#nicholasdsutton

[thlachesis]

Héléne’s approach was sudden and without warning, her eyes trained upon a fellow she neither knew or really thought to take true notice off. Still, she felt drawn to him, and when donned in something so flamboyant and decadent as her outfit for Ariadne, she ignored the call of her match that evening to meet a man who stood beneath the canopy of Greys, Seymours and Percys. Whether they all sung to the tune of the Tudors, Protestantism or Catholicism, Héléne didn’t think to truly care, and instead approached with a wavering smirk, her hand quickly touched upon his arm. “Adonis — am I right?” She asked, removing her hand Héléne adjusted the fall of her hair, a single finger then hooked around the head of the Minotaur that lay against her chest in signal for Ariadne’s greatest betrayal. “You wear it well, but I am sure a great manner of ladies have sweetened words for you, so I will reserve them. You are… hmm, let me think. You stand beside the Grey sisters with such pride, and so you must be the Duke of Suffolk! Am I right?” @nicholasdsutton

[edmcndd]

closed starter for @nicholasdsutton ! when: a few days post play in the park ! where: the gardens !

in another life, edmund wondered if he would've found a warm kinship of sorts with nicholas. perhaps they may have shared a summer or two together in northumberland, young boys with hounds chasing each other in some attempt at rivaling the stories their tutors told them. or one where edmund allowed the older man to press him against cool stone walls, plead with him to take something that could not be undone. a life where nicholas had yet to lay claim to the woman that had plucked edmund's heart so callously from his own chest, where he was not left bleeding garishly in the halls of hampton. alas, the idea remained simply another fantasy to keep the earl company on the colder evenings. instead, edmund stood before nicholas as a meaningless rival, for he may be captivated by philippa - but the feelings never truly were returned. 

with a tight smile on his face, edmund nodded his head in polite acknowledgement of the elder. " duke," he spoke, allowing himself a miniscule amount of defiance in his tone. he straightened slightly in his stance, making himself appear large before the other. " it is a pity that we were not privy to crossing paths the other evening." half haughty smile threatened to tug at the corner of his mouth. " i must request we rectify the blunder forthwith, perhaps a hunting expedition between dear friends?" vividly bright eyes bore gently into nicholas' own, a challenge within them. 

[bloodydayshq]

@nicholasdsutton

@mendozaed

[philippaed]

it  should  be  impossible  to  experience  with  lengths  of  affection  for  another  ─  a  feeling  that  was  so  strong  that  it  could  move  mountains,  so  improbable  that  it  could  change  night  into  day,  so  frightening  that  she  trembled  against  him  with  a  nervous  energy  as  though  she  were  a  bird  within  his  grasp.  from  the  moment  her  eyes  had  beheld  him  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  her  resolve  to  remain  as  elusive  to  his  influence  had  faltered  and  with  every  clever  smile,  every  keen  gaze  shared  across  the  room,  nicholas  had  navigated  the  intricacies  of  her  tartarus  heart  like  a  fearless  figure  from  the  myths  and  she  was  helpless  to  his  loving  perseverance,  melting  like  wax  against  his  warm  touch  and  frequent  praise.  she  was  no  stranger  to  desire,  both  the  feeling  of  yearning  for  another  and  the  state  of  being  yearned  for  by  another,  but  none  had  enveloped  her  as  securely  as  he  had  ─  a  firm  presence  by  her  side,  his  body  and  soul  available  for  her  protection,  for  her  bidding.  it  pleased  the  covetous,  yawning  maw  in  her  chest  that  demanded  for  complete  devotion  and  in  turn,  she  awarded  him  with  a  complete  softness  that  no  one  else  was  privy  to  witnessing.  upon  her  thumb,  the  weight  of  her  father's  leonine  ring  glistened  but  before  nicholas,  she  was  a  fat  housecat  with  her  belly  showing,  begging  for  his  consuming  tenderness.

all  teeth,  her  lips  parted  into  a  smile  against  his  skin  at  the  tremor  that  her  words  had  inspired,  breathy  noises  pressed  to  his  mouth  in  between  peppered  kisses.  ❝  you  blaspheme  ...  oh,  how  i  love  you  ...  i  will  profess  it  daily  if  you  so  desire,  it  will  fill  my  every  correspondence  so  that  decades  ...  nay,  centuries  from  now,  they  will  find  my  letters  and  know  that  i  love  you.  ❞  a  fierce  declaration  from  one  that  did  not  do  anything  in  half  measure,  her  heart  was  both  made  hollow  and  full  by  his  words  ─  would  that  they  could  linger  in  this  sanctuary  forever  so  that  she  could  keep  him  for  her  own,  his  charming  goodness  bestowed  on  no  one  other  than  herself  and  the  children  that  would  come  from  their  union.  curious  tickles  morphed  into  sharp  claws,  pinpricks  of  a  needle  against  the  firmness  of  his  arms  as  she  seized  him  with  a  desperation  seen  in  the  glisten  of  her  eyes.  philippa  was  struck  both  with  pride  and  terror,  possessiveness  compelling  her  to  smother  him  in  gratitude  and  reprimand  ─  she  would  find  no  better  champion  for  her  cause  than  nicholas  but  she  despised  the  very  thought  of  harm  befalling  him  and  was  no  shy  to  make  certain  that  he  knew  it.  ❝  it  would  make  me  happy  to  have  you  by  my  side  ...  to  grow  old  with  you  and  count  the  wrinkles  in  your  smiling  face.  you  are  not  allowed  to  die,  least  of  all  for  me.  i  forbid  it,  i  forbid  it.  ❞  

each  command  was  punctured  with  the  digging  of  nails  into  flesh,  with  kisses  to  his  lips  and  cheeks  ─  if  she  could  climb  into  his  shirt,  she  would  have  done  so  but  philippa  sated  herself  with  ridding  him  of  the  hindersome  material,  bearing  his  neck  and  collarbone  for  her  questing  mouth.  teeth  sunk  into  his  shoulder  as  punishment  for  the  demeaning  manner  in  which  he  spoke  of  himself,  for  the  ennobling  manner  in  which  he  elevated  her  as  though  he  were  not  the  better  of  the  two.  ❝  you  are  my  prize.  ❞  hissed,  she  sought  to  reassure  him  the  only  way  that  she  knew  how.  ❝  mine  own  ...  my  husband.  your  heart,  your  mind,  your  clever  tongue,  all  belong  to  me  and  that  makes  you  worthy  of  everything.  anything.  i  will  give  you  anything.  ❞  he  had  invited  her  to  indulge  and  so  she  had,  a  beastly  little  thing  as  she  stripped  him  of  his  linens  and  brought  her  hands  to  where  the  ties  of  his  hose  were  kept  in  place  by  a  heavy  leather  belt.  deft  fingers  picked  at  the  buckled  strap,  grumbling  her  frustrations  at  the  impracticality  of  so  many  ties  and  straps  until  she  could  slip  her  hand  between  fabric  and  against  skin,  nails  scratching  lightly  at  the  coarse  hairs  that  led  from  his  belly  to  the  base  of  his  cock  ─  with  a  delighted  hum  at  her  success  at  navigating  the  difficult  ties  whilst  otherwise  preoccupied  with  kissing  down  his  front,  tongue  dragging  down  the  center  of  his  chest  as  she  giggled  up  at  him,  philippa  wrapped  her  fingers  around  the  length  of  him,  breathing  out  a  sigh  at  the  warm  flesh  beneath  her  touch.  

❝  mhm  ...  this  is  mine  too,  is  it  not  ?  ❞  with  a  steady  hand,  she  stroked  him  to  full  hardness  to  the  best  of  her  ability  with  such  a  restrictive  amount  of  space,  thumb  circling  the  head  of  his  cock  until  the  first  beads  of  pleasure  spread  beneath  her  fingers.  hunger  filled  her  mouth  at  the  thought  of  tasting  him  but  there  was  too  little  time  to  indulge  and  she  wanted  both  her  hands  on  him  and  his  hands  on  her.  dragging  the  palm  that  was  braced  against  the  hard  panes  of  his  stomach,  she  brought  his  hand  to  the  stretch  of  her  covered  thigh  and  then  higher,  higher  until  he  could  cup  over  her  mound,  the  heat  radiating  from  her  slick  center  palpable  even  with  the  layers  of  her  dress  between  them.  ❝  i  am  yours  ...  make  me  yours,  darling.  damn  this  dress  and  damn  the  seamstress  ...  i  ache  for  you,  body  and  soul.  please,  nick.  ❞  her  voice  rose  to  a  reedy  whimper,  pushing  her  hips  forward  with  a  wantonness  better  suited  for  peasants  than  a  lady  of  noble  birth  but  alas,  he  reduced  her  to  her  baser  desires,  emptying  her  mind  of  all  thoughts  that  were  not  of  him  and  the  pleasure  that  could  be  found  in  their  marital  bed.

 Philippa's manner towards Nicholas was touched with dignity; he hardly knew how to blend together in his mind the delicate dame and the avenging seraph. Her infantine sparkle had yet to be extinguished that night - she yielded to the effervescence of glee. She possessed different moods for different people; with him, she was affectionate, merry, and as womanly as thought and feeling could make her. For the court, she was reliant and expansive, able to shun and pursue the endeavour of appearing cold. Nicholas believed he alone called into her face a pleasurable glow, and and induced a gossamer happiness hanging in the air. The summit of earthly happiness was to love - to be loved, brought Nicholas to the end of all mortal misery. Nicholas felt her natural position was to be by his side; her eyes and ears were dedicated to him. His love had rendered him ductile in her hands, his affection and devoutness blinded his eyes sometimes - he would abandon justice to himself to the craft of marriage. Nicholas loved her now in another degree; she was more his own. 

He had neither anticipated nor invoked her words, which made him shudder involuntarily. "Soft or sharp? For you I am in the habit of obeying both; it is the manner of your breathing, which shall dictate whether to stroke or meet you with force. I am painfully selfish and wish to rid myself of the affliction altogether; but I am bent to obey the mould I was cast in. I know in my heart your are mine - but to hear you tell me you love me, I am made wholly new. I lay this charge upon you like a prayer - I must be a sinner indeed." Scarce a living could be so noble and honourable as to love her. He loved her too well - too much so, to smite jealousy from his path, though a cordial word from her lips would do him good for the span of a life. Nicholas owned jealousy's severe charm - there was something so wholly good in Pippa, that she could not receive it. "My life will not be well spent if it is not dedicated to the procuring of your happiness; should the Boleyns favour my head upon a spike, I could not protest my fatal post, so long as you will think of me tenderly and fondly, every now and then." Bravery and desperation sufficed to fill the post and did the work of courage in Nicholas. He was not a man whom one would seek to send to war; but of sacrificing himself for Philippa, he made no difficulty. The restraint in their marriage had since slackened in prolonged attentions; already to Philippa's lip and cheek geniality reigned, and a wreathing, dimpling smile returned. Nicholas did not merely purport levity, nor raillery, across his aspect - his position had become more pleasurable to himself, and he spoke this augmented comfort in readier language, in tones more suave. 

  Nicholas' heart trembled beside her; stars merely shone subject beside Pippa, and he, with the numinous the ray of pure love, paid willing tribute. "I am no prize - but I am yours in spades, Pippa. I know what it is to call you mine, and I can only offer you the weight of unconditional love as solace." In inadequate language his feelings struggled for expression they could not get - speech was made brittle and unmalleable. She was his queen; royal for him was her lips bounty, to offer homage was both a joy and a duty. Her kiss stirred him up, running with haste and heat through his veins - recalling past hours of prolonged pleasure, and many days and nights of heart sickness. Philippa kissed him and he arbitrated her destiny; love was no oracle, but he pronounced her a diety upon Earth. This moment of tenderness was one of utmost mutiny; he took her lips once more, for one more taste of the deep spell of peace. His words caressed her ear. "Take my love. Be my dearest, first on earth." He took a delight inexpressible in pressing her to him now, his fingers brushing against those which sought to undo his buttons; she deserved candour, and from Nicholas, she always had it. "Be mine. You inquired if I shall be soft or sharp; I am a blade now, and I wish to be charged by your seamstress for the destruction of this frock."

[philippaed]

enclosed  with  the  letter  is  a  painted  miniature  of  the  duchess  of  suffolk  and  a  lock  of  her  burnt - gold  hair,  meant  to  be  affixed  to  a  chain  and  hung  around  his  neck.

to  the  one  who  commands  my  entire  being,

    how  can  i  be  happy  when  half  of  my  soul  is  kept  away  from  me,  parted  by  distance  and  duty  to  the  king  ?  if  i  am  kept  busy,  it  is  only  to  occupy  my  thoughts  with  something  other  than  a  longing  for  your  presence  else  i  would  be  laid  prone  in  our  marriage  bed,  useless  to  all  who  call  upon  me  if  they  do  not  possess  your  voice.  like  lazarus  in  the  tomb,  your  words  beckon  me  back  to  life  and  fill  me  with  a  delight  that  i  will  kindle  in  the  evenings  when  the  cold  drives  me  to  seek  out  the  memory  of  your  warmth  between  the  sheets.  is  it  cruel  that  i  find  joy  in  the  thought  that  you  are  as  displaced  in  misery  as  i  am  ─  that  the  only  joy  you  can  find  is  by  my  side  and  in  my  hand  ?  i  care  naught  for  william  beyond  inquiring  of  when  he  will  return  to  court  if  only  because  it  will  see  your  return  as  well.  i  confess  that  i  am  eager  to  reunite  with  cousin  mary  who  i  have  only  conversed  with  through  letters  and  gazed  at  through  portraits,  and  i  know  that  my  mother  is  similarly  enthused  to  have  the  daughter  of  katherine  of  aragon  and  the  true  princess  of  england  back  on  english  soil.

    the  contents  of  my  desk  lay  strewn  across  the  room  to  make  space  for  the  letters  that  i  write  and  never  send  to  you,  papers  of  just  your  name  written  until  my  hands  seize  with  the  sweetest  pain  of  my  devotion  to  you.  how  else  can  i  assure  you  of  my  undivided  affection  ?  no  one  sees  me  as  you  see  me,  no  one  has  gotten  so  close.  you  live  beneath  my  skin,  you  are  in  my  veins,  you  are  what  sustains  me  ─  knowing  this  now,  how  then  can  you  withhold  your  words  from  me  ?  does  the  distance  between  us  put  a  chasm  in  your  affection  for  me  ?  do  you  resent  me  for  not  fighting  to  make  the  journey  with  you  by  robbing  me  of  your  delightful  romancing  ?  i  am  left  cold  in  our  chambers  without  you  by  my  side,  must  you  take  the  beauty  of  your  sweet  words  from  me  as  well  ?

    write  to  me.  i  demand  it.  i  am  mistress  of  your  heart  and  so  i  decree  that  you  must  write  to  me  so  that  when  my  eyes  close  for  the  evening  and  my  fingers  drift  upon  my  skin,  i  can  think  of  you  and  pretend  that  you  are  whispering  to  me  in  the  darkness.  there  is  an  emptiness  in  my  chest  when  we  are  apart.  fill  it  with  your  letters,  a  poor  substitute  for  your  mighty  person  but  one  that  i  must  content  myself  with  for  now.

    i  miss you,  i  miss  you,  i  miss  you.  i  love  you,  i  love  you,  i  love  you.

    you  were  made  for  me,  for  my  love,  sharp  as  barbs  and  sweet  as  molasses.  i  await  for  your  return  with  arms  outstretched.  in  me  you  will  find  a  warm  and  willing  mistress,  a  soft  wife  to  soothe  your  weary  body,  so  come  home  to  me  soon  and  i  will  press  each  devoted  word,  each  desperate  kiss,  each  hungry  bite  to  your  flesh  and  consume  you  entirely  with  the  intensity  of  my  yearning.  oh,  you  see  how  you  have  made  a  fool  of  me  !  need  you  further  validation  of  my  love  for  you  ?  what  other  man  can  reduce  me  to  such  a  state  ?

your  foolish  little  wife.

@philippaed

amongst a dozen letters addressed to philippa, lays a note in nicholas' hand; he hopes, that the font would attract her immediately. 

Dearest Pippa -

It does occur to me to inquire what you have been doing with yourself in my absence - I daresay you have been as happy and as busy as ourselves on our honeymoon. As to the King; he is so sought after, engaged, that one will fear he will grow evermore conceited. Like a good sister, Mary seems keen to keep him down - no flattery does he get from her. And yet, William is a fine man - the Dowager's maternal heart must dance, at the sight of him. A certain petrifying influence surrounds the Spanish; Mary being a cold, callous epicure of all things. She is all that is famed of her late mother - she is useless as far as the communication of knowledge, but strict surveillance and observance of religious practices, she is invaluable. I find myself part of a strange, frolicsome and busy little world - I should not find anything as striking or brilliant, as my the part of my heart which remains at his majesty's court. 

  I sit down, take quill and paper because I love you, and have much to say to you; in all I write, I am tender and true. Be gentle to me, Pippa; be pitying, be a woman - imagine this poor face, and relent. You know I am your husband and friend - I love you in even your wrath, with a passion beyond any realm of what I have ever felt. Your reply will be my last comfort in a strait of loneliness; I have long accepted part is to please another. My delight is to feed my ravenous sentiments of love for you. Our detractors pronounce you a most villainous little she-hypocrite; but it is I who am a mere despotic little creature, and you, a lady of high honour. With the full benefit of your light, I allow you to think of me as more in the dark than I really am. I miss you in every waking moment; I pray for the angel of sleep to take hold, and offer me the only relief viable for a love-sick fool. The very thought of neglecting you so pierces my heart that I might cry. Life is said to be a disappointment; but towards me, I hope you shall never harbour such a notion. I have written three times - subduing my romantic phrases at every rescript. You have yet to deride my dramatic demonstrations; but I wish for my letter to only worry your features in a warm smile. 

Write to me and offer me refuge from this Tudor clique I cannot evade- write to me and affirm that you love me, that you'll have me when I return. I know it is tiresome to reaffirm affections time and time again - how has Nick, despite all his simpleness, not taken my word to heart? It is not you who I am in doubt of; it worries me that I am not a man made in the shape of someone who will be loved.

devotedly and with deep admiration, yours

nicholas 

[katharined]

The powdery fragrance of bluebells and peonies sprouting from Hampton Court’s vast lawns followed in the Duchess’s wake as she strolled alongside her son-in-law, her arm linked with the gentleman who, by virtuous conquest of the marital bed, had inherited her late father’s dukedom. Katharine was only all too avid to regard Nicholas as formality dictated, to adorn so worthy a gentleman with the velveteen regalia and gilded scepters once sported by both her late kin, and took care to roll the appellation of ‘my lord Suffolk’ from her tongue with unalloyed sweetness. The occasion of Philippa and Nicholas’ nuptials had seen the Duchess take great pains to familiarize the couple – still dusted in the lavender haze of marital bliss – with their titles, their lands, with the acclaim they ought to inspire by the highest and lowest of the realm. She found Nicholas’ tact and eloquence and willingness to achieve greatness most charming, and as husband to her precious daughter, the Duke of Suffolk had set a gold standard amongst mortal men.

Albeit it was late in the day to go walking, the late-summer sun and Nicholas’ warm company beckoned Katharine invitingly. Her light eyes squinted in the bright blaze of the afternoon heat, her chin canted upward to cut her look of oozing approval across the underside of Nicholas’ jaw. Ever unable to give into her own tiredness, Katharine was determined to portray herself as the perfect courtier, the perfect mother, determined and unwilting. ‘Our Philippa would tell you that there can only be one Katharine of Suffolk,’ the Dowager proclaimed, ‘but if God sees fit to bless you with a daughter or two, I will be tempted to lavish my little namesake even greater affection than I do Jack.’ Not for the first time, Katharine’s brow furrowed as she contemplated the babe Philippa had already lost – born in royal blood. Nothing but the sound of gravel crushed beneath her footsteps followed, her skirts swishing as they walked the little way up the slope beyond the garden gates, affording the sedate pair a sweeping, panoramic view of the Palace, bracketed by tufts of ivory clouds and the verdant hills below.

‘Oh, you flatter me when you need not, my lord Suffolk, for you need no further approval from me.’ Though she feigned a flush, Katharine’s eyes shone with resolve. ‘I am impatient, I confess, to secure my daughters’ futures. My late mother left us when I was still in the first flush of youth, when she and I still had so many things to do… I would never seek to leave my girls so… unmoored.’ She blinked away the lingering regret in her gaze, her voice trailing away into a prolonged pregnant pause. ‘I admit that they are not as steely as I am. They are governed by something else entirely – oh, I believe it is called a heart.’ Katharine’s lips were parched for a drag of wine, though she continued to smile knowingly. ‘Your babies, in any event, will be blessed. And with Philippa’s blood, and your strength…’ She squeezed Nicholas’ arm, comfortingly. ‘I foresee things ending very well for us. Just promise me you shan’t intend to barter my hand out to the noblest bidder?’

for: @katharined

a mother-son stroll in the gardens

    Nicholas found a moment's leisure, and with a pensive sort of content, set out for his newfound lady mother's quarters. It was sacrilege - the intrusion of a man into the apartments of the Grey's - but Nicholas knew himself privileged; perhaps he believed himself trusted. Common sense was a virtue Nicholas digested at his own pleasure. Katharine's ladies introduced Nicholas with reluctance; he hastily offered his pardons, and the request of her company. Instead of sending him away, Katharine detained him to take a turn with in the gardens she knew him to love; they toured merrily, beneath a sky which blushed so vividly, that its hue mirrored the temperate blue light of Kate's eyes, bestowing all a warm glow. All walks and shrubs in the garden had acquired a new interest; plants, full and bright with bloom, basked in the sun's bounty.

   Katharine was all-good nature; she spoke with that famed tact of hers, surpassed by no living thing - for his faults, she would not tender a remonstrance. He liked her for her capital sense, and her principles; under any mask of asperity, she was good-hearted."I risk tempting fate by wagering you shall have a grandchild born in the new year - would you afford me the honour, of naming our child in your honour? I do not disparage my wife in dismissing she shall afford me male heirs; but I cannot deny the fondness, the notion of a little Katharine brings me." Smart, trim and pert, Katharine eschewed the dumpy, motherly little body a grandmother was wont to inhabit; without youth, her beauty still cheered - one never tired of seeing her. "The court is a flurry over King William's prospects - but he is by far, outstripped by you, in his eligibility on the marriage circuit; would you scoff at notions of marrying a rich Italian banker, or one of the Emperor's finest? I would mourn your departure from our side, but it would be foolish to deny you delight the courts still with your beauty and singledom." 

[johnseymour]

John and Nicholas had forged a fast friendship, even before they had become brothers by marriage. Nicholas had been one of the few to treat him with a measure of respect, something which he had always appreciated. After his nuptials, he had also provided John with comfort and security in terms of coming to be with Amelia, the man's presence an easy excuse for his trips, should anyone take note of them.

Taking a bite of his bread, John pulled a face, thinking for a moment. "That depends on who you ask. He was gone, yes, but he had his sister to occupy his place. It would seem to me that she enjoyed it, perhaps too well." There were few people in the world that John would ever voice such thoughts to, entirely aware of the treasonous bent that could be read into his words. "I am certain that Philippa would have benefited greatly from spending her time in Dover with you. Events here caused her much anxiety." For a moment he paused. "I am not certain that she and I are on speaking terms, just now. We had quite the confrontation, regarding the rumours in Florence."

He nodded, relieved at the notion. "Some sport would be a pleasant distraction. A ride, at least. Though I think the cold is already nipping at our heels. And you can more freely tell me how you found events in Dover. Do you think the Spanish friends or foes?"

@johnseymour

location: bois breakfast!!!! 

 He had time to bathe his eyes before breakfast -- dreams of Pippa as a basilisk, coiled around Edmund, had plagued his rest. Nicholas appeared as serene as any other person; not however, as jocund looking as his brother by marriage, who seated himself in the seat beside his own - who fixed on him, a pair of small eyes twinkling gleefully. Treason and sinful behaviours agreed with John mightily; he had become taller, a freshness of bloom about him. Nicholas did not care for the morning cup of tea; Hampton Court's brewage not being strong or sweet enough to suit his excellent appetites. This mourning he was glad for the draught of hunger - he chose to give his bread to John rather to any other vessel. Nicholas rather liked to let him take the lion's share; whether that of beer, or sweet wine - even when the women wrangled, they were never alienated from one another. 

"How did court fair in his majesty's absence? Was my bride pleased to occupy the space his bravado usually occupies? The Dover affair was full of malice, dramatics, and antipathy; in short, a Grey daughter would have better enjoyed it than I." Philippa and her kin boasted meritorious endowments of a higher nature; a thirst for melodrama, lurked as an interloper in their more charitable traits. "It has been some time since the two of us were engaged in our own endeavours - do you still enjoy tennis, or the hunt? The weather is soon to turn; let us make the best of the remainder of merry weather." 

[philippaed]

if  there  ever  was  any  hesitation  to  disclose  how  he  possessed  the  entirety  of  her  heart  to  those  that  inquired  of  her  marital  bliss,  it  was  not  meant  to  disregard  the  gentle  manner  in  which  he  had  captured  the  fragile,  butterfly - winged  beat  between  his  hands  where  so  many  others  had  failed.  so  much  about  their  coupling  had  been  made  public,  the  crown  wielding  great  influence  over  her  personal  life  after  henry  grey  had  passed  by  presenting  her  with  an  option  that  was  no  true  choice  so  philippa  did  not  think  it  was  unreasonable  to  wish  that  the  love  had  sparked  between  them  remained  between  them  ─  not  even  her  mother  and  sisters  were  so  privileged  as  to  know  the  depths  of  her  affection,  how  nicholas  had  turned  her  from  clenched  fist  to  out - turned  glove,  the  softness  of  her  insides  exposed  for  his  clever  hand.  she  had  oft  wondered  if  he  understood  her  reasoning,  if  he  knew  just  how  selfish  she  could  be  when  it  came  to  sharing  the  details  of  his  devotion  to  her  or  the  guilt  that  would  twist  in  her  belly  whenever  she  realized  that  if  the  play  for  the  throne  dragged  her  down  to  hell,  he  would  be  dragged  along  with  her.  it  was  both  possessiveness  and  protectiveness  that  drove  her  to  keep  him  as  secret  as  one  could  in  a  marriage,  a  useless  hope  that  if  the  executioner  called  for  her  head,  he  might  still  be  saved  if  no  one  knew  that  he  was  her  greatest  weakness.

❝  only  after  we  retire  ?  then  let  us  do  so  immediately.  would  you  not  have  me  now,  soft  or  sharp,  if  you  could,  husband  ?  ❞  the  blunted  edges  of  her  nails  scratched  up  his  arm  as  she  spoke,  the  very  weight  of  his  gaze  upon  her  face,  unbroken  in  devoted  intensity  was  enough  to  quicken  the  pulse  and  kindle  a  growing  wave  of  desire  in  her  belly.  philippa  swayed  with  the  feeling,  breathing  the  words  upon  his  lips.  ❝  you  know  you  hold  monopoly  over  my  attention  no  matter  who  stands  before  me  ...  king  or  god,  all  men  falter  in  your  wake.  you  must  know  this.  ❞  there  was  a  hint  of  desperation  in  her  tone,  a  beseeching  whine  that  demanded  his  understanding  and  his  acceptance  of  her  divided  attention  ─  she  could  never  be  a  wife  to  sit  at  his  feet  and  rub  the  ache  from  his  legs  but  she  could  give  him  the  truest  parts  of  her  if  he  wished.  he  was  her  harbor  in  the  storm,  her  light  in  the  darkness,  her  stability  in  a  rocking  boat  and  she  would  not  be  without  his  grounding  strength.  the  questing  hand,  dancing  fingers  and  tickling  nails,  drifted  up  until  she  cupped  his  face,  drawing  him  close  with  a  thumb  stroking  his  cheek.  ❝  put  in  a  kind  word  where  you  can  but  not  at  the  risk  of  your  own  good  standing  with  the  king  ...  i  could  not  survive  if  the  eyes  of  the  boleyns  turned  to  you  with  anything  but  praise.  ❞  and  perhaps  that  was  the  most  frightening  realization  of  all  ─  that  she  would  condemn  her  sister,  john  and  even  little  jack  if  it  meant  saving  her  husband,  that  she  could  become  a  monster  that  ate  her  own  kin  to  ensure  the  survival  of  the  one  she  loved  the  most.  

(  no  one  could  know  the  depths  of  her  heart,  not  even  the  one  that  had  claimed  it  for  his  own.  he  would  fear  her  if  he  knew  and  it  would  kill  her  to  see  that  disgust  in  his  eyes.  )

❝  you  have  it  ...  you  have  me.  ❞  a  trembling  breath  was  shared,  her  voice  breaking  into  a  whisper  as  she  blindly  reached  for  his  fingers  with  one  hand  so  that  she  could  bring  him  up  to  where  her  heart  laid  beneath  her  shift,  pressing  the  warmth  of  his  palm  against  her  chest.  ❝  have  me  ...  have  me,  darling.  ❞  as  light  as  a  feather,  she  dropped  a  kiss  to  his  mouth  ─  once,  twice,  thrice,  followed  by  the  demand,  the  taunt,  the  challenge,  the  need.  ❝  my  soul  is  a  tempest  so  make  your  home  here.  ❞  the  hand  on  his  cheek  drifted  south  to  paw  at  his  doublet,  fingers  forming  claws  that  dug  into  the  rich  fabric  and  tugged  at  the  polished  buttons.  

 Nicholas did not know if he found the women gathered that eve very beautiful; but their dresses were so perfect and their aspects warm and cheerful. Even the foreigners, mannerless in a foreign land, seemed to possess the art of appearing graceful. Many possessed a beauty never seen in England - the egotism of lovers saw Nicholas mark no equal to Philippa, not even Anne Boleyn's Virginal Princess . She was a Phidian goddess, a Madonna of Rome; she was blonde, terribly cold, rounded and beauteous. His mother had entreated him the day they had met, as Philippa turned, conscious that was she was a mark for all eyes . 'You need not fall in love with that lady' she began ' for you could die at her feet, and she would still not love you in return'. Nicholas' mother had born the notion no greater calamity could befall her as to be granted a daughter in law - for whom her sons sting of desperation, was little more than an irritant to her emotions. One could feel a sense of fear, looking upon Pippa - to gaze at her straight, nearly Grecian features was unsettling. Women achieve beauty as praise; but Pippa reigned beyond this sphere, and thus, what was she? What is a woman beyond the most powerful moniker, afforded to her sex? She spun for him, boasting attractions of light and eloquence, for her rose-like bloom, for the tender depth of his eyes. He would have once stammered lame expressions; but he covered his deficiency, with the urgency her countenance and sweetness, swiftly altering the flow of blood in his undergarments. "I adore whatever ministrations you wish to afford me - whether it be a simpering sigh, or the stinging of your nails, clinging to my back. Will I be in a position to receive the latter after we retire?" Pippa was fierce, dark and fearless; he feared his incessant flattery, would be his doom. 

"If you say yes, I pray that you shall award me the names of every man whom has sought to entreat you into conversation - shall you name the King himself? Or has the man so repugnant and beguiling in tandem, once more shown up at your door, a bird in his teeth?" It was impossible to show up her sterling value and high breeding ; to do so one would be forced to make comparison to Mary Stuart, who moved with the calm of a fatalist. Nicholas felt no terror at all, upon Pippa's demands and whims - he was eager merely, to furnish her with accommodating love and civility. "I swear to you, I shall devout myself to Agnes and John's cause - they shall live openly soon, I swear it. But your own influence is a titan, is it not? I believe it to be you, whom shall see your family restored; and all affairs of the heart, forgiven." He smiled til he was warm; he bent his head to hers, and there opened up a light in his eye worth seeing - his voice was no uncertain sound but rather a triumphant bell, ringing at twilight.  "Stay with me always. I would make a home for us in the heart of a tempest if you would let me. You belong to the courts and I do not contest your ambitions; but grant me your heart." I cannot suffer the indignity of being its second ranked patron. 

[philippaed]

though  no  one  in  the  family  could  deny  that  there  had  been  a  measure  of  genuine  affection  between  her  parents,  katherine  brandon  had  always  held  herself  with  an  air  of  composure  that  philippa  could  only  assume  had  been  inherited  from  queen  mary  tudor  of  france  ─  there  was  no  such  self - restrain  in  her  daughter,  however,  as  peals  of  giggles  escaped  the  column  of  her  throat  at  the  theatrics  that  her  husband  often  took  upon  himself,  acting  as  though  she  were  the  most  beautiful  creature  he  had  ever  seen,  leaving  him  breathless  with  compliments  that  would  draw  a  wide,  shy  smile  to  her  features  that  left  her  cheeks  pink  with  mirth  and  no  small  amount  of  adoration.  only  in  the  privacy  of  their  rooms,  beneath  his  unflinchingly  devoted  gaze  could  she  afford  to  be  at  ease,  slender  fingers  encased  in  his  warm  palm  as  he  guided  her  to  spin  upon  a  foot  so  that  her  skirts  fanned  out  around  her  and  her  curls,  unbound,  bounced  with  her  movements.  ❝  and  why  would  i  be  sweet  to  you  ?  would  you  not  rather  feel  my  bite  against  the  flesh  of  your  shoulder,  husband  ?  ❞  imperious,  she  spoke  from  above  her  nose  though  her  tone  lacked  genuine  arrogance  and  possessed  only  fondness  for  the  man  that  stood  before  her  ─  her  fool  of  a  husband  with  whom  she  had  found  unexpected  happiness.  it  made  her  almost  guilty  to  be  so  ludacriously  delighted  by  him  when  she  had  protested  so  heavily  when  their  marriage  had  first  been  proposed  but  with  each  day  that  passed,  nicholas  had  curled  around  her  walled  heart  and  sang  her  praises  until  the  gates  had  parted  to  allow  him  entrance  where  so  few  had  succeeded.

❝  will  you  be  jealous  if  i  said  yes  ?  i  have  never  had  anyone  fight  for  my  attention  before.  ❞  philippa  was  a  cruel  woman  when  it  came  to  her  heart.  she  was  a  demanding  sister  and  a  possessive  lover,  pushing  the  boundaries  because  she  would  never  feel  worthy  of  the  affection  that  she  was  given  unless  she  was  working  to  earn  it  and  doubting  their  devotion  unless  it  was  proven,  over  and  over  again.  nicholas  deserved  a  kinder  wife,  one  that  did  not  conspire  and  risk  both  their  necks,  one  that  did  not  keep  secrets  from  him  that  he  was  owed  the  knowledge  of  but  she  could  only  hope  he  would  forgive  her  in  time.  ❝  i  will  not  have  it  said  that  i  am  not  merciful  or  humble  ...  it  would  not  do  any  good  to  boast  of  just  how  dedicated  my  husband  is  when  poor  agnes  cannot  claim  john  as  her  own.  ❞  her  fingers  squeezed  his  hand,  drawing  closer  to  him  until  their  foreheads  met  with  a  gentle  bump  ─  when  confronted  with  the  struggles  that  her  sister  faced,  philippa  could  not  help  but  feel  grateful  that  there  was  someone  that  she  could  share  such  gentleness  with  and  that  her  graceful  collection  in  public  was  an  act  that  she  had  chosen  to  undertake  rather  than  a  circumstance  that  was  forced  upon  her.  ❝  can  we  stay  like  this  for  a  moment  ?  you  have  made  me  deliriously  happy  and  i  ...  i  am  all  at  sea.  ❞

for: @philippaed

Eyes blue and serene, round as beads; fascinatingly pretty, in her highest spirits (unperturbed by fear or dullness) and exceedingly delightful at the prospect of shining before the English court - the entrance of Philippa Grey, his bride, transfixed him with excitement. Pippa possessed a fair, fragile style of beauty which one was entirely incapable of enduring - in taking such a wife, Nicholas had prepared to guarantee her an existence of all sunshine. By mere glimpses of her, it was easily proved that genuine love - if not ardent admiration - was at her command. Nicholas invariably bored his wife with compliments - but how beautiful she looked, so fresh, with a shape altogether English. He took her hand, and bade her to turn airily round, as to undergo a cooler inspection. Never was the distinction between duty and ambition better exemplified than in her - he suddenly felt the dishonour of his own diffidence, of his pusillanimity. "Be sweet to me, Pips, and allow me to award you compliments a woman of your order deserve. Your dress is spellbinding, even if your beauty requires no ornamentation. Have you yet been approached by eager panting courtiers, wishing for a bit of sweetness from your lips?" 

  Flattery and fiction both ran from his tongue, but her presence invoked glibness. "Your sisters are equally beauteous in every way, though I think you rank chief among them - though you shall spare me my love? From their wrath should this information be repeated; I know your sisters to be deft with wielding slippers, and as cunning as they appear sweet." Nicholas bore a mischievous smile about his lips, and in his eyes a look of elation. One never tired of gazing at Pippa, her cheek with its wholesome bloom, her eye with its temperate blue light - she pleased not with moderation, but with consistency) 

[thlachesis]

Héléne presented herself in her sheer, almost tempestuous, gown — leaning into him as if he were her playmate, her lover tied to the skin of her breast. Unlike the foolish, coy nature of the Englishwomen, Héléne had no quarry in acting as such, even if he were brought in union to a royal courtier — a Grey, a woman thrown to the wolves in the lady’s eye, someone straddling purgatory before judgement day. And though the words that slipped past his lips were nothing short of the tune once spoken by a man totally, and utterly in love with someone else, Héléne offered a familial smile, despite the need to tuck beneath the surface, to find out what else could drip from such well tuned lips. “A compliment delights even Helen of Troy, that is sure,” she replied, nodding towards the person in question, a Percy she did not know. With a sigh, the French maid of honour slid against the wall, her back pressed against the cool stone with her hands held by her side, her dark piercing gaze attached to him, as if to insure a true honesty. “Monsieur, yes and no. You see, I have done my research… as have you, it seems,” Hélene spun, keeping his gaze for just a moment before she looked across the heads of merriment, her tongue then pressed against her inner cheek. “You know more than I, my Lord. This Iberian celebration, this need for costume. Do you think it hides something sinful?” She asked, a smirk barely lifting the corner of her mouth, a slick wink flickered from one eye. 

"Ariadne! Have you come to be my guide?" Héléne’s approach was with the sweeping, fluid, gliding step of each heavenly body that eve; blooming with exuberance, as to eclipse the person who last came. Speaking with a sweet smile, her attire was pretty to behold -- bare-headed she came upon him, her dark hair brazenly curled and displayed. Nicholas desired his company to be neither damping, nor insignificant; a glow of good feeling passed perfectly upon his cheek, warmed still by a kissed place by Pippa, hours past.  "I am no hallmark of great beauty, though I imagine it is quite a burden -- do you grow weary of compliments, or do they still delight you? I am blessed at least, by the warmth of my bride's love; a Grey sister, through and through. Be honest and we shall be friends -- do I wear my title stamped across my forehead, or have one of my bride's sisters, sewn a sign to my back? Regardless, dear lady, I know you - who else, but the mystical, Héléne d'Halluin?"