#aiguillette
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In her 13 years as creative director of the French jewellery house Boucheron, Claire Choisne’s mood boards have featured some unusual suspects.
This January, she introduced the latest high jewellery collection with a picture of Prince Philip waving at crowds during the coronation in 1953.
He’s decked out in his Admiral of the Fleet finery, decorated with military medals and orders of chivalry, white ribbons fluttering at his shoulders.
‘OK, Prince Philip is not my absolute muse – but I love this picture,’ says Choisne via video call from the Tucson Gem Show, where she is shopping for the stones that will feature in the house’s 2026 collections.
She was drawn to the unexpectedly feminine details of the late Duke of Edinburgh’s ceremonial uniform.
‘You feel the power and the strength, but at the same time, there are all these couture details: bows, ribbons, embroidery. It’s a paradox.’
She decided it was the perfect way to interpret the well-trodden high jewellery theme of ‘couture.’
‘I didn’t want to do something too girly or cheesy. I wanted to give strength to the pieces. When I saw this picture, I said to myself, “OK, now I know how to manage the creation of this collection.”’
The resulting 24-piece collection, The Power of Couture, is the latest chapter in Boucheron’s annual Histoire de Style series, which sees Choisne reinterpret designs or themes from the house’s 166-year history.
Its founder, Frédéric Boucheron, was the son of a draper and so the archive teems with diamond-set bows, ribbons and lace, with gold worked into supple-as-silk scarves.
A lace-like shoulder adornment made circa 1880 was a Belle Epoque predecessor of today’s white gold and diamond epaulettes, whose overlapping loops were inspired by a tiara made in 1902 for the Princess of Wales, later Queen Mary, Prince Philip’s grandmother-in-law.
Clipped across the shoulders, they’re a precious take on the traditional tasselled gold epaulettes of naval uniforms.
They also transform into cuffs; such versatility is a hallmark of the collection.
A set of 15 medal brooches can be strung into a bib necklace of epic proportions.
A rock-crystal and diamond bow can fasten to the shoulder or chest, or be fashioned into a multi-wear necklace, while its central diamond can be plucked off to become a ring.
A braided aiguillette can be worn military-style across the chest, draped around the waist, or disassembled into brooches and a bracelet.
‘In ceremonial attire, there are so many rules that you have to respect. For the collection, I wanted the opposite,’ says Choisne.
‘I wanted people to be able to play freely and design their own style.’
She sees the collection as a ‘kit’ with an almost infinite number of styling combinations.
Her dream, she says, would be for one client to buy the lot. Whether that client is male or female is of little importance.
‘A long time ago, the people who wore high jewellery were men. The maharajas, the tsars, the kings. The biggest and most beautiful pieces were designed for men.’
One of Boucheron’s most famous clients was the Maharaja of Patiala who, in 1928, had his guards cart some 7,571 diamonds and 1,432 emeralds from The Ritz to the Boucheron boutique, to be set into 149 extraordinarily opulent jewels – a commission that inspired New Maharajas, the house’s 2022 Histoire de Style high jewellery collection.
Sir Bhupinder Singh, Maharaja of Patiala, GCSI GCIE GCVO GBE (12 October 1891 – 23 March 1938)
'Today,' continues Choisne, 'I don’t want to do pieces for men or for women. I want to make beautiful and meaningful pieces. And I want to show that it’s beyond gender.’
She says that men do buy and wear Boucheron high jewellery, but she doesn’t know the precise proportion of male customers.
‘I almost don’t want to know exactly, because I’m sure of my idea. And maybe we have to show them that it’s a good one.’
Three years ago, Boucheron’s art deco-inspired Histoire de Style collection was photographed on male and female models – a first among Place Vendôme’s traditional maisons.
‘I knew that some of the pieces were even stronger on men. But the idea of it was almost weird at that time. People asked me, “Are you sure, high jewellery on men?” And my answer was, “Yes, definitely,”’ says Choisne.
The Power of Couture collection, conversely, was exclusively photographed on and modelled by women; another deliberately defiant move.
‘When you think of ceremonial attire, you naturally think of men. So I wanted to show the opposite. It doesn’t make sense for me to choose between men and women. Nowadays we can do what we want.’
A pair of embroidery-inspired diamond ferns have an ethereal, Greek goddess-like beauty when worn as a headpiece.
But one can also imagine them pinned to a tuxedo, echoing the actor Regé-Jean Page, who wore a feather-shaped diamond Boucheron brooch at last year’s Oscars.
Although it may take a Liberace-channelling peacock to carry off a lacy diamond collar, even the most bling-averse gentleman could be tempted to affix a few rock crystal and diamond buttons to his dress shirt.
Choisne says Boucheron’s clients span the whole spectrum.
‘It’s the same for men as it is for women: some are more classical, and some are super edgy.’
Culture plays a role. ‘Maybe European men are a bit more traditional, whereas in Asia men can be more open-minded when it comes to style.’
It was important that the Power of Couture collection wasn’t too literal, says Choisne; it couldn’t feel like fancy dress.
A restrained, all-white palette of rock crystal and diamonds helps; she champions texture and detail over bold hues or glitzy brilliance.
The pieces are labelled with their carat weight along with the hours involved in their creation – many run into the thousands.
‘If you put a lot of little diamonds everywhere, it’s easy. It will shine, so you have no doubt that it’s precious,’ says Choisne.
‘But I prefer to find preciousness with purity of design and elegance, which come from the craftsmanship. It’s not about having lots of diamonds. The number of hours is what makes it high jewellery.’
The transformable Noeud bow, for example, is crafted from hundreds of individually cut lines of frosted rock crystal, threaded together through their diamond edging to evoke the texture and fluidity of grosgrain ribbon.
‘It would be much faster and easier to engrave a single piece, but I wanted it to be really flexible. So they cut every little line by hand. Each one is a different length. It’s crazy work to achieve that.’
That’s 2,600 hours of crazy work, to be precise.
Elsewhere, sandblasted rock crystal is knitted together into the flexible, five-strand Tricot choker.
’The idea was to give an illusion of knit work,’ says Choisne. ‘The unpolished rock crystal gives the feeling of softness, like wool.’
The Médailles feature grosgrain-effect rock-crystal ribbons, from which hang 15 medallions of sculpted rock crystal overlaid on to beds of brilliant-cut diamonds.
‘We cut the rock crystal with the glyptic technique – it’s much more complicated than engraving. Then we set diamonds underneath so they are a bit blurred. For me, it’s more magical.’
It’s clear that Boucheron’s craft workers relish Choisne’s technical challenges.
They are currently making the pieces that will launch in July 2025 (Boucheron presents two high jewellery collections a year), while Choisne is finalising designs for 2026 and developing her ideas for 2027.
It’s not always easy to sleep with so many different concepts buzzing around her brain, she admits.
Her approach to design mirrors the demands she asks of her atelier. ‘I don’t love it when it’s too easy.’
boucheron.com
#Prince Philip#Duke of Edinburgh#British Royal Family#Boucheron#Claire Choisne#jewellery house#fashion#Tucson Gem Show#Coronation 1953#fine jewe#fine jewellery#couture#The Power of Couture#Histoire de Style#Frédéric Boucheron#epaulettes#Maharaja of Patiala#glyptic technique#aiguillette#Queen Mary#Maharaja Sir Bhupinder Singh
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More tablet practice today. The first is a redraw of an OLD ASS Dragon Magazine character picture they used to provide. The second is a weapon from my fanfic Once We Were Warriors: a phalarica; cross between the High Guard Lance from Andromeda and the Staff Weapons from Stargate. Used during the height of the SilMil by the Sol System armies... still wasn't enough to prevent the Fall. The final was a study on aiguillettes from google images. I hate braids SO MUCH.
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Vidéo de la recette des Aiguillettes de Canard aux Noix et au Miel
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Busty machine milf squirts while dildoed
Gay twink fat body movie first time Troy was on his way to get a
مصريه بطيز مربربه
Mallu girl playing vibreter
glory hole deep throat blowjob anonymous amateur cocksucker
Ava Addams Called Me Up For A Big Tits Porn Star Hardcore Hookup At Home
Real amateur couples swinger party in a realityshow
Straight gays wanking together and teen group masturbation young
Sid and nancy blowjob ball sucking BG fucking Chaturbate cam porn videos
Sexy transitioning ebony trap jacks off
#exegetical#Flemish#swift-winged#aiguillette#TC#infiltrating#nonauricular#presence#Kensett#philters#brasher#unformalness#half-praised#alcohate#song-worthy#lateriflexion#reexportation#outhymn#temporization#MOCA
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Jim's KGB officer: you're not good with Russian, are you?
Me, confused as all hell: well, comrade senior lieutenant, I thought I was pretty good, but I'm not so sure anymore...
#Jimち ASMR#jim asmr#asmr roleplay#I have so many question and so few answers#what I can tell you is that I apparently do like a man in a uniform especially when when he wears full dress uniform#aiguillette awards and all to a routine interrogation
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Custom Commission piece - Theo and Lapin au where Lapin doesn't get snatched up by the Sugar Plum fairy and keeps being a rogue thief. Commander Theo is on the case of the Missing ring-pops and chocolate coins tho👀
(other random details: red licorice aiguillettes, Easter egg wrapping patterns on Lapin, Theo doing a detect magic/sending spell and sugar plum fairy watching over them👀)
#its fun it's cute They'd Tear Each Other Apart#theo would throw him through a wall#lapin would frame him blackmail him get him fired ruin his career#just boys in love being boys#crown of candy#commission work#fanart#art#theo#sir theobald gumbar#lapin cadbury#dimension 20#brennan Lee mulligan#murph#zac oyama#au#dnd#acoc
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Your Royal Support
Leah Williamson x Royal!Reader
Warnings: none fluff talks of Leah’s ACL recovery
Disclaimer: for the purposes of this story actual timelines have not been taken into account I.e Princess Diana and Prince Charles separation.
You hadn’t had to dress in your dress uniform since June when you attend the Royal Garter, but here you where fixing your sash again out of nerves you looked in the mirror before looking at the sleeping form of you fiancé in bed. Leah and her family had travelled to Windsor yesterday to watch the 26 year old footballer accept her OBE and unlike the other recipients of the awards taking place this morning they all slept at Windsor castle, you where happy to sleep in a hotel but your father had insisted on it stating family stay with family when they visit not in a hotel and it wasn’t like the castle couldn’t accommodate them.
Leah stirred slightly as you turned holding your aiguillette in order to stop them from banging together and creating noise wanting the younger girl to sleep a bit longer knowing today was going to be long. You walked towards the bed and leaning down you kissed her head “I’ll see you shortly my love.” Watching her a moment longer you left knowing your Equerry James was standing waiting to give you the rundown of the day.
You had attended a few meetings before the ceremony regarding the statement that would be made at the end of the month regarding your engagement to Leah, you refused to make any decisions without her input stating that whatever information you received would be relayed back to her. You had left that meeting to a flurry of texts from Leah and Amanda, both looking for you in a form of panic as Leah grew more nervous of this afternoon’s ceremony. You called Leah immediately and you could have sworn the ringtone hadn’t even sounded before she answered “hello my love.” Leah sighed hearing your voice “everything ok.” Leah shook her head before realising you couldn’t see her “I don’t think I can do this Y/n.” You looked around the corridor of the castle before walking down towards the left and stopping when you came across the window you where looking for peering out of it you could see into the apartment you had left this morning now though you could see Leah pacing the room with Amanda sat on the couch both dressed. You smiled before beginning to talk again “your already halfway through Le.” Leah shook her head “that doesn’t make sense Y/n the ceremony isn’t for another hour and a half I’m not even close to being half way done.” You smiled once again watching Amanda try to get Leah to sit “your already dressed, your hair is done and although I tell you every morning you don’t need it you have makeup on although on a day like today I understand so you are already ready for the ceremony waiting for it to happen after those two it only has to happen and then we go out later, that’s four things on a check list two completed two to go your halfway done.” Leah sighed again “you always know what to say.” You laughed “if I didn’t by now then you should reevaluate our relationship it’s my job to know you.” Leah smiled before stopping “wait can you see me.” You laughed again watching Amanda and Leah look around the room trying to figure out where you could see them “I told you, you call, you ever need me in moments you feel like no one can see you I can, I see you.” Leah turned looking out the window before spotting you waving at her “oh I love you.” You laughed nodding along “I know but I loved you first.” Leah laughed at the statement you made every time she told you she loved you, you had said you had fallen in love with her when you where on a royal engagement with your older brothers to the Arsenal academy as a kid. You had never publicly had a relationship until her and even then it was rather private stating you had known from the moment your hands touched you knew there was nobody else and even stated you didn’t mind waiting as she dated other people because you knew it was going to be you who she loved last. You smiled at her once more before talking again “I better go I have a meeting with Will about you know what, see you shortly darling.” Leah blew you a kiss before hanging up and turning to her mum who had been watching the interaction.
You stood down the hall waiting for the Williamson family to arrive fixing you uniform nervously before your head shot up at the sound of a wolf whistle, you couldn’t help you face become hot at the sight of Leah walking at a fast pass in order to reach you “I love it when you wear your uniform, your keeping that on all day.” You smiled nodding “sort of have to but I can take the jacket off when we start dancing later thank god.” Leah smiled before placing her hands either side of you cheeks pulling you into a kiss “I’m so proud of you.” Now it was Leah’s turn to blush “seriously Le I am and I worry I never tell you enough but I’m proud of you for one everything you have accomplished in your football career, two for how high you have held your head through these difficult months but mostly I’m proud of you I’m proud of you knowing who you are, never forgetting where you came from while you look forward to where you want to go in the future for understanding you have a voice and using it not just when the public see, I’m proud of all the time you have been in so much pain and admitted to it, whether it is your acl or your endometriosis I’m proud of you not letting anything or anyone define you and I’m proud to be your fiancé I will tell you that I love you how much I have always loved you till I can no longer speak but I need you to know I’m also just as proud of you, thank you for loving me, allowing me to love you, for taking on the crazy that I and my family are and the burden our status brings, for being there when I need you for collecting me and all the baggage but thank you mostly for your support I hope I have supported you as much as you have and will always need because you are always there for me.” Leah melted into your arms “don’t make me cry before I have to go stand in-front of your brother and then the press.” You kissed the top of her head chuckling slightly “but you have and I know how proud and loved I am from you I never understood what love was or how we are meant to only be in love with one person for the rest of our lives until I met you y/n now I don’t want anyone else to be there holding my hand in the hard times and making me smile as hard as I do in the good ones I know trust me I do.” You pulled her into a kiss once more before separating to hold her hand as her grandfather cleared his throat to gain your attention “well are you kids ready.” You nodded pulling Leah into you before turning to the door nodding to the hand stating you where ready when they were.
You stood beside Amanda holding her as Leah stepped forward to receive the award looking at you briefly at something William had said before smiling. “I can’t wait till you both get married.” You smiled at Amanda “any idea where it’s going to be yet.” You shook your head slightly “no not at all Papa has said we could use Westminster Abby, that holds roughly 2000 people but I don’t know it’s already getting televised that’s more people seeing our relationship than either her or I want if I’m being honest, he has also said we could get married here at St George’s chapel like Harry and my cousin but if I’m being honest I would marry her in a registry office with you guys as witnesses but I’m not allowed.” Amanda smiled squeezing your arm “I know your role is hard that there are so many eyes looking at you constantly wishing you harm, but she has told me that for you she would stand in front of them all and protect you no matter what, I worried about her being with you I’m ashamed to say but I did your mother died after marrying into your family, your sisters in law have been torn from limb to limb in the media, as a mother you want to protect your child and that’s all I want for her happiness and protected and for a while I didn’t see you being able to protect her, but then you drove through the night after she got a concussion and you postponed meetings and appearances when she did her ankle and you sat and held her so tight yet so gently when the doctors told her she had endometriosis and you promised her and I you would find the best doctors to look after her should she ever need it, but recently you have shown me your in it for the long run with her acl injury that you would do anything to protect and support her through her worst and best and I feel so much more at peace, it’s you and her until the stars come calling and you really have shown us all that.” You pulled Amanda into a hug feeling yourself tear up. “Thank you.” Amanda laughed lightly “I should be thanking you.” You shook your head “ thank you for being the mum I always needed.” At this Amanda hugged you tighter.
William stood talking to Leah before they both turned to see you talking to Amanda “you know she never knew our mum not really anyway she was to young when she died but she is so like her in the way she loves.” Leah looked at him confused “my mum had a good heart when she fell in love with something she fell hard and she did everything she could to express it whether that be speaking about charity’s or loving her kids. Y/n loves you wholeheartedly and that is the best trait my mother could have passed down to her.” Leah smiled at him looking at you and Amanda hugging “I hope she knows I love her just as much.” William smiled “she does trust me.” William presented Leah with her badge before pulling her into a hug “and we can’t wait for you to join the family.” Leah smiled one last time before stepping back bowing slightly and walking over to you and her family. You stepped back allowing the Williamson’s to grab Leah first a habit she didn’t always appreciate but she understood before you scooped her up into a hug “my girls an OBE.” Leah laughed “I can do you one better my girls a literal princess.” You laughed grabbing her hand waving to your brother before exiting the room and into a private quarter where you couldn’t help but grab her and kiss her not caring who was watching.
“I love you.” Leah smiled into the kiss “I loved you first.” You smiled back before grabbing her into another kiss
#leah williamson x y/n#leah williamson x you#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson imagine#leah williamson#woso one shot#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso soccer#woso#british royal family#prince william#royalty#awfc
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Details and analysis of 3H outfits
There is a reflection of the house color in the uniforms of students. Although the examples presented in the image are non-recruitable characters, when you recruit students, the color of the reflection in their uniforms will change to the color of your chosen house.
The Byleth academy uniform concept is based on the concept of student uniforms in modern japanese media. Such as the female uniform, which is based on a japanese female student uniform in terms of a hairband, short skirt, andwhite stockings. The male uniform is based on a uniform from the Taisho period.
Female summer clothing is based on the Patra's uniform with the color scheme reversed, the reason may be due to Petra's nature that adapts to hot weather. However, male summer clothing is based on Felix's uniform🤔
The evening wear consists of an Aiguillette which symbolizes honour, and a stylized design of Pellegrina which has a rhombus (males) and heart (females) shape on its edges, with a standard CoS pattern on the males sleeves and females skirts. The female skirts specifically are the same design as the nun's which both contain the pattern of Sothis' dress. Since the evening wear is intended to celebrate Garreg Mach's establishment, it is only natural that the design combines a formal uniform with CoS clothing.
Duscur
The children wear clothing similar to ancient Egyptian clothing, but the clothing of the man and woman closely resembles those of northern europe. (However, I may be wrong, so feel free to add to this post if you know more about the type of clothing of the Duscur people)
All clothing of the Duscur people of this feature a pixelated pattern, and color schemes of teal, light orange, vanilla, and red cords.
The design of their jewelry appears to be a mixture of wing symbols from cultures such as American Indians, Egyptians, and Persians.
Almyra
This man from the VW end mural wears clothing similar to Nader's, and with a color scheme similar to Claude's and the color purple, which symbolizes royalty in persian culture, he is very likely the king of Almyra.
What I found interesting is that although Almyra is inspired by Persian culture, Nader and king's clothing is similar to Tibetan clothing. However, this is not a problem, there is no shame in drawing inspiration from a number of different cultures to make a culture in a fantasy story, as is the case with Duscur.
Dagda
From the clothing of the man on the camel and the helmets of the soldiers, Dagda appears to be inspired by Ottoman culture.
The reason I believe they are from Dagda is because there are many Shamir's design elements at their design.
Well, my statement that "there is no shame in drawing inspiration from a number of different cultures to make a culture in a fantasy story," this is an example of the opposite.
This man from the CF end mural wears the emblem of the kingdom, but his clothing style is that of the alliance. Why🤔
To know the difference between the clothing style of Fodlan countries, read this.
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ok, my request is: nikolai lantsov x reader where they are married for convenience but are friends and support each other. they secretly love each other and that's why they kiss when they don't have to and sleep together, really adoring each other, and that's where spicy comes in, although it's completely optional if you don't feel comfortable doing it. oh, and i imagine that after zoya becomes queen, nikolai and reader finally declare themselves to each other, assuring that they love each other with or without a crown. like, angst/comfort and fluff at the end? if you can't include spicy it's ok! you write wonderfully well ♡♡♡
An Exhausted Smile
♡ Summary: You consider your position as the Ravkan King's spouse. It doesn't feel as fulfilling as you'd like it to be, and he surprises you by feeling the same.
♡ Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Reader
♡ Fandom: King of Scars, Grishaverse
♡ Warning(s): 18+, says cock once, mentions nausea
♡ WC: 5.5k
Hi hi! Tysm for this request!
I didn't know what gender you wanted reader to be. However after writing the whole thing I feel it's obvious that you may have wanted a fem reader, but this is what I came up with!
It doesn't get completely smutty, but it does reach a point that I'd consider adult. So I hope it's still to your liking <3
Please ignore any spelling and grammar mistakes, the beginning of this before the bedroom scene was written with a massive headache so I do apologize if it seems a bit rough around the edges there.
∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘
The ballroom is filled to the brim with people. Each one varying in their level of importance and showcasing as such by either vastly overdressing or being a bit more modest, but still wanting to put on their best for their King.
And you, by proxy.
Your clothes match your husband's in their own right. He wore the standard garb that fits a King, white base and gold accents, matching gold aiguillette wrapped around his shoulder. While you lacked the fancy rope, Genya compensated with a few select ribbons and even jewelry where she felt it needed.
The rings on Nikolais gloved fingers made your decorated wrist feel less alone.
"Just have to get through this and then we can retreat back to our room." He whispers, working on his smile in a silver vase.
The way he says "our" still makes your heart flutter, even close to a year after your marriage was sanctioned.
You give him a glare, despite him being unable to see it. "You act like this is only going to last an hour or two. You know just as well as I do that this is going to be an all night endeavor." A sigh nearly deflates your entire being. "Especially with the representatives from Kerch. They always get everyone riled up."
He chuckles. "You speak of them as if they're just regulars at the tavern and not government officials."
You pick off a piece of hair that managed to dislodge itself from your scalp and wrap around your fingers. Genya's going to be mad when she sees you.
She hadn't done much with your hair aside from the occasional color correction, but she did make a point to get any kinks out and help it move in one solid direction in contrast to your usual bedhead.
You feel a little bad for messing it up, smiling when you imagine her reaction.
It's not as if you weren't royalty before your engagement. You were simply second born. So it's not like anybody particularly cared so long as you appeared to be put together and well behaved. Your hair was allowed to be a bit messy if you were extra respectful and made an effort to engage when spoken to. You were allowed to have your clothes a little rumpled so long as you came in late, apologized profusely, and fixed them while doing so.
Exceptions were allowed to be made. But now...
Nikolai is in front of you, boots oddly quiet on the tiled floor. His fingers card through your hair, fixing it and moving strands that wandered one way or another.
You weren't meant to accomplish much in your life. Until Nikolai offered his hand in marriage.
"Keep doing that and you'll go bald."
You swat at his hands, no real anger behind it, an uncontrollable grin pulling at the corners of your mouth. He smiles too, and it's a pretty little thing. Teeth poking out and lips shiny with a gloss you know Genya made clear and taste like berries.
You know because he kisses you now, hands pulling you close.
And it hurts.
It makes your heart ache in all the wrong ways.
But you can't help but lean into it, hand pulling at his neck to make him come just that little shuffle closer.
A throat clears from behind him, which he promptly ignores and chases after you when you go to pull away, a chuckle spilling from both of your throats.
"As lovely as it is to see you both happy," Genya marches forward, inserting herself between you both, "you are messing with everything I have spent the last several hours crafting. Hands off until after your guests leave."
She quickly begins fixing your hair, drawing color from swatches she keeps around her wrist and fixing your cheekbones, smiling when you wet your lips and taste the gloss.
It takes everything in your power to not let your eyes nervously flicker around the room, instead letting them settle on Nikolai, who looks just moments away from gently pushing Genya to the side.
"If Ravka and it's neighboring countries have a problem with a King who openly loves his partner, then that's their business."
A plethora of feelings cascade over your mind and heart, seeping into your essence.
It feels... complicated.
And you feel like one of those annoying novel protagonists for saying so, but really you can't find a word in any of the languages you know that could give someone, anyone, some sort of insight into your internal dilemma.
Nikolai is your best friend. Has been since you were eleven.
But you have also loved him since you were fourteen, the feelings slowly moving through your veins like a poison, obvious to you from the very beginning and only becoming stronger as the days pass.
And as far as you can tell, Nikolai does not feel the same.
You remember the day he proposed you get married, and the exhausted and pained expression he wore when he presented you with a ring, smile completely and utterly fake.
You know all of his smiles by heart. And you know on that day, in that moment, he was grieving.
No matter how many times he kisses you behind closed doors, you cannot be rid of the fact that this marriage is for convenience and convenience only.
Love is not shared between you two. Not in the way you want, anyway.
But you take what you can get. Every fruit flavored kiss. Every hand perfectly slotting into your own. Every night filled with hushed sighs and names whispered behind the shell of your ear because he knows you hate the feeling of hot breath no matter who is speaking into it.
You take it, and you put a cold rag over your sad, swollen eyes when you feel like you can't.
Once Genya is done fixing you up, she moves onto Nikolai, who now looks more concerned than anything.
You flick invisible dust off your shoulders, giving yourself a moment to compose yourself when you turn to the silver vase Nikolai was using earlier.
Everything is warped on the surface. Parts of you look bigger than they should when you turn one way or another. You don't know how he could make himself look as good as he does while using it.
"I know you aren't over there poking around at everything again."
"I'm not." You say. "Just admiring your work."
She hums. "As you should."
Nikolai is still looking at you as you turn around, a silent question flickering across his face.
You give him your answer by walking up to him, looping your arm through his and offering a small smile.
He's not convinced. But the doors are opening, and you both have to step through with smiles on your faces and hands outstretched, taking on Ravka's problems and hoping there's enough favors in the world for what's coming.
There's music playing in the corner, people are mingling but still trying to stay in tightly knit groups, and a few refuse to stray farther than a few feet from the table which held a constantly refilling onslaught of finger foods.
For the next few hours you're approached by various people, most of whom you remember from your wedding.
But there's a few who make snide comments, with very thinly veiled insults.
It bothers you a lot more than it should, having thought most of them during your darker hours.
"Will you remain after the war?" Someone from the Kerch council asks.
You chuckle, feeling nauseous. "Of course I will. The war being over doesn't null our marriage."
They just smile and say 'Of course' before walking off, whispering lowly to each other.
After the third time, everything feels a little too much.
"Excuse me." You don't wait for whoever approaches you to nod or protest.
Navigating out of the ballroom feels a little too much like an act of survival. You think a few people try and talk to you, but you're not sure, exiting out a side door and standing in the middle of the hall.
What the is going on with you?
You wipe your clammy and shaking hands on your clothes, dusting off invisible dirt and grime from your hips and chest.
It feels like you're going to buzz out of your skin. You tighten your ears, making a rumble in your eardrums to drown out the music and idle chatter from inside.
The guards that stand outside the ballroom doors give you the side eye. No matter how long you've been conventionally married to a King, you will never get used to having eyes and ears on you at all times. It feels like you can't even breathe without them judging or assuming something is going to happen.
You get it. You really do. After the bloodbath that was Nikolai's birthday, security had been upped. It'd be a political nightmare for something such as that to happen twice. It'd prove that Ravka was as weak as everyone thinks it is. That it lacks the means to protect itself, that it's an open buffet for everyone to take a piece of.
But did they have to have such probing glances? Legs so ready to spring and hands itching to take hold in the face of the slightest danger?
Sometimes your body doesn't feel like your own.
And maybe it's not.
Not when your marriage is founded on a lie.
You exist as an arm piece. Your presense only has one use: to provide the illusion that should Nikolai perish, the country will remain strong.
"Are you alright, my love?"
Nikolai puts a hand on your back, leaning forward to look you in the eye.
Guilt immediately eats at your gut.
"Ill be fine in a few minutes." You manage, relaxing your ears. The rumbling seizes and your head teeters backwards as you whisper, "Just too much pretending."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, eyes roaming over your face with what looks like disappointment flashing over his features. "Do you need to head to bed for the night?"
You chuckle. "Good luck explaining that one to Zoya. The ministers and ambassadors and whatever other important persons there are, are expecting both of us tonight. We cannot disappoint."
'I cannot disappoint.' Is something you keep to yourself.
"You forget that I'm the King, not Zoya." The way he rubs at your back with his gentle fingers makes your heart stutter. "If my partner is feeling ill and wishes to retreat to their room, then they shall do so."
You only sigh, not having anything to say to that.
The bed did sound particularly comforting about now.
For a long moment the world becomes dark as you imagined yourself out of these formal clothes, dressed in your worn out shirt and wide flowy pants that didn't feel like they were castrating your legs. You imagined crawling into your plush bed, tightly packed wool sewn into soft silk.
It was a mistake.
"Nikolai?" You hum, eyes opening to stare at him with heavy lids.
"Yes?"
"One more hour. Then I'll head to bed."
It was a compromise, one he didn't usually entertain. He would much prefer you laying down when you got like this than have you force yourself to stay until the party ends.
But you lean into him a little, wrapping your own arm around his waist, and he becomes a bit more pliable.
"One hour," He agrees. "But I get to check in on you every quarter to ask if you're alright."
You chuckle. "I wouldn't except anything less, Sobachka."
You do not miss the way his eyes go just a bit thinner, a black well forming in each of his multicolored irises.
Just because you feel poorly for your situation doesn't mean you have to make him feel miserable as well.
Especially since you know he's really trying.
Guilt continues to eat at your gut throughout the night, because even if being just an arm piece is your role, Nikolai hasn't done anything to make you feel that way.
He has only ever treated you with the utmost respect and affection. Triumvirate meetings always include you should you wish to go, and your opinion is never overshadowed by him, always taken into consideration even if playfully mocked by the others. He knows every little ick you have made known to him and ones you have not, and has done his best to purge those things from your daily routine.
If what he's craving for that night doesn't suit your tastes or contains a texture you find reprehensible, he makes sure the palace chefs make something that you're craving too.
'It's only fair' he says.
At night, in the dark of your shared bedroom, he'll talk and talk about the things he loves most and rope you into them, dumping any information he has right into your lap for you to pick apart and inspect, and he'll watch as the cogs turn in your brain and find the right questions.
There's never a rush to get the conversation over with. It doesn't feel like just a nicety, because he's still your best friend at the end of it all and he still cares.
He has only ever done his absolute best to make you feel adored.
But it doesn't feel like enough.
Even as he does his last and final check in, not missing the other three by even a minute, you see the way his shoulders are squared and his attention is half elsewhere.
He is a King. He is a performer. And you're part of the act.
"You ready for bed?" He asks, voice low with a flute of undrunken champagne in his jeweled fingers.
You take a look around, and sigh deeply. "Yeah."
His face morphs into a wide smile, immediately finding a server and handing them the beverage to deal with as he ushers you out of the room and towards your shared chambers, flashing that changed expression to the people he was just talking to and giving them some sort of excuse about your health.
The buzzing has lessened, now that you're promised a nice rest. Nikolai nudges you along, but walks at your own pace as you undo ribbons and clasps and buttons.
There's an urge somewhere, to scream. It creates a feeling of anxiety that attacks your backside, feeling as if someone is behind you.
But Nikolai continues to rub your back when he feels you begin to stiffen, sees your hair stand on end, and the feeling dissipates, albeit slowly.
As he opens the door for you, he begins giving some long winded instructions towards the guards that stand outside the doors, everything you were feeling before is replaced with longing and grief.
It's taken you a year, but you're finally realizing that this is your life now.
You won't ever be going back to your home except as a guest. You love your husband. And everything feels too hot and tight.
You shed your outer layers, tossing them over the chair at his desk and undoing your shoes. All that weight feels like a blessing to be shed so easily.
The cool air sends goosebumps trailing up your arms, and Nikolai is there to rub them away.
"I've told the guards to not bother you unless the word comes directly from me." He presses a long, lingering kiss to your temple. "Ill be back in a few hours, hopefully with some leftover snacks from the tab-"
He doesnt get another word in before you turn and capture his lips in yours. Surprise holds his mouth still, but it doesnt last long before he's pressing back into you.
For saints sake (you almost cringe when you remember they're real, according to your husband), if this is your life now, why can't you be a little selfish with it?
You swear you have this oh moment once every few months, but it sinks in a little deeper every time.
It hurts, you think, as you part for only a moment, lips coming back together.
But it feels worth it for now. Right here. Where you can kiss him and kiss him and use the married excuse.
His hands cradle each side of your head, his body pushing into yours. You can hardly feel anything through that damned coat but you'd be hard pressed not to try, fingers feeling the silhouette of his ribs and the way they flow to his hips.
You want that coat off, and pop just one button before you're rudely interrupted by Nikolai walking backwards, taking you with him.
He sits on the plush bed you fantasized about crawling into, and you climb on top, feeling powerful in the way you're able to look down at him.
His mouth opens to speak, but you kiss the space between his brows, trailing down his imperfect nose and finally catching the corner of his still open lips as you undo even more buttons.
Your shoulders feel like they're on fire, a sort of fog clouding anything besides the link between your mind and core desires.
But you'll still take this slow, loving on him and edging him towards the side of staying rather than gaining his senses and walking out that door.
The door that closes behind you.
That, is enough for you to take a squallors power to the fog that covers your brain.
He has a party to go to, you think, turning around and looking at the door, watching a shadow retreat off to the side. He has people to entertain and people to ask favors of.
"Are you alright?" Nikolai asks for what seems to be the hundredth time today.
You feel a little embarrassed, about wanting to ravage him and nearly succeeding with the door wide open for the guards to hear, to see.
And now that you really think about it, the feeling gets so much worse.
"Um- yeah." You decide after much deliberation. "Just wasn't aware the door was still... open."
You move to get off of him, but he hooks his arm around your back and flips you over. You meet the bed with a little 'oof', and in the span of only a few seconds he's got you pinned down.
No real weight is applied to you, but you have no where to shimmy off to should you desire.
One of his legs are between your own, much to your dismay, a hand pressed into the bed beside your head, and a hand gripping anything he can grab of your hip.
His vest is wide open, a loose white shirt the only thing between you and the warmth you crave.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
It almost feels like he's trying to seduce you into honesty.
You release a shaky breath, silently fighting with yourself if this is the moment you want to potentially ruin.
"I love you."
It's really a shame that the seduction works, and that you're just too damn tired of pretending anymore.
His hand tightens around your hip then, the tips of his fingers beginning to dig into your skin. It makes you take a deep breath, almost unable to pass the lump in your throat that was left after your confession.
A horrible parting gift of sorts.
A reward for your idiocity.
But then he leans down, hand coming away from your hip as he slowly sinks down.
His fingers trail up the side of your torso, hips pushing into yours as the rest of him trails behind, stomach meeting stomach and chest touching chest, and if they could you think your ribs would slot together just perfectly with his until your hearts could meet.
He presses a kiss to the corner of your open mouth, hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together.
"Promise?" He asks, heavy eyes and blond lashes fluttering as they look into your own.
Moments like these almost convince you that he loves you too. That he lays awake at night thinking about where to go from here. That he doesn't on some level completely regret getting on one knee and asking for your hand.
"I promise."
He smiles, so genuine and soft.
You feel your heartbeat spread throughout your body, blood pumping harshly through your veins, and you know he feels it too when he has to shut his eyes and compose himself.
You want to move, want to feel him.
So of course that's when he decides to parrot back at you the words that constantly play on loop in your head.
"I love you too."
You look at him then, really really look at him, and watch has his eyes fall open, pupils blown and red waves flowing over his cheeks and nose.
It's a sight to behold.
You want to believe the words that spill out of his mouth, and there isn't anything about him that gives him away as a liar.
But you just can't believe him.
And he sees that.
Because just as well as you can read him, he can read you too.
"I love you." He says, leaning down and kissing just beneath your eyes.
The gloss makes his lips soft, a stark contrast to their usually chapped texture. But he's also just plain gentle, kissing you and whispering small 'I love you's between each one as he moves to your jaw and then to your lips.
"Nikolai." You whisper. Nothing comes to mind anymore.
"I love you." He says again. "And ill do anything to make you believe it."
The lump in your throat returns. "Nikolai."
"I'll whisper it in the morning when you wake up. I'll yell it at you from across the courtyard. I'll scream it from the top of my lungs everytime we—fuck." A moan spills out of him like thick candy, your own gasp surprising you despite it being your fault that your hips came up to press into his.
He takes a moment to think, to wrangle in the words he wants to say before they escape him. "I'll declare it before all of Ravka all over again. I'll eat the little things you hate because I love you more than I hate anything."
It can't be real.
He leans down, his nose brushing against yours till your foreheads meet. You can feel his lips barely brush your own. "What do I need to do to make you believe me?"
"Stay?" You say without thinking. "For starters? Just for a while."
He kisses you, the taste of blueberries welcomed by your tongue.
"With the way you were talking to me, I won't even make it half a bell."
That makes you chuckle, which is completely replaced with a low moan as his cock presses into you. It makes your fingers twitch shut around his gloved hand, the rings digging into your bones.
The pants he's wearing are too tight for your liking. You can't really feel him. Just a vague idea.
And right now, vague ideas are not going to cut it.
He seems to have the same idea as he leans back, climbing off the bed. His coat slips off his body, and his fingers tease under his shirt, well within your line of sight from where you sit up, missing the warmth and friction he was graciously giving you.
"You'll have to wait until I get all this off, darling." He sheds the shirt and moves to his hands, slowly plucking off the rings. The gloves come off after, and you nearly whimper at the sight of his blackened fingers. "It could take a while."
You shuffle to the edge of the bed, not giving him the opportunity to back away as your legs hook behind his own and bring him back to you.
He stills as he watches you reach forward, the tips of your fingers feeling the edge of his pants and barely touch the skin of his lower torso, veins teasing your eyes. You feel like you're floating, the littlest sparks popping around your neck and exploding below your naval.
"We can't have that, can we?" You croon, finding the clasp of his belt and undoing it. "You still have a party to get back to."
He groans the moment his belt slackens, pants falling soon after you unzip the little zipper that held everything together.
You almost wish he would have worn his first army outfit for tonight.
"That I do." He gets out, the sound of various metals falling to the floor. "We should make this quick."
You should be worried about the rings, you think. Either you or him will step on them later and hurt your feet.
But as he leans down again, pressing his lips to your neck and starts sucking that little patch of skin he's mapped out so well, you can't bother to think about it.
You have a King on top of you. You'd be a fool to think about anything else.
-----
The moment Nikolai relinquished his throne in front of the four present nations, your heart sunk.
He didn't look at you for a while, focusing his attention on Zoya, and you were almost thankful for it as you did everything in your power to keep your expression even, forcing a smile on your lips as Zoya began to take charge, addressing those around her for her place as Queen.
You wanted to smack Nikolai for not giving you some sort of warning, but it seems Zoya didn't know either as she gave him the occasional glare when the crowd seemed too focused on gossiping with eachother.
But more importantly you wanted answers.
After that night where you told him you loved him, pouring every bit of meaning into those little words, things were looking up for your relationship.
Little by little you allowed yourself to believe him. He did everything he proposed to you and then some. You unwrapped more of him than you could have ever accessed before and you found yourself allowing him to do the same.
But if he loves you like he says he does, has loved you for just as long as you have, why the hell did he look so damn sad when he proposed to you?
Would he still love you now? Now that he's not King and there truly is no more use for you?
Because despite everything that he's done within the last few weeks, fighting for his country on the front lines and somehow still finding some way to tell you he loves you, staying up into the dead hours of night writing letters and just thinking while holding your hand, you still have your doubts.
He came to you out of obligation. You werent his first choice but he came to you anyway when it seemed the other options were no longer there.
Now that he wasn't King, would he still try?
The Darkling came out from the shadows, challenging the authority of The Apparat.
Nikolai stood beside you, shoulder just slightly between you and the little spat.
Now that he was just Nikolai, would he still find worth in your presence?
He can have anybody now. He doesn't have to worry about the political nightmare it might cause for him to take on a partner with a less than desirable upbringing. He could go for the seamstress at that little hat shop he likes to eye or a baker from the heart of Novyi Zem.
The Apparat is surrounded by Royal Guards and Sun Soldiers nearly leap from where they stand in pursuit of the Darkling. Zoya talks with Nina and the young prince of Fjerda, and Nikolai stays put, a giddy almost childish smile barely contained on his face as he stares at you.
You look at him, begging him to explain as Zoya is roped into conversation with various Ravkan officials, but it seems he's just absolutely overcome with joy.
It makes you smile too, despite the dread and confusion building up in your gut.
"Would you care to explain what just happened?"
He chuckles. "I, just set us free."
"What?"
It's so... surreal.
He looks nervous now, looking around as Ravkan officials slowly peel themselves away from Zoya, the masses still chanting their approval for a Grisha Queen. The seats around the hall are completely empty, and the longer he waits to explain to you what he means the more you feel like you're going to burst out if your skin.
Finally, the last of them leave, and Zoya turns her angry gaze at Nikolai once more.
Wind whirls around the hall, windows shutting. "I," she points a finger at Nikolai, "am going to choke you."
"You'll have to wait in line for that." He takes your hand and squeezes it.
She looks at him then, and scoffs. "We will discuss this after you're done here."
"Depending on how this goes that would be either my greatest pleasure or worst nightmare."
She's already out the door, probably not having even heard a word Nikolai said.
Once the door is shut he turns back to you, a steady breath exiting his lungs.
"Nikolai Lantsov you had better tell me what in saints name you were talking about before I have Zoya throw you so far into the sky you'll touch the stars."
He's still smiling, and giving you that look he always does right before he says the sappiest things.
"It became clear to me a long while ago that no matter what I did I would not be accepted as the Ravkan ruler everyone wants." He takes both of your hands in his now, giving them another squeeze. "And, not so strangely at all, the more I thought about it the lighter I felt. The crown has to go to someone, and as lovely as you are, it brings me great sorrow that those around here wouldnt have found solace in you being crowned ruler either."
And it's true. You were a topic of conversation for no more than two minutes before everyone moved on. You didn't want the crown, and Nikolai was right that the age of the Lantsov's had to come to an end.
"So, I gave the crown to Zoya, because it wasn't all that improbable that they'd accept her after her little display on the battlefield." He chuckles, and you follow along, heart beating hard and fast. "But I would be deemed a liar if I said I didn't have some doubt about it, since it might have meant losing you."
Your blood runs cold. "What?" You want to ask how he could think that, but you were just thinking the same not minutes before. "Nikolai-"
"I am no longer a King. Meaning any marriage I had before means nothing to the people... but it means everything to me." He gets down on one knee, smiling up at you. "I was hesitant asking for your hand in marriage last year because I didn't want to trap you in an arrangement that you found no joy in. But these last few weeks with you where you said you loved me and I've had the joy of showing you I felt the same, have made me feel so grateful that I eventually did."
You could swear your heart was about to explode. You half want to look around the room for a heartrender, convinced someone else is doing this to you.
But it feels so genuine, and it hits you like a pile of rocks why he looked to utterly exhausted that day he proposed.
His lips greet your knuckles, his lashes shiny with what you can only assume are tears. "I will continue to love you, for as long as I shall live, if you will let me and wish for the same."
And suddenly you can't see, because you're squeezing your eyes shut, relief nearly sending your entire system into shock.
You fall to your knees, dirtying your expensive clothes you have absolutely no care for, and grip him into a hug.
"You- You utter buffoon." You sob, tightening your grip on him just as his arms come and wrap around your waist. "Of course I want the same."
That's all he needs to squeeze you against him. You can feel his eyebrows squish together against your neck as he tightens his hold.
If he could completely envelope you into himself, merging your bodies together, you think he would.
If he could hold you so tight that your hearts could kiss, you know he would.
It's a long time before you eventually pull apart, and humor is not lost from him when he does.
"What are you going to do now?" You ask.
He sighs, helping you wipe your tears. "Well considering youre my spouse, I feel like there's an obvious answer here."
You scoff, taking his hand away from your face. "Animal."
He laughs, catching your hand and lacing your fingers together.
"How would you feel about becoming a privateer?"
You look around the room, pretending to think about it.
How would you feel about a life on the seas with your husband? Sailing in nearly any direction you please with goofy hats and guns strapped at your side? Walking the decks with a crew you'd trust with your life and fish and brandy for dinner?
What is there not to love? "I think that'd be pretty fun."
There's hardly anything you can do to make him wait to get back to the palace before stripping your clothes off, the word "captain" coming out of your mouth and sending you both into a fit of giggles.
∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘
Tags:
@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx
#ask#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov x you#nikolai lantsov x y/n#nikolai lantsov fanfic#grishaverse fanfic#grishaverse x reader#grishaverse x you#grishaverse x y/n#fanfic#anon
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La Mode nationale, no. 7, 1 avril 1886, Paris. No. 2. Costume Clergyman. No. 3. Costume Diane. No. 4. Costume de visite. Bibliothèque nationale de France
No. 2. Costume Clergyman. Jupe de lainage vitraux bleu à filets rouges, drapée en biais sur le tablier, tombant en plis droits sur le côté, coquillant en pouf derrière. Là-dessus un jersey en laine bleue, lacé en aiguillettes par une tresse de mohair rouge.
No. 2. Clergyman suit. Blue stained glass woolen skirt with red threads, draped diagonally over the apron, falling in straight folds on the side, shell like a pouf behind. On top a blue wool jersey, laced in needles with a braid of red mohair.
—
No. 3. Costume Diane. En soie de sanglier fauve. La jupe montée à gros plis par devant, tombant en pouf derrière, fendue de côté sur un jupon barré d'astrakan naturel.
Le corsage en sanglier tricoté, brodé d'une fine guirlande en laine bourrue, d'un ton plus foncé. Capeline en paillasson beige, avec cordon de boules ambrées et panache de plumes fauves.
No. 3. Diana suit. In tawny boar silk. The skirt fitted with large pleats in the front, falling in a pouf at the back, slit on the side over a petticoat barred with natural astrakhan.
The bodice in knitted boar, embroidered with a fine garland of coarse wool, in a darker tone. Beige doormat capeline, with cord of amber balls and plume of fawn feathers.
—
No. 4. Costume de visite. En étamine gris de fer, ciselée de rayures à jour. Le devant de la jupe forme double pli Montespan. Le reste est plissé. Là-dessus une tunique drapée, ouverte devant et retroussée de côté en étamine unie, de même ton. Jersey en soie grise ouvert par une double rangée de boutons nacrés sur un gilet de velours d'une nuance plus soutenue.
No. 4. Visiting suit. In iron gray cheesecloth, chiselled with openwork stripes. The front of the skirt forms a Montespan double pleat. The rest is pleated. On top a draped tunic, open in front and rolled up at the side in plain cheesecloth, of the same tone. Gray silk jersey opened with a double row of pearly buttons on a velvet waistcoat of a more intense shade.
#La Mode nationale#19th century#1880s#1886#on this day#April 1#periodical#fashion#fashion plate#description#bibliothèque nationale de france#dress#suit#bustle#visiting
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Honours of William, Prince of Wales
Order of the Garter
The Most Noble Order of the Garter is the oldest and most senior Order of Chivalry in Britain. It was founded by King Edward III in 1348.
Prince William of Wales became the 1,000th member of the register of the Order of the Garter on 23 April 2008.
His Royal Highness was officially invested by Queen Elizabeth II on 16 June 2008 at a service at St George's Chapel in Windsor Castle.
Order of the Thistle
The Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle is the greatest order of chivalry in Scotland, second only in precedence in England to the Order of the Garter.
The then Duke of Cambridge was appointed by Queen Elizabeth II as an Extra Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle on 25 May 2012.
His Royal Highness was officially invested on 5 July 2012 at St. Giles' Cathedral after attending the Thistle Service in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Medals: Queen Elizabeth II Golden, Diamond, and Platinum Jubilee Medals and King Charles III Coronation Medal
Queen Elizabeth II’s Jubilee medals are commemorative medals created in 2002, 2012, and 2022 to mark the 50th, 60th and 70th anniversary of Her Late Majesty's accession.
King Charles III’s Coronation medal is a commemorative medal created to mark the coronation of King Charles III and Queen Camilla on 06 May 2023.
Personal Aide-de-Camp to the Monarch
It is an appointment bestowed on members of the Royal Family holding a military rank. Personal Aides-de-Camp are distinguished with the royal cypher and crown of the monarch worn on the uniform shoulder straps and the golden aiguillette over the right shoulder and chest.
Prince William was appointed as a Personal Aide-de-Camp to Queen Elizabeth II on 17 March 2013. He is also appointed as Personal Aide-de-Camp to King Charles III in 2023.
Tuvalu Order of Merit
It is an order of merit of Tuvalu that was founded on 1 October 2016, on the 38th anniversary of Tuvaluan independence.
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge was invested by His Excellency Sir Iftikhar Ayaz (Honorary Consul-General of Tuvalu) on behalf of the Governor-General of Tuvalu at Kensington Palace on 30 October 2017.
The award was given in recognition of their visit to Tuvalu as part of the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II in 2012.
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A studio portrait of a midshipman. His uniform is decorated with aiguillettes. The sabre is adorned with the crown of Louis Philippe, by Sabatier Blot, France, 1845 or later
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aiguillette d'argentiere
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yes those aren’t the correct uniforms. no i don’t care. yes im giving them the aiguillette.
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Sleepless in New York: Epilogue - Into The Night
Series: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.
Masterlist: Sleepless in New York
Chapter Summary: On the long-dreaded night of the Masquerade Ball, Drake has a revelation...
Word Count: 4,600
Rating/Warnings: M (angst, way too many f-bombs, drinking, references to drug-use, fluffy fluff fluff)
Chapter theme song:
A/N1: This is my slightly belated submission for @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event I got this out as fast as I could! The prompt that this fits is '31 - You don’t know me and I promise I’m not a creepy stalker but...' and possibly this one:
A/N2: I have no clue how many people actually listen to the chapter theme songs for these fics, but if you have time, I highly encourage you to listen to this one! I dredged it from the depths of my Middle School memories because I realised that it was perfect for this chapter (in my head, if Sleepless were a movie/TV show, this is the song that would play as the end credits song).
Epilogue - Into The Night
"You okay?"
I shoot a scoff across the room. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"You could," Chris concedes, meeting my eye through the full-length mirror as he adjusts a cuff. "But I am not the one who has been staring into that whiskey glass for the past ten minutes."
"Speak for yourself," I reply, quickly draining what's left of my drink. "You've been eyeing up your reflection for the past fifteen."
"I just want to make a good first impression, is all..." he admits while obsessing over the gold aiguillette draped across his jacket.
"Isn't that what the job of the so-called ladies?" I ask dryly, dropping the now empty glass back onto the bar cart.
"I am certain they will be pulling out all the stops," he sighs, smoothing his already immaculate hair down. "But, given the occasion, it is only fair that I reciprocate."
"Well, short of emergency Botox, I think you've more than crossed that T."
Chris snaps his head around in bewilderment. "Pardon me?"
I shrug apathetically. "You're fast approaching thirty, buddy. And those crow's feet aren't doing you any favours."
He quirks a brow at me. "I think you'll find that they are laugh lines..."
"Now you're just splitting grey hairs, old man..."
Chris bursts out laughing. "Speak for yourself, Drake! You were born three months before me!"
"True," I concede. "But unlike you, I ain't got no wrinkles."
His mouth pulls into a knowing smirk. "Only because you hide them under all that unkept facial hair!"
"You should try it sometime," I riposte, running my hand suggestively over the bristles on my jaw.
Chris shakes his head with a wry grin. "I must've done something very wrong at some point for you to be my best friend..."
I spread my arms. "Hey. I'm just here to keep you humble."
Chris scoffs. "Yes. By reminding me that I'm fast approaching middle age..."
"It took your mind off the Ball, didn't it?"
"Yes," he concedes after a pause. "I suppose it did."
"Not just a hat rack, my friend," I grin with a tap on my temple. "But seriously. You look great. Warts and all."
A wan smile ghosts his lips. "Thanks, mate. You don't look too shabby yourself."
I glance down at the black tux that I'm wearing. "Yeah. Well... Given the occasion, I figured I should make some kind of effort as well."
"You know you don't have to dress up on my account... I know how much you dislike donning evening wear."
"Tell that to the prick who put 'black tie' on the invite..."
Chris chuckles. "That would be my father."
"Figures..." I say with a roll of my eyes. "He's got more dinner jackets than you can shake a stick at."
"A necessity when you are a king, I'm afraid..." Chris reminds me. "But at least it isn't a white tie 'do."
"Oh, sweet Jesus..." I groan, remembering the last royal event that I had to subject myself to in a bow tie and matching waistcoat. "I was sweating like a priest in a brothel strapped up in that monkey suit."
"It certainly did not help that the air conditioning system had been broken..."
"In the middle of a heatwave..." I add. "With five hundred people packed into a room."
"Yes, that Venice trip certainly was memorable."
"For all the wrong reasons," I grunt sourly. "I somehow managed to get food poisoning as well."
"I remember," nods Chris sympathetically. "But at least you missed the terrible opera."
"Honestly, I would've traded that hellhole of a night for an entire week's worth of bad arias..." I grumble. "I definitely got the short end of the stick in that trade."
"You only say that because you do not know what it is to sit through four hours of off-key yodelling," Chris says with grimace.
"No," I admit solemnly. "Because I always bring earplugs."
Chris' eyes widen. "And you never thought to share them?"
"Doesn't really work if you only block one ear..."
Chris rewards my factual clap-back with a shove. "You are a sod, you know that right?"
"Thought that was old news," I reply with a grin, dodging out of the way.
"And yet you nevertheless continue to raise the bar..."
"Hey," I wink as I reverse my way back to the bar cart. "I have high standards."
Chris shakes his head with a wry grin. "You're impossible."
"Thought I was a sod," I quip over my shoulder as I refill both our glasses.
"An impossible sod," accedes Chris wryly as he slips on his monogrammed Breitling.
"Just so we're clear..." I smirk as I retrace my steps to offer him one of the tumblers.
"Thanks," he acknowledges, taking the heavy crystal. "What shall we toast to?"
I think for a second. "How 'bout blind, dumb luck?"
Chris lifts a brow. "That's a new one."
"Seems to be in short supply of late," I tell him, raising my glass.
"Very true," he agrees. "To Lady Luck, then! May she bestow her golden smile upon us once again!"
"'Cause we could all do with a fuckin' break," I add dryly, clinking my glass against his.
Chris brings the gin to his mouth with a laugh. "Did we not just have one?"
"Not all of us," I remind him, throwing my refill back.
"Well, we'll need to make sure you take some time in lieu, then."
"I'll be fine," I assure him. "I'll just chalk it up as overtime."
Chris chuckles. "At the rate you're going, you'll soon have more overtime on the books than regular time."
"Yeah, well..." I shrug. "Shit needs doing. But I'm planning on dropping off the grid for a couple of weeks once the Bash is behind us."
"Take a whole month," Chris advises, clapping a hand onto my shoulder. "You will have more than earned it by then."
I scoff. "I can't just—"
He firms up his grip. "I insist."
Lifting my gaze, I find his clear, emerald eyes locking me down.
I huff out a low breath. "Fine. I'll think about it."
"That is the best I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?"
"Yep," I tell him with a slap on his arm. "Now, hop to it, Cinderella — your ball awaits."
"Yes, I suppose we best get on," he concedes, depositing his empty glass on a side table. "Would be rude to turn up late for my own party..."
Turning on his heel, he strides determinedly towards the door of his suite. The footman stationed by the wall quickly grabs the latch and pulls the door back.
"Here we go..." I mutter under my breath as I drop my tumbler off as well and follow after him.
This is it. The start of the slow, downward skid towards the inevitable. The beginning of the end.
Because tonight's ball kicks off not just the months-long circus that is the social season, but the countdown to Chris' coronation as well.
As despite all the official interviews and press releases, it's no secret within the Palace that Constantine is living on borrowed time. His pancreatic cancer had been diagnosed too late, and even with vigorous treatment, it had spread. And even based on the most optimistic outlook, chances are good that he won't make it to Christmas.
Which is why New York — by necessity — had been such a whirlwind tour. Because any day could end up being the old bastard's last, and Chris has to be ready to step up to the plate at a moment's notice. Not that he isn't already running the country in all but name... It just isn't official yet.
But that's why the race to find the next Queen is exactly that — a high-stakes time-trial where the clock is against everyone.
Especially Chris.
Because if Constantine's condition takes a sudden turn for the worse, Chris may not get the luxury of choice. As some dumbass had had the bright idea a few centuries ago to enact a law that states that Cordonian monarchs must be married or engaged at the time of their coronation. Which means that Chris' hand could end up being forced by circumstances — and selfish interests — outside his control.
So, we better pray that he finds someone, and fast. Or that the doctors are wrong. Ideally both.
Otherwise, we're gonna be up the proverbial creek without a paddle, hurtling down the rapids of a constitutional crisis that could very literally tear the kingdom apart.
"Well... This is it," declares Chris as we arrive at the doors of the ballroom.
"Yep," I agree over the soft hubbub of gossip and classical music that's seeping out into the ante-room we're standing in. "Last chance to cut and a run."
"I am honestly considering it," he admits with a shaky laugh as the footmen prepare to open the double-height doors.
"Hey," I say, stepping in front of him. "If you need a time out—"
He shakes his head. "I'll be fine."
"You sure?" I ask, fixing him with a critical eye as I wave at the staff to hold their horses.
"Yes," he nods determinedly. "Just... Just some last-minute nerves, is all."
"Understandable," I concede. "There are only about a dozen girls on the other side of that door waiting to throw themselves at you."
He eyes the barrier uneasily. "I suppose I should feel flattered..."
"...but you're seriously thinking about jumping off the balcony."
He bites out a strangled laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
"You never could beat me at poker."
"Shit..." he mutters, running an agitated hand down his face.
"Hey," I say, clamping my hands onto his shoulders to make him look at me. "It's a fucked up situation. I get it. Your dad's got one foot in the grave, you're trying to run a country, and the last thing you want to do is play Royal Bachelor in front of all these tossers. But you need a Queen. And the season's your best bet at finding one."
"But how will I know which is the one?"
"You won't," I admit. "Until you do."
Christ knows Gale struck me like white lightning out of the blue...
His lips curve into a ghost of a smile. "Blind, dumb luck..."
"Blind, dumb luck," I confirm, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Chris heaves a low exhale. "Here's to chance, then."
"Knock 'em dead, buddy," I say with a grin as I step back.
Chris lines himself up in front of the entranceway again. The footmen reach for the handles as the herald takes his position.
I give everyone the go.
The double doors swing open, and the herald clears his voice.
The music and the hubbub come to an abrupt halt as every neck in the room cranes around with unfettered interest.
"Preeesenting His Royal Highness, the Duke of Applewood!"
Chris squares his shoulders and lifts his head. And just like that, the man disappears and in his place stands the Prince — cool, composed, collected — any wayward reservations masked behind the diplomatic smile he's been practising since the age of three.
The crowd parts...
...and with one final inhale, Chris steps over the threshold and the doors close behind him.
A breath that I didn't realise I'd been holding explodes out of me.
Phase 1 — check.
Now to try and get through the remainder of the ball without any front-page scandals, culinary clusterfucks, or assassination attempts upsetting the carefully staged high-society apple cart.
Because I hadn't been joking earlier when I'd said we could all do with a fuckin' break. The media storm kicked up by Leo's abdication was still raging in full force through the pages of the tabloids, and it's only gonna be a matter of time before the paps get wind of Constantine's condition.
Which is why it's so critical that tonight's event goes off without a hitch. As the royal family — Chris especially — is in desperate need of a publicity uplift before the coronation... and the funeral.
And it's my job to quarterback while Bastien coordinates from the command centre.
So, I need to be especially on it tonight. As we can't afford any cock-ups.
Spinning on my heel, I make my way towards the closest side-door as I activate the hidden mic clipped to my jacket. "Falcon has flown, over."
"Confirmed," comes the crackled sound of Bastien's voice over the comms. "Blue Team — do you have eyes on Falcon?"
"We have eyes on Falcon, over," affirms Marquez.
"Walker, you're clear to take up secondary position, over."
"Roger that, over."
I feel my shoulders relax slightly as I reach the end of the service corridor.
So far, so good.
Just need to stay focused for the next six-or-so hours, and make sure that nothing goes sideways.
Opening the white-washed door in front of me, I slip into the ballroom near the back of the royal dais. Clicking the latch closed softly behind me, I catch sight of Constantine.
He's dressed to the nines in full royal regalia, patent oxfords polished to within an inch of their life. But the carefully coordinated window dressing can't hide the fact that the old man is a shadow of his former self.
His cheeks are sunken, his greying hair is sparse, and despite the carefully applied make-up, his skin lacks the usual vigour of health.
But I gotta hand it to the man. Despite his failing health, he's out here tonight. Putting on a united front for the sake of the kingdom — for the sake of his son — to make sure that the royal show goes on. Even if it fucking kills him.
Because that's the price of duty.
And regardless of his other failings — of which there are many — you have to respect him for that, if nothing else.
He spots me out of the corner of his periphery. "Drake..."
"Sir," I acknowledge with a respectful nod, coming to a stop.
"I trust everything is under control?"
"Yessir."
He eyes me for a moment before leaning back into his upholstered chair. "Let's ensure that it stays that way."
Knowing a dismissal when I hear one, I resume my path around the perimeter, scanning the crowd as I walk, always keeping at least one eye on Chris.
Because Constantine's direction had been clear.
Don't fuck up.
Not that I plan to.
I learnt my lesson the hard way in New York about taking my eyes off the ball. And like hell am I gonna—
"Managed to find a new shirt, I see..."
I freeze. No fuckin' way.
I must've imagined it. A trick of the space... A wayward echo... An auditory illusion.
But if that's true, then who the hell is standing behind me? Eyes locked onto my back like a laser-sight? Their familiar scent tickling my nose?
Camomile with a hint of honey.
I shake my head, trying to rejig my senses.
It doesn't work.
Which leaves me with just one option.
Steeling myself, I turn slowly around, part of me convinced that I've well and truly lost the plot, part of me 'bout ready to believe in miracles.
Because that voice... Here? That's just not possible. Unless there was something in that whiskey and I'm tripping major ballsacks right now.
Wouldn't be the first time Max pulled a stunt like that...
But as I complete the about-face, it quickly becomes clear that I ain't just obviously high — I've lost my motherfuckin' mind completely.
That, or a bomb has just gone off in the ballroom and I'm now stood at the Gates of Heaven, about to receive final judgement.
Because I can think of no other scenario that would explain why she's here, in front of me, wrapped in a shimmering, floor-length white dress that clings to her curves like wisps of a dream, a coy smile playing at her lips.
"But I guess you can't show up at a place like this in cowboy boots and Wrangler jeans, huh?"
The soft lilt of her voice slices through me like a boot knife. "Harp—"
I make the mistake of catching her eye.
And whatever semblance of rationale thought I may have had left dissolves instantly in the sparkle of her hazel-green gaze.
The crowd... The Schubert... The entire fucking kingdom crashes into inconsequence as I feel my already tenuous grip on reality slip, leaving me stranded on the twilight edge of reason, struggling for breath.
How—?
I have no clue how long I stand there, rooted to the spot like a vegetate stoner as I try — and fail — to make sense of what the actual fuck is happening.
Because this shit? It sure as hell ain't real.
"...Drake?"
The sound of her voice finally unglitches my brain.
I blink.
But she's still there. Staring at me. Like an unabating hallucination with a bad sense of humour.
With concerted effort, I force myself to choke out the only salient question. "The hell are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
"Why?"
"You left your jackets behind and—"
My jaw drops. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Who — in their right mind — chases someone halfway around the world? Because of a goddamn jacket?
Nobody. That's who.
The girl's obviously crazy.
Her smile falters slightly. "I thought I'd surprise you..."
"Yeah. Well, I hate surprises," I cut in acerbically, still trying to process this shitshow.
"Yes," she snips, hazel eyes hardening. "That much is becoming clear!"
"What the fuck did you expect, Gale?" I hit back. "That I'd just—?"
"I don't know what I was expecting!" she snaps, the force of her annoyance propelling her forward as she flings an arm out. "But it sure as hell wasn't this!"
"Well, that makes two of us," I bite out, suddenly finding myself nose-to-nose with her. "Because I would've expected a fucking heads-up!"
Her eyes narrow. "Do you know how many Drake Walkers there are online?"
I feel my jaw clench. "What the hell does that—?"
"Over a hundred!" she shouts into my face... loud enough for a few nearby aristos to turn their heads. "And none of them are you!"
I grab her by the arm. "So, you just decide to jump on a plane and—?"
"Yes! Because it's not like I had your number, either, Walker," she continues forcefully, jabbing me in the chest. "Because you just left and—"
"You fucking think I don't know that!" I yell back, the inherent accusation of her words ripping away the last vestiges of my sanity.
Several more heads to turn.
But I don't give a shit.
Because I can't seem to think straight around this girl on the best of days. Let alone when she springs herself on me like some damn jack-in-the-box — for the third fuckin' time just as many days — leaving me slap-faced and scrambling, and then accuses me of being an asshole?
Like fuck am I gonna act rational...
...also, why the hell does she have to look so damn good in that dress?
She's glaring up at me, chest heaving. "This was obviously a bad idea..."
I scoff humourlessly, her face inches from mine. "No fucking shit."
Her body tenses... but in the next instant the fight goes out of her just as fast as it ignited. Dropping her gaze, she mutters, "Glad we got that cleared up..."
There's something in her tone that I can't quite place.
But my burnt-out brain is too slow at cottoning on, and before I have a chance to figure it out, she's spun out of my grasp and I'm left holding nothing but air...
"Harp—"
...but by the time I look up, she's already turned and vanished into the crush.
Shit.
That obviously came out wrong.
But what the fuck had she been thinking? For me to just throw my hat over the moon like some star-struck moron? To sweep her off her feet and kiss her like we were in a goddamn rom-com?
I catch sight of the flash of her honey-caramel hair halfway across the room.
Crap.
That's exactly what I should've done.
Ignoring every single warning light going off in my head — she's not been vetted, she didn't have an invite, how the fuck did she even find me? — I throw myself after her.
Because as pissed off as I am that she was able to get the jump on me like she did — someone's sure as shit getting fired for that — I can't deny the fact that I'm still a complete and utter fool for her.
And the thought of her walking out on me — like I'd walked out on her — hits worse than a bullet to the gut.
"Harper!" I shout, pushing through the crowd of beady-eyed onlookers to try and get to her, much to their undisguised disgust.
"Oi, watch it, you!"
"C'est intolérable!"
"Do you know who I am!"
But if she hears me over the growing furore, she doesn't stop.
"For fuck's sake..." I grunt under my breath as I momentarily lose sight of her in the sea of heads.
This girl's going to be the death of me.
But if I'm going to have any chance of catching her, I know I need a change of strategy.
Spinning on my heel, I cut a hard and fast path back to the edge of the ballroom, spilling more than a few fancy drinks in the process as I knock aristos out of the way like bowling pins.
Heedless of the chaos left in my wake, I burst out onto the periphery of the crush. Throwing myself into a sprint back towards the tail end of the room, I bump off anyone stupid enough to get in my way.
I'm not losing her again.
Rushing past the raised dais, I see Constantine turn his head in my direction...
...but I've blown past him before he has a chance to open his mouth.
Sliding to a haphazard stop in front of the wall, I pause for just long enough to wrench the hidden door open before hurling myself down the service corridor.
Rushing past doors and junctions on my left and right, I pull up a mental blueprint of the Palace, trying to extrapolate her most likely position based on her speed and prior trajectory, and cross-reference that against how fast I'm going to determine the best option for an interception.
There. The main foyer.
Skidding around a corner, I double-time it down the narrow passageways, praying and hoping that I've been able to make up for time lost in the ballroom.
Arriving at the exit point, I throw myself against the door — nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process — and crash back out into the Palace-proper...
...but I can't see her anywhere.
"Fuck!" I cuss, running an agitated hand through my hair as I spin around.
Maybe I miscalculated. Maybe she's already gone. Maybe—
"Ooph!"
I collide bodily with someone speeding around the corner from the opposite direction, their head smacking into my jaw.
Agony shoots through my mouth as the unexpected impact causes me to bite down on my tongue.
Motherfucker!
But the sharp sting of the pain doesn't stop my body from reacting. If anything, it kicks my training into gear. Moving more on instinct than anything else, I execute a targeted sidestep to realign my centre as my hand snaps out to grab the other person by the arm to stop them from falling backwards.
Using their weight as a fulcrum, I redirect the force of our momentum into a spin to bring both of us to a stop next to the wall.
"You okay?" I ask, peering down at the panting, hot mess in my arms.
Gale snaps her head up so fast she nearly breaks my nose as well. "How the hell did you get in front of me?"
"Trade secret," I tell her.
She lays into me. On the exact same spot she hit me last night.
"Christ!" I exclaim, reeling back. "What the hell was that—?"
"For being an asshole!" she decries, hitting me again.
"Asshole?" I scoff. "You fucking ran into me!"
"Well, maybe I wouldn't have done if you hadn't been such a jerk, Walker!" she shouts, smacking me again.
"What do you want, then?" I demand, catching her wrist. "A goddamn apology?"
Her eyes blaze. "It would be a damn good st—"
Fuck it.
Giving her wrist a hard tug, I use the inherent resistance in her arm to yank her forward. And before she has a chance to object, I've crashed my lips against hers.
I hear her suck in a sharp breath of surprise before her body suddenly softens, melting against mine with a sigh as she gives into me.
The scent of her wildflower perfume subsumes me as she throws an arm around my neck, and I'm — at long last — home.
Because it's not until this moment that I realise how much I fucking missed her. Even though I barely know her, and I have no clue how... or even if we can make this — whatever this is — work, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was a monumental idiot for not going back to find her in New York...
...for the fact that I walked out on her in the first place.
Because this girl? She's unlike anything I've ever seen before.
The sheer fact that she's here — despite all the myriad-and-one ways in which I've screwed up with her — proves that.
And I'll be damned if I'll find another like her.
"Harper... I'm sorry," I pant between kisses, reaching up to cup her face in my palms. "For being an asshole... for being a jerk... for getting you fired... for hurting you... for—"
"I'm sorry, too..." she gasps, gripping my hair as my lips skate down her neck. "I didn't mean to... freak you out... like that... and I should've—"
"How did you even get here?" I ask, spinning her around to press her up against the wall behind me.
"Leo," she moans, arching up towards me as I drop a hand down to her ass, pulling her back into me. "He came to the apartment and—"
I scoff as I capture her mouth again. "Un-fuckin'-real..."
I'm gonna murder the bastard.
Because if this is his batshit way of saying 'thank you' for me being here for Chris instead of him, then he's definitely more than one brick shy of a load.
As regardless of whatever kind of happy reunion he'd cooked up in his mind, there's only one possible outcome to this royal SNAFU — me losing my job. Because there's no way in hell that Bast will be able to overlook the fact that I deserted my post to chase after a girl.
Again.
As unlike last time, there are a good two-dozen witnesses who can throw me under the bus. And they'll do so with impunity, given half a chance. Because one of those witnesses is Constantine. And no way is he gonna let such a flagrant dereliction of duty fly. Especially not after the very clear command he gave me.
Plus, it's not like I can justify my behaviour with any kind of rational argument. Or swear on a stack of Bibles that I won't do it again.
I'd tried that in New York.
It hadn't worked.
But as I glance down at Gale's flushed face, one thing is crystal clear.
I'll deal with that shit in the morning...
~ Fin ~
A/N: This is it! We have arrived at the end! 🤗 Thank you so much for bearing with me over the course of this fic, which has been 2 long years in the making! Hopefully, the journey was worth it! There will be some Extras in the near future (art, a bonus chapter), but no ETA on any of these yet (too many other WIPs I want/need to finish). Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, reblog, comment, emote, and generally encourage me through this project! I - for one! - have certainly grown to love Drake more as a result! 🥰 Hope you have too!
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Sleepless in New York only
@bebepac
Picture Credits: Harper - Cordonia - Drake - Constantine - Kiss - Christian
#drake walker#harper gale#sleepless in new york#the royal romance#trr au#choicesprompts#flufftober 2023
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Lots of royal fans out there are fanatic on the dresses and tiaras. But, I have consider myself an expert in Royal uniform (well I’m foreign so I consider this as an achievement lol). So let’s start with the senior service aka the Royal Navy.
The Royal Navy rank is pretty easy to guess based on the gold rings in the cuff. This photo must be taken in between 1985-1986 because as you can see Edward is wearing his Royal Marines uniform.
Prince Philip: Admiral of The Fleet. There are 4 + 1 wider rings in the cuffs.
Prince Edward: Royal Marines Officer Cadet (Royal Marines are part of the RN). Unpopular opinion but well I think he will able to have a military career if he just went with the navy like his brothers, or the army, as the officer course in the RM are literally the hardest in the world. But well, we know he enjoyed what his chosen career later.
Queen Elizabeth: A coat that match the Navy blue
Princess Anne: Chief Commandant of the Women’s Royal Naval Service (Women’s in the navy used to have their own branches until 1983 when they served alongside men)
Prince Andrew: Lieutenant. He had 2 rings on his cuffs.
Prince Charles (He is King Charles now I know): Commander. Three rings on his cuffs.
The gold ropes thingy that Philip, Andrew, and Charles wore is an aiguillette means that they’re an aide-de-camp to The Queen. The three of them also has a wing above the rings on their cuffs. Philip was trained with the RAF but then he completed the conversion course to the RN so he received the RN wings in 1956. Charles also trained with the RAF and I guess went through the same process, then he went on active service in the Fleet Air Arm. Meanwhile Andrew started his Royal Navy career from straight from school and he learned to fly directly with the navy, at that time he’s still on active service with the FAA.
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