An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V

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Dragonboy

Felipe and Joana have a son at last! The name isn't surprising but Felipe will make sure little Carlos never feels about him as he did with his own father.

Luis hurtado, you were a great man. Your sacrifce shall never be forgotten.

Poor Joao, losing so many family members and the love of his life, it really sucked the life out of him.
 

BoleynBuff

I’m glad Felipe and Joana have a son, even if the emperor chose his name. At least Felipe will make sure to be the father to his son that his own father wasn’t to him.

Felipe and Luis’ goodbye was so heartbreaking. Part of me wants Navarre returned to its actual king, while part of me wants Luis to give the French hell before he dies.
 

Victoria

Welcome Don Carlos of Austria.
Poor Felipe and Afonso having to deal with the loss of their fathers.
I hope Margarida and Catalina become friends.
 

Historymaster

That last one, in my humble opinion, was one of the most beautiful heartwrenching chapter you ever wrote Pandizzy. You managed to capture the feelings in a way I rarely read before. Chapeau. In the precedent one, Juan and Bess for certain are not going to have a cold marriage.
 
pandizzy

pandizzy

Historymaster said:
That last one, in my humble opinion, was one of the most beautiful heartwrenching chapter you ever wrote Pandizzy. You managed to capture the feelings in a way I rarely read before. Chapeau. In the precedent one, Juan and Bess for certain are not going to have a cold marriage.
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Oh thank you :kissingheart:
 

revlark

Welcome to the world, Carlos! I really hope that there isn't a scandal with dear Catalina... even if she does end up eventually being queen of Portugal, it will be a stain on her legacy.
God, either way I can imagine those historical fiction writers in this timeline's version of the modern era going insane over this
 

TheBookwormBoy

pandizzy said:
Chapter first posted on my patreon.

Vienna, Austria. 2nd of March, 1543.​

“Get away from there, Your Highness!” said Doña Beatriz, tugging at Juanita’s dress. “You will fall off the carriage!”

Juanita rolled her eyes and sat back down, away from the covered windows. She huffed, looking at her companion and crossed her arms, bunching up the beautiful fabric of her pink dress. Beatriz, who had been Juanita’s best friend since they were small girls, rolled her eyes and played nervously with the white cuffs of her own dress.

“You will make me lose my mind,” she said. “We must be introduced first and fetched by a servant, Your Highness.”

“I know.” Juanita rolled her eyes again, trying to look out the window once more. She could see the enormous doors to the Hofburg opening, a large group of people filtering out to welcome them. "Do you think Maximilian has come? He was in Tyrol, last I heard."

"Of course, the archduke has come," said Beatriz. "It's his wedding. Why wouldn't he come?"

Juanita shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe he didn't like my portrait." A year before she was set to leave, her father had commissioned a portrait to send to Vienna, so her future husband would know her face.

“Why wouldn’t he like your portrait, Your Highness?” Beatriz asked, making a quizzical face. “You are and have always been the most comely girl at court. Archduke Maximilian will fall in love with you as soon as he sets his eyes upon you.” Juanita sighed, falling back against the cushioned seat. That was all she had ever wanted. “Whereas I will have to accompany you everywhere as you live through the most romantic years of your life, so sad and alone.”

“Nonsense,” said Juanita, unable to see her friend look so forlorn. “You will soon have your own Austrian count who will love and adore you, Beatriz.” Beatriz shook her head. “I’m serious! I told papa and I wrote a letter to Uncle Ferdinand as well. No Castilian lady will leave me, unless it is for a marriage to an important Austrian noble.” She wiggled her dark angular eyebrows. “Or a Hungarian prince.”

Beatriz giggled, swatting her with the back of her fan. At that same moment, heavy steps approached their closed carriage, a herald banging his staff against the hard ground. “Her Highness, Archduchess Johanna von Österreich, Infanta of Castile and Aragon.” The doors to her carriage opened and the sun filtered inside, a gloved hand slipping in to offer her some assistance.

Juanita knew she would have to go first, so she did, accepting the offered hand as she lowered her head to pass through the carriage’s doors. It was a warm day, despite the season, and her pink dress caught the bright light as she stepped out, straightening her back to look over at the crowd before her.

For her entire life, since papa told her she would marry her cousin, Juanita thought she would recognize Maximilian and his family at once. Blood called to blood, did it not?

But she didn’t recognize them. To her, the tall dark-haired man with her father’s eyes and a golden crown over his head was a stranger. He was her uncle Ferdinand, that much she could know, but his face was not one she knew well. He had a pronounced chin that was covered by a thick beard, though not as deformed as her own father's was. Next to him stood a small and portly woman, with wide hips visible after so many labours in the childbed. Her aunt Anna had just given birth to another baby; Helena, born in early January.

Juanita took a deep breath and stepped closer, her eyes focused on her aunt and uncle. She thought they would be disappointed if she looked away, to search for Maximilian. It took every ounce of her not to show her anxious nerves in her face, all thanks to many years of royal training.

"Juana," her uncle murmured as she stopped before him, "What a pleasure to meet you at last." He spoke in perfect Castilian, without a hint of accent underneath his words, and her heart beat twice as fast inside her chest.

Juanita made as deep a bow as she could manage without falling over. "Uncle," she said, still on bent knees, "It is a great pleasure to meet you for the first time. My father, the Emperor, always spoke highly of you." She straightened up when he gestured for her and Uncle Ferdinand stretched his arms forward, taking her hands in his.

"I'm happy to see that your beauty and your clear health were not an exaggeration," Uncle Ferdinand said. Juanita felt her cheeks flush and she smiled brightly, wanting to look away. "Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Queen Anna."

Though she was taller than the Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, Juanita still curtsied as deeply as she could for her aunt. She was a pretty woman with pale skin and blonde hair, curled up in regal ringlets. "Your Majesty," greeted Juanita and Queen Anna smiled warmly, taking her left hand.

"Dear Juana, how I have longed to meet you," she said. Her small hand reached forward to stroke Juanita's cheek gently. "You remind me so much of your father, in a certain light."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Juanita said with a gentle smile that she hoped looked both warm and open.

At long last, her aunt and uncle gestured to a man standing right behind the King. "Juana, please meet my eldest son and your intended, Archduke Maximilian of Austria," her uncle said, though Juanita barely heard him. She only had eyes for Maximilian, who walked forward to kiss her hand.

He was tall, much taller than his father or mother, with light blonde hair that seemed to shine like beaten gold under the sun. He had light blue eyes, a handsome long nose with a finely shaped pink mouth. A strong chin, beautiful hands and muscled arms. Her heart beat so fast inside her that she wondered briefly if it would ever slow down.

"Cousin," Maximilian said, his voice sounding like smooth velvet on her ears, "There are no words that can convey how much I longed for this meeting."

Juanita opened and closed her mouth, unable to think on what to say. She stuttered, "Funny. For it seems I lack the words to speak, Your Highness." Maximilian chuckled, his face brightening with his smile.

He was still holding her hand, gently caressing her knuckles. Juanita didn't think he had noticed, so she said nothing, still smiling. He was so handsome, so tall and fair. She could hardly think properly.

Her uncle cleared his throat behind her. "Max," he said, "Why don't you take the Archduchess to see the gardens? They are much different than the ones she will have seen in Castile."

"Of course," her cousin said. "Allow me, Your Highness." He held her hand as they walked inside the castle, guiding her to the gardens, surely. She tried not to look awe-struck as she walked beside him, even though it had become very hard to think with Maximilian's arm under her hand.

Juanita waited until they were away from his parents before she leaned in to say, "Please, call me Juanita."

He nodded. "I will," he said with a wink. "As long as you call me Max."

--

Hampton Court, England. 15th of March, 1543.​

"A beauty," John declared, standing over the cradle. "Isn't she, mother?" He looked at the Dowager Queen, who clutched a rosary in her hands as she stood beside him.

"Of course," his mother said, leaning down to adjust the blankets around her granddaughter. The newest Princess of England had been born only a few hours earlier, coming by surprise at Sext.

John was in the middle of a hunt when his page came running in to warn him, out of breath as whispered in his ear. With the news of a healthy delivery, John brought the whole party to a halt and rode as fast as he could back to the palace where Kitty had taken to her lying in. It was a girl, who would be used for a marriage alliance in the future and could hardly inherit the throne, but he didn't care. Why should he? He already had a son and daughters were bound to come eventually. Better it be this one to start, this one baby who was pretty, with clear red hair and pink cheeks.

"She reminds so much of Katherine," his mother whispered, almost wistful. John looked at her in confusion.

"My wife?" he asked. It was strange. His daughter looked nothing at all like her mother, not like William did. She had his hair, his hands. His chin. His nose. Why should the princess remind the Dowager Queen of her mother?

But his mother shook her head. "Your twin sister," she said and John held his breath. He had not thought about Kathy in years, had not allowed himself to think of her and no one commented about her in front of him. It was what his father had ordered, not allowing himself to be reminded of the children he lost. To safeguard his heart. "You two were not much older than she is now when I met you for the first time." He said nothing, only staring right into the cradle.

The princess was sleeping, her swollen eyes closed and her little hands opening and closing as she dreamt about something unknown. Her wet nurse had fed her already and she seemed well. The doctor said she was healthy and likely to live too. Nothing at all like his sickly twin sister, who had left him and broken his heart on her way through the realms.

His mother finally saw the look in his face. “John,” she murmured, touching his arm, “Is there something wrong?”

At that moment, a servant stepped inside, wearing Kitty's livery. The Queen’s motto was embroidered in yellow thread around her cuffs, her black dress covered with an apron. Non autre volonté que la sienne. No other will but his. The servant stopped before John and his mother, curtsying deeply.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the Queen has requested that the child be brought to her,” she said in a small voice. John nodded and stepped away from the cradle, allowing her to step closer. She leaned down to take the baby in her arms, careful not to jostle her too much and when she moved to walk away, the King smiled.

“I shall go with you,” he declared and followed her, leaving his mother behind.

Kitty was sitting up in her bed, her dark hair hanging down her shoulders. She seemed much better than when John had seen her hours earlier, much better rested. She must have slept then, and eaten a hearty meal to nourish her depleted body. Which was good. Very good.

“Hello, my little princess,” Kitty whispered as the servant placed their daughter upon her arms, a large smile cutting across her face. John sat down next to her in the bed, amazed by the sight of his wife and daughter together. All it needed to make the moment complete was William, but his son had been moved to Hatfield with his household in February for his own health. “She is so beautiful.”

“She really is,” John commented. Kitty raised her eyes to look at him.

“What shall we name her, my love?” she asked.

“Katherine,” John said, almost without wanting to. He was quick to add onto his words, almost to save face, “After her beautiful mother.” Kitty smiled and blushed, looking away.

--

Mechelen, Low Countries. 15th of April, 1543.​

Bessie had a pleased smile on her face as she walked into the great hall of the Hof van Savoye, happy with the sights of the extensive estates, the rich tapestries covering every inch of the walls. The expensive paintings and statues that seemed to greet her in the many corridors needed to enter. This was a ducal palace. This was a place where she could marry and have her children in.

The Duke of Burgundy was very rich. Extensively so. Maybe only the King of Portugal could claim to be his equal, even though they were partners in trade. Every pound of sugar that came from the New World in Portuguese ships was brought to Antwerp for refining and selling. The Low Countries were the textile centre of Europe. All that wealth, all those merchants filling their coffers and Bessie could probably bathe in gold without creating a dent in the ducal treasuries.

She looked around herself, examining the great hall of the Dowager Duchess of Savoy. Bessie couldn’t help it, even as her eyes dragged back to look ahead. Portraits of the Duke’s ancestors adorned the walls around the great hall. His grandfather and grandmother, Charles le Temeraire, old Margaret of York and her namesake, Margaret of Austria. But at the back, right next to the embroidered tapestry of the Duke’s coat of arms, stood a painting that was clearly loved and cared for.

The painting was a simple domestic scene of the Emperor and the departed Empress, seated at a table against a great expanse of Castile, partially obscured by deep crimson curtains. The Emperor was clad in black, trimmed in dark fur, a contemplative look on his face. Close at hand, the Empress sat, serene in a gown of the deepest emerald, sleeves dagged to expose the golden-embroidered fabric beneath. Her dark hair was piled high against her head, one hand settled on a book of devotions, the other gently draped across her husband’s arm. On her lips, there was the faintest smile.

It made Bessie think about what the Imperial ambassador had told her. The Duke was only two when he was sent by his father to the Low Countries, taken away from his mother whom he never saw again. Thus, there was every reason for him to take care so lovingly of this one portrait. This one image of the Emperor and Empress that he had with him.

His heart is broken, she thought. No matter. I shall be the one to mend it.

She looked forward to the carved seat covered in golden veneer and the young man sitting before her. He was tall and fair, and held himself with all the dignity that could be expected of a duke. Bessie held her breath at the sight of him, stopping only a few steps before his throne. The Duke stood up and came to her and she dared think that he was almost as tall as her father had been in his lifetime, though not quite as much.

He made her skin scrawl. The Duke had a defined chin, piercing eyes and a strong nose. Her mouth went dry, as if she had swallowed pure sea salt, and Bessie almost wanted to kiss him right then and there.

“Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand in his. The Duke brought her knuckles to his mouth for a warm kiss and Bessie held her breath, her heart racing. “You are more beautiful than your brother’s ambassadors promised.”

“Your Highness,” she began in perfectly practised French, “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.” His lips quirked into a smile.

“Pleasure, huh?” he said. His voice sounded sultry to her ears, like a soft caress. The Duke stepped forward even closer, in the eyes of his court, so close to her that it could be considered almost inappropriate. His lips dropped to her ear, his cheek pressed to her temple, “If I could, I’d have you right now.” He stepped back once again, though his hand, the one not currently clutching her fingers, scraped against the side of her breast as he moved. It made her gasp, especially when he revealed to her the pearl that hid the pin holding her sleeves to her bodice. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Elizabeth.”

He spoke so lowly that she wondered if anyone else had even heard him. “We must wait for His Eminence’s blessing,” said Bessie, though she didn’t know if she was speaking to the Duke or to herself. She squeezed his hand, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to feel his lips upon her. But they would be married by the Bishop of Tournai in Brussels within a week. Only then, could they know carnal pleasure.

But the Duke of Burgundy shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. He brought her hand to his lips for another kiss and Bessie shivered. “Neither can you.” He stepped away from her and turned to a woman sitting behind him. She had dark hair hidden under a mourning cap, wearing a heart-shaped medallion. Bessie imagined she was Maria of Austria, Dowager Queen of Hungary. Juan’s aunt. “Dearest aunt, is your confessor in this room?”

Before the Dowager Queen could answer, Bessie spoke, almost without wanting to, “There is an ordained priest in my entourage.” She looked back and gestured for Robert Lawrence, her English confessor, to come closer. He did so with a bow. “The Duke and I would like to be married at once.”

Father Robert’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, but he quickly composed himself and nodded. A servant of his came closer, carrying a closed Book of Hours, and the priest crossed himself. “Kneel, please,” he said in accented French. Bessie and the Duke knelt, still holding hands, right before the priest, as his court and her household gasped in outrage.

But she didn’t care. Bessie wanted to be married. She wanted to receive her handsome husband in her bed and there was no one who could stop her.
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Bessie and Juan seem like they’re gonna have an interesting time together. John and Kitty getting a precious little girl is so sweet and it’s interesting to see John remembering his twin sister. Also love Juana and Max getting on like a house on fire.
 

TheBookwormBoy

pandizzy said:
Pamplona, Navarre. 20th of June, 1543.​

It was a warm day, the sun high in the air. A perfect day for children to play while their parents worked, to make love with one's wife. Though Felipe wouldn't be able to do any of that.

Not when he hadn't seen his daughters in nine months, when Joana was growing fat and heavy with child in Valladolid and he wasn't there to feel the baby moving under her skin. To hear Ana expertly learn her way through a French lesson, or Luisa start to cry whenever she did something that wasn't absolutely perfect at once. Or Fernanda attempting to save every bug or animal in danger around the gardens, even to the detriment of her starched garments.

Felipe wanted to stop thinking about them. His girls. They made his heart ache with longing, thinking about running his fingers through Ana's dark slick tresses or Fernanda's golden ringlets just before bed, when the maids hadn't styled it yet. He couldn’t let himself be weak, not at that moment. Sometimes, he thought that if he started screaming about the pain in his heart, he would never stop.

He brought the bowl in his hands to his mouth, slowly swallowing the warm broth prepared to him. Seated beside him, Luis Hurtado did much of the same, as their men walked around them, preparing themselves for a siege. The French army had been spotted just off Zubiri, only some days' ride away from the Navarrese capital and there was little to no hope of any of them escaping. Not without sacrificing Pamplona and, thus, Upper Navarre in its entirety.

Felipe looked at his old guardian. “Are you still angry with me?” he asked, rubbing the side of his mouth with his sleeve. If his mother saw him doing that, she would box his ears, but his mother never did like wars. She probably wasn’t looking down at him at that moment.

Luis Hurtado shook his head. “If the Prince wants to be stupid, the Prince has that right,” he said. Felipe smiled. He was not angry, but he was upset. Very upset that Felipe refused his suggestion of taking one of their precious horses and riding as fast as he could back to safety, back to Aragon before the French arrived. Luis Hurtado thought he was replaceable, but Felipe was the Emperor’s eldest son. His heir.

He was more important, his ransom would be enormous if the French managed to capture him. But Felipe knew that if his men saw him leaving, they would lose their morale. They would lose the city and Navarre with it.

Felipe wasn't supposed to be fighting. His army was one of reinforcements, not the only one left in Iberia, the only one who could kick off the French. He had promised Joana he wouldn’t fight and yet, it seemed more and more clear that he would have to do just that.

“My prince,” someone said behind him. Felipe turned around, sitting in a tent inside Pamplona, and saw a messenger bearing the Emperor’s livery. The rider stretched forward his arm, holding a sealed envelope in his hand. “A message from the Princess of Asturias.”

Joana. Felipe held his breath and stood up. He walked to the messenger and accepted the letter, giving to him in return a silver coin for his troubles. Luis Hurtado stood up behind him, already knowing to offer a bed and warm meal for the rider without Felipe needing to say anything. He was thankful for that, for his usefulness, because it allowed him a moment to break the seal in Joana’s letter and unfold it, her careful handwriting stretching across the paper.


Valladolid, Castile. 12th of June, 1543.​

To my dearest husband,

It is with great pleasure that I announce the successful delivery of a son of our blood, an infante of our own. Our son arrived just after Matins, waking me up and all of my ladies with his need to be born, which he did so quickly and without fuss. I hardly had an easier labour than with this baby, most likely because he was very impatient inside of me. I wonder if that bodes well for his future, if he continues to show this lack of endurance over others’ convenience.

But we shouldn’t worry about it now. Our son is healthy and hale, a bonne and lusty boy just as I promised you so many years ago. He looks like you. I know he does, because your father commented upon it, how much he was reminded of you when you were a newborn babe. He has your hair, your nose, your eyes. When I looked at him for the first time, I thought it was quite unfair that he has nothing of me, when I carried him in my belly for nine months, but this is for the best. This way, when our son was made in your image, no one can say that he is not yours.

He hasn’t been baptised yet, but your father already informed me of his name, without even asking for my opinion. Carlos, just as I told you. As the hours pass, I find myself accepting the name more and more. It was what I expected and the name is good, even if I’m still furious with the Emperor for taking you away from me so many times. For making me give birth without my husband once again.

But living with him has made me swallow down my pride and anger. I can’t survive in this city if I do not bend to the Emperor’s will. And Don Carlos can wear his name with pride, I know it so.

Thus, I finish my letter, with the longing I feel for you, holding your son in my arms who can’t wait to meet you. Come back to me soon, my love. My days are far too long without you by my side.

Yours as long as life endures,

Joana.


Felipe closed his eyes, holding the letter close to his heart. He remembered Joana’s smell, the weight of her kisses against his lips. Her laugh, her bright eyes. He had been so pleased when they were married, to have a wife who was older than him, more experienced in the ways of the world. She made him feel whole, made him feel as if life could be good.

And she had given him a son. A healthy son and three daughters. Felipe had everything he ever wanted and he wasn’t even there to enjoy it. Tears brimmed in his eyes and a sob clawed its way out of his throat. Suddenly, there were strong arms around him, his head was coaxed to hide in the curve of someone’s neck and a familiar hand stroked his back.

“What is wrong?” Luis Hurtado asked. Felipe hadn’t even heard him return. “Is it your grandmother?”

“No.” Felipe shook his head, tears sliding freely down his cheeks. “I have a son. His name is Carlos and he is an Infante of Castile and Aragon. He will continue the senior line of the House of Austria. I have a son.” He shook his head again, wanting to step away from Luis, but the man didn’t let him. In fact, he held him tighter and he gave up, he allowed himself to be comforted and coddled like a child. “I have a son and here I am. In fucking Navarre, just waiting to be captured by the French, wondering if my father will even pay my ransom now that he has a grandson of the male line.”

Luis Hurtado stroked the back of his neck. “Take the horse, Your Highness,” he murmured. “Ride to Aragon, no matter how fast. Huesca is less than a week’s ride from here.”

Felipe stepped away at that. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “How many others that are here have pregnant wives at home? Newborn children that may never know their faces? Just because I’m a prince doesn’t mean I can--” He could barely speak.

“Felipe!” Luis Hurtado grabbed his shoulders, wanting to shake him until he saw reason. “If you are here when the city falls, then the war is over. Do you understand me? If the French capture the Prince of Asturias, then the war is over and they have won. No matter if your brother managed to kick them off Burgundy, no matter if we summon another army, with you in their clutches, the war is over.”

“The morale--”

“Fuck the morale,” said Luis Hurtado, shaking his head. “Felipe, you deserve good things. Do you understand that? And if you stay, you won’t get them. You might be captured, or worse. You deserve to hold your son in your arms, to see him grow into a man and take his own wife. You deserve to become king.” He opened his arms, as if holding the entirety of Navarre in his hands. “Is this where you want to end? Is this where your daughters will look when they think of your fate?”

“I’m the Prince of Asturias,” said Felipe, more to himself than to Luis Hurtado. “I will be ransomed.”

“Your father and King Francis have been enemies for decades,” said Luis Hurtado, as if that was enough of an answer. “You might become a prisoner, but you will not be well-treated then.” He stepped closer, with the expression of a worried father. “Get the horse. Go to Aragon. Save yourself.”

“And you?” Felipe didn’t want Luis to be hurt. “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” said Luis Hurtado. He tugged Felipe into a tight embrace, stroking his dark hair. “Go, Felipe. Don’t look back. Don’t worry about me.”

“Luis, I-I,” Felipe stammered. He didn’t know what to say. “I know you have your own children, but… Since I was six, I have wanted you to be my father. More than anything in the world.”

“I know.” Luis Hurtado smiled, eyes brimmed with tears. “There was never a moment where you didn’t make me proud, Felipito.” They embraced again, tightly. Felipe felt his heartbeat lodged in his throat, a knot growing there.

He knew that was the last time he would ever see the man who raised him.

--

Paço Real de Évora, Portugal. 25th of June, 1543.​

“Another letter for your cousin?” his father asked just as Afonso pressed his seal against the paper, his coat of arms stamped into the red wax. The Prince of Portugal raised his eyes, looking at the King, who was sitting down with a tense chin as an Italian attempted to sketch his portrait. Every so often, his father would shift his eyes to look at him, almost encouraging him to speak up.

Afonso gulped. “Yes,” he said. “Is that wrong?” He was already a man of twenty, with two sons. Most of the time, the Prince thought he knew exactly what was wrong or right.

“It depends on what you’re writing,” his father answered. “Infanta Catalina is eleven. A girl, a child, whereas you are a man. It would cause many eyebrows to be raised ”

“I know,” said Afonso, tightening his hands into fists. “My letters are perfectly innocent, I swear to you.” When his father arched an eyebrow as if asking a question, he sighed and forced his fingers to relax. “She is curious about Portugal and wants to know more about our culture. She is asking questions and I’m merely answering them.”

“I see,” his father said. He looked at the painter, who seemed very focused on his painting, pretending not to pay attention. “My son, I have allowed you to choose if you wish to remarry or not and...”

Afonso felt forced to speak, the words spewing out of his mouth, “Father, I don’t want to marry Catalina.” He shook his head, disgusted at the thought. “She is eleven. A child, as you said so yourself.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, opening them again only when he felt calm again. “The Prince of Asturias is opposing the French in Navarre. Infanta Catalina is just a lonely child missing her older brother. A cousin writing to her is merely a gesture of consolation.”

“Of course,” his father said. “Just--” He looked conflicted. “Be careful, Afonso. Portugal does not need a scandal at this moment.” Afonso looked away. He didn’t know how he felt about his father’s image of him, that he considered himself capable of doing something as horrid as taking advantage of a child. “From now on, instruct Catalina to send her letters to Margarida, instead of you.”

Afonso nodded and closed his eyes. “Of course, father,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought there was no harm in what I was doing.”

“Don’t worry,” his father said. “I said what I said out of love.” He shook his head and looked at the painter. “Leave us.” The Italian nodded, gathering his things quickly to step out of the room. When they were truly alone, the King looked at Afonso with a hint of pain in his dark eyes, as if whatever he was about to say hurt him greatly. “There is something I wish to tell you.”

“What is it?” Afonso asked, worried.

His father closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You must be smarter, Afonsinho. Soon, you will not have me to guide you.”

“What are you talking about?” Afonso stood up and walked to his father. He knelt down before the King of Portugal, grabbed his large pale hands. “Father, what are you saying?”

“When your mother died, so did a part of me,” he murmured, looking away, as if he could still see the Queen of Portugal. An old happy memory, playing behind his eyes. “An important part of me, much needed for me to survive.” Tears brimmed in his eyes. “I was the first of my parents’ children. The first of ten. But now, there is only Isabel and Henrique who are still in this world. Duarte, Luís, Fernando, Afonso, Beatriz. They are all gone, just like your mother.” He looked at Afonso. “You must prepare yourself, my son. I won’t be with you much longer.”

“Father…” Afonso pressed his face against his father’s hand, as if about to ask for his blessing. “I’m not ready.”

His father smiled sadly. “None of us is ever ready,” he said.
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Poor Felipe and Joana, but here’s hoping Don Carlos will be much happier here and given lots of love and support. João really is weighed down by his years, isn’t he? The poor man has lost so much already and still keeps going and going and going.
 
Awkwardvulture

Awkwardvulture

TheBookwormBoy said:
Poor Felipe and Joana, but here’s hoping Don Carlos will be much happier here and given lots of love and support. João really is weighed down by his years, isn’t he? The poor man has lost so much already and still keeps going and going and going.
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Well he's marginally less inbred here so there's that at least.
 

Victoria

pandizzy said:
Oh, is that your takeaway from that scene?
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Not really but I still want them to be friends. Also Afonso saying that Catalina is just a child and he isn't interested in her could be foreshadowing that they will get married once she's older or it could just mean that they are friends despite their gender and age difference and they won't ever consider a marriage. Maybe Margarida will be Catalina's sister-in-law, or they will both be single infantas in the old Iberian tradition or Catalina will find someone else. Either way, they are going to be penpals so hopefully they'll get along.
 
3rd of July, 1543.
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    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Valladolid, Castile. 3rd of July, 1543.​

    “Pamplona has fallen, Your Majesty,” said the messenger, handing him a sealed scroll. Charles moved slowly, feeling weak and infirm, to take the message. He was wary of what he was about to read. “It was a bloodbath, since some Navarrese in the Prince’s ranks opened the city gates to the French, stopping the siege before it even began. Don Luis Hurtado de Mendoza died, as did many others.”

    “What about my son?” Charles asked with a heavy voice. “Does the Prince live?” If Felipe was lost to him, or taken by the French, the entire war, his entire life, would be lost.

    The messenger lowered his head and the Emperor feared for the worst. He thought about his son. Twenty years of age, a father and husband. He remembered the baby nestled against Anne’s breast, born less than a year after their marriage. Dark haired like her.

    “There were rumours around Pamplona that the Prince escaped to Aragon, but no word yet from the Viceroy, Your Majesty,” the messenger said. Charles nodded and sagged weakly against his carved chair, feeling his head heavy and shoulders tense with all the weight of the world. He was like Atlas, carrying the entire globe upon his back. The Count of Morata de Jalón was his regent for Aragon and Charles trusted him. If Felipe was in the kingdom, Pedro would know.

    The Emperor looked at the Duke of Alba, standing tall next to him. “Fernando,” he said, causing the noble to look at him in search of orders. “Ride to Zaragoza with a trusted group of men. You must either find the Prince or discover if he is in the clutches of the French.”

    Alba nodded gravely. “At once, Your Majesty,” he said. Charles dismissed him with a flourish of his hand, trembling. The messenger left as well, as the groom who had gone off in search of a bed and warm meal for him finally returned and the Emperor was left with the rest of his councillors.

    “The Princess of Asturias must not know about the Prince,” Charles declared. Joana had just given birth. If she learned that Felipe was missing, it would break her. She had to recover from her labours without wifely worries. If she grew sick, she could easily die. “The infantas can’t know either.”

    Cardinal Tavera nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. "Shall the Princess know about the city?"

    "Not yet." Charkes shook his head. "Once she is churched, and we have greater information of Don Felipe's whereabouts, she can know." During confinement, a woman should be kept away from news that might upset her. When Felipe returned, Joana would be needed to produce another heir for Castile and Aragon. Don Carlos was an infant, the first boy to bear the name of Austria in his generation, but he needed younger brothers to keep the throne secure.

    “And the war, Your Majesty?” Cardinal Tavera. “What shall be done?”

    “I do not know,” Charles admitted. He shook his head, feeling the legacy of his grandparents slipping away from him. “I do not know.”

    --

    Vienna, Austria. 11th of July, 1543.​

    “You couldn’t beat me even with a head start!” Juanita laughed, removing her hat as she entered her most private chambers. Max came behind her, laughing as well with his cheeks flushed and eyes brightened by the exercise. As they walked, drowning in each other, Juanita’s ladies quickly removed themselves from the premises, already knowing what was about to happen.

    “It’s hardly my fault that my wife is such an expert horsewoman,” he declared and she laughed again, tugging off her riding gloves. Juanita stepped away from him to kick her shoes to the side, stretching her toes underneath her wool stockings. Max placed his feathered hat near her dresser, running a hand through his sweaty blonde curls. “But one of these days, I shall beat you. Just you wait, Juanita.”

    He stepped closer to her, a smirk on his mouth. Juanita bit her lower lip and wrapped her skinny arms around his neck, stretching on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He tasted like the apple cakes they ate in the city, buying them from a pair of street vendors who were far too excited to serve a couple of the imperial family. Juanita shivered and Max palmed her behind as he pulled her against him. She sighed, wanting to do nothing else than to remove her riding habit and be with him. Which was exactly as she did.

    When they were done, Max called for his groom to bring him a fresh change of clothes and Juanita slipped on a new shift, feeling extremely lazy and not at all wanting to call for her ladies. She dropped down on her bed again, admiring her handsome husband and his muscled form.

    He looked at her with a smile. “A silver for your thoughts,” he murmured and Juanita smiled again.

    “I can’t wait to bear your children,” she said and he grinned, shaking his head. “I hope they look exactly like you.” Juanita knelt on the bed again. It was the late afternoon, only some hours before they were expected to have dinner with his parents. Max stepped closer, already wearing his cream-coloured hose. He stretched his arm forward to stroke the side of her cheek and she closed her eyes, enjoying the caress.

    “And I hope they have your face,” her husband said. “Your eyes.”

    “My eyes are the same as yours,” she commented and Max chuckled, shaking his head. Juanita smiled as well, though her face smoothed down when she remembered something, what they were expected to discuss during the evening meal. "Is it true what your father said?"

    "What is, my love?" Max asked, almost distracted.

    "That we are to be crowned in Buda, and then in Prague," Juanita said. "I thought your father was the King of Hungary and Bohemia, not us!"

    "My father wants to secure the succession of my mother's inheritance," Max said. "If we are crowned in his lifetime, we will be King and Queen already upon his death. Our enemies would have great difficulty in taking the throne." He slipped a dark curl behind her ear, running his fingers down to cup her chin. "It's what the old Frankish kings did and Poland does much of the same. It's why my sister Liesl is already a queen, even though her father-in-law still lives."

    "But we will not rule," Juanita commented. She wanted to be sure of everything, for she hated having any doubts in her mind. Max chuckled and shook his head.

    "Not yet," he said. "Or maybe, not ever. Not in person anyway. When my brother Ferry marries Lady Erzsébet, he will take the regency of Hungary and live in Buda. My father plans for Archduke Karl to do the same for Bohemia." He pinched her cheek gently. "We must worry about Austria and the Empire, but only when our fathers are both with the Lord."

    "Of course," Juanita said. "I understand." Austria, Hungary and Bohemia were so different from Spain that she sometimes wondered if she would ever know what a queen needed to know. Her aunt made everything seem so easy. Juanita admired her greatly.

    Max ran his eyes through her. "I think we will be late for dinner," he said with a sultry smile.

    "Why?" Juanita asked.

    As a response, her cousin wrapped his arm around her waist to tug her closer and she giggled, kissing him warmly in return. “You know why,” he said against her mouth, dragging her back to bed.
     
  • Index
    • Family Tree - Tudors
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    King Henry VIII of England (1491-1535) m. a) Catherine of Aragon (1485-1523); b) Isabella of Portugal (1503-). Affairs with: c) Elizabeth 'Bessie' Blount (1498- ); d) Luisa Borja (1500-1526); e) Katherine 'Kat' Chapernowne (1502-)
    1. a) Henry, Duke of Cornwall (January 1511- February 1511). Lived for almost two months.
    2. a) Mary Tudor (February 1516-) m. François III, Duke of Brittany (February 1518- ).
      1. Francoys, Count of Montfort (June 1534-);
      2. Catherine de Valois (February 1538 -);
      3. Marie de Valois (June 1540-);
      4. Claude, Count of Angoulême (July 1542-).
    3. c) Henry Fitzroy, Earl of Somerset (June 1519-1528). Illegitimate;
    4. a) King John II of England (January 1523-) m. Katherine Howard (1524-).
      1. William, Duke of Cornwall (March 1541-)
      2. Katherine Tudor (March 1543-)
    5. a) Katherine Tudor (January 1523-December 1523). Twin to John, lived for almost an entire year;
    6. b) Edward, Duke of York (August 1524-August 1530). Drowned;
    7. d) Pierre Fitzroy, Earl of Gloucester (June 1526-). Illegitimate m. Dorothy Stafford (October 1526-);
    8. b) Elizabeth Tudor (June 1527-) m. Juan of Austria, Duke of Burgundy (January 1526-);
    9. b) Henry, Duke of Somerset (September 1529-April 1530). Died a sickly infant;
    10. b) Eleanor Tudor (September 1531-) b. James, Duke of Rothesay (May 1531-);
    11. b) Margaret Tudor (May 1533-) b. Frederik, Hereditary Prince of Norway (January 1536-);
    12. e) Isabella Fitzroy (March 1534-). Illegitimate. Known as Isabella Ashley.
     
    Last edited:
  • Index

    • Dragonboy

    Well, Navarre is Lost and Luis has fallen but Felipe Will be safe at least.

    And what a better way to get rid of that bitterness than with Juanita and Max sweetness?
     
    Family Tree - Spanish Habsburgs
  • Index
    • pandizzy

    pandizzy

    Emperor Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire (February 1500-) m. Anne Boleyn (1503-May 1536)
    1. Felipe, Prince of Asturias (April 1523-) m. Infanta Joana of Portugal (1520-);
      1. Ana de Austria (February 1538 -);
      2. Luisa de Austria (January 1540-);
      3. Fernanda de Austria (March 1541-);
      4. Carlos de Austria (June 1543-).
    2. María of Austria (April 1524-March 1542) m. Afonso, Prince of Portugal (August 1522-);
      1. Jorge de Portugal (April 1540-);
      2. António de Portugal (March 1542-).
    3. Juan, Duke of Burgundy (January 1526-) m. Elizabeth of England (June 1527-)
    4. Juana of Austria (December 1526-) m. Maximilian of Austria (July 1526-);
    5. Margarita of Austria (March 1529-) b. Emmanuel Philibert (July 1528 -);
    6. Catalina of Austria (November 1531-);
    7. Fernando of Austria (August 1533-);
    8. Eduardo of Austria (July 1534-);
    9. Isabel of Austria (May 1536-).
     
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