Chapter 1308: LoveStruck(4)
The wind sang through the leaves as the court music roared. Couple after couple, lords and ladies spun beneath the bright sky to the frantic, joyous rhythm of harps, drums, and flutes. Silk gowns and velvet doublets blurred in a vibrant circle around the very red carpet where, only an hour before, a baseborn man and a royal woman had sworn their oaths.
Many in the high capital would no doubt take grand issue with the entire spectacle, none more so than the Holy Church, who would surely dub this godless, priestless affair an absolute abomination.
In truth, it was perhaps not the wisest political move for Alpheo to openly flout religious tradition just weeks before his official coronation, but the clock had run out. They could not have waited a single month more. Give it a few more turnings of the moon, and it would have been far too late to hide what had passionately passed between the two in the dark.
The princess was with child.
Alpheo remembered blinking stupidly when Ratto had first come to his chambers to stammer out the confession. It had been incredibly irksome to think about, to realize his hard-won coronation was being put at risk because two hot-blooded young people couldn’t manage to keep their britches fastened until after. But then the King had recalled his own youth, looked at his fiercely loyal legate, and softened.
Love made fool of the most wise after all.
So now, here he was, being dragged by two delicate hands right into the center of the garden. The princess’s grip was certainly not enough to force a man of his size to move, but the King willingly allowed himself to be led onto the grass.
It was abundantly clear what she wanted. But just in case the war-king of Yarzat was playing dumb, Lysandra made her intent undeniable by boldly planting her palms flat against his back.
"Dance with me, good-brother," she said, giggling with the pure, unburdened delight of a child.
"I fear I would be a remarkably poor partner, Lysandra," Alpheo tried to excuse himself, raising his hands in mock surrender. But his protests were entirely for naught.
"You would be a far poorer king if you denied the bride on her wedding day," she countered smoothly, her eyes dancing with triumph.
In the end, she was the star of the afternoon, and so the master of the realm graciously allowed her this victory.
He took her hand, placed his heavy palm on her waist, and attempted to follow the sweeping rhythm of the flutes. The results were immediate and disastrous. Within three paces, Alpheo’s heavy leather boot came down squarely upon the delicate silk of her slipper.
"Ouch!" Lysandra muttered, catching her balance without breaking her smile. She looked up at him, her eyes watering slightly. "Well... you certainly weren’t lying about your lack of grace."
"I am a man of my word," Alpheo grumbled, missing the beat entirely as he tried to adjust his stance. "Why do you think I stubbornly refused to dance at my own marriage?"
Lysandra let out a breathless laugh as they spun clumsily past a group of watching courtiers.She was a child then.
"Truth be told? We all assumed it was to maintain that grand, terrifying air of mightiness you always wear. You know... the legendary Fox of Yarzat, the god of strategy, the ruthless master of the legions who looks down on courtly games."
She giggled, a bright, infectious sound, and Alpheo found himself chuckling along with her, the iron facade of the sovereign slipping away for a rare moment.
"I assure you, it is far less poetic than that," Alpheo whispered, managing a surprisingly clean turn before nearly tripping over his own cloak. "Between fighting three separate wars, outmaneuvering traitorous lords, and managing the politics of a fractured realm, I barely have enough hours in the day to sleep, let alone learn how to properly dance without maiming my family."
"Come now, you are actually learning," Lysandra teased, stepping nimbly around his heavy boots. "Ratto was a thousand times worse than you when we first started, if you can believe it."
Alpheo raised an eyebrow, navigating a clumsy step to the left. "You taught him?"
"He was most clumsy with his wooing," she admitted, giggling as the flutes reached a high, looping crescendo and the Voghondai player stopped with their drum to dance at the beat. "The poor boy probably couldn’t think of anything better to do than to string me along for some secret dancing at night. It was three winters ago, I think. I still vividly recall how sore my toes were from all his frantic missteps. He was utterly mortified by the whole thing, and he had to fight the shame away for a week before he dared to approach me again."
"I am surprised you allowed him a second chance."
"He seemed such a sweet boy," she ventured with a soft, genuine smile.
As Alpheo looked down at her, the resemblance to Jasmine became impossibly sharp. The kin-relation was plain as day; she possessed the exact same deep green eyes and ravine-black hair as the Queen. Though where Jasmine was taller and had ears that were straight, Lysandra possessed slight cauliflower ears, a small imperfection from a childhood tumble that she meticulously hid beneath her thick locks of black hair.
Alpheo realized then that he did not know his new sister-by-marriage nearly as well as he ought to. She was a sweet girl, to be sure, and more importantly, she made Ratto happy.
It is an ill thing I have done to them, the King thought, a sudden, cold weight pressing against his ribs.
He had recognized that harsh truth for a long time. No matter what grand political justifications he might whisper to himself in the dark, nothing could deny that he had stripped their future children of their birthright. Still, it was a sacrifice that had to be made. Bitter pills had to be stomached now, rather than allowing the realm to suffer a catastrophic sickness of succession later. He had to do everything within his immense power to safeguard his own children’s future, even if that meant acting ruthlessly against the very people he loved for a threat that might never even happen.
Still, standing here in the sunshine, looking at her honest smile, the guiltiness grew in his belly like a dark monster. I am a thoroughly lousy friend.
The realization caused his smile to dim, his eyes tracking a sudden line of shadow across the grass.
"Is everything all right?" a soft voice like silk whispered from below him.
Alpheo forced his gaze back to her, swallowed the bitterness, and spoke quietly above the roar of the drums. "Do you truly like this feast, sister?"
"It has been an absolutely delightful affair," she said, her green eyes drifting affectionately toward the edge of the lawn, where her new husband was currently delighting himself in a loud, animated conversation with young Basil. "I think the days ahead look bright enough for us."
She was speaking straight from the heart.
"I hope those days are exactly as you dream of them," Alpheo said, his voice dropping into a rare, solemn register. "You deserve real happiness, Lysandra. Just as Ratto does."
She nodded in deep, quiet gratitude. "Thank you for having made this possible. I am not blind to the way my mother and grandfather fiercely opposed the whole affair. ’’
Another heavy stone added to the mountain of his guilt. She should be cursing his name for stripping her lineage of naturalness, he knew, not thanking him for his hollow mercy.
"Do you truly think so?"
"With all my heart."
"You are a good sister, Lysandra. Much better than I could have ever hoped for," Alpheo said, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "And I am truly sorry if this feast, and the terms attached to it, was not entirely as you might have hoped for your wedding day."
"That is light enough a disappointment if it means having my way and keeping my man," she countered, her pragmatic Aveloni-isha blood showing through. "Besides, you promised me under a clear sky that you would take care of my sons and daughters well, didn’t you?"
"Just as if they were born of my own blood," the King vowed fiercely. "I will never leave them wanting for anything in this life, be it in honor, titles, or rich lands."
"Then that is apology enough. Let us sour no more of this fine afternoon. Marriages are made to be happy not to linger in the sourness of what might have been."
Alpheo let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "That is the bare minimum I owe you, sister. But truth be told, I have something else for you. A proper wedding gift."
Before she could question him, the King subtly shifted his weight,and guided her through a swift, sweeping swivel that spun her around to face the northern expanse of the gardens.
Lysandra’s green eyes narrowed in immediate, deep confusion as she looked up at the King, the momentum of the dance slowing between them. "A gift?You have already granted us a palace estate and my husband a nice lordship."
Aye, the lordship of Arduronaven. But that was a gift for Ratto, not her.
"Not a gift of stone or gold," the King clarified as the music softened into a low harp melody. "I am currently planning to open a brand-new position within the court of Yarzat. A seat of immense prestige and immense power. And as I was drafting the ledger, I found myself thinking that a brilliant, politically sharp princess of the royal family would be the perfect candidate to occupy that very seat."
She grew confused for an instant, before her expression settled curious and then excited ’’What position?’’
’’I can’t say anything for now, but safe to say you will be the envy of all woman and all man in the realm. Many men will clamor about a woman not being fit for that position, I suppose the pleasure will be yours to snub all of them away’’ He smiled ’’That I swear by you’’ He said as he ended the dance on a happy note, made ever a more joyful form, from the exhilarate smile she gifted him.