walk? Somewhere quieter for a pleasant talk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your mother, who was engrossed in conversation across the room. Before you could second-guess yourself, you answered.

“Yes.”

He smiled, offering his arm, and you took it. Together, you stepped away from the crowded ballroom and into the stillness of the castle’s quieter halls, your heart pounding with every step.

Alexei led you through the castle halls, his steps unhurried, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. He spoke occasionally, sharing brief comments about the guests or recounting fragments of the castle's history. His voice carried a quiet intensity, much like the moonlight filtering through the windows, veiled by luxurious, heavy curtains. There was an air of mystery about him—dark yet alluring, cold yet captivating.

He stopped in front of a wide wooden door, resting his hand on the ornate brass handle. With deliberate slowness, he turned the knob and pushed it open, the creak of the hinges echoing softly in the stillness. The pause in his movements, the weight of the moment—it set your nerves alight.

“Ladies first,” he said, his tone smooth and polite as he stepped aside.

You hesitated before walking in, taking in the room’s grandeur. It was no ordinary chamber. It was vast, large enough to house an entire family of peasants. A velvet sofa rested against one wall, paired with matching chairs and a table scattered with loose sheets of paper. Heavy drapes framed tall windows, and the air carried a faint yet pleasant scent of cedar and something floral. But the centerpiece of the room was the bed—a massive structure with carved posts and linens finer than anything you had ever touched.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked at last, your voice breaking the silence. You didn’t turn to face him, but the soft click of the door closing behind you was enough to remind you of his presence.

“I wanted a quiet place where we could talk,” Alexei said, his footsteps drawing closer before he seated himself on the velvet sofa. He moved with such ease, yet his every action seemed deliberate. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke curl lazily into the air. “To get to know you.”

You swallowed hard, the intimacy of the setting and his relaxed demeanor setting your nerves on edge. You lowered yourself onto the far end of the sofa, maintaining a respectable distance, though your heartbeat betrayed you.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice soft yet probing, “have you ever been in love?”

The question startled you. You frowned, letting out a nervous laugh. “I suppose so. A few times. Silly crushes, nothing serious.”

“Was that what your mother told you?” he asked, leaning just slightly in your direction.

“Probably,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. Despite yourself, you found your body inching closer to his, as though pulled by an invisible force. “In her words, romance is useless unless it serves a purpose. Marriage is a transaction, and a lady should save herself for that.”

“And do you believe that?” he asked, taking another drag from his cigarette. His knee brushed against yours, the contact subtle but charged.

“No.” Your voice was firm, though your gaze drifted to his hand, the urge to reach out and touch it growing stronger with each passing second. “But I’ve never had the courage to try anything different.”

“What is it you’ve never tried?” He leaned closer, his profile sharp as he turned his head to exhale the smoke away from you.

“Romance.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes searching yours. “And… would you like to try?”

The question lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a silk ribbon, tightening with every heartbeat. It was dangerous, the sort of question that invited you to tread on forbidden ground. Yet there was something intoxicating in the way he spoke, the way he watched you as though he already knew your answer, showing you what you’ve been caging. Desire. Fire, lust, pure sensual desire.

“I believe I would,” you murmured, the words barely audible but enough to draw a soft smile from him.

Alexei shifted closer, closing the gap between you. His breath mingled with yours, carrying the scent of tobacco and something distinctly him—something refined, intoxicating, irresistible. He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before leaning forward.

But instead of his lips meeting yours, he exhaled, the smoke brushing against your lips and filling your senses. You inhaled instinctively, closing your eyes, tasting the ghost of him in that moment.

It wasn’t a kiss, not exactly—too timid, too indirect. But it was intimate, electric, and left your heart racing as though it had been. You opened, meeting his gaze.

The faint crackle of the fire in the distant hearth was the only sound, its soft glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. Alexei had moved closer now, his presence overwhelming but not suffocating, his gaze unwavering on yours. There was a storm in his eyes—a mix of restrained desire and something deeper, something dangerous.

When his lips finally met yours, it was gentle at first—tentative, as if asking a question he wasn’t sure you’d answer. But then you responded, your hand instinctively finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for the restraint to break.

The kiss deepened, his other hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, the cigarette being forgotten on the floor. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, was unlike anything you’d ever known. He kissed you like he was claiming something, yet still giving—giving you something you hadn’t realized you were starving for.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless. This is dangerous," you whispered, standing and placing your hands on your hips. Your voice shaky but tinged with a nervous laugh, “We can't be doing this, Alexei. This is wrong.”

He raised, hands reaching for your arms, travelling to your waist. “Does it feel wrong? Or does it feel like something you’ve been told is wrong?” His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still cradling your face as if he were afraid to let go.

Your lips met Alexei's in a deeper kiss, where he took your face in his hands, turning his head to devour you and feel your taste completely, savoring the sweetness on your lips of your previous treats, mixed with the striking nicotine of Alexei with a touch of champagne, as if it mixed with his earthy perfume.

The kiss became more desperate with hands roaming all over your bodies. You shoved him again, turning your back with your hands on your head, noticing once again the dangerous terrain with the wetness between your legs, like rain on a warm day.

"Tell me you don't want me." He hoarses breathy in your ear, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. "Tell me and I'll go away."

“Alexei…” You sighed, your voice sounding like an eager moan as your hands searched for Alexei's curls between your fingers, hanging your head on his shoulder with your eyes closed.

His lips brushed your shoulders softer this time, almost reverent. “Say what you need and i'm pleased to give, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, his talk striking deeper than you wanted to admit. “Alexei. If anyone knew—”

“Let them know,” he interrupted, kissing your shoulder open-mouthed, his lips taking an old age pace where your neck meets your shoulder. His voice had taken on a quiet intensity, the kind that made your chest tighten as his tongue licked the side of your neck.

“Let them whisper and sneer.” He whispered, his teeth meeting your soft flesh, ghosting till your neck where he inhaled your scent “Leave them wondering how i adore you, every inch of your skin. How I map out your body, the firmness of your flesh, how I'm the cause of your gasps and moans. Leave them realizing you’re living his wildest dreams, melting in my hands.”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. He poured every ounce of his love, his hand sliding once again to your stomach, snaking to the small of your back.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes as you felt the lace on your dress loosening softly, the firmness of the unbreathable tie replaced by softness. "Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Once again. You didn’t. You couldn't.

Not when he licked your neck with a gracious soft tongue felt so right, molding your barely exposed curves to the hard planes of his body. His hands release you from the outrageously heavy dress.

“I want to sink myself into your untouched depths, stretching you wide, claiming you utterly…” He muttered, biting your earlobe, delighted at you melting with each word, his desire, touching every piece of skin as he murmured sweet nothings at your ear.

He gently touched your hair, careful not to make a mess with your luxurious hairstyle. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them as he turned you to face him. “I want to make you feel everything, know all the pleasures. Whispering my name in a hoarse voice as you please me with cream.”

His voice was a low, wicked purr, each word dripping with sinful promise and unchecked hunger. He took your hand, licking between your index and middle finger, imitating your folds as he saw you heat at him playing with your imagination. You knew what it was. He loved it. He wanted it.

Alexei’s hand slid lower, palming the rounded globe of your ass, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling you even harder against him.

“Every filthy, depraved, utterly obscene thought that's ever crossed your mind... It's all something I desperately want to make happen.”

Tenderly, he took off the corset watching it slowly rest on the floor. His hands slid to cup the soft weight of your breasts as he guided you to his bed, sitting you with surprising care, holding you for getting comfortable.

He pushed back for a moment, his eyes burning into yours as he quickly shed his own clothes, revealing the hard, toned body beneath.

He stood on the side of the bed and you followed him, sitting on your knees. “You’re mine,” He smiled, holding your chin between his fingers, placing a small kiss on your lips. “Mine to ruin.”

His whisper sends you a shiver down your spine. He pulled away again, putting his hands on the hem of his pants, pulling down his underwear as well, revealing to you the sight of the stranger, who somehow seemed familiar to you.

As if following his desire, your hands went up to your length, exhaling Alexei, not restricting your tongue, insisting on tasting his juice, planting a mouth-opened kiss. He groaned, maintained control with his fingers on your chin, your sweet innocence burning inside him, burning with the clear desire to ruin any trace of it in you. Present you to any pleasure the world denies you.

“Open your mouth, love.” He demanded and you slowly opened, sticking your tongue, obeying your instincts. He cupped your face, pressuring your jaw, seeing you opening even more. “Yeah… that's it. Keep it wide open for me.”

Alexei groaned, his cock at your wet, warm tongue dragged along his aching length, accommodating his veins. The sensation of your soft lips parting, your mouth stretching to engulf his thick, pulsing cock... It was almost enough to make him lose control, to spill himself down your throat, how you submissively struggled on making your moves deeper, comforting him on your walls.

“Keep going, you're doing so well…” his sweet praises echoed with the sound of your cheeks sucking in and the little ‘pops’ when you popped his cock out to lick him, savoring the saltiness just to warm him up again.

He pushed you, making eye contact as he patted his head on your flushed cheeks. A dark chuckle echoed from his lungs as he saw you opening your mouth eager to taste him again.

“You're so adorable… Did you want a cock this much? No wonder your mother hides such a slut. Would be a shame if anyone knows how good this pretty mouth is.” He cooed, pressing your chin down. “Stick your tongue, my cunt.” he ordered, pressing your chin down, patting his tip again when you showed your tongue on your reddened lips. “Yeah… that's it… good girl. Here, take what you want.”

He couldn't help but surrender to your swirling tongue, entertaining his frenulum. He popped out again, smirking just to dig inside again, chuckling with your gasp and hollowing cheeks.

He rocked his hips, grinding his cock against your tongue as he fucked your throat deep, “I'll ruin your mouth so any man could use it again. Just me. Your mouth made for my cock.”

The sight of you, tears streaking down your cheeks, mouth red and swollen from his rough treatment.

“Enough, darling.” He brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the stray drop of drool that clung there, before pressing the digit past your lips, letting you suck it clean. His other hand slid into your hair, his fingers threading through the silky strands as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, unwavering gaze.

“Did I do a good job?” You beamed, wiping off the remanescente drool off your face with the back of your hand.

“You were perfect, took me very well. Now… Lay down. On your back.” He asked and you obeyed, lying down as he ordered. He crawled on the bed, getting on top.

Alexei’s mouth travelled to your neck, nipping and deposing open-mouthed kisses, tasting you, claiming you, marking you. His own territory. He pushed back slightly, fingers gently wrapped around your throat as he licked the column, lifting to look at your eyes, leaving them as he arrived at your sternum, inhaling you.

“Such a magnificent smell.” He exhaled, inhaling sonorous, his fingers digged on your waist possessively. 

His head drove to the side, catching your nipples with his teeth gently, while his thumb teased the other one, turning, pinching, palming your breast and filling your hardened skin sticking on his hand, breathy purrs of yours could be heard on his timpani. 

He slid down in brief kisses to your undergarments. You plopped on your shoulders, watching him catch the hem of your underwear, tugging down with his teeth in one swift erogenous motion, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Alexei…” you mumbled dizzy, tortured by his tortuous rhythm. 

“Yes, my lady?” He teased, as he didn't know how you were on the edge of madness. He wanted you begging, but he was patient enough to wait for it, even if his cock ached for relief. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you.” You finally admitted, gazing into his lustful eyes that looked through his delicate lashes. “I want you, Alexei. I can't take it anymore."

“As you wish, my love.” He whispered before his lips searched yours in a bruising kiss, massaging your tongues together simultaneously to his teeth pushing your bottom lip, nipping and coming back for loving tongue. 

Alexei's hands drove down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pushed your legs up and out, forcing your knees upon your chest, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, your dripping sex begging for his cock to explore your walls. 

He pulled his hip down, your hole hugging his tip, getting used quickly to the new addicting sensation. He could smell the sweet scent of your desire, your flushed thighs shivering with anticipation mixed with the cold air of the night. Your cunt trying to suck him hungry. He heard it's calling, burying him completely with the symphony of your moan and his grunt. 

“God, you feel amazing.” he rasped light headed, sensing your channel tightening his length. 

His fingers drove out to your swollen clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in tender circles, the calloused pad of his finger teasing until your hips bucked beneath him.

“Alexei…” you moan, digging your nails on his flushed shoulders, drawing a red path to his back where you scratch to his swaying moving. 

“Fuck, you take me so well, my darling.” He groaned, setting a pace as he kept eye contact with your foreheads together, shutting his eyes when he pursued your lips to a taunt kiss, hooking one of your legs around his waist. 

“Alexei… Alexei… fuck.” You mewl his name like a song, humming on each time his tip rocked on your sweet spot back and forth. 

“Is it good when I touch you here?” He left your lips, biting your jaw as he pulled your hair, swaying his hips harder and deeper. 

Suddenly, he pulled back, your blissed cunt feeling the void as you watched him sit on the bed and light a cigarette found on his trousers. He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow as he dragged in. “What are you waiting for? Sit.” 

"What?" you gasped, heavy from the pleasure you had gotten while sitting next to him.

“I think i was clear, but i’ll open an exception for your pretty pout.” Vronsky chuckled, leaning closer to your ear, cupping your face, thumb pressing your jaw as he ghosted his lips on your cheek. "I said sit. Sit so i can drink you with my eyes while your tits jump and you cream me like a good girl.”

You gasped, your face being released with soft brutality as you stared at him, your gaze going to his cock soaked in your lube "i don't know how to do this... i barely know how..."

"Shhh..." he shushed, taking your face into his calloused hand again, pulling your bottom lip with his index finger. "Obey. Sit.”

You swallow hard, obeying the order without blinking. Your legs work to spread out on Alexei's lap as he takes a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaling onto your face, your tears mixed with smoke.

"God, you're perfect.” he breathes, inhaling with his head on the wall as you sink down on him awkwardly, finally taking his full length in a sloppy unadjusted thrust of you. “Yeah… good girl. Fuck yourself on my cock to get what you want. Don't make me ask twice.”

You moaned at his dirty talk, starting a slow and uncoordinated movement that made your legs ache, but that felt incredibly delicious on your core. Up and down, back and forth, exploring the new nature. 

“Good…” he whispered, panting, his gaze at your cunt sucking him well. “You’re a natural. Faster."

Your eyes caught Alexei's furrowed brows as he took another drag, each time more awkwardly as the pleasure grew in his spine. 

He moved closer to you, exhaling smoke near your mouth as you inhaled again, but it wasn't the nicotine that was addicting you. It was how Alexei commanded without needing to touch, it was like your body knew exactly what he wanted.

You felt your heart race, the oxygen seeming to dissipate in the air suddenly as your sex demanded more. Vronsky noticed. His skilled fingers rubbing your clit. "That 's it. Cum on my cock. Cream it. Use me for your pleasure, love.”

“Alexei… fuck… I'm” You couldn't even speak, your body automatically throwing itself at Alexei who held you, dropping the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed to hold you while you sought your own orgasm in him, his warm lips on yours again.

"You are the embodiment of sex, darling. My nymph. My muse. Fuck, you are delicious, melt into me." He stimulated you, encouraging your ecstasy, your eyes pressed shut as your mouth opened in a final sigh, your pleasure being released into Alexei. 

He took in your scent, your taste, your juice, wanting his pores to absorb every cell of yours released by your peak. The world seemed to dissolve, your mind blank as Alexei fucked himself into you, his ankles on the mattress to help with the thrusts as he digged inside, yours tits bouncing as you purred and whimpered. With a last harsh sway, his cock spurted his seed on your womb, rocking his hips til the last drop. 

Breathing heavily, you pulled away briefly to look into Alexei's delighted eyes, his blonde locks plastered to his forehead, his hands coming to your face in a generous caress, gently kissing your lips.

"Ravishing..." he whispered, taking in every detail of your sweaty face. "I wish to present myself to your mother as a suitor. I do not intend to let any other man touch my sweet little thing.”

Your eyes watered at the talking, your hands placed on your mouth to hide your surprise. “Alexei… Alexei, is it real? What made you change your mind?’

“Nothing.” He simply replied, smiling at your emotionally amused reaction, his own heart giggling at the moment. “You’re mine now, you’ll wear sapphires in the morning and blue diamonds at night, so everyone knows you’re my woman. you will be elevated to the position you deserve. High. Adored. A muse. Come on, get ready. We have an announcement to make.”

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: The pros and cons of tangling with Soldier Boy...

Song Inspo: “The Voodoo House” by Rick Springfield

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and more smut, angst, a Noir sighting, death, and even some hurt/comfort if you squint.  

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Part 6: Drowned & Spellbound

Countess was bound to get back at you for this.

You found that you didn’t give a shit as you sat across from your companion with a crystal glass of champagne in hand. You stared up at the tall arched ceilings and ornate chandeliers, the beautiful tapestries and landscape paintings, and most impressive of all, the tall, intricately carved walls of the Oak Room.

You’d heard about this restaurant, but you’d never in your life even stepped foot into the Plaza Hotel. You were now very glad you changed into a proper dress, as well as fixed your hair and makeup.

Across from your intimate table, Ben held his bourbon with a relaxed set to his shoulders. No doubt this was like getting a burger at Chilis for him.

“Enjoying the scenery?” he remarked, taking a sip.

You smiled a little bashfully. “It’s beautiful here. I’ve never been to a place like this.”

Ben’s answering smile was predictable. Stick with me, baby doll. I’ll show you a whole new world, it seemed to say.

“Sinatra comes here from time to time,” he said, pointing at a small corner stage with a piano. “He’s known to take that spot over there and do a tune or two, if he’s got enough whiskey in him.”

Frank Sinatra?! Now that was exciting. You couldn’t help but glance around to see if you spotted him, or any other famous person for that matter. When you heard a chuckle, you looked over and found Ben’s amused face.

“What?” you said with a smile.

“What, I’m not enough celebrity for you?” he teased, rolling his shoulders. “I stormed fucking Normandy, you know.”

You did know, but you leaned in closer, giving your amused attention. It didn’t take long for him to launch into an hour compilation of war stories from back in his day. You’d heard many of them before, but you made it seem as if you were hanging onto his every word.

You realized though, that you could sense him lying with your abilities. Every word that came from his mouth when he talked about his past, his achievements, his exploits in the war and how he helped Vought build a better America afterwards…

It was all complete and utter bullshit.

It took all you had to keep the incredulous frown off your face as you fought to remain invested in his stories. Okay, the one about him taking LSD with the Beatles during Woodstock was true, but other than that, complete and utter bullshit.

You ate mostly in silence as you allowed him to keep talking your ear off, just offering small interjections here and there while he devoured his steak. He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

You supposed this was what it was like to date the most famous man in the world. No wonder Countess got sick of him.

When he finally rested for a beat, ordering yet another glass of bourbon (you’d lost count at this point), you took your chance to learn something real about him.

“So you’re from Philly, huh?” you said. “What about your family?”

Ben pulled back on you then, his expression falling closer to stoicism.

“What about it?” he said.

“Well, I just realized I know a lot about your career and the amazing things you’ve done for this country, but I don’t know all that much about you,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Like…did you have siblings? What were your parents like? Did you have a dog growing up? That kind of thing.”

You laughed a little to lighten the load, but Ben only softened slightly. It took a moment for him to answer you.

“I was an only child,” he said, again, sipping at his glass. “No dog. Money was too tight for that.”

Again, a lie, you sensed. Not in the first answer, but the second one. Who the hell lied about having a dog?

Or maybe, it was the bit about money being tight. You knew his backstory from the documentary Vought made of him back in ‘75. He was the true “rags to riches” story, according to the narrative, having grown up poor and struggling to survive. It was the one thing you thought you could relate to him about.

But apparently, that wasn’t true either.

“And your parents?” you prodded.

“They were normal. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say,” Ben said, a little more snappish than you expected. You blinked, taken aback.

You slid your chair a bit closer, so that you were sitting beside him rather than across from him. You laid a hand on his arm, over his jacket. 

“Look, I don’t just want to date Soldier Boy, America’s first superhero,” you said, looking up into his eyes. “I want to know you.”

Again, it took him a beat. But eventually, he lowered his glass back to the table and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin.

“My mother was a singer at a club. A little crooner, like you,” he said. He eyed you with a slight smile. “That’s where she met my father. As the story goes, she was singing ‘Are You From Heaven’ when he walked in. She saw him, and it was like the uh…the fucking thunderbolt, from the Godfather.”

You smiled. All of this, you sensed, was true.

“They were married within a year,” he said, though he paused, as something distant passed through his eyes. “Pneumonia got her in the end. She was young…but she lived long enough to see me when I got back from the War. A hero.”

He picked up his drink again, maybe this time to distract himself.

“Hers was the last funeral I ever went to,” he said.

And that admission was the most surprising of them all. It managed to strike a familiar chord of grief within you when he looked over at you. You both felt and saw the weight in his gaze.

Maybe he was telling you this on purpose. Maybe he was, in his own way, trying to relate to you about your own mother’s death.

Tears began to sting behind your eyes, but you managed to blink them away. You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

He hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and drew you in even closer, making you yelp in surprise. He smirked, having finally gotten the jump on you for a change. He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you in closer.

You looked up at his handsome face with wide eyes. A blush dusted your cheeks, warming your face. His smirk softened around the edges, just a little, and he took his chance to engage your lips in a searing kiss.

And maybe this time, you were the one who was caught.

Ben peeled his lips from your neck to give the server a firm no on dessert, “Just the check.”

The guy was good at his job, and was back with the check within a couple of minutes. Ben slapped a significant wad of cash down on the table and guided you up along with him. Breathless as you were, you held onto his arm to keep you up right. The only time you parted from him was at the foyer of the restaurant, where the staff brought your coats.

A limo was waiting outside. With a hand on your lower back (and creeping down to your ass), Ben ushered you in first before he slid in.

“Head back to the Tower,” he told the driver, even as he was pressing the button to raise the partition. “And fucking step on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

You already had a fist in his dress shirt when he turned his attention back to you. You pulled him closer at the same time he leaned in to cage you more fully into his arms. While his mouth ravaged yours, sucking in your lower lip and dragging his teeth across, your hands slipped under his coat and blazer to help him shrug them off.

He similarly ran one of his hands under your coat, up your side and over your breast, squeezing through the fabric. You gave him an encouraging sound, and he dragged a sleeve down along with the bra strap to expose your breast. He palmed you with that big, warm hand, rolling the nipple under his thumb.

None of it was an act when you moaned into his mouth and squeezed his shoulders tight. At this point, it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t just about using him. Despite everything—his arrogance, his callous, asshole behavior, his lies—you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. Right now, he was the only thing you wanted.

His lips dragged down your neck, igniting your skin wherever he sucked and teased. You held him there with a hand on his cheek, but it soon wound up into his hair. God, it was softer than it looked.

One of his wandering hands made its way under the skirt of your dress and between your thighs, teasing your slit through your panties. Your breath hitched, but you spread your legs wider for him across the seat. You felt his smirk against your neck.

“Finally ready for me, huh?” he said. “Kept me fucking waiting long enough.”

He didn’t even bother taking off your panties. He just pushed them to the side and dragged his fingers between your slick folds.

“Fuck, your wetter than Niagara already,” he remarked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes because you knew he couldn’t see it. Smug bastard.

But he was withholding his fingers, just tracing along your pussy and teasing your entrance. Your core was already throbbing with need. Your hips began to undulate against his hand.

“God. Ben, please,” you panted in his ear.

Apparently, that was all he wanted to hear. You uttered a shameless moan when his thumb found your clit, causing a shiver down your spine and a tremble in your core. Soon enough, one of his long fingers slipped deep inside you, all the way to the knuckle.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You didn’t want the driver to hear you.

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Gotta get you real ready for me,” he muttered. “You’re gonna take my cock so well, I can already feel it.”

On his last words, he added a finger and curled them inside you, exploring your inner walls and finding that special spot that made you keen into his ear. His thumb worked your clit at the same time, until you clenched on his hand so hard it had you gasping. He swallowed it with his mouth covering yours, all while he drew out your first release with his fingers stroking inside you.

It was a solid preview, you thought, when the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Vought Tower.

Again, you held onto his arm mostly for balance as he led you to the elevators. Your legs felt like jelly when you tried to walk in your heels. Ben hit the button a bit too hard, but you understood it. Every second that ticked by while you two waited for the elevator was entirely too long.

When it finally opened, he guided you inside and pressed the button for his floor, the penthouse suite, all the way up nearly 80 floors.

A mischievous idea hit you. It had you slipping your hand under his coat and blazer again, tracing the seam of his belt. Ben glanced down at you in knowing amusement, but he let you unbuckle his belt without comment.

He just stared at you with a fire in his eyes while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. You dipped your hand inside the waistband and slid a slow hand along the full, impressive length of him. You smiled when it hardened fully at your touch.

“Is all this for me?” you said, even as you leaned up for a kiss.

“If you can handle it,” Ben said.

Then he obliged you, bowing his head to meet your kiss. You kept things slow as you sensuously licked into his mouth. You tasted bourbon on his tongue before you broke the kiss, just to lower down to your knees in front of him. You held onto the back of his strong thighs while you mimicked what you did with your tongue in his mouth, just further down as you outlined his cock through his underwear.

Ben tried to cover his moan with a grunt, but you sensed his powerful arousal. You had his full and undivided attention, especially when you hooked your nails into the band of his underwear and finally freed his cock. You took it in hand and licked a long stripe across the underside of it, from base to tip. He shuddered. His hand shot out to brace against the elevator wall, shaking the entire compartment with his strength.  

Your tongue circled around his sensitive head, licking up beads of precum from the slit. But just when you finally wrapped your lips around him and took him as far as you could into your mouth, the elevator stopped, chiming your arrival cheerfully. 

He didn’t even wait until he had the door to his apartment closed before he dragged you towards him with a hard kiss. Your coat and his had already been cast to the floor, along with his blazer and tie. His dress shirt was halfway there when he hefted you into his arms effortlessly.

You grabbed his face and met him with a kiss fueled by lust and passion. You felt wild. You felt free. You felt like this was a sin you were meant to commit.  

Ben forcibly unbuttoned his pants with one hand and kicked out of them while you broke open the rest of his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor. It allowed you to run your hands over his warm, tan skin, every dip of muscle across his arms and shoulders, and down his solid chest.

He smirked at the way you were eyeing him, exploring him.

“Like what you see, baby doll?”

“Almost as much as you do,” you quipped back. He huffed at that.

He walked you over to the bed, where he dropped you down towards the center. You yelped and how high he’d dropped you from, but you were smiling when he prowled over you on his hands and knees like a predator. His hands slid up your smooth thighs, bunching up your dress all the way up to your hips. You raised up to help him get it over your head. Your hair was already wild by now; you pushed it out of your eyes with a huff.

His hands slid under you again to unclip the bra. It was flung off to parts unknown, along with your panties. He paused in between to trail open-mouthed kisses down your body, between the valley of your breasts.

He turned his head to start toying with one pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Your fingers threaded through his hair along with your moans as he relentlessly teased your sensitive flesh with his teeth.

"You gonna sing for me, sweetheart?" his voice rumbled smoothly against your skin. "Pretty soon I'm gonna have you screaming for me."

He continued his exploration, his lips dragging down your stomach. And then…

“Oh,” you back arched off the bed. He devoured your pussy with the same tenacity as he had your mouth. His tongue pushed into your entrance while his nose brushed your clit.

Soon enough, your juices coated his stubble-laden cheeks and ran down his chin. His strong hand on your lower belly held you down while he finished his work, his lips moving to suck on your clit. His thick fingers pressed into your channel and worked you open.

You gripped at his hair tightly, cursing and pleading with his name, until you uttered a strangled yell. Your inner walls clenched hard as you came on his tongue.

But you were only able to take maybe one or two breaths of recovery before you felt the thick head of his cock breach your entrance, pushing his way in all the way to the hilt.

You gasped and bit your nails into his shoulders. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite,” Ben grunted, though he smirked down at you. “Now let’s see how well you take me. Still so fucking tight.”

Your core contracted around him, still sensitive and pulsing from your orgasm. He didn’t give you a moment more to catch your breath as he began a steady, almost punishing clip inside you. He was stretching you in the most delicious of ways, hitting places deeper than his fingers had been able to reach. It felt so fucking good, all you could do was hold on for the ride.

You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, digging your heels into his ass. He ducked down to kiss you, rough and demanding. Your lips met his sloppily, before he dragged away to bite and suck where your neck met your shoulder. You winced at the pain tinged with pleasure, but your eyes rolled shut as you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Each of his deep strokes inside you was edging you closer to another cresting wave of pleasure. You slipped a hand between you to find your clit, but Ben grabbed your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a near growl.

Your eyes blinked open with a start. You met his gaze. Sweat lined his brow. His other hand was squeezing the flesh of your thigh, opening you up wider for him. You let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he said, “But first, say my fucking name.”

“Ben,” you gasped, as he shifted the angle of his thrusts. The coil in your lower belly was tightening, your muscles bearing down and clenching on him.

“Say my fucking name,” he repeated, releasing your wrist to lay a heavy smack on your ass. The impact rattled up your spine and you jolted, accidently raking his back with your nails. You felt him shiver then. He moved his fingers down to strum at your clit.

And he got what he wanted. He had you screaming his name along with your release. His body locked up as a strangled shout fell from his lips. He coated your inner walls with his spend as they fluttered around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, satisfied and spent.

He grabbed onto the headboard in order to hold himself above you, else he would crush you with his weight. You ran your hands up and down his chest more lazily as you each caught your breath.

Thank fuck for the pill, you thought airily. Because clearly this man didn’t care about condoms.

He eventually pulled out of you, making you shiver at the loss. He rolled off you and stretched out on his side of the bed. You turned your head to look at him. He gave you a relaxed grin in return, like the cat who got the cream.

In that moment, it really hit you.

There’s no going back now.

About a week later, you and Ben had developed a kind of…rhythm.

Yet another glass tipped over and shattered on the floor. He didn’t seem to care as he thrust into you from behind on his dining table. Your moans of encouragement were loud and genuine; your nails scraped across the stained tablecloth, incidentally shoving another plate overboard.

Your quiet dinner had been interrupted halfway through dessert. The moment you’d sucked a ribbon of chocolate off your spoon, Ben had reached for you, pulling you into his lap. You’d been all too willing to let him suck the sweetness right off your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fucking sing for me,” he growled into your ear. His hand crept around your throat, giving a warning squeeze. You grabbed onto his wrist to keep it there. You held onto him like a lifeline. Sometimes you felt like his cock was going to split you in two. But his iron grip on your hip kept you from going anywhere.

His release ultimately hit him before yours. He grunted as his movements became sloppy, but he still pushed into you. You purposefully clenched on him, stealing his breath this time.

He let go of your throat so he could bury his hand between your folds. He rolled your already sensitive clit between his fingers until you cried out, your body locking up on him outside of your control. Your orgasm hit you in a warm, heady wave. Your legs shook, and you slumped onto the table.

Ben was right there with you. For a moment, all he could do was grip the edge of the polished mahogany and stare at the newly formed hickey on the back of your neck. He swiped your hair out of the way so he could see it better. He knew every mark that he’d put on you, even the ones he couldn’t see right now, under the pretty dress you…sort of had on.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You huffed in amusement, despite your exhaustion. “I could’ve sworn the damn table was going to crack in half.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remarked.

He slipped out of you, giving you one last smack on the ass. He didn’t bother to lower your skirt before he dragged up his pants and belt.

“Wanna join me in the shower?” he posed.

You did your best to fix the fallen straps of your dress and ruined bra, along with your hair and lipstick. You found your underwear clinging to a wall sconce. You grabbed that too and slipped it on, then you offered an apologetic smile.

“Raincheck?” you said. “I should go back to my place and get some training in.”

Ben rose a brow. No matter what he offered, you were never one to stay very long after a good fuck…

Not that he minded.

It was usually him giving the excuses to leave, trying to avoid the inevitable clinginess of women after sex. Still, this time he wouldn’t have minded the company.

Maybe next time.

Ben smirked as he drew near you again. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You held onto his arms and peered up at him questioningly.

“You mean to tell me you’re gonna walk downstairs, ride the elevator some thirty floors, and walk back all the way to your apartment with my come between your legs?” he asked.

He had to admit, the thought aroused him. Your cheeky little smile did too. Your hands came to rest on his chest, and you leaned up for a slower kiss. It was no less heated as your tongue slipped against his. You pulled away just as slowly, letting your teeth drag against his lower lip.

“Goodnight,” you said.

And you walked away from him. He enjoyed the show you gave him as your skirt swished against your thighs. By now he knew your every curve in intimate detail, and still he hadn’t had enough of you.

He knew he’d be feasting on you for a good long while.

News traveled fast in Vought Tower.

Especially about your little trysts with Soldier Boy. You knew by the too-polite smiles the staff gave you now, as well as the wide, cold berth Crimson Countess was giving you too. You had expected more of a retaliation from her, but you remembered that day in the gym all too well.

She probably thought you and Ben wouldn't last. Either that, or maybe she was afraid of antagonizing him. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for her moment to get back at you. Either way, you weren't going to drop your guard around her.

In the meantime, Tessa was friendlier to you, and Tommy had finally stopped hitting on you. Swatto tried not to even look in your direction.

Mindstorm, of course, continued to be a hermit, but even Black Noir was more distant with you, which was the one change that disappointed you. The two of you sometimes shared conversations in the breakroom like you had that first day. You’d started to think of him as a friend.

So the next time he tried to pass you while you were making coffee in the morning, you finally said something.

“Hey."

It wasn't your most elegant start, but he paused, in that subtle way of his when his helmet was on. He looked over at you over his shoulder.

“Um…do you want some coffee?” you offered, raising your own mug.

Noir shook his head.

“Okay. Well, uh, how are you?” you asked. “Any exciting missions lately?”

Noir just stared at you. You didn’t blame him. You knew you sounded lame.

So you switched tactics. “Oh, yeah. How’s that movie pitch coming?”

At that, Noir tilted his head slightly. He took his helmet off, revealing his furrowed brows. It was like he didn’t know how to talk to you anymore, which confused you.

“I’ve actually got an audition coming up,” he admitted. “There’s this new movie, Beverly Hills Cop. It’s action, and it’s uh, funny.”

You smiled. “That’s great!”

“I’ve asked around, and I heard Eddie Murphy’s my main competition though. He’s got more experience in comedy,” he said, sliding a hand across the back of his neck.

You shook your head. “Yeah, but superheroes always make the studio more money. And I’m sure you nailed your audition. This could be really great for you!”

A smile flickered across his lips.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. But the longer he stared at your face, the more his expression fell. “What the fuck do you see in him?”

Your smile fell as well. “What?”

“You’re new…boyfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is you’re calling it. I mean, really,” Noir said. “The guy’s probably a walking STD. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts, or who else he fucks, for that matter.”

Your lips pursed as you fought not to be hurt by his words. You schooled your expression.

“The idiots who get caught by him deserve to have their hearts broken,” you said dryly. 

“But not you,” Noir pointed out. “If you see through his bullshit, then why are you with him? For power? Like Countess, you think you gotta be with the big swinging dick in the room to get any respect?”

His disdain cut into you, and like all things, he had deadly accuracy.

“I have my reasons,” you said. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a fucking man.”

“Right. Still black though, in case you forgot what I looked like under this goddamn suit,” Noir snapped.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and maybe shame.

“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else,” he said. “That somehow, you’re better because you’re afraid to get your hands dirty. Well, guess what, Sirena. You’re no fucking better than Countess. You’re just like the rest of us.”

Your lips trembled with anger, but you didn’t have an easy retort this time. Noir left you seething where you stood.

Ben reclined in one of the plush office chairs and folded his hands.

“Let’s make this quick. I’ve got shit to do,” he said.

You were more quietly polite as you sat beside him. Inside, you were wary. Why had they asked for you and Ben into a meeting together? It felt like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office.

Across from you was Madelyn, perched on the corner of the conference table, while Stan Edgar sat beside her in a chair. He shared a look with Madelyn, whose smile was unreadable. Arthur sat to Stan’s left.

Madelyn addressed you and Ben first. “Well, as you know, Red Thunder is about to launch next week.”

Ben inclined his head expectantly.

“We would never want to meddle in your personal business. However—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart,” he said, with a superficial smile. You shot him a glance, seeing how Madelyn managed to keep her polite façade. She was almost a better actor than you.  

“We believe it would be prudent if you kept the status of your relationship…discreet for now,” said Stan. “Along with your breakup with Crimson Countess.”

“Why should I give a flying fuck about that?” Ben asked.

“Because Red Thunder isn’t just a political action thriller,” Stan said. “There’s also a romantic storyline.”

“You and Countess are meant to be in love in the movie,” Arthur finally chimed in. He seemed impatient with Stan’s roundabout way of saying it. “It’ll be better for everybody if you and Countess do the red carpet together, like we planned.”

“And the press tour as well,” Madelyn added.

Ben rolled his eyes, but you let out a small breath and nodded in agreement.

“That’s understandable,” you said. You looked over at Ben, waiting for him to agree too. You knew he wanted his movie to do well. He just didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, even in the public eye.

He eventually nodded. You gave him a smile, making his lips tug upwards as well.

Yeah, you thought. We can hide this for a couple of months.

There were times when you could do nothing but blink at the sea of cheering people on both sides of the red carpet.

So many flashing lights.

You had never been to a movie premier before, and it was as exciting as it was overwhelming. A security team flanked around your group as your other Payback team members approached the photo op section.

Ben was just ahead of you, looking dapper in a dark green Armani suit. He was escorting Countess, who admittedly looked elegant in her Oscar-worthy red dress (not that she was winning an Oscar for this movie). It had a large skirt though, and it made it hard for him to even stand close to her while they posed for photos.

He had that debonair look perfected as he greeted press and guided Countess by the small of her back. She was giving a good performance herself, smiling up at him, occasionally rubbing his arm where she held onto him.

You would never admit to the sliver of jealousy pricking your heart, so instead, you focused on the poses Madelyn’s PR team had drilled into you as you took pictures alone. Your stylist had opted for something different than your usual black or violet color schemes.

Since this was your first red carpet, she wanted you to try something new. So she’d put you in a white ‘20s style gown, complete with intricate silver beading down the skirt. You felt a bit like a chandelier, but it did drape nicely off your form.

You shuffled along the queue of press and photographers. Black Noir and the TNT Twins were behind you in the lineup, while Countess was taking an opportunity to bask in the limelight, getting her pictures taken on her own as she showed off the billowing skirt of her dress.

Meanwhile, Ben had a hand in his pocket as he posed by himself. You sensed he was getting bored, even with so much attention on him.

“Hey, why not you two together?” a photographer called out to you and Ben, gesturing at you to get closer to him. You blinked wide eyes, but you did as you were told. Ben looked over at you, a smile tugging at his lips. He slipped a hand around your waist and guided you to his side.

While the photographer snapped away, Ben leaned over to your ear.

“You look stunning,” he said. His voice was smooth and baritone. “But I know I’m gonna like that dress even better when it’s a crumpled mess on my floor.”

You resisted the urge to bite your lip. Instead, you glanced up at him over your shoulder. You two shared a small, secret smile.

Click.

And the secret was out.

That brief, intimate moment between you and Ben became plastered across every tabloid in the city, and even some of the “respectable” magazines.

SOLDIER BOY + SIRENA SECRET AFFAIR?!

And various headlines of the like. Even Johnny Carson had something to say about it on the Tonight Show.

“Now, it’s Soldier Boy’s business of course, but if it’s true, I do feel a little sorry for Crimson Countess. Don’t you?”

The crowd in studio, much like the rest of the fans, were divided. Most women were sympathizing with Countess, while most men seemed to be supporting Soldier Boy (and you by extension).

This wasn’t how you wanted this to happen. It was no small amount of chaos from a PR perspective, and it had quickly made you a polarizing figure in the media.

You just didn’t expect how it would affect your real life, as you headed down Broadway after a successful mission. Not only had you stopped a man from shooting up a bank, but you and the TNT Twins had saved the entire staff and patrons inside. Without collateral damage this time.

You were just stopping off to grab a coffee from one of your favorite cafés when you noticed a woman waiting for the bus. She was glaring at you with a gas station slushie in her hand. You’d fully intended to ignore her, before she shouted something at you.

“Homewrecker!”

You frowned. Jesus, it wasn’t like they were married.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously.

“You heard me, fucking hussy,” the woman said. She was wearing a red Crimson Countess-themed watch.

You rolled your eyes and aimed to walk past her. That’s when she tossed her slushie and hit you on the side of your head. You gasped as red berry syrup and ice drenched you and ran down your suit. It even stung your eyes.

Anger and instinct took over. When she approached you, you shoved her hard by her shoulders.

“Back off!” you shouted. You just didn’t realize that your eyes glowed with power when you touched her. You’d compelled her on accident.

The woman’s face went blank. Not only did she step back from you with her hands raised in surrender, but she kept walking backwards, all the way to the street.

Your eyes widened as you reached out to her. “Stop!”

You ran to her, but it was too late. Unfortunately for her, the bus arrived right on time.

You sat in Arthur’s office, your hands still shaking, your face, hair, and chest still covered in a sticky film of slushie syrup. He handed you a towel to clean yourself off and returned to his desk. It didn’t do much good.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. And you said again, “I-I…it was an accident.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. This isn’t our first rodeo,” he said. “The clean-up crew’s already working on the site of the incident.”

“What,” you cleared your throat. “What about her family?”

“Why do you think we have lawyers?” Arthur said. His smile wasn’t reassuring. “So just go back to your room, clean up, and relax. We’ll take care of this.”

Dully you nodded. You peeled yourself up from the leather chair, and you made the trek back to your room. You showered and got changed, but you still felt dirty. In your mind, you kept seeing the bus split that woman’s face into the pavement.

You were restless, so you got dressed into something comfortable and didn’t even bother with makeup when you went up to the penthouse. Ben let you in, though he frowned at the state of you.

“I heard what happened,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Tears stung at your eyes. You looked so small and fragile at that moment, Ben couldn’t help but soften ever so slightly. He guided you inside with a hand on your back.

“You hungry?” he asked. “Can have the chef bring something up.”

You shook your head and plopped down on his living room sofa. He made you a drink instead—a vodka soda with a lime, just like you liked. You stared at it, then you downed it all in one long go.

Ben raised his brows, but he sat beside you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

You set the glass down heavily on the coffee table and gave him a tearful look.

“How is that possible?”

“She disrespected you,” he said, with a note of darkness in his voice, in his eyes. “You had every right to hit back, put her in her place.”

You turned his words over in your head, but you couldn’t accept them. You didn’t want to justify this. You knew it was wrong.

Ben’s hand slid across your thigh, drawing your attention.

“If I’d been there, believe me. That shit wouldn’t have even had the chance to come out of her fucking mouth,” he said coolly.

Somehow, you’d already known that. You just didn’t know if it was his way of being protective, or if it was just him taking a slight against you as a reflection on him, as a man. Either way, it didn’t really make you feel better. Your tears bubbled over, no matter how much you held them back.

Ben’s frown deepened, though he hesitated for a moment. He tugged you over into his lap, where he reached for your cheek and got you to meet his eyes with your red and shiny ones. He captured your lips in a kiss.

If all else fails, distraction.

He worked your sweater off, then your bra, and guided you down onto the sofa. There he kissed his way down your neck while undoing the button on your jeans. You raked your fingers through his hair.

“Ben,” you whispered. “I—”

“Just relax,” he rumbled.  

You fell into the pull of him, letting his mouth and his touch intoxicate you. You didn’t want to let him make you forget. You didn’t want to let this be okay.

But you couldn’t help it. You wanted him, and maybe this time, you needed him too. 

AN: A little smut, a little angst, a little involuntary manslaughter. What else in the world of The Boys, amirite? 😅 But how do you like how her relationship (or not quite relationship) with Ben is developing?

Next comes even more supe debauchery, and a big monkey wrench...

Next Time:

You grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol, went over to them, and subtly touched Countess’s bare shoulder.

Give that shot to Tommy, you compelled her.

With that small trill of your power, Countess stood straighter and beelined straight for Tommy. She grabbed him by the back of his head and surprised him with a deep tequila kiss.

Gross.

You grimaced at the sight, but when you looked back at Ben, he was smirking in amusement. He slid an arm around your waist and spoke closely in your ear.

“Let’s have some fun.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 7

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[recycledmoviecostumes]

Lashana Lynch first wore this blue and gold gown, accented with silver beads, as Rosaline Capulet in Shondaland’s 2017 series 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓-𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅.   It appeared again on Denise Richards as Marie of France, Countess of Champagne in 𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒘 & 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔.   𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒘 & 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 remains unreleased as of October 2024, as it is one of the subjects in the scandal around producer José Luis Moreno, who was arrested and then released on bail in 2021.   The production company 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒍��𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 appears to have been dissolved after his business partner Alejandro Roemmers claimed he was defrauded of money for the series by Moreno, according to @formulatvcom   Learn more at: Bit.ly/TudEliz237

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

taylor swift lyrics x colors x textiles in art – green

Sparks Fly – Speak Now // Colonel Robert Abercrombie – George Romney 💚 Holy Ground – Red // Study in Black and Green – John White Alexander 💚 Everything Has Changed – Red // Countess Luise von Voss – Friedrich Bury 💚 I Know Places – 1989 // Camille in a Green Dress – Claude Monet 💚 Wonderland – 1989 // When the Blue Evening Slowly Falls – Frank Bramley 💚 the last great american dynasty – folklore // Irma von Geijer – Julius Kronberg 💚 invisible string – folklore // The Magdalen – Bernadino Luini 💚 champagne problems – evermore // Little Boy with Violin – Miklós Barabás 💚 happiness – evermore // Portrait of Edward Holden Cruttenden – Joshua Reynolds 💚 Snow on the Beach – Midnights // The Salutation of Beatrice – Dante Gabriel Rossetti

[nanshe-of-nina]

Medieval Women Week || Favorite woman writer ↬ Marie de France

Who was this versatile author, the first woman of her times to have written successfully in the vernacular? She was definitely not Marie de Champagne, daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine and patroness of Chrétien de Troyes, as Winkler suggested. A tempting, but by no means fully convincing, identification is with Marie, abbess of Shaftesbury in Dorset, illegitimate daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet and half-sister to Henry II. … A claim has been made, albeit somewhat thin, for Mary, abbess of Reading. This abbey was well known as a centre of literary activity and had in its possession the Harley manuscript containing, as we have seen, both the Fables and the Lais. There is no clear-cut reason why either work could not have been written by an abbess or a nun, and there is some slight evidence of experience of monastic life in Le Fresne, Yonec and Eliduc. But the prominence of the motif of adultery in the Lais (see also fables 44 and 45), Marie’s attitude towards the dissolution of marriage in Le Fresne and Eliduc, and her evident interest in the chivalric life suggest that these love poems were not written by someone steeped in ecclesiastical ideology. … Marie de France was certainly an educated lady of good family, who knew Latin well enough to have contemplated translating a Latin work into French (Lais, Prologue, vv. 28–32) and to have done so in the case of the Espurgatoire. She was obviously a good linguist and acquired a sound knowledge of English before translating the fables. She was also fully conversant with the life and aspirations of the nobility of her time. Her education could well have been obtained in a convent and her knowledge of court life from her upbringing and personal experiences in England. Was she Marie, the eighth child of Waleran de Meulan (also called Waleran de Beaumont), a member of one of the greatest of the Norman houses? Waleran’s fief was in the French Vexin, which would tally with Marie’s statement that she comes from France and explain her evident local knowledge of the town of Pitres in the Norman Vexin… Marie de Meulan married Hugh Talbot, baron of Cleuville, owner of lands in Herefordshire and Buckinghamshire, as well as in Normandy, and a member of a family prominent in several English counties including Devonshire, Gloucestershire and Kent. Marie’s father is an interesting figure – a loyal and courageous soldier, but also a well-educated man who may have written Latin verse. Moreover, several of the manuscripts of the Historia Regum Britanniae of Geoffrey of Monmouth are dedicated to him. It is tempting to think that his daughter may have known William of Gloucester, a possible Count William, as his father was also one of Geoffrey’s dedicatees. Marie de Meulan may, however, have been too young to be Marie de France, as her birth seems to date from the 1140s, perhaps as late as 1150. The most recent identification has been as Marie, countess of Boulogne after 1154, daughter of Stephen of Blois (King of England, 1135–54) and of Matilda of Boulogne. Educated in a convent, Marie de Boulogne became abbess of Romsey in Hampshire, but was removed from her convent by Henry II, who wanted to keep Boulogne in his sway. She was married off to Matthew of Flanders and thus became the sister-in-law of Hervé II, son of Guiomar of Léon... Eventually, at some time between 1168 and 1180, Marie de Boulogne returned to a convent, perhaps that of Sainte Austreberthe at Montreuil-sur-Mer in her own county. Her Count William could have been William of Mandeville, a crusade companion of Philip of Flanders, her husband’s brother. The ‘noble king’ would probably have been the Young King, as Philip and Matthew, originally supporters of Henry II, changed sides in 1173. Marie herself may have already been a supporter of the Young King, as in 1168 she sent Louis clandestine information about the secret negotiations between Henry and the Emperor Frederick. — The Lais of Marie de France translated with an introduction by Glyn S. Burgess and Keith Busby

[docpiplup]

#JON SNOW FORTNIGHT EVENT 2023 @asoiafcanonjonsnow

DAY 10: ECHOES OF THE PAST 🗝️📜 (1/2) ->

Historical parallels with Medieval bastard Kings.

Nowadays, ‘bastard’ is used as an insult.

Being born to unmarried parents is largely free of the kind of stigma and legal incapacities once attached to it in Western cultures, but it still has echoes of shame and sin. The disparagement of children born outside of marriage is often presumed to be a legacy of medieval Christian Europe, with its emphasis on compliance with Catholic marriage law.

Yet prior to the 13th century, legitimate marriage or its absence was not the key factor in determining quality of birth. Instead, what mattered was the social status of the parents – of the mother as well as of the father. Being born to the right parents, regardless of whether they were married according to the strictures of the church, made a child seem more worthy of inheriting parents’ lands, properties and titles.

It’s not until the late 12th century that evidence for the exclusion of children from succession on the grounds of illegitimate birth first appears. ‘Bastard’, as we now understand it, began to emerge here.

Importantly, this shift in the meaning and implications of illegitimacy did not arise as an imposition of Church doctrine. Instead, ordinary litigants began exploiting bits of Church doctrine to suit their own ends. Perhaps the earliest signs of this can be found in the annals of English legal history, with the Anstey case of the 1160s. This might have been the first time an individual was barred from inheriting because her parents had married illegally. And it happened not because the Church intervened, but because one clever plaintiff figured out how to exploit some scraps of theological doctrine. After that time, more and more plaintiffs began to do the same.

For example, towards the end of the 12th century, a regent countess of Champagne rushed to make use of an allegation of illegitimate birth against her nieces, in an effort to secure her son’s succession. Daughters could inherit in this region, and so these sisters did have a claim to the county once ruled by their late father. But the regent countess denounced the sisters as the product of an illegal marriage and therefore not legitimate heirs of their father. The strategy worked in that both daughters did eventually renounce their claims to the county, but not without first obtaining a great deal of money, enough to make them both extremely wealthy. As this suggests, the papacy had a far more passive role than is often imagined.

As bastardy began to acquire its modern meaning, in the early 13th century, it remained the case that the papacy focused on the regulation of illicit unions rather than the exclusion from succession or inheritance of those born to illicit unions. Hatred of illicit sex did trump dynastic politics on occasion. Hatred of the children born to such unions did not. There is very little evidence to suggest that an interest in keeping illegitimate children from inheriting noble or royal title outweighed political or practical considerations in the same way that the policing of illegal marriages sometimes did.

Understanding the changing meanings of bastardy helps us to arrive at a clearer picture of the workings and priorities of medieval society before the 13th century. Society then did not operate subject to rigid Christian canon law rules. Instead, it measured the value of its leaders based on their claims to celebrated ancestry, and the power attached to that kind of legitimacy. To be sure, marrying legitimately certainly received a good deal of lip service throughout the Middle Ages. Nevertheless, in this pre-13th-century world, the most intense attention was paid not to the formation of legitimate marriages, but to the lineage and respectability of mothers. Only beginning in the second half of the 12th century did birth outside of lawful marriage begin to render a child illegitimate, a ‘bastard’, and as such potentially ineligible to inherit noble or royal title.

Source

Well, George R.R. Martin has been using real life historical events as an inspiration for creating the lore of A Song of Ice and Fire, more concretely English and Western Late Medieval Europe history for Westeros, and it was precisely in the Late Middle Ages when the legal situation for bastards worsened by reinforcing marriage and legitimacy laws, reinforcing concubinates to disappear and laws to avoid any kind of polygamy.

In Westerosi society there's the stigma that comes from being born as a bastard, they're said to be born from lust, lies, and weakness, and as such, they are said to be wanton and treacherous by nature, and although they could get some prominent position either in the Citadel, the Kingsguard, Night's Watch or the Faith, they are generally discriminated by other Westerosi (except in Dorne, where there's tolerance towards bastards) and they rarely inherit his father's titles nor become kings. In the Asoiaf lore, there's recording of a bastard of a Bracken and a Blackwood, Benedict Waters, who founded the House of Justman and became King of the Trident as Benedict I; as well as Alyn Velaryon, a Velaryon bastard who was legitimised and became Lord of the Tides after The Dance of Dragons.

Till the events of the published books, Jon has reached the position as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and King Beyond the Wall in all but in name, two positions he has been chosen for.

But he would not have the possibility to inherit any title as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North/King in the North as a bastard, unless someone legitimised him, like Robb did in his Will. Jon has the chance of standing as a candidate for the Northern Succession Council after defeating the Boltons.

So, if The North stays away from the Iron Throne, Jon would be a good candidate for Lord of Winterfell and King in The North, but the question is... Is there any historical example of bastards who became kings?

Yes, there are, and in this meta we're going to down through history and remember those kings. This list probably doesn't include all of the bastard kings, just a selection, if you know about some more, feel free to share it.

The most common concept for bastardy is a child born of parents who were not married when the child was born, so firstly we'll list a few kings who are included in that group, as we consider Jon as Eddard Stark's bastard or Rhaegar and Lyanna's.

Their circumstances in which those kings got to throne are diverse, but we'll get into them searching for any simmilarities between Jon's story and their lifes.

Let's start, the list is on chonological order, and we'll notice that after the 13th century the amount of bastard kings is less, like we cited at the beginning of this meta.

8th Century

-> Mauregato I of Asturias (719-788), who reigned during the late 8th century, between 783 and 788, and was the son of Alfonso I of Asturias and a Muslim concubine or servant named Sisalda. He took the throne when the nobility had declared his nephew Alfonso II of Asturias as Silo's successor, although he probablyhad support of some parts of the nobility. He wed Creusa and had a son with her, Hermenegildo. Bermudo I was elected as King of Asturias after Mauregato died.

The identity of Mauregato's mother is a bit unclear, but her being a Muslim servant is considered a common statement, so his parents followed religions, Christianism and Islam, like Rhaegar and Lyanna, the Faith and the Old Gods.

Plus as happened to Mauregato, Jon may have some problems of nobles in the Northern Great Council because he's bastard and the other candidates would have support for being legimate, although they are kids, they would need a regent, that could be beneficial for them to control the North if they want to, but maybe some other members of the Council suggest or support Jon as their leader.

11th Century

-> Ramiro I of Aragon (1006/7-1063), natural son of Sancho III of Pamplona and Sancha de Aybar. His father Sancho splited his domains and passed down one of them to his sons; from the offspring she had with his wife Muniadona of Castile: García III inherited the Kingdom of Pamplona, Ferdinand I of Leon inherited the county of Castile and Gonzalo inherited the counties of Ribagorza & Sobrarbe; and Ramiro received the county of Aragon, and he annexed the counties of Ribagorza & Sobrarbe Gonzalo died. He unified the three counties to create the Kingdom of Aragon. His relationship with his siblings was complex, due to the rivalry between them for their kingdoms, initially Ramiro tried to conquer Pamplona but he was defeated by García III, and later Ramiro allied with García and his son Sancho IV against Ferdinand I.

His reign lasted 28 years.

Ramiro married Ermesinda of Foix and Agnes of Aquitaine, their offspring was: Sancho I of Aragon & V of Pamplona, Sancha, García, Urraca and Theresa, and he had a son named Sancho out of wedlock.

-> Magnus I " the Good" of Norway and Denmark (1024 - 1047), son of Olaf II of Norway and English concubine named Alvhild. His reign lasted 12 years. When he was 4 year old, his father was dethroned by Cnut the Great, and then his family travelled through other courts seeking shelter but finally they stablished in at the court of the Grand Prince Yaroslav I of Novgorod, where he grew up, was trained as a warrior and was educated in Old Russian and  Greek. Olaf was killed when he reurned to Scandinavia to fight for the throne. When Cnut left for England wife Ælfgifu and their son Svein as regents, Magnus and his supporters return to Norway and he was proclaimed king of Norway. Another son of Cnut, Harthacnut of Denmark, reclaimed Norway, but after Harthacnut died Magnus took his kingdom, but he had to face another pretender Sweyn II, Cnut's nephew, whom Magnus battled against using his father's battle axe, Hel, and he was successful, but died, and Sweyn II succeeded him as King of Denmark and Harald III as King of Norway.

-> William I the Conqueror (1028-1087), illegitimate son of Duke Robert I of Normandy and Herleva of Falaise. He was duke of Normandy and conqueror and king of England.

He started the conquest of England after his cousin, Edward the Confessor died without issue, and Harold II inherited the English throne, but he was defeated and William became the first king of England of the House of Normandy.

William and his wife Matilda of Flanders had 9 children: Robert I of Normandy, Richard, William II of England, Henry I ofEngland, Adelaide, Cecily, Matilda, Constance and Adela .

William seems to be the inspiration for Aegon I the Conqueror and his bastard brother Orys Baratheon, but he could have in common with Jon in becoming kings after their cousins died without issue (i.e. Robb) and having to defeat someone else to become kings, i.e. Jon helping Stannis to defeat the Boltons.

-> Harald III "Hen" of Denmark (1040-1080), illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark and a concubine, Thora.

After Sweyn II died, Harald got elected over his brother Cnut by an assembly, and faced opposition from his brothers during his reign. He ruled over 6 years, he's known to be a peaceful ruler and introduced some monetary and legal reforms like substituting trial by combat or trial by ordeal and replace it with avsystem used by the English of calling upon honorable men to swear oaths on behalf of the parties in a trial.

Harald was married to his cousin Margareta Hasbjörnsdatter, but did not leave any heirs, and was succeeded by his brother Canute IV.

-> Cnut IV "the Holy" of Denmark (1040-1086), illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine. He succeeded his brother Harald.

Cnut is considered an ambitious and strict king, ruled during 6 years, limited the power of the nobility, gave great concession and donations to the Church, and took the property of a great quantity of common land for himself or the Church. He raided England a few times and created a fleet to invade it, since he considered William I an usurper, but on his way to lead the invasion, he was killed during a peasant revolt.

After he died, he was succeeded by his brother Olaf I of Denmark.

Cnut married Adela of Flanders. They had three children: Charles I of Flanders and the twin sisters Cæcilia and Ingerid. Ingerid's descendants, the House of Bjelbo, would ascend to the throne of Sweden and Norway and Canute IV's blood returned to the Danish throne in the person of Olaf II of Denmark.

->Olaf I "Hunger" of Denmark (c. 1050 – 1095) illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine.

In his early years he was set aside and mistreatred and exiled by his brothers, who Ferrer he could be a political rival against them.

He succeeded his brother Cnut IV, and his reign lasted 9 years, that were plagued by several consecutive years of crop failure and famine.

Olaf married Ingegard of Norway, they didn't have any offspring, so he was succeeded by his brother Erik I.

11th Century/12th Century

-> Erik I " Evergood" of Denmark (c. 1060 – 1103), illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine.

When he was young he was a supporter of his brother Cnut IV. After Olaf died, Erik was elected as new king.

Erik reign lasted 8 years, he was well liked by people, he was considered a strapping young man and a good speaker and diplomat, and ruthless towards pirates and robbers. Erik had a reputation as a loud man who liked parties, and even killed four of his men while he was drunken during one of his parties, and so he procced to go on pilgrimsge to Holy Land, journey in which he died. His brother Niels succeeded him.

Erik married Boedil Thurgotsdatter and had one legitimate son with her, Canute Lavard, father of Vademar I of Denmark. Eric had four children out of wedlock, Erik II of Denmark, Benedict, Harald Kesja and Ragnhilde, mother of Erik III of Denmark.

-> Niels I of Denmark (c. 1065 – 25 June 1134) illegitimate son of Sweyn II of Denmark with an unknown concubine. He was the last son of Sweyn to become king.

He was described as mild and forthcoming, though not a competent ruler.

Niels married Margaret Fredkulla, and had two children with her, Inge Nielsen and Magnus I of Sweden. He had a daughter born out of wedlock, Ingerd of Denmark.

During the majority of Niels' reign, 30 years, Denmark had internal peace, only broken when his son Magnus was forced from the Swedish throne and a conflict erupted between Magnus and his cousin Cnut Lavard, due to his popularity. After Magnus slew Cnut, Erik II took his brother's place in the conflict, and Niels supported Magnus.

Niels and Magnus died during the civil war and Erik II became king of Denmark.

-> Erik II "the Memorable" of Denmark (c.  1090– 1137 ), illegitimate son of Eric I of Denmark with an unknown concubine.

Erik the Memorable rebelled against his uncle Niels, and was declared king in 1134.

He punished his adversaries severely, and rewarded his supporters handsomely, as he was considered a harsh and unpopular ruler, he only ruled Denmark 3 years. He was killed by a subject in 1137 and was promptly succeeded by his nephew Erik III of Denmark.

Erik married Malmfred of Kiev, they had no issue, but Erik had a son with his concubine Thunna, Sweyn III of Denmark.

12th Century

-> Sweyn III of Denmark (1125-1157), illegitimate son of Erik II of Denmark and a concubine named Thunna.

He was elected king after Erik III of Denmark abdicated.

In 1154, Sweyn was overthrown by an alliance between Canute and Valdemar, who was crowned Canute's co-ruler as Valdemar.

This prompted the Danish magnates to force through a tripartition of the kingdom into Jutland, Zealand, and Scania. Sweyn chose first, and was made the ruler of Scania.

After that Sweyn organised apeace banquet, in which Sweyn planned on killing his two co-rulers, and succeeded in having Canute killed, but Valdemar escaped. After that Valdemar and Sweyn battled, Sweyn was killed while he was scaping from the battle. Valdemar I was proclaimed king of all Denmark.

Sweyn married Adela of Meissen, daughter of Conrad, Margrave of Meissen, and Luitgard of Ravenstein. They had two children Erik and Luitgard, who married Berthold I of Istria.

->Tancred I of Sicily ( 1138 – 1194), or Tancred of Lecce, illegitimate son of Roger III, duke of Apulia, eldest son of Roger II of Sicily, and his mistress Emma of Lecce.

Tancred was born in Lecce and inherited the county from his grandfather.

With his bastard uncle Simon plotted to remove William II, legitimate son of Roger II, but failed and went to exile.

Years after, Tancred returned to Sicily he swore fealty to his aunt Constance I as William II's heiress, Tancred rebelled and was crowned as King of Sicily. Constance I and her husband the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV fought against Tancred. Tancred died during the war after 5 years of reign, and was briefly succeeded by his son William III, who was soon captured and executed by orders of Henry IV.

Tancred had married Sybilla of Acerra, an their children were: Roger III, William III, Elvira, Constance, Medania and Valdrada.

13th Century

->Manfred I of Sicily (1232 – 1266), natural son of Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II with Bianca Lancia, legitimised later by his father.

Manfred became regent over the kingdom of Sicily on behalf of his nephew Conradin. As regent he subdued rebellions in the kingdom, until in 1258 he usurped Conradin's rule. After an initial attempt to appease Pope Innocent IV he took up the ongoing conflict between the Hohenstaufens and the papacy through combat and political alliances. He defeated the papal army at Foggia. Manfred was excommunicated by three successive popes, Manfred was the target of a Crusade called by the Popes Alexander IV and Urban IV.

Urban received the help of Charles of Anjou in overthrowing Manfred. Manfred was killed during his defeat by Charles at the Battle of Benevento, and Charles became King of Sicily as Charles I after having executed Conradin.

Manfred had married Beatrice of Savoy and Helena Angelina Doukaina, their children were Constance II of Sicily, Beatrice, Henry, Anselm and Frederick. He also had an illegitimate daughter, Flordelis.

His daughter Constance II married Peter III of Aragon, and with their supporters in the island of Sicily fought against Charles I, who, of the whole kingdom (the Kingdom of Sicily in that period was formed by Naples and the island of Sicily) now controlled only Naples, and Constance II and her children gained Sicily, that later became part of the Crown of Aragon, and their descendants Kings of Aragon annexed Naples some generations later, and Naples and Sicily were ruled by the same king again under the reigns of Alfonso V and his nephew Ferdinand II of Aragon & his descendants.

14th Century

-> Henry II "the Fratricidal" of Castile (1334-1379), or Henry of Trastámara, illegitimate son of Alfonso XI of Castile and his mistress Leonor de Guzmán.

Henry was the fourth of ten illegitimate children of King Alfonso XI of Castile and Eleanor de Guzmán, a great-granddaughter of Alfonso IX of León. He was born a twin to Fadrique Alfonso, Lord of Haro, and was the first boy born to the couple that survived to adulthood.

At birth, he was adopted by Rodrigo Álvarez de las Asturias. Rodrigo died the following year and Henry inherited his lordship of Noreña. His father later made him Count of Trastámara and lord over Lemos and Sarria in Galicia, and the towns of Cabrera and Ribera, which constituted a large and important heritage in the northwest of the peninsula. It made him the head of the new Trastámara dynasty, a bastard branch from the Castilian branch of House Burgundy.

Alfonso XI gave Eleanor many titles and privileges for their children. This caused discontent among many of the noblemen and in particular the queen, Maria of Portugal, and her son Peter I of Castile.

When Peter I succeeded his father, Henry and his siblings revolted several times and were on a intermittent wars during Peter I's reign, in which Henry was supported by Peter IV of Aragon and Charles V of France.

Henry had numerous lovers, Leonor Álvarez, Elvira Íñiguez, Beatriz Fernández, Beatriz Ponce de León y Jérica, Juana de Sousa, Juana de Cárcamo and Juana de Cifuentes, and had in total 13 bastard children: Alfonso, Eleanor, Joanna, Constance, Ferdinand, Mary, Fadrique, Beatrice, Henry, Peter, Isabella, Inés and Joanna.

Henry married Juana Manuel de Villena and they had three children, John I of Castile, Eleanor and Joanna.

In 1369 Henry II defeated and killed his brother Peter I, and became the first king of House Trastámara. During his 10 year reign he faced opposition from Ferdinand I of Portugal and Constance of Castile, Peter I's daughter, and her husband John of Gaunt. Henry II was succeeded by his son John I of Castile

Due to his alliance with Peter IV of Aragon, John I of Castile wed Peter's daughter, Eleanor of Aragon, two of his children were Henry III of Castile and Ferdinand I of Aragon, and so House Trastámara ruled over the Crowns of Castile and Aragon.

14th Century/15th Century

->John I "of Fond Memory" or "the Great" or "the Good" of Portugal (1357-1433), John of Avis, natural son of Peter I of Portugal and Teresa Guille Lourenço. He's the founder and first king of House of Avis, bastard branch from the Portuguese branch of House Burgundy.

His first important charge was Great Master of the Order of Avis, and years after, when Succession Crisis broke out, John ended up being crowned as King of Portugal. John I ruled Portugal over 48 years, the most extensive reign of all Portuguese monarch, and m9st of its reign was able to rule in peace and concentrate on the economic development and territorial expansion. He was succeeded by his son Edward I of Portugal.

It maybe a coincidence, but it's interesting the contrast between Jon and Ramsay, both being Northern bastards, but Ramsay it's like the personification of the Westerosi prejudices against bastards, Ramsay Bolton was legitimised and became his father's heir because he (allegedly) poisoned and killed his trueborn brother Domeric, meanwhile Jon will be KITN because Robb died due to the Bolton-Frey treason and in his will he legitimised and declared Jon as his heir, and in that way there's the parallel between Jon and Ramsay and John I of Portugal and Henry II of Castile, John seemed to have a good relationship with his brother Ferdinand I of Portugal and after the Succession war he became the next king, and Henry II didn't get along with his brother Peter I and he became king after he killed him.

This is a brief introduction, the next part of the meta it'll be dedicated fully to John I of Portugal and his parallels with Jon Snow.

15th Century

->Ferdinand I of Naples (1423-1494), illegitimate son of Alfonso V of Aragon and his mistress Gueraldona Carlino. Ferdinand I of Naples was named after his grandfather Ferdinand I of Aragon, first king of Crown of Aragon from House Trastámara.

His father had conquered Naples after defeating René I and stablished in Naples during most of the rest of his life there since he left in charge his wife and cousin Mary of Castile and his brother John for the government of Aragon when he was away in Italy. Alfonso didn't have legitimate children, he only had three children with his mistress, Ferdinand being the eldest.

So, Alfonso managed to declare his son as heir of Naples, with some alliances with the local nobility, like a marriage between Ferdinand and Isabella of Chiaramonte, and the rest of the Crown of Aragon was inherited by John II of Aragon.

Ferdinand I had to face opposition from foregain royalty and nobility and some local barons who didn't accept Ferdinand' reforms and ambitions and because he was a bastard and he limited they power, and often allied against him, like Pope Callixtus III, John of Anjou, Mariano Marzano, the Angevines, his cousin Charles of Viana (John's II eldest son, although John II accepted his nephew's kingship), among others.

John II of Aragon sent a fleet to support of his nephew against the Angevines, and when the Catalan nobility offered the Aragonese crown to René I during the Catalan civil war, sent troops in support.

Ferdinand had married Isabella of Taranto and his cousin Joanna of Aragon, their offspring was Alfonso II of Naples, Eleanor, Frederick I of Naples, John, Beatrice, Francesco and Joanna, who married his nephew Ferdinand II of Naples.

He had several children with his mistresses Diana Guardato, Marchesella Spitzata, Piscicella Piscicelli, Eulalia Ravignano and Giovannella Caracciolo: Mary, Joanna, Ilaria, Henry, Mary, Alonso, Cesare, Maria Cecilia, Lucrezia, Ferdinand, Mary and Joanna.

He was a very passionate man, he had an almost pathological attraction towards young women and, despite the numerous lovers and concubines, he loved very much his wife Isabella of Taranto, a woman of exceptional virtues, whose death greatly afflicted him. As a father he was very present and very fond of his offspring, especially known is the strong affection shown for his daughters.

Despite the odds, Ferdinand I ruled Naples during 36 years and brought peace and prosperity to Naples, although he had to deal with opponent powers like the Ottoman Empire, France, the Republic of Venice and the Papal States.

He was one of the most influential and feared monarchs in Europe at the time and an important figure of the Italian Renaissance, Ferdinand promoted Renaissance culture and art with his patronage, surrounding himself with numerous artists and writers who flourished in his kingdom, introducted the art of silk and printing, the King showed enthusiasm for music and established in Naples the first musical school in Italy and one of the first in Europe. Ferdinand expanded the very rich royal library founded by his father in Castel Capuano and grow at an impressive rate, thanks to purchases, gifts and the confiscation of the collections of the rebel barons.

He issued various social laws that undermined the excessive power of the Barons, favoring small artisans and peasants. This work of modernization and the resistance he put up against them led to the outbreak of the famous revolt which was subsequently suffocated.

Recognized as one of the most powerful political minds of the time, a very skilled diplomat, stablished the hegemony of Naples over other Italian states, and a dense network of alliances and relationships with Italian and foreign sovereigns, through marriages of his illegitimate and legitimate and children.

After Ferdinand died he was succeeded by his son Alfonso II of Naples, who in turn abdicated very soon in favor of his own son Ferdinand II of Naples.

To expand the list, there's another case of bastardy, in which their parents' marriage was declared null or invalid, if we're considering the possibility that Rhaegar and Lyanna secretly and it could be considered invalid because Rhaegar was already married to Elia and maybe the lack of credible witness make that the wedding could be considered questionable, so for a great sector of the society would be considered a bastard (i.e. The Faith).

9th Century/10th Century

->Athelstan of England (894-939), first king of England, son Edward of Wessex and Egwina. Their parents married, but due to his mother low status, their marriage got annulled. Athelstan succeeded to the throne of Wessex after his brother King Ethelweard, son of Edward and Ælfflæd of Wessex, died.

Aethelstan is known for being a great diplomat, strategist and reformer, created a strong system of alliances, istarted being king of Wessex and anexxed the other six English kingdoms: Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, Kent, Sussex and Essex. He never wed and ha no children, so after he died, his brother Edmund I, eldest son of Edward and his third wife, Edgiva, succeeded him.

The English Heptarchy seems to be the inspiration for the Seven Kingdoms, and it's an interesting datail that a bastard from a kingdom, started becoming king of that kingdom and then he ruled the seven kingdoms , as Jon could be proclaimed King in the North, for fighting the Others, he'll have to try to convince and unify the rest of Westeros to survive the War for the Dawn.

11th Century

->Harold I of England (1016-1040), son of Cnut the Great, King of Denmark, Norway, Sweden & England, and Ælfgifu Ælfhelmsdotter. His parents got married by the Danish law, but once Cnut converted to Cristianism and conquered England, married Emma of Normandy, who was considered as his only wife by the Church. Harthacnut, son of Cnut and Emma, left Harold as regent of England while he was away, and later Harold was proclaimed king of England. Harold ruled for four years and sixteen weeks, when he died, Harthacnut took the control of the English throne. Harold married Ælfgifu, and had a son, Ælfwine, but he became a monk.

One of the speculations within the fandom about Rhaegar and Lyanna is that there could have been a secret wedding, maybe it could have been in front of a weirwood in the Isle of Faces following the Northern wedding custumes, in contrast of Rhaegar marring Elia by the Faith of the Seven ceremony.

12th Century/13th Century

->Ferdinand III " the Saint" of Castile ( 1199/1201 – 1252), son of Alfonso IX of Leon and Berenguela I of Castile, their marriage was annulled due to the consanguinity between them. He's the first king of the Crown of Castile, his reign lasted 35 years. Ferdinand III married Beatrice of Swabia and Joan of Dammartin. His children were: Alfonso X "The Wise" of Castile, Fadrique, Ferdinand, Eleonor, Berenguela, Henry, Philip, Manuel, Mary, Ferdinand, Eleonor, Louis, Simon and John.

13th Century/14th Century

->Ferdinand IV "the Summoned" of Castile (1285 - 1312), son of Sancho IV of Castile and Maria de Molina, their marriage got annulled due to consanguinity and because Sancho was betrothed to another woman, although Pope Boniface VIII legitimised Sancho and Maria union when Ferdinand IV was already king. His reign lasted 16 years. Ferdinand IV married Constance of Portugal, their children were: Alfonso XI of Castile and Eleonor of Castile, wife of Alfonso IV of Aragon.

15th Century

-> Edward V of England (1470-1483), eldest son of Edward IV of England and Elizabeth Woodville. His siblings and him were declared as bastards by their uncle Richard III alleged that Edward and Elizabeth was null because there was a promise of marriage from Edward IV to Eleanor Talbot, to get his nephew out of succession. He didn't married and had children since he was 12 when he died.

In this case, Edward V's circumstances seems to have inspired Joffrey's as well as Young Griff and Bran's partially. Stannis states that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are bastards and claims to be the rightful king of Westeros, like Richard III did with his brother's children and now he's trying to make it to the Iron Throne; Bran's part could be inspired by the Princes in the Tower event, in which Edward and his younger brother Richard were imprisioned and probably killed by orders of their uncle, and there were rumors during the following years that maybe one of the brothers scaped, fuelled with pretenders who claimed to be some of the princes, like Perkin Warbeck. In ASOIAF, Theon captures Winterfell and kills the miller's sons to pretend he has killed Bran and Rickon, although they had escaped and in the future the rest of The North is going to know they alived when they return to Winterfell; Young Griff claims to be Aegon VI, Rhaegar and Elia's baby son who was murdered by The Mountain during the Sack of King's Landing

In summary, after reading about the lives of these kings on the list, in many of them we can note the pattern of being elected in an assembly like the Danish kings or having to face adversaries that undermine their positions as kings for being bastards, sometimes by other relatives pretenders or the Church, like happened to most of them. And those are a couple of events that may happen to Jon in the future books, his rising to kingship probably being elected at the Northern Assembly, probably making negotiatons with the supporters of his other siblings i.e. Rickon being supported by the Manderlys, Sansa by Littlefinger and the Vale etc, but Jon could have the support of the Mountain Clans, the Mormonts, the Glovers, House Thenn and The Free Folk.

The meta doesn't end here, for the parallels between Jon and John I of Portugal click here.

[histoireettralala]

Blanche de Navarre

A month after Marie's death in March 1198, a throng of barons accompanied nineteen-year-old Thibaut III to Melun, where he did homage for his lands and was knighted by the king. A year later the young count married Blanche of Navarre, the younger sister of Richard the Lionheart's widow Berengaria. Attending the magnificent ceremony in Chartres cathedral were the dowager queens Berengaria of England and Adèle of France (Thibaut's aunts), as well as many prelates and barons. The jubilation was short-lived, however, for Thibaut died in May 1201 while preparing to lead the Fourth Crusade. He left twenty-year-old Blanche a widow in the last week of her second pregnancy. For the next twenty-one years she would guide the county through the most perilous internal and external threats it had yet faced.

Whereas countess Marie clearly had possessed the requisite qualifications to act as regent — intimate connections with the Capetian and Plantagenet royal families, eleven formative years preparing to be countess, and sixteen years as countess consort — countess Blanche must have seemed singularly unsuited for such a role. A Navarrese speaker with a strong religious temperament, she had little experience as countess. She also faced an extraordinary challenge from the start: were her children, in fact, the legitimate heirs to the county? In 1190, when the unmarried Henry II left on the Third Crusade, the barons had sworn to accept his younger brother Thibaut III as count if Henry himself did not return. No one had anticipated that Henry would remain overseas seven years, marry there, and have children. Thus it was a legitimate question, in May 1201, whether Henry II's own daughters had better rights to Champagne than his brother Thibaut's infant daughter.

Blanche skillfully mastered a difficult situation. Mindful of king Philip's attempt to seize Flanders in 1191 in the absence of a male heir, she quickly made an alliance with the king the cornerstone of her regency. Within days of Thibaut's death she found Philip at nearby Sens, did homage — the first homage ever rendered by a countess — for her right of wardship and her dower lands, and promised not to remarry without his permission. As security for her conduct, she surrendered two castles bordering the royal domain (Bray-sur-Seine and Montereau-faut-Yonne) and her oneyear-old daughter to be raised at the royal court. Several days later the birth of a son, Thibaut IV, confirmed the soundness of her strategy: he was born heir apparent under royal protection.

Theodore Evergates - Aristocratic Women in Medieval France

[marchsfreakshow]

Inconsistencies [JPM x Reader]

The Countess has been getting too friendly again. And James keeps missing your dates. !Angst! No one's perspective.

~~~~~~~~~

The Countess was walking down the hallway, looking forward only, but she felt a gaze. It was harsh and narrow. Like the gaze of someone else who hated her so. But she paid no mind to it. There was no point, nearly everyone did not like her. This one was different in her mind, it stang like it was more personal than ever other hate.

Either way, Elizabeth carried on walking, making her way into a room. It was a dark room, lit only by one lamp. James was on the bed, asleep. As asleep he could get really. "You can leave if you're truly upset with me." She traced James' face gently, not looking back. But there was no response, only footsteps, until you reached the bathroom, closing the door behind you. The bathroom was small, dim, and grim. Miss Evers clearly was only good enough for cleaning the sheets, but you didn't care at this point. Elizabeth had been taking James for herself again. She was kissing him, holding him, and talking more with him. It was unlike her, giving you stares whenever she gave him affection in your vicinity. "Come on mouse, you can't hide from me and James forever."

"Yeah? Fucking watch me!" You were sat in the empty bath, hugging your knees. Instead of feeling sad, you were just disappointed. James missed 3 of the dates you arranged. There was champagne set up, you put on your best outfit and had a speaker for music to show James, yet you constantly found him distracted by the other inhabitants or The Countess. The energy of the whole room became dull with your words. The bath was getting more uncomfortable, but you didn't want to show that weakness. You had your room, nearer the entrance of the hotel, since that was the best option.

Since you were walking behind The Countess, you just somehow made your way into James' room. The almost sleeping man, sat up, suddenly up close with Elizabeth. "Oh, Dear, how are you?" He just smiled as she leaned back, sitting by James.

"Your mouse is jealous James." She said simply, gesturing to the bathroom. Even though the words were muffled, you heard everything. You didn't want to give up and leave through their room. James would see you and try to talk to you, but you went petty. Being petty was the way you went whenever someone did you wrong. Dates or not. Sighs left your mouth as James' footsteps came closer to the room.

A knock interrupted your thoughts and you jumped back slightly. "Fuck off James." James let out a 'hmm' and raised an eyebrow almost being able to see past the door and at your small figure. "The Countess seems more important than our dates that I've put so much fucking work into." Your tone was jarring and you glanced at the door, keeping it closed. The footsteps got further away, so you assumed they had both left.

Slowly, you left the tub and unlocked the door, sneaking out while looking around. "Okay. Good."

"My sweet bird." James was behind you. The quiet fucker. He turned you around and grabbed your chin harshly, his eyes had no light in them anymore. "Mind explaining your tone? You know I don't appreciate that tone." You just gritted your teeth and crossed your arms, not wanting to lose confidence.

"Countess is getting too chummy." You hissed, looking away. James raised an eyebrow and brought your face close, your noses touching. Even though the interaction made you flustered, you still kept your posture. Both your breaths were heavy, but yours was less focused than James' were.

"You forget I have known my dear longer than you, and you. You're still alive, at some point, you will leave, and I will never see you again. You understand that yes?" James spoke sternly, keeping that tight grip on your chin. Bruises would appear the next day, that's for sure. You nodded the best you could, still mad at him though.

"I agree but it doesn't matter. You've missed 3 dates. At what point do you stop caring for me?" Footsteps stopped at the door. Someone was listening, so you attempted to turn around, leaving the grip James had on you. Quickly you opened the door, and The Countess was still there. She smiled at you, almost condensing. Her white dress didn't match the blackness in the room, but you felt it would soon if you didn't walk away. "Have fucking fun fucking him." The words left your lips as you stomped away, but the regret immediately ate out your heart.

James was looking at the ground, his hands in fists. He hated people who argued with him, most of them would end up ghosting the hotel. But he couldn't bring himself to follow you and kill you for himself. Something stopped him. The feeling he had of imagining you out. Out of the hotel and experiencing the life he couldn't. He could lose his precious hummingbird, but he felt too guilty. Not being able to walk into the lounge and see you working on your strange lap device he was so fascinated by. While he was distracted, the countess had left, following you, resisting the urge to just turn you or simply kill you herself.

"Mouse." She stated, standing over you as you laid on your bed, facing away from the woman. "Your darling lion needs you."

"I would be up for it if he hadn't pissed me off." You sat up, glaring at the woman. "If you hadn't stolen him again."

"Again? You forget he was mine first, I watched him kill, I married him."

"After nearly 100 years, can't you just leave him alone?" As soon as you said that, James walked in, no blazer off. He looked distressed, and off colour. If he could be off-colour since he was already so pale. "James..." You whined, seeing him appear behind the tall woman.

The Countess turned around. "Darling, you're just in time." She smiled, bringing her finger up. You were confused, but James went wide eyes, quickly attempting to run to you.

He wasn't quick enough. The Countess sliced your neck, leaving you to bleed out and James to hold your dying body. While he didn't cry much, he quietly sobbed. But the countess was not there anymore. She had simply left, no feeling on her face. "My precious dear..."

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

if I had a shot at time travel I would have one (1) priority and it would be to get wine drunk with Marie of France, Countess of Champagne, and get her to tell me all about where she got the idea for Lancelot and how exactly she bullied Chrétien into writing about him

[palecleverdoll]

Ages of French Queens at First Marriage

I have only included women whose birth dates and dates of marriage are known within at least 1-2 years, therefore, this is not a comprehensive list.

This list is composed of Queens of France until the end of the House of Bourbon; it does not include Bourbon claimants or descendants after 1792.

The average age at first marriage among these women was 20.

Ermentrude of Orléans, first wife of Charles the Bald: age 19 when she married Charles in 842 CE

Richilde of Provence, second wife of Charles the Bald: age 25 when she married Charles in 870 CE

Richardis of Swabia, wife of Charles the Fat: age 22 when she married Charles in 862 CE

Théodrate of Troyes, wife of Odo: age 14 or 15 when she married Odo in 882 or 883 CE

Frederuna, wife of Charles III: age 20 when she married Charles in 907 CE

Beatrice of Vermandois, second wife of Robert I: age 10 when she married Robert in 990 CE

Emma of France, wife of Rudolph: age 27 when she married Rudolph in 921 CE

Gerberga of Saxony, wife of Gilbert, Duke of Lorraine, and later of Louis IV: age 16 when she married Gilbert in 929 CE

Emma of Italy, wife of Lothair: age 17 when she married Lothair in 965 CE

Adelaide-Blanche of Anjou, wife of Stephen, Viscount of Gévaudan, Raymond III, Count of Toulouse, and later Louis V: age 15 when she married Stephen in 955 CE

Bertha of Burgundy, wife of Odo I, Count of Blois, and later Robert II: age 19 when she married Odo in 984 CE

Constance of Arles, third wife of Robert II: age 17 when she married Robert in 1003 CE

Anne of Kiev, wife of Henry I: age 21 when she married Henry in 1051 CE

Bertha of Holland, first wife of Philip I: age 17 when she married Philip in 1072 CE

Bertrade of Montfort, wife of Fulk IV, Count of Anjou, and second wife of Philip I: age 19 when she married Fulk in 1089 CE

Adelaide of Maurienne, second wife of Louis VI: age 23 when she married Louis in 1115 CE

Eleanor of Aquitaine, first wife of Louis VII and later Henry II of England: age 15 when she married Louis in 1137 CE

Adela of Champagne, third wife of Louis VII: age 20 when she married Louis in `1160 CE

Isabella of Hainault, first wife of Philip II: age 10 when she married Philip in 1180 CE

Ingeborg of Denmark, second wife of Philip II: age 19 when she married Philip in 1193 CE

Agnes of Merania, third wife of Philip II: age 21 when she married Philip in 1195 CE

Blanche of Castile, wife of Louis VIII: age 12 when she married Louis in 1200 CE

Margaret of Provence, wife of Louis IX: age 13 when she married Louis in 1234 CE

Isabella of Aragon, first wife of Philip III: age 14 when she married Philip in 1262 CE

Marie of Brabant, second wife of Philip III: age 20 when she married Philip in 1274 CE

Joan I of Navarre, wife of Philip IV: age 11 when she married Philip in 1284 CE

Margaret of Burgundy, wife of Louis X; age 15 when she married Louis in 1305 CE

Clementia of Hungary, second wife of Louis X: age 22 when she married Louis in 1315 CE

Joan II, Countess of Burgundy, wife of Philip V: age 15 when she married Philip in 1307 CE

Blanche of Burgundy, first wife of Charles IV: age 12 when she married Charles in 1308 CE

Marie of Luxembourg, second wife of Charles IV: age 18 when she married Charles in 1322 CE

Joan of Évreux, third wife of Charles IV: age 14 when she married Charles in 1324 CE

Bonne of Luxembourg, first wife of John II: age 17 when she married John in 1332 CE

Joan I, Countess of Auvergne, wife of Philip of Burgundy, and later John II: age 12 when she married Philip in 1338 CE

Joanna of Bourbon, wife of Charles V: age 12 when she married Charles in 1350 CE

Isabeau of Bavaria, wife of Charles VI: age 15 when she married Charles in 1385 CE

Marie of Anjou, wife of Charles VII: age 18 when she married Charles in 1422 CE

Charlotte of Savoy, second wife of Louis XI: age 9 when she married Louis in 1451 CE

Anne of Brittany, wife of Maximilian I, HRE, Charles VIII and later Louis XII: age 13 when she married Maximilian in 1490 CE

Joan of France, first wife of Louis XII: age 12 when she married Louis in 1476 CE

Mary Tudor, third wife of Louis XII: age 18 when she married Louis in 1514 CE

Claude of France, first wife of Francis I: age 15 when she married Francis in 1514 CE

Eleanor of Austria, wife of Manuel I of Portugal and later second wife of Francis I: age 20 when she married Manuel in 1518 CE

Catherine de' Medici, wife of Henry II: age 14 when she married Henry in 1533 CE

Mary, Queen of Scots, wife of Francis II: age 16 when she married Francis in 1558 CE

Elisabeth of Austria, wife of Charles IX: age 16 when she married Charles in 1570 CE

Louise of Lorraine, wife of Henry III: age 22 when she married Henry in 1575 CE

Margaret of Valois, first wife of Henry IV: age 19 when she married Henry in 1572 CE

Marie de' Medici, second wife of Henry IV: age 25 when she married Henry in 1600 CE

Anne of Austria, wife of Louis XIII: age 14 when she married Louis in 1615 CE

Maria Theresa of Spain, wife of Louis XIV: age 22 when she married Louis in 1660 CE

Marie Leszczyńska, wife of Louis XV: age 22 when she married Louis in 1725 CE

Marie Antoinette, wife of Louis XVI: age 15 when she married Louis in 1770 CE

[emma-ofnormandy]

I don’t know what this is- can’t even give you context for what triggered a Canute x Emma regency AU but alas, here is a 500 word scene anyways.

“He’s in the Guards, I believe. Fought at Waterloo.”

Emma eyed the gentleman in question over the rim of her glass, the champagne she sipped tickling her nose, as the women around her continued to gossip.

“Very important in the India campaigns too. Just returned from posts in Bombay, if my brother is to be believed.” The young woman’s fan fluttered in excitement. “Supposedly as wealthy as King Midas and in need of a wife.”

It took considerable control for Emma not to roll her eyes. If the Ton gossip was to be believed, every man here was in need of a wife when in actuality, perhaps a quarter of the gentlemen present were interested in such matters while the rest were simply there to conduct business under the guise of a glittering ball.

“Well, that shouldn’t be hard to secure,” said a Countess, “I doubt there is a woman here that would turn the man down. Just look at him. Even a married lady would consider throwing herself at his feet.”

The Countess, Emma knew, was married to a short, portly man, who was fifteen years her senior, regularly indulged in too much brandy and had an affinity for losing at the tables. She couldn’t fault the woman for eyeing the new arrival knowing what she would be returning home with.

The man, a Colonel if the ladies were correct, known amongst friends as Canute, was tall, dark haired, and carried the unmistakable bearing of a military man. Cavalry, if Emma was to guess. It was hard to miss, the particular gate of a horseman, and even in his formal dress it was unmistakable.

Though dressed like the rest in attendance, his features were harsh in comparison to those around him, and he scanned the room with the eyes of man who saw everything, as if searching for an enemy amongst the yards of satin and lace. If he was uncomfortable, and she imagined most men in his shoes would be, it didn’t show on his carefully schooled facade.

“What about you, Emma?”

“Hm?” Emma drug her gaze from where she’d been watching the Colonel prowl along the back wall to the young lady beside her. “What about what?”

“The Colonel,” the woman bobbed her head in his direction, “are you going to throw your hand in with the rest?”

Emma took another sip of her champagne, her gaze once again searching for him. This time, however, it seemed he he had been watching her as well, and their eyes locked in a heated hold. A smile flickered across his lips, but it did nothing to soften his features.

On the outside, Emma did her best to remain impassive, one delicate brow arching at his attention before breaking their connection and returning to focus on the woman beside her, but inside, Emma’s stomach fluttered like a young maiden’s.

“No,” she finally said, willing the butterflies to settle, “I don’t think I will.”

A man like that, one that evoked such a reaction in her so easily, was dangerous to her. She had worked painstakingly to curate a certain life for herself, and she could not allow any man, but especially one like the Colonel, to disrupt it.

[elsalouisa]

"Everybody, who lived in Russia from 1912 to 1914, had to feel the storm coming. Much more has been written about it than I am able to, and I'll only try to give a picture of life in St. Petersburg, as it was in the last years before the war. In my opinion, one must be permitted to think that it was an instinctive feeling, that there was only a little time remaining for a world which was soon to disappear, causing mankind to seek oblivion and reassurance in a hectic, superficial life. That produced an atmosphere of intense self-indulgence, a demand for a life of luxury and beauty, which blocked out real life. One reads autobiographies from elsewhere in other countries that the same happened there; everywhere the same dance on the edge of the volcano. Those large parties in the private palaces in St. Petersburg had a fairly peculiar charm. One drove to them through frost-crackling, snow-filled streets, where the only living creatures one saw were dark shapes around the fires burning on the street corners, which were lit, when the cold reached a critical point. They cre- ated a dark hard contrast to the brightly-lit palaces with their greenhouse-hot, flower-smelling halls and their rousing music. When on such an evening one stepped over the threshold of one of these old palaces, one gained the impres- sion of stepping into another world. It wasn't just people from the twentieth cen- tury, but also from earlier generations, who together climbed the wide marble staircases and lived for the last time before it all sank irrevocably into oblivion. It was Anna Karenina and Vronsky again, playing out their drama in the old surroundings; and under a thousand lights the dancers sparkled in the same beau- tiful jewellery that she had worn. And now, like then, happiness was grabbed, as if it was the last chance. At these parties there were little tables for supper, scores of waiters in the house livery, serving the dishes, and the champagne - the only wine, which was drunk - stood in ice coolers at each setting. These parties reached a climax, when a famous gypsy singer got up from one of the supper tables and started to sing. In her dark voice she sang the lovely gypsy songs, which so well matched the atmosphere of these high living people. In particular, a ball given by Countess Betsy Schouvaloff was of exceptional  beauty. It was, what one called a "bal a tête", only the head was disguised, while the dresses were modern, but, of course, harmonised with the wearer's head. The greatest artists created some of the heads, e.g. I remember the tall, beautiful Countess Orloff-Davidof, for whom Bakst had created a Ceres-head with gold and yellow-salmon hair. A very competent French hairdresser created my head in the style of Madame Vigée-Lebrun's self-portrait in front of the easel, around it was tied a white scarf and a white wig, and it looked so beautiful together with a light Bordeaux dress, which I had ordered from Paquin in Paris. The marble staircase, in Countess Schouvaloff's palace divided on each side, and we had taken great care to be among the first arrivals who gradually arranged ourselves on the stairs so that we could watch the subsequent arrivals. The gentlemen were exempted from any disguise, but of course the many officers in their splendid uniforms helped to make the scene even more glittering... These parties took place in the winter of 1913-14; the last winter before the war swallowed Europe. Even though any memory from one's youth is cast in a special light, it is with true sadness that my memories from Russia return every time the white acacias blossom in Denmark, just as they did on the islands in the light summer nights in St. Petersburg. And now when I stand on a cold winter’s day at home in the sleet and snow and look through a window with greenhouse flowers, it's Puschkin's lovely poem, which comes to mind:  "Que ces roses étaient fraiches, que ces roses étaient belles!" (How fresh were those roses, how beautiful were those roses)"

Anna Sofie Scavenius "A Diplomat's Wife at the Court of the Tsar"

[what-if-queen-camilla]

Chapter 37

28th August 1996

"Darling!", Charles sighed breathlessly, pressing Camilla against his chest as tight as he could, never wanting to let loose of her again. Tears were running down his face, tears of joy and relief. "Darling, it's done. I'm free." He had driven down to Wiltshire as soon as the final divorce papers had been signed earlier that morning. He just wanted to be with her, he needed her, needed to feel her and kiss her and touch her. And how well he did it… Camilla couldn't suppress a little moan as he tenderly kissed her neck and pressed her against the wall, boisterously letting his hands wander all over her perfect body, keeping on kissing her passionately. "Darling…!", she gasped, chuckling. "What if Thea comes home from school?" "She won't for at least the next three hours…", Charles responded, gently pushing her up the stairs, continuing to kiss her, until they finally reached the second floor and eventually Camilla’s bedroom, sank down on the mattress and made love, tenderly, passionately, almost desperately, longing for each other and to be as close to each other as possible…

"So… now, that I'm a free man, will you marry me, darling?", Charles asked casually, holding her tightly, gently stroking her after they'd both been to heaven and back again. Camilla giggled and rolled her eyes. "Oh Darling… we might have to optimise that proposal first…", she chuckled, kissing his lips firmly. "You don't want me to get down on one knee, do you?", he asked, looking at her in disbelief, and his eyes widened as she casually declared: "Of course! What else?" For a moment, she left him speechless but then burst into laughter, rolling on top of him, kissing him again, first still chuckling and innocently, but then more passionately once more, and eventually, they made love for a second time that afternoon.

"But darling, given I… I did get down on one knee… and there were candles and roses and classical music…", he pondered as he held her in his arms again afterwards. "And… champagne… and all the things you like… would you say 'yes' to me?" Camilla smiled and cuddled up to him even closer, tenderly stroking his face. "Of course I would. I still would if you didn't get down on one knee. I love you and of course I want to be with you. But I think we'd better not rush things." "No, let's rather wait for another 24 years.", he said cynically, rolling his eyes and she laughed, pressing a firm kiss on his lips. "Idiot. I'm not talking about 24 years. But you haven't even been divorced for 24 hours. People should have time to get to terms with that first, don't you think? And not only the public. Also our children. Especially yours. I know how difficult a divorce is for the children involved and we should be careful and not too pushy with them and get it all done smoothly, you know?", she asked, looking at him with puppy eyes. "Darling…", he whispered, marvelling at her as if she was the greatest miracle he had ever seen. "You sound like a true Princess, you know. You're so clever. Caring, considerate, empathic… just the perfect future Queen.", he gushed but she pulled a face, turning away from him. "Stop this!", she almost begged. "Whatever happens, the one thing that is certainly never going to happen is… that." She couldn't even bring herself to say that word. "But, you know, I don't even need that. I'd be more than happy just to be Mrs Mountbatten-Windsor.", she sighed and this time it was him chuckling. "No, darling, you will be my Princess first, and then, one day, you'll be my Queen. That's just what happens if you marry the heir to the throne. Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales. And one day… Her Majesty The…" Charles, no!", she interrupted and playfully boxed him. "If I really… must… have a title, can't I just be some sort of a Countess or Marchioness maybe? Like Fiona?" "Unfortunately, my darling, your future husband doesn't hold the title of a Marquess, so I'm afraid there's no chance for you to become a Marchioness, my beautiful darling. And for the Countess… I might be the Earl of Chester but… I can't have my future wife being outranked by her friends. So… you'll have to be a Duchess at least." "Of Cornwall, you mean?", she asked, knowing all of his titles and their respective "ranks" by heart; after the Prince of Wales, his second-highest title in England was the Duke of Cornwall with its female courtesy form Duchess of Cornwall. In Scotland it'll be the Duke and Duchess of Rothesay, which she quite liked if she was honest. "Yes. I'd still prefer you to be my Princess of Wales but if you really don't feel comfortable with that one, you could be known as the Duchess of Cornwall instead.", he promised her, sweetly kissing her forehead. Camilla sighed. It still sounded and fell all rather surreal to her and she couldn't see herself holding any kind of title other than "Mum", "Darling" or "Mrs…" But somehow life had brought her into this situation and if this really was her destiny, she was going to embrace it and give the very best she could - for the love of her life, and for their sweet little daughter. The thought of her brought along some other concerns.

"What will all of that mean for Thea, darling? What will change for her?", she asked insecurely "You know, we have just settled ourselves here and… she feels comfortable at school. She's got her friends, she likes her teachers… She's happy. And I don't want her to have to go through yet another major change. Perhaps we can… just let her finish primary school the way she's used to it and… arrange everything in time for her to start at a new school… wherever that may be… but so that she'll be able to finish something… properly. Before..." She tried to picture her and Thea's life as his official wife and more or less legitimate child and though she'd never had a lack of creativity or imagination, she couldn't really see that. Thea would probably be sent to an exclusive boarding school, as it was usually handled for girls from that circle, and she herself would move in with Charles, of course, possibly into his Apartment at St James's Palace, supporting him carrying out his duties, and it would probably be expected from her to get involved with some charitable causes as well, which actually wasn't an issue for her as she already was involved with some organisations anyway;

Following her mother's death, she had got in touch with the National Osteoporosis Society, a very small organisation based in Bath which wasn't far from where they lived, after their director Linda had so kindly reached out to her after hearing about her mother. She had sent her a charming letter and attached some literature which had so helped her and her family to understand what had been wrong with her mother during her final years and months, and it had also made her realise that her grandmother Sonia, who'd died the year before she had had Thea, must had suffered from the same disease as well. It had been a great comfort to know that they weren't alone in this and of course she had wanted to do what she could to help in return, though with her damaged public image she had been very cautious. However, last year in September, before that dreaded interview and all of the revelations, she had hosted a soiree at Bowood House, Fiona and Charlie's home, in order to raise funds for the charity and to her very surprise the event had been quite a success which had eventually caused Linda to ask her whether she would like become the charity’s patron - which she had considered a joke at first - but Linda had assured her that she really meant it and that Camilla had already proven just how much good she’d do the organisation by having helped over 10,000 pounds with the soiree plus the 12,500 pounds - her half of the settlement she and Andrew had got from “The Sun” after they had sued the magazine for having published personal pictures which had been stolen from them - by their long-standing and trusted, former housekeeper at Middlewick House who had sealed them to the newspaper for 25,000 pounds. The Sun had paid them same amount as a "compensation" but no money in the world could have ever compensated the intrusive and humiliating violation of their privacy, so she had given her entire half of it to the NOS, hoping that at least something good could come out of it all, so eventually she had agreed and had become their patron earlier that year. She had not yet quite figured out what exactly her new role was going to include but she really wanted to do what she could to raise awareness of what her own, and so many other families out there, were going through and if it also helped to improve her damaged image, and therefore Charles and their children, she was ready to get it started.

*Side Notes:

• Charles and Diana did get divorced on 28th August 1996

• From then, Diana was know as "Diana, Princess of Wales" which was a courtesy title. Had Charles remarried when she was still alive, his new wife would likely have been The Princess of Wales nonetheless, because he was The Prince of Wales. However, she could've still decided to be known by one of his lower ranked titles, just as Camilla did when she married I'm in 2005 and chose to be known as HRH The Duchess of Cornwall. She was still The Princess of Wales, though she didn't use it.

• Everything about Camilla's involvemt with the NOS is true. The stolen pictures published in The Sun, the settlement and compensation, and her quietly giving her half to the NOS. The soiree also happened as described.