Edward continued with his attacks, but when Sabbas went on the offensive he added more defensive moves in. He didn't stop his offensive tactics, but certainly devoted more to defending himself from Sabbas's attacks. His eyes were focused and rather intense, though he clearly didn't notice how intense his gaze had grown as he threw his concentration into this duel.
Sabbas did throw more defense, although he kept on forward. Swiftly, he took a couple of steps back just to help maintain his balance. Nevertheless, he did his best to keep going, but to be daring enough to give His Majesty a rightful win. Sometimes being bold works, he just hopes that he is right. He kept his gaze fixated on the king's. Sweat rolled down the side of his face.
Edward continued to spar with Sabbas, still keeping his offense as strong as possible. This had been a good match indeed; many that he sparred with simply let him win all too easily, and didn't give him the chance to actually spar with them. And he understood it. People did not want to beat him, did not want to cross the king and anger him.
Part of Sabbas did not care if he was sparring with the sultan of the Ottoman Empire or the king of France or the emperor of China, let alone the king of the British Empire. He will spare anyone with the same amount of dignity. On the other hand, he did care about his position as a diplomat and as a respectable man, so he intends to keep his word, even if he only had spoken them to himself. And yet, even as he tries to push harder to bestow an opportunity for His Majesty, he knows that he can only do so much. Exhaustion evaporated the stiffness in his shoulders. The flame of energy burned in his eyes.
Edward kept his concentration on the man across from him, eyes narrowed and gaze focused. He was tiring himself, and knew this had to end soon for both their sakes. He still had meetings and such to go to, and he did not want to be exhausted during them. So, he increased his offense as best as he could, putting as much power into the swings as possible.
It was difficult maintain his boldness, brazen, and energy. Fatigue was gripping his face. Despite experiencing the sensations of being worn out, the king's burning focus motivated him to keep going. Well that is until he felt something at his side. The tip of the king's blade had poked Sabbas between his upper and lower left abdomen. He must have been a bit slower at one moment, exposing his left abdomen by mistake.
Sabbas jumped back then held his hand up as a way to ask for the both of them to stop. He panted while resting one hand on his knee before standing up. "I believe you had got me, Your Majesty. You win. If I may say, you are an excellent fighter," He smile, even though he was still catching his breath. Sweat highlighted his tan skin. Stands of his hair fell out of their place. Nevertheless a warm smile stayed on his face.
Edward grinned at Sabbas when the Spaniard conceded, sheathign his sword and taking a moment to catch his breath. He, too, was sweating, chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. He was tired, now, but excited. It had been a most excellent match, and he was glad that they had had it.
Standing back at where he was when they had started, he sheathed his sword. His breathing became gradual and soon returned to normal. Heat clung to him like a child clinging onto a toy. He would have wished that they could have gone on for longer, but he is happy that they found rhythm and had a great match. Hopefully it will be a start to something, especially for more sword fights too.
He sheathed his own sword, running his fingers through his hair and breathing as his heartrate began to calm. He inclined his head slightly to Sabbas, still smiling. "Thank you for the match, ambassador. You are an excellent swordsman." he said, rather hoping that they would be able to do it again. There was something about the way Sabbas moved that he hadn't been able to keep his gaze away from, swordfight or no. That thought made something in his eyes flicker as he realized, again, that that was not a thought he should be having about another man. Certainly not a Spanish ambassador.
Sabbas gave a slight bow. When he stood back up, his hair fell in front of his face. Catching the glimpse of King Edward, a shiver crawled down his back. Mumbling an apology in Spanish, he used his fingers to comb through. "It is my pleasure, Your Majesty. I am humbled to be called an excellent swordsman by your accord," He breathed, "If it would please you, we can always do another one of these when you are available." As he spoke, his left hand rested over his heart. Then when he was done, he ran it through his hair again. No matter what, he just couldn't shake off the image of the king's gaze.
Edward's gaze flicked away after a moment, and he took a deep breath before looking back over at Sabbas. "Of course. If I can fit it into my schedule again, I would love to have another match with you. It was quite enjoyable." he gave Sabbas another soft smile, and wondered if he had time to go to the chapel before his next meeting. He needed to pray this away again. Ask the lord to take away this strange attraction that he felt.
"Quite enjoyable…." He purred. Sabbas's eyes drifted off to the side while biting on his bottom lip. Despite his minimal effort, he still could see the king smiling in the corner of his eye. The gaze. Oh that bewitching blue gaze. Sabbas shifted his weight onto his right foot before looking back. He did his best to remain a few steps back from how he usually acts; he was tempted to get closer and yet he remained still. Giving a nod, he said, "Well if it isn't any trouble, my king….Although if anything else, please do write to me."
Edward took in Sabbas's words, taking a deep breath. The purr in the Spaniard's voice was…quite something to hear. Not that it made him feel anything other than friendship, of course. That was simply impossible. He cleared his throat quietly. "Of course. Feel free to write to me as well, if you would like to."
If only it were just the two of them. If it was, Sabbas would have attempted to further his rather flirtatious habits, but he knew that it wouldn't matter. Sabbas's servant stood by the door, ready to go with him to the next point on his schedule. Right, he has to meet with some officials over tea; he had completely forgotten. fluffed his hair while slowly releasing an exhale. Letting his hand drop to his side, he turned to King Edward and bowed. "Will do. I hope to see you again soon, my king. Thank you for this, and I look forward to the next time we meet."
Edward nodded, inclining his head towards Sabbas. "I am sure we will. And thank you for being willing to spar with me. I look forward to our next meeting as well." he replied, unbuckling his sword and holding it carefully, before handing it to a guard to put away. He had time before his next meeting to go to the chapel and pray; he felt that he needed it, from the way his mind wandered. He needed time to fix his mind on the Lord again, on what was good and right, and this horrific attraction to the Spanish ambassador was neither good nor right.
(I've been thinking about what if they start to send letters to each other then they arrange to meet. Or what if they have another sparring match but we skip to them having tea or something. What do you think?)
"Good day, Your Majesty." Sabbas did not turn his back until he stepped out into the hallway. His servant's hands were out, ready to motion if he should help remove the sword, but Sabbas shook his head then went off. No matter how far away he was from where they sparred, his mind kept wandering back. It went to see the look in the king's blue eyes and his sigh. A gentle grin rested on Sabbas's face. And while he kept asking God to forgive him for investing in rumors, he can't seem to get himself out of one in particular. Not to mention, Sabbas wants to get deeper into it.
(yeah i like that! Letters would be neat, because then they get to know each other a bit more and then they get to meet in person? It could also be interesting if Edward gave Sabbas a tour of some areas in the palace?)
Edward headed to the chapel that stood on the castle's grounds, kneeling quietly by the altar to pray, his eyes lifted towards the stained glass windows and his mouth moving with silent pleas. He did not want this attraction any more. He did not want to look at men the way he did, did not want to want them. His wife should be the object of his desire, the thing that occupied his thoughts and his dreams. She was lovely, and why could he not see her as she deserved to be?
(Yeah that sounds good to me. I love the idea of Edward giving Sabbas a tour of some parts of the palace! I'm down to doing all of that. Should Sabbas be the one to send a letter first?)
It didn't take long for Sabbas to get into regular clothes. Back in Spain, it is normal for people to be about fifteen to twenty minutes late, but he has learned that the French only tolerate a five minute delay. He was five minutes late to tea with the French ambassador; luckily he brought up His Majesty and his tardiness was brushed aside. Maybe Sabbas shouldn't have brought up the king. The whole time his mind kept wandering to play with thoughts. Maybe he shouldn't be diving into waters he cannot see the bottom of, but he always thinks with a tempted yet bold mind. Always and forever will.
(Perfect! Yeah I think he probably should, if that's alright with you?)
Edward spent some time in the chapel, praying quietly and offering his respect and love to the Lord above. It was…difficult, sometimes, when his heart pulled in a direction so against what the Lord said was good and right. And yet, what could he do but ask for forgiveness? What could he do but repent of this sinful nature that tugged him down?
(Oh yeah, no worries! I just wanted to ask just in case.)
Tea time with non-Spaniards is always an odd occasion for Sabbas. This time any moment he gazed at the cup or noted how he was speaking French to the fellow ambassador, he kept thinking about the king. It was strange. For once, Sabbas knew that he shouldn't be foolishly waltzing with such thoughts that he normally has for people where it doesn't matter. He is more than a man on the Spanish king's court now; he is now also apart of the British king's court. A new, and risky, world.
But he has to be an ambassador. A bridge between two empires who hold the world in their hands. Sabbas paced around the room after he returned to his chambers. He kept doing so for minutes on end. But he stopped once words started to flood his mind. "Feel free to write to me as well…" So he took his quill and some parchment then began to write.
Unto His Majesty, the King of England,
Ambassador Valiente of Spain wishes to send his gratitude. This is not an appropriate, worthy, way to approach this, and yet I would like to thank Your Majesty for all the kindness you have bestowed upon me. When I was given the position as ambassador to your great empire, I have to admit that I was rather surprised and nervous. I always had looked at Your Majesty's portrait that the English ambassador in Madrid had hanging in his office. Eyes as blue as the earth's gorgeous oceans looking back at me as I stood and stared back at them.
I have traveled from my hometown to Madrid to Paris and back, but I never really had thought of the day when I would be blessed with such a position to serve for two great kingdoms. Yet the moment I had stepped into England, I was welcomed and felt at home, a new home. Sparring and walking through the gardens with Your Majesty has helped with my previous nerves. Those experiences have brought me much comfort and wisdom. I look forward to all the times we shall meet in the very soon future.
Sincerely,
Ambassador Valiente of Spain
Sabbas pressed his ring into the wax. Once he satisfied with the state of the envelope and seal, he gave to one of his servants, telling them to deliver it to His Majesty. By the time the servant rushed out, Sabbas already rested his head against the desk and forced out a sigh.
By the time Edward received the letter, he was back in his own chambers, seated at his desk. His desk was scattered with other papers and with various writing utensils. Paperweights, trinkets, a cluttered assortment of various items that lay on it. When the letter was delivered, he carefully opened it up and read through it. In the quiet peace of his room, his cheeks flushed faintly when he read Sabbas's description of his eyes. He didn't know why.
That was a lie. He knew why he flushed, why he felt what he did. It was because of this damned attraction that he felt towards other men. He could not stand it, and it did not seem to go away no matter how much he prayed and begged with the Lord above to take it from him. He cleared his throat, and began to pen his own letter in reply.
Unto Ambassador Valiente of Spain,
I would wish to return your feelings of gratitude. You have shown chivalry and honor in all of our meetings together, and I look forward to our future meetings. I also extend thanks, for the kind words granted to me from yourself. Most ambassadors are not so ready to interact in the way that you have, and for that, too, I must thank you.
I am glad, also, that you have enjoyed your stay in England thus far; I know that our weather and clime is far different from that which you are accustomed to. I look forward to further sparring or strolls in the garden with you. Our discussions have been enjoyable, and if you are amenable to it, I would like to have more. I should like also to learn more of Spain and its peoples, from one who has lived there. I look forward to your reply, and to our future meetings together.
Sincerely,
His Majesty Edward VII, King of England, Ireland, and Scotland
Like Sabbas earlier, he used sealing wax to imprint the royal seal into the letter and seal it shut, then placed it in an outgoing box; servants checked that box every few hours, so that the letters would reach their destinations.
(I just wanted to let you know that my responses are going to be all over the place because I have band camp and college. I'll do my best to respond asap.)
In the few hours following the departure of the letter, Sabbas sat around the chambers while reading through other letters or papers. The sun began to gradually make its way down the horizon by the time a letter from His Majesty arrived into his hands. Laying on the floor with his legs crossed, he held the letter up to his face. Every now and then he had to stop to think about the meaning of a word before continuing on.
He jumped up from floor then darted over to the desk. Not even in his chair yet, he dipped his quill into ink and it hovered over the paper. His hand was shaking a little. Sabbas sat the quill back before slowing sitting down. Minutes passed by until he was ready to write again.
Unto His Majesty, the King of England,
It is an honor to be bestowed such words by Your Majesty. Readiness, as I have been told, is a vital characteristic for being an excellent ambassador. I have been inspired by Your Majesty and my fellow ambassador from your empire to develop such a characteristic. Although, I would like to respectfully argue that my motivation to dutifully serve our grand empires, King Rengent Alejandro, and of course, Your Majesty has assisted me in such volubility.
England's weather and clime is different from Spain, but I can assure you, my king, that I will have myself accustomed to both in due time. Even in such downpours or winds or frigid temperatures, I would be more than honored to have more discussions with Your Majesty. I would also be more than honored to tell you, my dear king, all about Spain and its peoples. There is so much to tell, although I will do my best to explain anything about Spain to Your Majesty's heart's content.
For the time being, what I can say is that Spain is a country of pride and variety. We have only been united for a little over a hundred years thanks to the previous royal family. Even then, Spain has been home to many groups of people since the beginning of time. We are all very proud of our culture and are always eager to share it with others. Of course, as an ambassador, such a thing is very helpful. As your ambassador to Spain, I am more than eager to tell Your Majesty anything that piques your interest the next time we meet or in my next letter.
Sincerely,
Ambassador Valiente of Spain
(it's totally fine, no worries!!)
By the time Edward recieved Sabbas's next letter, it was nearing bedtime, and he decided to write a reply first thing in the morning. It was late now, and by the time Sabbas would have recieved his reply, it would be even later, and the king did not want the ambassador to feel pressured to respond so late, and waste candles and time and energy over something that, in the long run, was rather trivial.
So instead, he set the letter on his desk, right in the middle where he would see it first, and set his quill beside it. After breakfast, and after prayer, he would write the letter. Not before. Not with how the Spaniard had made him feel. On accident, of course; no good man would try to seduce another man. It was Edward's fault that he felt this way. It was a stain on his soul, not on Sabbas's, and he knew that. He held no fault in the Spaniard for this mark on his own soul.
He disrobed, putting on his nightclothes and staring for a few long minutes at the door to his bedchamber, trying to decide if he was brave enough to visit his wife. If he was man enough to visit his wife. A true man, after all, would have made love to her already. A true man would have given her at least one child already. But he had not. He had failed her, just as he failed, daily, to resist the temptations of these lustful, carnal attractions that held no place in a good man, in a godly man.
Sabbas was up until the early hours of the next day. Staying up late is as natural to him as the sun and the rain. Lots of fun always happens at night after all. And for this Spaniard, one would think he would be having fun. Well, not this time.
Despite spending a decent amount of time in England at this point, he still had to get used to certain aspects of living here such as eating supper six hours early. Maybe there just things he cannot get used to. There was the option of continuing work, yet anytime he held up a piece of a paper, he found himself looking down at one of the king's letters.
He sat still at his desk when the sun was setting and as the moon shone vividly through the windows. At least it gave him minimal light as his eyes ran through each word over and over again. They ran up and down then left to right. Eventually the words became scrambled. None of it was beginning to make sense as his eyes squinted.
Suddenly the attention to the words swayed into thoughts about the king. Sabbas let out a reluctant sigh while resting his head against the desk. He shouldn't be thinking such things, and he isn't worried about the attractions to men that worry him. No, he's lying actually. A liar is all that he has ever been, to himself, his family, all of Spain and Europe, and the world. He is worried, especially since he knows that this could get him into trouble. He worries about saying one thing that will lead him to his execution. His name, his reputation disintegrated in front of everybody.
But of course, he has held the romantic interests of Prince Alejandro as well as many other nobles; although most of which were not serious. The current troubles of the present shouldn't have him tangled in nerves. He had to use more than his own intelligence and "name" to have his own power flourish after all. There is power and danger in seduction, but is there any power in real attraction? Would it ever outweigh the danger?
All of this pondering left his mind a storm. Sabbas didn't even leave his desk or undress. The heavy weight in his mind kept him there. Eventually as his eyes fluttered shut, the thoughts had stopped, but only just for a few moments. Those blue eyes appeared in his dreams. He wished it wasn't a dream.
The morning came with weak sunlight filtering through heavy clouds; a constant in England's weather, it was as familiar to the king as his own face. He awoke with a heavy sigh, eyes flickering open and dreams fleeing as the world came into focus. It took only moments until he could remember hardly anything of his dreams, beyond the vague feeling of a warm body pressed beside his, of calloused hands touching his skin. He shook his head and shook away the memory of his dreams, pushing off the covers and slowly moving from the bed. For now, it was quiet. He was alone. He would not be so for long. Soon, servants would come in bearing letters and news and clothing, his manservant would arrive to help him dress, his steward would arrive with a rough itinerary for his day. His few moments of alone time were precious, and he treasured them.
Today, all he did was walk to the window and look out at the grounds, eyes flickering over the faint figures already out and about. Many had likely been up and moving before the sun had even peeked over the horizon. It was on the backs of such hard workers that the kingdom was able to function, and he knew that.
Soon, as he had known would happen, people began to come in, and he got dressed for the day and headed to breakfast. To his relief, breakfast was a "private" one, consisiting of himself, his wife, her ladies-in-waiting, the husbands of a few of those ladies, and a few other nobles that were closely tied to the monarchy. A private, small affair of near 20 people, taking a little over an hour to complete.
Lord only knows how long he was asleep. When in Madrid, Sabbas typically woke up at the tenth hour after going to bed just hours before. Typically he wouldn't be at his desk while dreaming about running his fingers through the silky-smooth blond hair of the English monarch. Speaking of English monarchs, he doesn't understand why these people here awake for the day as early as sunrise. At least they know how to party; to love, he isn't really sure about that yet.
Sabbas only managed to wake up when a servant came in with a letter from a Prussian noble. The servant gasped at the sight of him slumped over, and he gave the poor young man another scare when he awoke. With some help from the servant, he was able to change into fresh clothes for the day. Crimson clothes, of course.
He took the envelope, setting it on top of the letters from the king. Breakfast was skipped and he decided to step out for a walk; might as well get one in before it starts to rain. His feet took him to the gardens. The smell of morning dew persisted, laying about on the grass and plants. Holding his hands behind his back, he kept his stroll to a slow pace. His chin held up high.
After breakfast, he headed to the chapel to pray, kneeling at a pew and closing his eyes, hands clasped in supplication as he devoted himself to prayer and to the Lord. Before he did anything else that day, he wanted– needed –to take time to pray. To cleanse himself and chase away all those strange, horrible feelings, and to gain guidance and wisdom in his meetings that day. He always needed it, after all. Who did not? The Lord would provide, if only Edward asked him in the right way. So ask he would, and he stayed in the quiet light of the chapel for quite a while.
It was a lovely little place, with tall, stained glass windows that left in soft filters of colored light. Built of pale stone, it held services within every Sunday for any of the nobility who wished to attend. It was, however, commonly understood that the only ones who actually attended were the royal family and those expressly invited by a member. Nobles or ambassadors did not come without an invitation, depiste the fact that there was no rule banning them from coming.
Sabbas kept on wandering around certain parts of the palace he knew. Sometimes he would be stopped by somebody to chat for a while before they would invite him for tea or to go off somewhere else. He always declined and offered to another time, then he would go on his merry way. Back to strolling around with his hands behind his back.
His mind was static, numb. It is amusing how the troubles that plague his mind can always be pushed to the side by force. Of course, Sabbas still thought about His Majesty, the letters from Alejandro, his true identity, his power, and the strange new world he is in. What makes is even more amusing is how his rather romantic affairs are not even a major problem compared to others. All of which, he carries on his back, making him Atlas.
As he approached the chapel, he stopped. The hairs on his neck stood. He looked over his shoulder while his hand reached out to the handle. Can he afford to be curious here right now? He shrugged to himself then opened the door. To hell with his cowardice.
Closing the door behind him, he stood still. His eyes looked around. "Estos ingleses y su orgullo. Mira todo esto…. Todo por Dios," He mumbled underneath his breath. A string of low chuckles followed. It is beautiful. The place is beautiful from wall to wall.
He didn't even noticed who was there. All it took was a few steps before he stopped and saw someone in the corner of his eye. Sabbas said in a low voice, "Ah, I am sorry for disturbing you. I was lost."
Edward shifted faintly whne he heard the doors open and close, sitting up at Sabbas's words. He finished his prayer quietly, crossing himself, and then he looked over, eyes lighting slightly in recognition of the Spaniard. "Ah, ambassador Valiente." he greeted, standing and flashing a quick, small smile. "It is quite alright. I was finishing up anyway." he exhaled quietly, brushing his hands gently against his robes. He looked around the chapel for a moment before his gaze returned to Sabbas. It was…slightly disconcerting, to see the Spaniard in the chapel. To see a man that he could not deny a small attraction to, inside the place he fled to when those attractions were too strong.
"This is the chapel. My chapel." he cleared his throat quietly, eyes moving to the stained glass windows, rather than lingering on Sabbas for too long. He did not want to stare. It was…impolite, for one thing, and for another…well. He simply could not stare at him for long.
The sight of His Majesty making the cross led him to curl his lips back while turning his face away. He needed to compose himself. They worship the same God, even the same one as the Ottomans, but here they are now. Then again, his presence in this chapel is highly precarious. Does he care? Naturally he should, and he does, believe him. On there other hand, he doesn't see any wrong being done. He is Sabbas Desiderio Valiente Medina after all.
And all Sabbas wanted to do was to get lost in observing the king in front of him. It wouldn't be very diplomatic of him. A smile crept up onto him. He gave a forty-five degree bow to the king. "My apologies, Your Majesty for disturbing your time of prayer."
His tongue glided on top of his teeth. He forced a chuckle. "Well with the stained glass windows complimenting those eyes of yours, Your Majesty, I would assume that it is only your chapel," He mused. "It is beautiful."