Three's a Crowd

[Pantocratoria]

His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty Emperor
ANDREUS
By Grace of God Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrat of the Romans, King of France and Navarre, God's Vicegerent on Earth, Equal of the Apostles, etc

Does hereby Invite N to


The Wedding of His Eldest Son

His Imperial Highness the Most Pious
Prince Andreus Porphyrogenitus
Despot of New Constantinople, Dauphin of Viennois

and

The Sister of His Majesty the Most Puissant King George IV of Brasland

Her Royal Highness
Princess Sophia of Brasland
Duchess of Lansborn

To Be Held at the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome,
on the Feast of Saints Antipas, Philip of Gortyna, and Stanislaus, the Eleventh Day of April in the Two Thousand and Fifteenth Year of our Lord, in the Thirty Second Year of His Reign.

[Wine-loving Chimps]

Caesar, the president of the Federation of Wine-loving Chimps, was reading the 'Wine Rankings for February'' when a minister of his approached and handed him a piece of paper'' Sir, this is a transcript of an invitation to a wedding by the Andreus the Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrat of the Romans, King of France and Navarre, God's Vicegerent on Earth, Equal of the Apostles...''

Caesar put down his paper'' Yeah and leading exporter of wine to our beloved Federation. Tell him I am coming to his wedding immediately.''

The minister wavered then commented'' Sir, do you think they will object to us being Chimpanzees? At the Germanian Dinner Party we got nuked because of it.''

Caesar smiled'' Of course not. The Catholics would accept aliens into their religion. All we need to look out for is that we don't tell them how atheist we are, then just come into the wedding and have a good time. Prepare my carnival float immediately.'''

Minister'' Yes Caesar.''

[Pantocratoria]

Despotic Court
New Constantinople

It was, undoubtedly, the worst day so far in the nine years of the life of Marie-Jeanne d’André, the illegitimate daughter of Prince Andreus, the Despot of New Constantinople, and his long term mistress, the (married) Duchess of Montmanuel. She and her mother were moving out of her father’s official residence, the Despotic Court of New Constantinople, and moving across the city’s harbour to a new home. Her mother the Duchess had been surprisingly stoic about the day’s proceedings as her belongings were carefully packed away by servants to be transported and unpacked at their new home on the other side of the city, but the process for Marie-Jeanne had been rather more involved. Of course, her father’s fiancé, Princess Sophia of Brasland, knew all about Marie-Jeanne, and she had been assured by everyone, even her mother, that the Princess bore her no malice. So while all of her mother’s possessions were being bundled off to the Kogchuliates Palace today, Marie-Jeanne was allowed to keep her apartments (which consisted of a bedroom, antechamber and playroom) in the Despotic Court - but she had to pick which toys and dresses and the like were to stay for when she visited with her father, and which were to come with her to her mother’s home. She agonised over every decision in a way that only children being forced to do something they don’t want to do can.

“Mademoiselle, what about this dolly?” asked a maid, holding a china doll depicting a small toddler, a girl with pink hair and painted rosy cheeks.

“That’s Madeleine.” Marie-Jeanne answered, her arms folded across her sternum.

“What about Madeleine? Shall she come with you or stay?” the maid pressed.

“She’s blonde like Mademoiselle de Lansbourne, isn’t she?” Marie-Jeanne said to her mother, pronouncing the name of Sophia’s duchy of Lansborn in a particularly French fashion.

“Who, Madeleine?” Henriette de Montmanuel replied. She was a ravishing, slender dark-haired beauty in her early thirties who, despite the length of her relationship with the Despot, felt her position to be very precarious now that the Despot was set to marry a buxom blonde not far into her twenties. “Madeleine is very pretty, ma petite.”

“She is very pretty.” Marie-Jeanne agreed. “Do you suppose Daddy would like me to leave her here for him to play with?”

“Hmm…” the Duchess stalled, surprised at the question. She studied her daughter closely, as she sensed the question had a deeper meaning. “Madeleine is your toy, Marie-Jeanne. If you want to play with her in your other house, you should take her with you. Don’t worry about Daddy. He doesn’t need to play with your dolly.”

“No, he can play with Mademoiselle de Lansbourne, I suppose.” Marie-Jeanne shrugged.

“Shall I pack Madeleine away, mademoiselle?” the maid interrupted, still holding the dolly and still awaiting an answer.

“Certainly you may. Monseigneur my father won’t need her.” Marie-Jeanne told the maid imperiously and looked over her shoulder at nothing in particular.

“I am sure that Mademoiselle de Lanbourne… uhh… Lansborn… will like you very much, ma petite.” the Duchess told her daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course she will.” Marie-Jeanne declared, still imperiously. Then bit her lower lip like her aunt Theodora was wont to do, and became decidedly less confident. She turned to her mother. “What if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t want me to come and visit?”

“Oh hush, she’ll want you to come and visit.” answered Madame de Montmanuel.

“In my story books stepmothers are always wicked.” Marie-Jeanne said.

“Oh…” the Duchess began, the word stepmother wounding her emotionally like a figurative knife in her side. “Well… those are just stories.”

“His Majesty my grandfather didn’t want me to come and visit for seven years, Mummy.” Marie-Jeanne frowned.

“That’s different.”

“If you say so.” Marie-Jeanne muttered.

“Mademoiselle, what about this teddy bear?” the maid interrupted again.

[Isle of Freemen]

... Royal-Gracefulness Commissioner Callum Frank's Second Office ...

Callum was relaxing, he wasn't at the Commission-House, he was at his ministry house. He was sitting in his second office, although he kept thinking 'This office is way to small..' He looked to his desk to find a envelope, he'd sigh as he moved forward and opened it.

"Oh dear lord, a wedding invitation. Hmm.. Wonderful." Smiling, Callum would lean one finger out to a button under the desk "Send my scribe in, immediately." A few seconds later "Yes sir." And with that, a man opened the door bowed, saluted and waited "At ease. Come in, come in." The man nodded, and fast walked over to the desk, he'd sit on the chair setting up his laptop on his lap. "Send a reply to er... Andreus the Emperor of Pantocratoria. Anne and I shall be attending the wedding." And with that, the man would start tapping on the keys as Callum spoke what he wanted to be written - within five minutes the man walked out most likely to print the reply off.

**

Callum stood up, walked out his office into the hallway and continued to walk past the six commission-guards in the hallway into his living-room-quarters, he walked over to the cabinet opened it up and searched inside "Hmm.. Need to find a nice gift." He'd then stand up, pulling something out. The object was light, shiny and looked very appealing. It was gold coated jewelry box which contained a silver earrings, which were shaped in a ball "These will do, I suppose.." He'd walk out the room and back into his office.

[Brasland]

Speinburg Castle
Duchy of Lansborn

The Duchess of Lansborn heard the engagement announcement on the radio. She was sitting in her study and the only person with her was her closest friend, Baroness Margot Kiralyi, who was also her Private Secretary. The baroness looked at Sophia as the radio presenter pronounced the words. She saw resignation, a certain relief and maybe even a glimpse of sadness.

“There’s no going back now, Margo”, the Princess muttered.

“You knew it, Soph”, said the baroness. “No one forced you.”

“Yes, I know, and I don’t regret it. It’s just that… I feel like I no longer have options.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on my life is defined forever. I will be a Despotess, then an Empress and maybe a Dowager Empress someday. I will have little say on my own life, because everything in Pantocratoria is settled beforehand. It’s impossible to go against the idea Pantocratorians have of how princesses or empresses should be. I’m now officially an imperial ornament whose sole function is to shine and look pretty.”

“But you knew this all along, Sophia! I don’t understand why you feel like this so suddenly. We all warned you…”

“Yes, you all warned me! I know that. I also know it’s my duty to marry Andreus, but I’m just… scared.”


She bursted into tears and covered her face with her hands. Margot stood up and went to hug her.


“It’s going to be okay, Soph, you’ll see. Despite everything, the Despot is a good man and he will be a good husband…”

“But he’ll never love me!”, interrupted Sophia with a tearful voice. “He’ll never love me the way he loves her!”

“We don’t know what will happen in the future! And remember that you will have children and they will love you! And Pantocratorians will love you just as much as Lansborners do.”

“I’m a fool and I feel helpless.”

“Yes, you’re a fool, but you’re not helpless.

“I want to die, Margo!”, Sophia said, and bursted into tears again.

“Oh, my dear Sophia! Don’t say that, please! You’ll be fine. I will be with you and I will help you. We are together in this, alright?”


Sophia looked at her friend and she felt more calmed. Yes, with Margot helping her she would feel more capable of dealing with her new life. She thought of Andreus, so handsome and devilishly charming. His image kept coming to her, melting her heart. She loved him but she would not let him know that, because that would put her in a weak position. She also hated him, because Henriette de Montmanuel would always come between them.

[Palaiologos II]

"False flag chemical attack just there and we can move up as much military as we want to the border. Middle of the night we declare, swarm straight into Ankara from there, there, and- excuse me, Marshall. I'll get that." Basileus Ionnes XXI, interrupted by a knock on the door, stood up from his and the Marshall's notes. "Yes? What is it?"
From behind the door, Chancellor Dionysios answered, "A telegram addressed to you, marked as a diplomatic missive." "Oh, I see, come in then."
The Chancellor walked in and handed the ornate envelope to Ionnes. "Alexander, you can go for now. Take all the maps, notes, et cetera, you know what to do by now. Have a good night as well."
The Marshall left the office, and Ionnes turned to the Chancellor. "Alright, lets see what we have here- Mr. Andreas invites me to the wedding- oh, not a wedding- of- yes- alright. Looks important enough that I should attend. I'll write up my reply and think of a gift- oh, and before you go, clear your calendar. You have some very important talks with our friends in Anatolia coming up."

[Tarasovka]

Vigvar, Taraskovyan Empire
How does the Imperial family of Taraskovya spend its weekends? Quite chaotically, in fact. The heir to the throne, the Vasilevitch Alexander, would mostly spend his time with his mother the Vasilessa Helen, whilst the father, none else than the Vasilevs Mikhail himself, would quite often attend to state business.

This particular weekend was no exception as the Vasilevs had locked himself up in a remote wing of the palace with the Handalarian Lords, all seven of them, to try to come up with a negotiated solution to their qualms about how their domains were treated within the framework of the Imperial Constitutional Order. It was quite clear that the current constitutional arrangement caused tension with all of the Handalarian Lords at once and actually consolidated and united them in their position, which was an extremely rate thing for these Tarathian lords, all of them older than the Strife. The only other thing which united them back in the time was their opposition to the abolition of slavery.

And despite being the all powerful Vasilevs of all Taraskovya, Mikhail was but a young man in comparison to the millenia old ashen skinned elf-like concentrates of haughtiness and stubborness. And as much as the Vasilevs wished at times to just hang them all high, he still knew that Handalarians, for all their oddities, were still Tarathians. And Tarathians were, along with the Ros, an Imperial Kin. And it would not really be becoming of a Vasilevs to just bomb out the Lordships which contained the highest density of Tarathians in the Empire. As much as other Tarathians also disliked their Handalarian brethren, it would still be seen with a rather bad eye.

Mikhail knew this. The Lords knew this. The talks and discussions were all about the most tiniest and slightliest of concessions and already dragged on into their second day. But Mikhail did not allow even the a tiny hint about his tiredness slip through, his face always emotionless during the talks and he always made it clear he was the master of all their fates and their very lives depended on him not being bored too much with their concerns. And yet he could not help but smile tiredly as he crossed into the private quarters of Her Most August Majesty the Vasilessa, who was having mother to son moment with the young Vasilevitch, already into his seventh year of age.

"Do you come bearing the shield, or do they drag you in draped all over the shield?" Helen asked her husband with a smile.

"The shield was smashed on some stubborn heads, but victory is ours!" Mikhail said triumphantly. "There will, I guess, be no need to impose Imperial Order," the Vasilevs made air quotes with his fingers for these last two words as he quickly glanced upon his son who was still too young to understand such subtle hints, "on the Lordships. I will submit the legislation to the Veche within the week."

"Glad to hear that all is well in the Empire," Helen nodded.

"Father?" Alexander said as he looked up. "Why can't you just throw them into jail? You're the Vasilevs!"

"Would you like being thrown into a jail, Alexander?" the father asked his son.

"Not really. But I did not do anything wrong."

"With what they did it would be wrong to put them into jail, son," Mikhail said. "But as their Liege I scolded them and was severe with them. They understood they were wrong and repented."

"I'd still put them in jail," Alexander said shrugging. "So that they'd lear their lesson."

Helen arched an eyebrow as Mikhail chuckled. "Do remind me, son, to give you thorough lessons in politics once you're older. Now, Dear," the Vasilevs said as he concentrated his attention on his wife. "I am happy to say that we will be going to Pantocratoria for the marriage of your cousin the
Despot of New Constantinople. I have made the necessary arrangements to my calendar. And yours as well, Dear. I trust it that we will also be able to spend several days at your parents' retreat with Alexander."

[Pantocratoria]

Despotic Court
New Constantinople

Prince Andreus, the Despot of New Constantinople, lay awake in his bed. Alone. Henriette de Montmanuel was on the opposite side of the harbour, in her new home overlooking the beach in Kogchuliates. Kogchuliates Palace was built in the 1860s for Prince Manuel, who had predeceased his father Emperor Manuel IX when he died unexpectedly, without ever having moved into his new home. Since that time it had been used only sporadically - indeed, Andreus couldn't remember the last time he had visited it before touring potential residences with his permanent mistress and their daughter in recent months. Henriette had liked it best of the half dozen options she had been given because it was visible from the Despotic Court's upper gardens, with their view across the harbour. If that had been intended to reduce the psychological distance between the couple, at least on that night, the first since she had moved out, it hadn't worked.

I'm just feeling frisky. the Despot told himself. It's physiological. I can't fall asleep because my blood's up, and there's a bloody harbour between me and relief.

It suited the Despot at times like this to tell himself he was without sentiment, and that his relationship with Henriette de Montmanuel was based primarily on lust, and to a lesser extent because he found her conversation diverting. It was a lie, though, and he knew it. If their relationship was based on lust, then his affection would have wandered along with his eye to the younger women about the court, just for the novelty and excitement of being with someone new. Indeed, there were dalliances, but they were brief and unlike his relationship with Henriette, they were purely physical. In fact, Henriette had hardly ever given Andreus any reason to feel that she felt in the least bit threatened or upset by any of these episodes.

But this was different. Of course he would have to marry eventually, and intellectually Henriette had always understood and accepted that, but ever since the engagement had become official, Andreus could tell that for the first time, his mistress felt genuinely threatened, or even aggrieved. As she prepared, along with Marie-Jeanne, to move out of the Despotic Court of New Constantinople and move into Kogchuliates Palace, her conversation had become terse, and Andreus had been able to hear the strain when they tried to talk about pleasant diversions. Physically too, she had become distant.

Hell, even if she was lying next to me, she'd probably have a headache. Again. Andreus rolled his eyes. He resolved to think about something else, to put Henriette de Montmanuel out of his mind. His thoughts turned instead, perhaps naturally enough, to Sophia of Brasland. She was a different kind of beauty to Henriette de Montmanuel, which Andreus liked. He didn't have a type - indeed, he delighted in variety in female companionship. He supposed she was still a virgin, which Andreus didn't find particularly exciting, but he didn't mind playing teacher, so to speak. He contemplated doing just that for a little while and his mind began to turn to other details.

Where will we go on our honeymoon? he pondered.

The next morning, the Despot's people made contact with the Duchess of Lansborn's people, and expressed to them the Despot's desire that the couple, once married in New Rome, would honeymoon in whichever location best pleased their mistress. While they did this, their master sent a message on his PeacockPhone to Madame de Montmanuel - "Thought I might come and spend the night in Kogchuliates tonight."

Henriette de Montmanuel's reply came a few minutes later: "Have a bad headache. Sorry."

[The Resurgent Dream]

Winchester House
St. Catherine, Dana, Caldan Union

His Royal and Imperial Highness, Prince Charles Andrew David, Grand Duke of Tarana, descendant of William of Normandy and Robert the Bruce, was rolling around on the floor with a large, white teddy bear, half again as big as he was and reminiscent of Ursa and Lady, the mated pair of polar bears recently donated to the Empress Theodora Park Zoo in honour of the despotic wedding. "Look, Mummy! Look, Aunt Morgan!" The bear felt rather out of place in bright, tropical Dana.

Queen Gwendolyn smiled indulgently. "I see you, Charles." The Queen sat with her sister, Princess Morgan, the wife of Emperor Andreus's younger son, Constantine. The two women did not get to see one another as often as they'd like but Morgan had found more opportunities to visit the Caldan Union in the two years since her nephew had been born, accompanied by her husband when his parliamentary duties allowed.

"Are you really going to allow CoraT to sing to him?" Morgan asked. "Maybe I've been in Pantocratoria too long but it seems strange to me. The Imperial Court isn't entirely unfamiliar with popular entertainment but it's never presented openly or formally. I can't imagine His Majesty..."

Gwendolyn shook her head. "You forget yourself, sister. The Emperor, like myself, is the fount of honours, receives all foreign ambassadors, and performs a whole host of functions which require contact with all sorts of people beyond the sphere of his courtiers, people who might not be to his personal taste. The First Minister of Dana has recommended that Miss Cora Thompson, more commonly known under the stage name of CoraT, be awarded the Danaan Order of Merit for Music. As my Prime Minister has advised me to spend more time in the Dominions and as it falls upon me, when physically present, to undertake those duties the governor normally performs in my stead, I must present Miss Thompson with her award. And, I cannot simultaneously award her for her musical achievements and proclaim her music unfit."

"Music may have artistic merit and still not be for the ears or eyes of children," Morgan said. "Connie and I have seen some her videos."

"She's just going to sing 'Charlie Is My Darling,'" Gwendolyn noted.

"Nonetheless, he must hear his aunt sing for him first," Morgan announced in a playfully imperious tone which only a little sister could, a little sister who'd known Gwendolyn when she was fifth in line from the throne of a young, happily married queen and unlikely to ever wear a crown. Gwendolyn just shook her head as Morgan marched over and gently lifted the young Grand Duke in her arms. "Hey, there," she said with a grin. "You're growing up big and strong like your papa, aren't you?"

Charles fidgeted in his aunt's arms, reaching for the bear. When she mentioned his father, he looked around. "Papa?"

Morgan smiled and started to sing softly:

’TWAS on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
When Charlie came to our town,
The young Chevalier...

Gwendolyn smiled as she listened to her sister sing. The original version of the song had been written for the child's ancestor who had led a rising in Scotland to try to reclaim the throne from English oligarchs, Puritan bigots, and Dutch invaders. That, at least, was how Caldans tended to see the story. Morgan was singing a Caldan variation, replacing Scotland with Caldas and Hieland with Edinan, which was a more popular patriotic song than the official national anthem.

O Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling—
O Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier!

"He'll be hearing that a lot," Gwendolyn said. "Peter wants to send him to Augusta. It's not necessarily settled yet." Augusta was an exclusive school located in the Province of Edina, which had begun life as a Scottish colony.

"There's plenty of time left to decide," Morgan said. "I'm more concerned with the Despot's wedding."

"That was my ulterior motive for asking you here," Gwendolyn admitted. "I remember you didn't have an easy time when you first married Prince Constantine. Princess Sophia is nearly ten years your junior, the Despot is older than your husband, and Pantocratoria will be as foreign an environment for her as it was for you. I think it would be a kindness if you were to make an overture. She could use someone who's had a similar experience."

Morgan set Charles down, frowning slightly. "Princess Irene and Princess Jacqueline..."

Gwendolyn raised a hand to cut her off. "I'm not suggesting anything formal."

Morgan sat back down. "She's to be my sister-in-law. Of course, I'll show her every solicitude. But are you simply concerned for her happiness?"

"I am, in truth. We all know the Despot's....situation...and it can't be a pleasant for Princess Sophia to marry into it. But that's not the whole of my interest. We've always had peaceful relations with Brasland but there's always been a certain distance. We've never engaged like we have with Pantocratoria, Knootoss, Excalbia, and some other nations in the region. Official policy, of course, must come through the government, but the Braslanders do value personal ties between members of royal and imperial families. A stronger connection there would not go amiss," Gwendolyn said.

Morgan smiled wryly. "As sisters-in-law, Sophia and I will have closer family ties than anyone else in the Braslandian and Caldan royal families! Our closest connection will be within the Pantocratorian imperial family."

"A particularly influential situation for His Imperial Majesty, don't you think?" Gwendolyn asked. "While I don't begrudge such a dear ally his success, I am hoping we might have some more direct connections within a year or two.

[Brasland]

Speinburg Castle
Duchy of Lansborn

In a hidden corner of the castle gardens, hidden by very tall trees, was a large pool where the Duchess of Lansborn used to swim. During the winters it was covered by a tent and the temperature of the water was heated to a suitable level. That afternoon, after a long day spent between meetings, official papers and a visit to a remote village, the Duchess was swimming with her cousin Charlotte, recently married to the Crown Prince of New Chalcedon (who in turn was a first cousin of both princesses),

“So how’s married life’”, asked Sophia, swimming to the edge of the pool.

“Very good, darling”, Charlotte replied. “I miss Con and Andreas very much, but I needed a little rest. What about you, are you nervous about your wedding?”

“A little, yes”, Sophia grinned. “I just don’t know what to expect in… you know, well…”

“You mean intimately?”, guessed Charlotte.

“Yes! I know how it works theoretically, but I’m a little scared.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Soph. At first it can be uncomfortable and scary, but it’s mainly a psychological reaction. The more you… practice it, the more you’ll like it. It’s quite… pleasant, you know.”

Both women exchanged a laugh.

“Besides, your husband has quite a reputation”, Charlotte said with a mischievous smile. “I’m sure he knows how to please a woman.”

“Shut up!”, exclaimed Sophia, suddenly feeling depressed. “I don’t want to remember that. I will just be another number in the long list of conquests.”

“Darling, you’ll be his wife and the mother of his children! Definitely not another number to the list.”

“Do you know he has a daughter?”

Charlotte moved in her chair, surprised. “I didn’t know, who’s the mother?”

“A courtesan, Henriette de Montmanuel. She’s very attractive…”

“You’re very attractive too.”

“Oh, please, I’m just a virgin!”

“But a beautiful one, darling! You’re thin but you don’t lack curves in the right places, have luscious blonde hair, long legs and a killer look. Plus, you’re smart, interesting and you’re driven to achieve your goals.”

“Yes to all that, but I can’t compete with her. She’s breathtaking and he loves her. And if this wasn’t enough,
she’s the mother of a daughter he adores.”

“Do you hate them?”

“No, hatred is not what I feel. I just don’t want to share my husband with another woman, I don’t want him to touch me after he has touched someone else. I know very little about Henriette de Montmanuel, but all the data I have gathered makes me feel insecure, and I’ve never felt insecure about anything in my life! It’s just an awful feeling, Lottie.”

“Well, you’ll have to find a way to cope with all that, cousin. You’re not marrying a conventional man, and he’s certainly not marrying a conventional woman. You’ll have to deal with a husband, his mistress and a stepdaughter. By the way, how do you feel about the child?”

“Oh, I have nothing against Marie-Jeanne, she’s just a girl. Andreus really loves her daughter, so I can’t attempt to separate them. That would only create a distance between him and I.”

“Cold and strategic as always, Sophia, you impress me.”

“I have to be to survive in Pantocratoria, Charlotte. It’s not an easy place to live, although it has its charms.”

Let's say that Sophia's people told the Despot's office that she would like to spend the honeymoon in a remote tropical place with enough privacy to let them relax and not be disturbed. The Gulf Islands come to mind...

[Abt]

FOREIGN AFFAIRS MINISTRY
ABT REPUBLIC

On the attendance of the Marriage of His Imperial Highness the Most Pious Price Andreus Porphyrogenitus, Despot of New Constantinople and Dauphin du Viennois, to her Her Royal Highness, Princess Sophia of Brasland, Duchess of Lansborn

In the name of the Abtian people we thank our Pantocratorian friends and allies for the invitation to attend the Marriage of His Imperial Highness the Most Pious Price Andreus Porphyrogenitus, Despot of New Constantinople and Dauphin du Viennois, to her Her Royal Highness, Princess Sophia of Brasland, Duchess of Lansborn.

The Republic and her People are joyed at the occasion and wish the soon to be wed Imperial Couple long life and prosperity.

The Republic shall be represented at this occasion by His Excellency the Foreign Affairs Ministry, Konstantin Shirokov.

[Aerion]

Backdrop


The massive megastructure of the Imperial Palace was a massive glass, steel, and stone stepped pyramid with a base nearly two miles (3.21 kilometrs) rising 6000 feet into the sky. The Imperial Palace is not strictly just an Imperal residence, and the Imperial Residence is a palace within the massive complex that is the Imperial Palace. The massive megastructure of the Imperial Palace rose two miles into the sky above the concentric gleaming white walls of the Palace District and the ten concentric circles of walls radiating out from the Imperial Palace as if it were a sun to Imperial City. The Imperial Palace was practically an arcology itself. A city within a city. Imperial City was the new city that was commissioned at the beginning of the reign of the Padshah Empress Ameria Western following the death of her brother which had become since a long lost memory in the Grand Empire. The predominant architectural styles of Imperial City were of Art Deco, Neoclassical Empire, Modernist architecture, and even elements of Fascist architecture as well as Minimalism. In the lavish Garden Distict it was Baroque, French Baroque, and Rococo. The city was now booming beyond the concentric walls and sprawl was evident around the planned outer cities that radiated out in the directions of the four quarters from Imperial City. The area was now becoming one large megalopolis of its own like most other cities in the Grand Empire, but the core that was Imperial City itself within the walls remained well planned and pristine.

A city to mark a new era in Aerion, and it was a new era. The reign of Ameria Western contrary to some foreign predictions had solidified, and she had eliminated or integrated the sectors of the elite in society that could challenge her. She had ownership of most of the megacorporations, and many more had been placed under direct Crown control as state run enterprises. With the high taxes of the Imperial Government the private untaxed wealth of the Crown itself had ballooned into one of the largest if not the largest fortune in the Western Atlantic. The Crown was even funneling money back into two of the entities closest to the Padshah's Empress's heart, the Imperial Organization for Aerionian Glory (IOAG) and the Crown endorsed Ancient Aerionian Religion as well as various "charities" to appease the masses. It was an autocrat's dream. The economy was booming. Higher wages for the working and middle class mostly living in the megacities as well as significant brainwashing and opiate drugs nearly free of side effects sold by Crown owned companies meant no rebellion. The mass surveillance helped eliminate whatever little resistance there could be. It was nearly close to Aldous Huxley's Brave New World without the government-mandated genetic engineering and with more religion. Of course there were still the poorest of the poor in the rural areas but they had no means of revolution. The poorest of the poor like many other Imperial subjects were brainwashed by religion and the IOAG and sedated with recreational drugs if they wanted them.

The Padshah Empress Ameria Western was left to her own devices as the massive Imperial Bureaucracy overseen by her Imperial Advisors and Great Officers of State handled the daily running of the nation as well as the state run megacorporations. Her Imperial Palace was nearly an arcology with thousands of servants, officials, guards, and courtiers living inside. Ameria maintained power using the Versailles method. Like a spider she wove a web that entrapped those who could challenge her in power in any way. The ancient nobility, tribal royalty, and what was left of any monied or megacorporate elite were ensnared a web that they did not realize as they were drawn to the Imperial Aerionian Court. They were spending their monies on the fashions, on the events, on the palaces in the Garden District and on the high conspicuous lifestyle that the Imperial Aerionian Court demanded. They also were placing themselves knowing or unknowingly under complete surveillance. The Crown doled out salaries and monies only to those who served at the whim of the Padshah Empress as she insured the others were headed toward debt. The Imperial Advisors and high officials she played off each other to ensure they did not gain too much power.

Everyone was not content with the perceived lack of freedom under the Padshah Empress’s autocratic rule, and though most of the noble families or those with any power who could challenge her were entrapped in her web there were a very rare few who resisted it and they paid.

Grand Imperial Throne Room
Outer Court Layer
Imperial Palace
Imperial City

The Grand Imperial Throne Room occupied nearly an entire level of the megastructure pyramidical Imperial Palace in the Outer Court layer just below the Inner Court layer and Imperial Residence in the pyramid. It was the size of two soccer fields with massive somewhat ominous black marble columns rising on each side with gold plated Corinthian capitals. The floor was checkered with alternating black obsidian and white marble squares. The walls were white marble with gilded gold recessed portions with scenes of Aerionian history. The arched ceiling was gold leafed with panels etched with scenes of Aerionian history. Thousands of tiny diamonds embedded in the ceiling gave it a twinkling effect. Three massive gold and crystal multiple-tiered chandeliers hung from the ceiling illuminating the entire room. Mid-way through the Grand Imperial Throne room were two three-pooled fountains on each side of the room with three white wolf heads usually pouring fourth liquid out of their mouths. These fountains sometimes flowed with water and other times with wine or champagne. Recessed LED lighting illuminated the entire room with an almost ethereal brightness.

In the middle of the floor ran a deep purple carpet up to the massive steps to the highest tier of the dais upon which sat the custom carved white marble Imperial Throne where the purple carpet dramatically ended at the front of the Imperial Throne. The armrests and entirety of the sides of the Imperial Throne were carved White Wolves snarling out at the room. A velvet purple cushion sat upon the Imperial Throne trimmed in gold threading and tassels. The three tiered dais rose high and the top tier had the Imperial Throne itself. High above the Imperial Throne was a massive gold leafed crown shaped baldachin with large velvet purple draperies embellished with golden threaded white wolves and stars. The large purple curtain hanging from the baldachin behind the Imperial Throne was embroidered with the Imperial Coat of Arms in exquisite detail in metallic and fine threading. Lower tiers could accommodate seats for lesser officials though there were none today.

Today there were hundreds of courtiers and officials of the Imperial Aerionian Court gathered in the Imperial Grand Throne Room for what would be called an Aulic Court, an actual judicial court presided over by the Padshah Empress herself.

Curving around the imposing throne dais and lining the carpet were the Tirith-en-Altari, the elite personal Dark Elven guard of the Padshah Empress from the small population of mysterious Dark Elves in or beneath the southern deserts of Aerion and the Elven populations of the Rashier Islands. They’re bluish tinted skin and white hair gave them an imposing manner. They wore long white cloaks over their pristine white uniforms, and on their heads were large helmets with a silver sheen with white plumes. In front of them scattered between the gaps where the Tirith-en-Altari stood forming an outer field were the white uniformed Imperial Bodyguard unit of the Imperial Guard wearing special purple piping indicating their status.

Sitting upon the Imperial Throne was the Padshah Empress Ameria Wasterin herself. She wore a black dress for the occasion and wore the purple sash with badge and Great Star of the The Most August and Imperial Aerionian Order of the Purpure. Upon her left hand she held a golden rod topped with a White Wolf’s head, the Imperial Rod of Justice. Around her waist tied with an elaborate threaded belt was the Imperial Dagger. Both wore during the Aulic Court. Her feet rested upon a velvet purple pillow embroidered with the Imperial Coat of Arms and below that was an odd obsidian square stone known as the Stone of Justice. It was an old Aerionian custom that rulers would rest their feet upon this stone when dispensing with capital justice.

Being escorted down the carpet by a squad of Imperial Guards, three Imperial Security Service agents in formal court uniform with specific badges, and three Imperial Security Agency agents in out-of-place military style black uniforms with red piping was a rather beaten man. Despite having cuts and bruises on his face having looked beaten the man wore the black formal court uniform with elaborate golden threaded embroidery indicating his status as a Marquis and displayed the Order of the White Wolf in the style of a Knight Commander on the uniform. He was an early middle aged Eastern Aerionian man with his hair neatly combed, and green eyes. His younger wife who looked like she could have been Eastern Aerionian and Caucasian mixed followed with their daughters. The man had cut and bruises on his face. They were at the center surrounded by this group.

At the front of this grouping of sixteen leading the group walking down the carpet between the Tirith-en-Altari was a proud looking man in court uniform. The recently promoted Captain of the Imperial Guard and Grand Marshal of the Court Count Vaneroaz Asdket. He was an Eastern Aerionian in his late thirties. lHe held a black baton of his office topped with the upper body of a Wolf holding a sword as Grand Marshal of the Court charged with enforcing justice in the Imperial Aerionian Court.

As they wore led before the Imperial Throne, Count Vaneroaz Asdket stepped over to take his place standing upon the first tier dais below the Imperial Throne looking before the group he just led. The courtiers and officials gathered beyond the line of guards and were deathly quiet.

Count Vaneroaz Asdket pulled out an old fashioned scroll in a dramatic manner, and began to read. “Marquis Ruayet Vanedom of the House of Vanedom By Order of Her Imperial Majesty the Padshah Empress Ameria Wasterin, Shahanshah and Autocrat of All Aerion, Padshah of the Aerionians, Sovereign of the House of Wasterin, Pontifex Maxima of the Ancient Aerionian Religion, Imperial Descendant of Yazdegerd III, Grand Duchess of Astevane, and so forth and so forth you are charged with high treason against the Crown. These charges include high treason to commit personal harm to the person of the Padshah Empress, high treason in conspiracy against the Crown, high treason in conspiring to rebel against the sovereignty of the Padshah Empress, high treason in participating in conspiracy against the Crown, high treason in conspiring to murder Great Officers of the Empire, and treason to rebel against Her Imperial Majesty’s government. How do you plead?”

The Eastern Aerionian man now named as Marquis Ruayet Vanedom stood there staring up at the Padhsah Empress Ameria Wasterin who returned a cold stare. He stated, “All that I am guilty of is fighting for freedom and for just rule of this Great Empire. All that I am guilty of is fighting against an unjust crooked tyrant.” Loud gasps could be heard from the crowd of courtiers and officials gathered. Ameria Wasterin yelled authortatively, “Enough!.” Suddenly the Imperial Guard punched the man hard in his solar plexus bringing him to his knees and held him there. One Imperial Security Agent stood behind him holding ominous looking metallic cuffs, and another held more. Marquis Ruayet’s young wife began weeping and his daughter was crying too.

Ameria started coldly, “We find you guilty of high treason against us and all charges. We sentence you to death by firing squad.” His wife began crying uncontrollably. “We strip you of all titles, and honors granted to you and your descendants. The Crown shall seize all lands of your family. Furthermore, we strip your immediate family of all titles, honors, and lands.” With that she gave a certain look to the Count Asdket. The Count nodded to the Imperial Guards. They roughly pulled Ruayet up and began to literally rip the honours off of him, the buttons of his black court uniform, and began ripping his uniform off of him as he kneeled. The Padshah Empress nodded to his wife and other Imperial Guards along with the Imperial Security Service agents began ripping off her honours including one of the special orders of the Imperial Aerionian Court reserved for females including a portrait of the Padshah Empress. His wife began weeping uncontrollably on the floor screaming, “Mercy Your Imperial Majesty. Mercy please mercy.” Their seven year old daughter began crying as well, “Mommy mommy what is wrong.”

Ameria ignored them both.

She paused to let this part sink in to the rebellious family. They had conspired against her and there was evidence of their high treason. She would show no mercy. “We banish your wife and immediate family including your mother, sister, and brothers to the deserts of Zrepzunia. We revoke your parental rights and your daughter shall become the custody of the Crown and shall be placed in the care of the Sisterhood of Abeshala.” There they would likely be assaulted and worse by the Epheronian tribes and nomads in the Zrepzunia desert on the continent of Epheron. The Crown nor her Viceroy of the Colony of Zrepzunia would provide protection. They would be dropped in the middle of the desert to rot.

With that a Matron Superior of the Sisterhood of Abeshala stepped forward. She wore her customary black robes of her sisterhood in the style that Roman priestesses had wore. Her black headdress resembled a pointed klobuk with indigo lappets down the front hanging from the headdress with their symbol of the full moon on the lappets indicating her rank of Matron Superior. She was with a Sister of the Sisterhood of Abeshala wearing a plain black headdress with no lappets. They escorted the young confused daughter away.

With that Ruayet now stripped of all titles and literally stripped to his boxers began yelling at the Pedshah Empress, “You regicidal b*tch. You witch. You are a curse upon this land. I pray that you burn in the fires of the underworld.” Suddenly one of the Imperial Security Agency agents pulled something from their utility belt. It was a metal ball gag and with the help of the Imperial Guard they shoved it into Ruayet’s mouth and tied it around his head. The male Imperial Security Agents then kicked him to the ground. Some in the crowd of courtiers and officials gasped at his words but then there was deathly silence. They placed a metallic cuff around his neck, and two around his arms then a chain to his feet. A female Imperial Security Agency agent wearing the red piping of a Commandant held a remote which she used to electrify the cuffs. The man began writhing on the floor.

By now his wife Serenaya looked faint on the floor as she had gone from hysterically crying to dry heave as if she would throw up on the floor. She finally passed out and a male Imperial Security Service agent checked her pulse.

Ameria had some glee in her eye but she held it behind a stoic countenance. She spoke with authority, “Get them out of our sight.” The male Imperial Security Agents and Imperial Security Service agents began dragging the man back down the purple carpet and the Imperial Guard began dragging the woman. A male Imperial Security Service agent had to throw her over his shoulder and with the Imperial Guard as escort they disappeared back down the purple carpet and out of the Throne Room.

The Padshah Empress now stared forward speaking authoritatively, “The Aulic Court is closed. Is there anything else to come before us today.” Most of the crowds of courtiers and officials stood deathly silent.

Sheepishly Marquis Alazaern Valtane, Her Imperial Majesty’s Minister for Foreign Affairs stepped forward and bowed deeply.
He had been closer to the Imperial Throne and the Imperial presence because of his position. He felt selfishly some relief at the proceedings as there was one less family with the title of Marquis which was one of the higher titles of the Imperial Aerionian Court and nobility in Aerion. His title was by virtue of his office, however.

He had to speak now to an important matter of foreign affairs. He had been blocked from audience with the Padshah Empress recently by the Chief Imperial Advisor Dr. Revane Kassvar who was now giving him a cold stare from beneath bushy white eyebrows and an expression of contempt with pursed lips beneath his long white beard. He had been caught in the wrong side of intrigues at the Imperial Aerionian Court and he was not in the good graces of the Padshah Empress’s Chief Imperial Advisor, arguably the most powerful man in the Grand Empire other than the éminence grise that was the Matron Superior General of the Sisterhood of Abeshala.

Alazaern slowly rose and cleared his throat, “Your Imperial Majesty, there is a matter of the Pantocratorian and Braslandian wedding. His Imperial Highness Prince Andreus Porphyrogenitus the Despot of New Constantinople, Dauphin of Viennois and Her Royal Highness Princess Sophia of Brasland, Duchess of Lansborn are to be wed. Your Imperial Majesty’s privy secretary may have received this invitation.”

Ameria stared down at her Minister for Foreign Affairs with some disdain. He did not shift but stood stoic. She spoke, “Yes Minister we were aware. We will dispatch our cousin Faravindad and you may accompany him. We will give further orders through our privy secretary.” Alazaern bowed low, “Yes Your Majesty.” He stepped back into the crowd of courtiers and breathed a sight of relief. He ignored the stare of the Chief Imperial Advisor Dr. Revane Kassvar.

With that Ameria rose. Two Ladies-in-Waiting held elaborate purple velvet pillows. Two young Imperial Pages took the Rod of Justice and Imperial Dagger from the Padshah Empress and placed them upon the pillows which were then escorted away with two Tirith-en-Altari. Ameria then stepped down the dais and around to the back where there were steps to doors behind the Imperial Throne dais and drapery. The Tirith-en-Altari and Imperial Bodyguard followed her.

The crowd of courtiers and officials dispersed. Some to the rooms running in enfilades along the Grand Throne Room or to other palatial rooms in the Imperial Palace. There they would scheme and plot, but only against each other. For the price of scheming or plotting against the Padshah Empress was too high.

[Brasland]

Princess Sophia spoke four languages: German, Greek, English and French. The first one, because it was spoken in her homeland, and even though she had spent her adolescence abroad, she had learned it from her father, the late King Paul II. The second one, because it was her mother’s language and because she had grown up in New Chalcedon, a Greek-speaking country. English, because it was mandatory at school. French, because it was considered unthinkable for a well-bred woman not to know the most elegant language on Earth. However, she disliked it and spoke it with a heavy Greek accent. Of all languages, it was in her mother’s native tongue that she felt more at ease. German was too guttural, almost rough, while English lacked poetry. This is why Sophia felt she would fit quite well among the Greek-speaking community in Pantocratoria. However, she knew that if she did not want to be hated at Court, her French had to be perfect. She had begun her lessons a year earlier and she had improved greatly. The problem was that she had little opportunities to practice it, spending most of her time in Lansborn. With great pain, she realized that she had to return to New Rome soon to prepare for her wedding. She dreaded the moment when she had to leave her duchy to settle permanently in Pantocratoria, but it was about time. Besides, she was still quite ignorant about some of the demands expected from a princess of the House of Capet. She knew how to behave, when to speak, what to say and all the sort of things that people like her are taught since childhood, but Pantocratoria was different. They seemed stuck centuries ago, and Sophia was not used to that. Through her Private Secretary, she contacted the office of her future sister-in-law, Princess Morgan, to arrange for a private meeting. She asked Morgan if she could kindly help her to settle in this new world. Coming from a modern country like the Caldan Union, Sophia suspected that the princess would be sympathetic to her struggles. With this in mind, she left Lansborn, refusing all kinds of ceremonies that were offered by the local authorities to say her goodbye. After all, she would rule the duchy until her death and it was not as if she was leaving forever.

*

Hôtel de Lansborn
New Rome

The Duchess of Lansborn arrived with her private secretary, Baroness Kiralyi, and two ladies-in-waiting. With a deep sigh and a feeling of regret for having to leave her beloved duchy, she immersed herself in her plans. If she was to become a Pantocratorian princess, she would be the best one...

[Knootoss]

Knootoss' Prime Minister had spent the last few years happily indulging in the pleasures of power. While it was said that the job of Prime Minister was most stressful, he had not found it to be so. With a team of expert ministers and advisors in place, he could fall back on the speeches that his speechwriters had prepared for him, adding a few silver-tongued embellishments along the way. A man as charming as Maurits Viljoen thus did not need to fall back on the rigours of hard work, nor did he need to stress over-much about the impact of his decisions.

In fact, his team seemed to prefer it if he didn't micromanage them.

With these arrangements in place, it had been decided for him that he should attend wedding of Prince Andreus and Princess Sophia. It would be a great opportunity to show Knootoss' continued commitment to one of its closest allies without the possibility of it being spoilt by nagging questions about the "Iesian" direction that many voters felt their ally was drifting towards. It was also an opportunity for a brilliant photo op, reminding viewers of his own high (if not quite regal) status. It was an opportunity to look statesmanly.

Maurits Viljoen had foregone the boring striped suit that'd been picked by his advisors. Instead he emerged from the slender Prime Ministerial jet dressed entirely in white, with a feathered cap and sunglasses to protect his Excellent face from the elements. He was flanked by Alain van Haarlem dressed in a suit of pink, as well as a gaggle of ladies that had been picked to accompany them. These three (the Prime Ministerial date, the Ambassadorial Date and a seventeen year old girl who had won some kind of prize raffle or internship. The PM wasn't sure) were all dressed as peacocks, in an infusion of Pantocratorian and Knootian styles, with over-fancy hats and ball gowns that had to be squeezed in order to pass through the planes' narrow door.

The delegation nearly tripped down the stairs when Maurits Viljoen stopped halfway to assume various poses for the assembled press, so that they would have plenty of opportunity to take photographs. After that, they moved on to join the next stage of the proceedings.

[Palaiologos II]

Ionnes arrived to New Rome at what he hoped was a reasonable time. His jet landed near the front of the cathedral- there were several others nearby. Exiting his jet, he found that there were very few reporters there to pester him- most of them were surrounding a man a little ways away in an absurd suit, followed by ladies. Whatever keeps them off me, I guess. The cathedral itself was very impressive, to be expected. Entering it, it was even more impressive- gold, stained glass, marble, party things. However, it seemed he was one of the first to arrive. He would at least have the President, or Prime Minister, or King, or whatever he saw earlier for company until the rest came- and interesting company, at least.

[Brasland]

Hôtel de Lansborn
New Rome


Sophia looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection revealed the image of a bride, looking quite impressive in a long white dress embroidered in floral motives and pearls from the Braslander island of Nixinsel, a rather sentimental touch to honor her homeland. Her head was crowned by a large diamond tiara that had once belonged to her great-great grandmother, Queen Theodora of Brasland, who had been the daughter of the Pantocratorian Emperor Manuel IX. In a way, with Sophia’s wedding the circle was closed. The Duchess’ veil had been worn by Braslander princesses at their weddings for almost two centuries, and hopefully it would continue to be for much longer. Finally, she carried a beautiful bouquet of a typical alpine flower, the edelweiss, which was one of the symbols of the Duchy of Lansborn’s coat of arms.

Someone knocked the door. It was surely Margot, Sophia thought.

“Come in”, she said.

To her surprise, her grand aunt Princess Alexandra appeared.

“How are you, child? Prepared for everything?”, asked the formidable old lady.

“I am, aunt”, said Sophia with a sigh, but smiling. “The day has come.”

“We’re all very proud of you Sophia”, Alexandra said as if she was declaring a fact, without a hint of sentimentality. “And I have to say you’re very brave.”

Sophia smiled, amused by her grand aunt’s strange demonstration of affection.

“I just hope to get over with all the show quickly and start my life here. It’s been far too long.”

“Well, in a couple of hours you’ll start your new life.”

“Somehow I’m not scared anymore, I feel at peace. It is as if I am exactly where I should.”

Alexandra did not say anything, but something in her expression gave her out. She was relieved by Sophia’s words, as she had felt some remorse for pushing her into this marriage.

“Well, dear, I just came to greet you and wish you luck. We’ll see each other later in the palace.”

“Thank you, aunt.”

As Princess Alexandra was leaving, a man held the door and gave Sophia an awkward look.

“George, come in”, said Sophia.

“How do you feel, Sophia?”, asked the King.

The two looked at each other, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. They were not very affectionate with each other and since childhood their relationship had been based more on competition than fraternal love, but they were realizing that the other’s absence would be quite hard on them both. Despite this, they would not reveal their feelings to each other.

“I’m fine, George”, said the princess matter-of-factly. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well”, George replied, a broad mischievous smile suddenly appearing in her face. ”After all, today my greatest rival is leaving Brasland for good.”

The irony did not escape to Sophia’s ears, but she let a laugh escape.

“You idiot!”, she said laughing. “I’ll stay in Lansborn two months a year just to bug you! You’ll see!”

The King laughed and headed to the door. As he was leaving, he turned around briefly.

“Just for the record, Sophia, I’ve never hated you. It’s just that Brasland is too small for both of us.”

“I know, brother, I know. Now make yourself useful and call Margo! I need her.”

As the King closed the door, the Duchess of Lansborn looked at her reflection in the mirror again. She decided she looked well, very well, actually. Her life was about to become interesting…

[Tresthyr]

Note: "Tresthyr" is an older, outdated name for the empire of Vaurenere.

Château de Théméricourt
Théméricourt, Daval and Léoneis, Vaureneran Empire

Resting on the outskirts of the capital city of Athéron, the village of Théméricourt and its chateau were the preferred residence of the Vaureneran empress, Madeleine II de Maumaront. Sitting at the small oak desk that sat in front of the large, single window in her private study, Empress Madeleine stared out at the chateau's gardens; the rain had subsided minutes ago, but the wind didn't seem to notice as it rattled the windows of the eastern face of the palace. The Empress had received the wedding invitation from the Despotic Court months ago, but with the recent squabbles amongst members of parliament over the Empire's recent economic issues, she was exhausted and considered skipping the affair altogether.

It was at that moment that Madeleine's eldest son, Prince Endymion, the Dauphin of Oléron, walked past the half-open doors of his mother's study. He had only recently returned home to Athéron after a weekend getaway to the lakeside city of Saverne along the Vaureneran border with Taraskovya. As he entered the dimly-lit room, the Empress turned to look at him.

"Endymion, I wasn't expecting you until later tonight. Is everything all right?" Madeleine asked.

"Everything's fine, Mother. Ariane and I finished packing earlier than we thought we would and decided to surprise you," Endymion replied. Princess Ariane, Endymion's younger sister and Madeleine's only daughter, had recently announced that she was moving to an apartment in Férin on the northern Davali coast. "Ariane is downstairs talking to Alexandre."

The Empress grinned upon learning that she was under the same roof of all three of her children again. Prince Alexandre still lived in Théméricourt with his mother, albeit in a separate wing, but her two oldest children had moved out on their own long ago.

Endymion continued, "We wanted to have dinner together before you left for New Rome this weekend, but are you sure you're feeling up to going? You look tired... Lovely as usual, but tired."

"I honestly do not know. I have all ready sent word to New Rome that I would be in attendance," Madeleine replied. "Your stepfather and I were supposed to be leaving the day before the wedding but I don't really want to go."

Glancing at the open wedding invitation that sat on his mother's desk among other disheveled documents, Endymion said, "Why don't I go instead? I can ask Charlotte or Anya to go with me in your place."

Madeleine thought for a moment, considering her son's offer. After a long second, she finally replied, "As long as you take Charlotte or Anya with you, I don't see a problem. I can send word to Emperor Andreus about the change of plans, say I'm not feeling well or something. Just be sure you're careful. Contact Anya first though, since she has been to Pantocratoria before."

"All right, I'll go call her now and let you know what she says," Endymion stated as he turned to walk out of the study.



A few days later...

New Rome, Pantocratoria

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Prince Endymion adjusted the royal blue sash that draped over his tuxedo as he walked to the opposite end of the hotel suite that he shared with Archduchess Anastasia Nikolaevna. Knocking on the white wooden door of her bedroom, he heard the Acaronn archduchess knock something over as she told him to come in. Opening the door, Endymion watched as the archduchess messed with her hair in the vanity mirror. Anastasia, whom everyone referred to as "Anya," was the younger sister of Czar Nikolai V of Acarionne, one of the many vassals to the Vasilevs Mikhail of all Taraskovya, and was a distant relative of the Vaureneran imperial family. Even with their distant relation, Anya and Endymion's sister Ariane looked strikingly similar to one another, with their wavy, light brown hair, blue eyes, and delicate features; the only striking difference between them were Anya's facial freckles, which she tended to conceal with make-up.

"Are you about ready to leave? The wedding starts in about an hour or so," Endymion said as he sat on Anastasia's unmade bed.

"Just about," Anya answered as she put on her diamond and sapphire earrings, her Russian accent noticeable as she replied in French. "I still have to put my shoes on. Could you grab them from my suitcase over there? They're the white high-heels."

Endymion stood up and walked over to the window where Anya had sat her suitcase. Glancing out the hotel window, he examined the cityscape of New Rome and noticed the dozens of pedestrians that seemed to parade around the streets below. The city was alive with the excitement of the Despot of New Constantinople's nuptials to Princess Sophia of Brasland.

"This is such a strange country. Both Pantocratoria and Vaurenere are predominantly French and both are monarchies, yet the Pantocratorians seem so much more conservative than Vaurenerans," Endymion stated as he handed Anya her high-heeled shoes.

"That's because they are," Anya countered. "The Pantocratorians are known for their conservative values whereas the Vaurenerans are more, well..."

"Progressive and who tend to be more libertine," Endymion said, smirking as he sat back down on the bed.

"That's one way to put it," Anya responded as she gave him a small grin. "But Pantocratoria truly is a beautiful country. We'll have to tour the capital before we leave. There's a restaurant down the street from here that I want to take you to."

Anastasia slid on her shoes as she leaned against Endymion's shoulder. She turned to take one last look in the mirror to smooth out her navy-colored gown and adjust her hair as Endymion walked into the main room to wait for her. Walking out to meet him, Anastasia grabbed her clutch and closed her bedroom door.

"Let's go see a wedding," Endymion said as he linked arms with Anastasia.

Arm-in-arm, the Dauphin and the Archduchess then proceeded to make their way to the nuptials of Prince Andreus and Princess Sophia.

[Tarasovka]

New Rome, Pantocratoria

The arrival of Their Most August Majesties the Vasilevs and Vasilessa of all Taraskovya, and of His Most August Highness the Vasilevitch of all Taraskovya, was no simple matter. They did not just come in by a private jet, it was a bit more elaborate than that. Some time before their arrival, an advance party of security experts arrived in Pantocratoria to work out the security arrangements with their local colleagues. A bit after that arrived the primary security detail, with special vehicles and helicopters to be used by the Most August Family during their stay in Pantocratoria. But as the Most August Family was coming not only for the wedding, but would also spend time in Pantocratoria between the Emperor's Court and the Court of Prince Basil, arriving with the primary security detail and all of its arsenal was also a small ceremonial detail of Life Guards, both on foot and on horse. The foot component was represented by a small detachment the Vasilessa's Own Hellenic Life Guards, many of whom were recruited from the Pantocratorian Greeks, while the mounted ceremonial component consisted of a number of Chevalier Guards on horseback, who would be posted on ceremonial guard duty as commanded by the circumstances.

And as paranoid as the Taraskovyans were about the security of their Vasilevs, a certain amount of Taraskovyan National Defence Forces naval assets were also pre-deployed to the Western Atlantic in agreement with the other members of the Oosterbeek Treaty to guarantee protection against somewhat bigger threats than what a close security detail could ensure. The Vasilevs did not travel much abroad, doing away with most foreign visits by delegating those to his sister, the Grand Duchess Vethara (for when a "royal" touch was needed), or to the Imperial Chancellor (for when a more "political" touch was needed). So on the very few occasions where Mikhail did travel, the entire TNDF was in alert and ready for anything.

The Vasilevs Mikhail, his wife the Vasilessa Helena and their son, the Vasilevitch Alexander, arrived to a sealed off Pantocratorian airbase, away from the prying cameras of private press. After a mandatory photo op at the tarmac by a very restricted pool of authorised Pantocratorian and Taraskovyan journalists, the Most August Family proceeded to their New Rome quarters for refreshment and to get ready for the ceremony.

For the ceremony itself, Mikhail would appear dressed in a dark blue gala uniform of the Alexander Guard Regiment. His son the Vasilevtch was dressed in a snow white gala uniform of a cadet of the Vigvar Life Guards Military School for Boys, cadet being the name given in Taraskovya for pupils of primary and secondary military schools. Finally, the Vasilessa Helena, née Princess Helen of Pantocratoria, was for the occasion dressed in exquisite Pantocratorian fashion that was somewhat made more ergonomic by Taraskovyan designers through the removal of the corset. The Most August Family, flanked as it was by their guard detail, took position within the Cathedral at where it was that they were supposed to be by Pantocratorian ceremonial protocol.


* - * - *

OOC: "Note: "Tresthyr" is an older, outdated name for the empire of Vaurenere." - You learn the Taraskovyan way fast, young padawan!

[Allanea]

Leyfield School for Girls


The classroom was immense - partly because it needed to accommodate in comfort several dozen girls, and partly because some of the girls were Skyborn beastlings, and would not feel comfortable unless the ceiling was high and the room itself expansive. Really it was less of a classroom and more of ‘a small lecture hall’. The walls themselves were light-grey with gold accents, the ceiling framed with gold along its edges, with tall windows that started from the floor and reached all the way up to the ceiling, where they ended in narrow, gothic angles. Those girls fortunate enough to sit next to the windows could see into the inner yard of the castle, where one could seem men in military uniforms - both Allanean black dress uniforms and Imperial grey - walking through on their own business, parking their cars, and suchlike. Those who were not so blessed could look at the various charts and educational posters decorating the walls, or indeed watch the Emperor as he gave his lecture.

A stage of sorts - an elevated portion of flooring about a foot or two higher than the rest of the room - had been set up on one side of the class, with a lectern at his center. Alexander - wearing no crown, but simply a green T-shirt and black pants - paced the stage

“It must be understood,” - said Alexander Blaken-Kazansky, raising his finger “That Shakespeare had a very specific understanding of Tragedy, which he inherited from more ancient writers and philosophers. Tragedy was defined very rigidly, as the tale of a hero who is both noble and virtuous, but yet afflicted with a tragic flaw - a hubris.”

As he spoke these words, letters appeared on the grey wall behind him. They said:

TRAGEDY - THE STORY OF A VIRTUOUS YET FLAWED HERO.

“The word literally means pride. This is because in the most ancient tragedies, pride was seen as a flaw, the most common flaw in those oldest works. It had come to be the word for any tragic flaw. The hero’s flaw then leads him inexorably to commit crimes, which in turn lead him to a painful conclusion. Now, class: who do you think is this flawed hero in Romeo and Juliet?”

“All of them obviously. They’re all pathetic, first of all, you have Juliet and Romeo who met one another at a party for all of two seconds, and immediately their demand is they must obviously marry right away, and then there’s every single other character, because they, up until the very end demonstrate their idiotic actions, like how Tybalt and Mercutio just had to fight when the obviously sensible conclusion is to shut the fuck up and talk things over.” Rheya said with a shrug of her shoulders, her violet eyes blinking, as if this sort of dialogue was the most obvious statement possible. “Just about everyone did something irredeemably stupid in the story, thus they all deserved to die.”

“It’s not an incorrect statement. Although I’d like to point out that you’re not accounting for the cultural context.” - Alexander said.

“Culture is bullshit, there’s nothing to account for stupidity, not especially culture. Culture is not an excuse for irredeemable stupidity. If I had been in the same situation, I would first of all, take Romeo out on a date before going to a wedding. Second of all, I would not immediately demand to get married, because that takes actual years. If I had to make an arrow and learn archery in all of one day, I’d suck at it too. Then there’s the next obvious problem which was they thought they needed to be married to fuck, that’s obviously untrue. There’s also the ridiculous notion that it was a good idea to go suicidal at all in this circumstance rather than sitting down with the people involved and just telling them to shut the fuck up, or you’ll elope and they can eat dicks?” Rheya said with her head shaking quite disdainfully. “Is eloping sooooooo goddamned hard? You just leave and get married somewhere the fuck else, and then who is going to stop you? Your family? Well they don’t know about it, nor is it ANY of their business. Why if you and Mummy tried to say Rudy and I couldn’t see one another, I would polymorph you faster than you can say ‘No, fuck you.’ ” Rheya said quite openly. “You would probably give me the beating of my life, but I’d do it anyhow.”

“The thing is, though.” - Alexander said. “Two problems. One, they are basically living in what would today be called a third-world shithole. It’s effectively illegal - in some parts of Italy really illegal - for people to have sex without being married. Two, you are a powerful wizard who can take care of herself. You know multiple martial arts, you can eat and digest a raw rabbit, you are a powerful wizard, you can fly. If Juliet and Romeo could fly, none of this would happen. But in fact. Juliet was an Italian noble girl in the fourteenth century or so. Which means she was totally helpless. If she eloped, she wouldn’t be able to earn a living because she didn’t have any useful skill to sell. So the only way for her to get the delicious Romeo-cock-”

Back in the back row, Annerose, a Reichskamphenite girl in a long, tight-laced dress, gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth - “Oh. Your Majesty-”

“THe only way for her to get the D was to go to a figure of authority - Friar Lawrence - and to get married right away. If she tried any of this ‘dating’ stuff, she could get caught, and then her parents would give her away to actual slavery, which was a thing people did at the time. Which brings me to my assertion: I think the tragic hero - and the villain too - of the piece, is Friar Lawrence.”

“Oh don’t be daft, anyone can learn how to use a proper weapon. When I was just a small lass I was able to use just about any weapon I could lift. That was how I was taught, and if she really was totally helpless, her parents must be utterly, criminally negligent. Why if I had a child I’d start teaching it how to use its sword arm as soon as it could raise a sufficiently large stick. How else would you handle this situation unless you’re critically stupid? I mean consider that for a moment she needed to get a friar for any reason. Why wouldn’t she just hole herself up in Verona with a vast arsenal of arrows and quivers, and even various hirelings. She’s a noblewoman, she could hire herself a sword if she was so incompetent to handle her own, which is a silly notion unless she was a omnipelegic, and presuming she was an omnipelegic she would be too busy shitting herself in a wheelchair to crash a party.”

“She’s worse than an omniplegic. She’s effectively a slave. The entirety of Early Modern Catholic culture was about bringing up women to be effectively slaves to men. It w-”

“OH THAT IS SOOOO RICH, just about every man I have ever met in ANY society have been so easily enslaved to the wiles of women. Why even my boyfriend could easily be my slave in just a second if I actually used my sense of cunning. Any girl could do that and this girl is supposed to be beautiful. Presuming she isn’t an ugly fat cow, why wouldn’t she be able to practically own every man of Verona overnight? I am saying this story is so unrealistic it’s not even worthy of addressing.”

Alexander Blaken Kazansky laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Then, he looked at Rheya.

“I’m sorry, Miss Blaken-Kazansky. Shakespeare is known to have based this story on actual records from the City of Verona. We can go and visit the Capulet house one day. The actual balcony survives still.”


“Holy God of Law, the Veronans were retarded beyond conception. I am astonished, how Shakespeare managed to tell this story with a straight face is astonishing. That is probably the only merit to this work, otherwise, it’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard. It just breaks my willing suspension of disbelief.” Rheya explained waving her hand. “Even in the Ages of the Monarchy back home the women were no so utterly incompetant as to be utterly helpless and this story just makes no sense unless you throw a lot of retard at it.”

Alexander laughed. “Well, you’re sort of right. But part of the purpose of this class is finding out how the cultures that are described in these works of fiction and gave rise to them became that way. It’s pointless to just describe every culture that’s not as free as Allanea as ‘retarded’. This is especially true for you, one day you might need to understand foreign cultures. Now, class, I have an assignment for you all. Each of you will have to submit a two-page essay on the following topic:” - he waved his hand in an elaborate gesture, and behind him on the wall, new writing appeared:

Which character do you think is the tragic hero of Romeo and Juliet? Justify your answer in detail.

“But how many words will this one have to be? I’ve only a few words to toss at it, and I don’t feel like writing again, it’s bothersome. First of all, there’s no hero, they’re all morons. Second of all none of it is tragic, all of it is stupid.”

“Miss Blaken-Kazansky, if you are not up for typing, have you considered dictating it to the computer? That might be easier for you.” - said Alexander.

“If I do that, it’ll be even stupider because I’d write a long winded rant about every reason this entire book was the stupidest I have ever read in my entire life. And as for dealing with ‘other cultures’” Rheya said with ostentatious quote fingers “It’s quite simple. They bow, or I will skull fuck them, and I will make them beg for mercy at my feet, until death itself is a mercy.”

“Your Imperial Highness-” gasped Annerose.

“Truly you are your Mother’s daughter. Now. This class has come to a close. All are free to leave,. except for Miss Blaken-Kazansky.

The class was a flurry of motion, as the girls slammed their laptops closed and shoved them in their school bags. Alexander, meanwhile, smiled. “Rheya, I feel that you should be exposed to a culture not entirely unlike that in Shakespeare’s books. At least in the sense that the noblewomen are kept helpless, pliant, and subservient to men.” - he paused, pulling a piece of paper from the top of the lectern. “We have been invited to the wedding of the Pantocratorian Emperor’s son.” - he folded the invitation into a paper plane, launching it from the stage towards Rheya.

“Oh please, I don’t think it’s possible for people to be that stupid. It’s just out of my range of belief, and further, even if I was to grant the premise that this were possible. All it would do is make me break things.” Rheya said with a grin, a terrifying grin that reflected that same glint in her eyes as she called forth the demonic hosts of Tarnoth once before. “Now! Can we actually read a REAL book? Something that isn’t this steaming hunk of warm bullshit?”

Alexander gaped, unable to process the existence of an individual who called Romeo and Juliet ‘warm bullshit’.

“I mean even the worst smut off the Supermarket Pornographic Aisles have better skill than this…” She looked at the book title and author, “William Shakespeare. Like, everything we have read from this clown is utterly ridiculous and worthy of scorn and derision, not actually addressing. I want a REAL book please.” She said as she haphazardly tossed the Concord University Edition Romeo and Juliet over her shoulder into the trash can just as she was hit with a paper airplane. “UPH!” She shouted in surprise. “Oooh what’s this then?” She unfolded it. “Hm, what does this say?” She held it to her father annoyedly.

“It’s a wedding invitation.” - Alexander said, somewhat astonished at Rheya’s inability to read it.

“It is practically illegible, it is so utterly ornate that I can barely make out the words. What the hell sort of Calligraphy is this? It’s the ugliest thing I have ever seen.” Rheya said shocked. “And that you can read it, Father, do you have a lexicogram spell I can learn?” The Princess asked with wide eyes of delight. “Teach me!” She said with excitement he had never seen her have in any of his lessons as she quickly pulled out a spell scroll. “Show me how to do it!”

“I can read it because I have been endlessly exposed to bullshit like this in my time as Emperor, I guess. Anyway, His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty Emperor Andreus, Grace of God Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrat of the Romans, blah, blah, does hereby Invite you The Wedding of His Eldest Son, blah, blah, Prince Andreus, I am sorry, there’s just a mass of titles, he's marrying Princess Sophia of Brasland and they want us to be there."

“Well back home we used to say that people with too many titles are compensating for their utter worthlessness. Even the High King of the Skyborn was just that, there was no need to add more titles because there’s nothing higher than that. Anything else is still a subtitle, and is irrelevant. It’s still a lower honor than being the High King.”

“So being you’re the Princess of Allanea and Greater Prussia. I think you should join your mother and myself at the wedding. It will be a good opportunity to see real-world conservative Catholics in action too.”

“Okay! I will show them who’s boss.” The girl said with a nod of her head. “After all, there’s always a little fun to come of it. Think of it, Can you teach me the spell though, Daddy, you’ve not written it down!”

“There is no spell. There is just I have been in Greater Prussian politics for far too long.” - Alexander laughed . “Now, would you like me to go over the details with you now, or later?”

“We can go over it later.” She said slightly crestfallen. “But that’s okay, I think we should talk about the wedding! Will there be all sorts of things, I have to remember if there will be a frolic or a masque to bring specific things for that. There’s also the question of whether or not Rudy will be ready for an orgy, he’s so precious, but he’s practically a virgin!”

“Sadly it’s Pantocratoria. This is the country where if women wear dresses that end above the knee, they might get attacked by fascist gangs - something that, obviously, doesn’t apply to us.” - Alexander said - “So there is a wedding, which is in a church and will be as boring as the Pantocratorians can humanly make it, and then there is a wedding reception, which is a sort of posh and highly formal party. I would like and request that you wear some kind of Allanean, rather than Spirean, clothing. This is because we are there as representatives of our country, as Allanean monarchs and not merely as individuals.”

“I have a plan for a long dress anyway, just because I figure I’d get bored if I wore similar things all the time! I’m going wiiiith this one.” She said drawing a long white dress with a halter top, and a choker neck, and a plunging backline which ended right at the small of her back. It was of mermaid cut which meant it hugged her form tightly, and then spread out as it reached her knees and it also had a train of its own. She had no sleeves she intended to wear with it, leaving her arms bare, and the side slit of the dress was steep as could be, only matched by the narrowness of the spread of the halter top which still showed her cleavage quite clearly.

“Hm.” - Alexander said, inspecting the drawing. “I think that might do. Certainly the Pantocratorians will be horrified sufficiently. For reference,” - he swiped to an image on his smartphone, and handed it to Rheya after stepping off the stage. “this is what your Mother will wear.”

The image portrayed Cassiopeia on the deck of a flying ship, in a black uniform with a demi-cape, heavy military boots, and a short skirt that ended higher just above mid-thigh. “The best thing,” Alexander said, “is that it is actually a formal military uniform so they cannot bitch and whine about it.”

“I think I like this one just fine, and I’m not all fussed and worried about it, and the best part is that it is soooo easy to remove if it bothers me to an annoying degree.” Rheya pointed it out. “It should be easygoing, I think.”

“Excellent then.” - said Alexander. “Now,” - he said, handing Rheya a stack of glossy photographs, “here are some pictures of the Pantocratorian Emperor and his family so you know who is who and can identify them at court. Same for the Taraskovyan Vasilevs, who will be there with his wife.” - he pondered - “Also you probably need to explain to Rudy the fact he’ll be playing a major role in a royal function.”

“Is that the one who gave me the present?” The crowling asked as she remembered the diamond necklace.

“Princess Marie is, yes. It was as part of the tribute Pantocratoria has given us - though they will of course not appreciate if you openly refer to its as “tribute”.”

“I said gift, I am going to hug her for giving me something wonderfully tasteful this time, and I will give her a gift of my own? Does that not sound divine, dear Daddy?” Rheya asked as she clasped his hand for a moment. “I can give her something nice, can’t I?”

“You can if you like.” - said Alexander, frowning at this notion. “You do realize that the Pantocratorians are our enemies, yes?”

“Precisely why I will give her a gift! You said it yourself that they are conservatives, what better of an infuriating gift than to give her what would be her first pair of mercy alles?”

“I have... no idea what you’re talking about. But I sense it is hilarious.”

[Pantocratoria]

Despot's Suite
Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator
New Rome

Prince Andreus rarely used his suite of apartments in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, since he generally lived in New Constantinople and when he joined the rest of the family around Christmas, Easter and other key events, it was generally in one of the smaller palaces in the countryside like Chantouillet. The apartments weren't even those he had inhabited as a child, since once he was officially invested as Despot of New Constantinople, he was also officially entitled to different rooms. The most important feature of the apartments in the day's long ceremonial festivities was the Despot's State Bed, where the marriage would be (presumably) consummated that night. Andreus had never slept in the State Bed and unless he died in New Rome while still Despot of New Constantinople, he would never sleep in the bed again after the night. The State Bed was located in a ceremonial bedchamber adjoining to the salon in which the Despot was presently preparing himself, alongside his brother, Prince Constantine, three valets, and two other servants coming and going. The Despot glanced at the door into the rear of the ceremonial bedchamber and, quite unbidden, the thought that the last time the room and bed had been used was by his own grandparents on the evening of their wedding. He had never met his grandfather, the Emperor Isaac V, but he remembered his grandmother well-enough, and hoped the mental image of the wrinkled old Empress Dowager Isabelle did not summon itself on his wedding night as he was between the sheets with Princess Sophia.

"What's wrong?" asked Constantine. "You trembled."

"Hmm?" Andreus replied, affecting to be unaware of the shiver he had most definitely felt run down his spine at the mental image of his grandparents in coitus in his marriage bed. "Nothing, it was nothing. How do I look?"

"A vision, as ever." Constantine declared, his tongue in cheek.

The Despot of New Constantinople had always taken great pride in his appearance. He had a handsome face, but most of his appeal was due to the way he carried himself, the way he smiled (ever so slightly with his mouth, but warmly with his eyes), and his physique. The Despot was significantly larger than his younger brother, with broader shoulders and, beneath the white military dress uniform he was wearing, the sort of well-defined torso achieved by athletes or the very self-absorbed. In truth, with his shirt off, the Despot did not look as good as he had a few years ago - it was harder and harder to maintain his abdominal muscles while still enjoying his preferred culinary delights as his thirties wore on, but Princess Sophia would still have nothing to complain about. The Despot turned to face himself in the mirror, flexed his arms ever so slightly, and nodded in approval.

"Can you believe I turn thirty seven in a few weeks?" Andreus asked.

"Aren't you already thirty seven?" Constantine teased, as the valet brushed off his own white military dress uniform's jacket.

"Dommage!" Andreus laughed. "I suppose I am being somewhat insufferable."

"Somewhat." Constantine agreed.

The brothers were quiet for a few minutes as the valets continued to do their work. Purple sashes were fitted over their brilliant white jackets. Andreus glanced at the ceremonial bedroom's door again. It had been a few days since he had been with Henriette de Montmanuel, and he had found that his anticipation to bodily possess Sophia had grown more and more as the day approached.

"I wonder what Mademoiselle de Lansborn looks like au naturel..." Andreus wondered out loud. The servants pretended not to notice - they were very good at that. "There was no inspection."

"Really?" Constantine seemed a little irritated to hear that. He actually deplored inspections but he knew his wife Morgan had been put through the ordeal and it seemed quite unjust to him that his elder brother's wife (and thus Empress presumptive) could be spared the indignity when Morgan had not been. "Morgan had to have one."

"It's traditional, I admit." Andreus shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure all is well."

"I'm sure." Constantine said, tight-lipped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sure you're not interested in my depraved thoughts." Andreus smiled.

"We all have our own depravities, dear brother." Constantine answered, allowing himself to smile too. "I hope we have good qualities too."

Andreus turned to his brother, placed his hands on his shoulders, and looked him in the eye.

"Constantine, you have the very best qualities. You are the best man in every sense of the word." he said. "I love you. There is nothing wrong with you."

Constantine fought back tears, and embraced his brother. Even he was not sure there was nothing wrong with him - and even if Andreus was right, being homosexual was certainly very inconvenient for a Prince of the Imperial Family. He still appreciated the sentiment and the rare moment of open affection.

"I hope you and Sophia are very happy, André." Constantine said, before finally letting go of the embrace.

"Life can be so very complicated, eh?" Andreus smiled weakly.



La Maison Française
New Rome

She had promised herself that she wouldn't make herself throw up again, but the promise was broken as soon as she had seen her own reflection in the mirror in the dress she was going to wear to the wedding. Ordinarily, Princess Marie was critical of her own appearance, but the more anxious or nervous she was about something, the harsher her self-appraisals became. Today was the wedding of the Emperor's son and heir to the sister of the King of Brasland, and the whole world would be watching. Watching and commenting. Commenting on appearances and dresses. That was stressful enough, but Marie knew that after the ceremony the real challenge would begin - she had been assigned to play unofficial hostess at the reception to the Kazanskies. She had tried to tell herself that the Empress, Cassiopeia, was nice enough, based on their last meeting, but deep down she knew that Cassiopeia had been part of what the Emperor of Greater Prussia had done to her, so ultimately she wasn't much comfort. She had heard so many stories about the Crown Princess, Rheya, some so extraordinary she was sure they were exaggerated or outright fabricated, in addition to which she was a beastling, a metahuman as her aunt Irene would say, all of which was more than enough reason for Marie to be anxious about playing hostess to her. Worse by far than the Crown Princess was the news that her boyfriend, Baronet Rudolph von Steinfurt, would be escorting her. Marie would have to pretend that she didn't recognize him from photographs as the leader of the youths who had robbed her of her pearls near her hotel in Reichskamphen, no doubt another experience contrived to scare her by the cruel, devious mind of Alexander Kazansky. And of course, the Emperor of Greater Prussia and King of Allanea himself, Alexander Kazansky, was the worst and scariest of them all. She would of course have to smile and speak sweetly and play the perfect hostess despite the indignities she had suffered in Reichsburg at his hands. Not just speak sweetly - she would have to guide and assist and do her very best to contain the Kazanskies at the reception, where there would be various other guests more than happy to start a diplomatic incident with the Emperor of Greater Prussia. She hugged the toilet seat and wretched again.



Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator
New Rome

The huge domed ceiling of the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator glittered with the gold mosaic work of the icon of the eponymous Christ Pantocrator, All-Ruler, looking down with haunting eyes at the assembling guests from all over the world below, holding a globe and sceptre in His plasticized hands. Below, in places of special honour near the high altar, were the representatives royal families of other nations which were most closely related to the Pantocratorian Imperial Family - the Vasilevs of Taraskovya, Mikhail, with his Pantocratorian Vasilessa Helen and their son Vasilevitch Alexander; the Queen of the Caldan Union of the Resurgent Dream, Gwendolyn, with her consort Prince Peter, with their child the Grand Duke of Tarana, Princes Charles; and Crown Prince Joseph of Excalbia and his Pantocratorian wife, Princess Anna, the Emperor's eldest daughter, with their daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Just behind the royals, still in a place of honour, was seated Prime Minister Maurits Viljoen of Knootoss, with his ostentatiously dressed date, although Ambassador van Haarlem was seated somewhere else (closer to the back), and the raffle girl had, with some irritation, been taken on a personal guided tour of the Imperial Crypts below since one of the highly in-demand seats inside the Cathedral was hardly going to be wasted on such a creature. Not far away was seated Foreign Minister Konstantin Shirokov of the Abt Republic, in the same section as were seated the dukes and duchesses of Pantocratoria's upper nobility, the Dauphin of Oléron and Archduchess Anastasia, Basileus Ionnes XXI of Palaiologos II, President Caesar, Commissioner Callum Frank of the Isle of Freemen, Prince Faravindad Wasterin of Aerion, and many others. In the same section sat Sir Thierry del Moray and his wife, and past Imperial Chancellors Demetrios Raoul, Dr Thibault Drapeur, and the elderly Sir Thierry Romain (the other two past Pantocratorian Chancellors who were still alive were members of the Imperial Family and would be seated separately). Other guests were still arriving, during which time the 400-voice choir, enormous organ, and assembled orchestra filled the vast space of the Cathedral with music.

[Palaiologos II]

There was an awkward silence as the Prime Minister chatted with his people on one side of the massive cathedral and the Basileus texted or hummed on the other- the echoes of both parties reached the either, but not in any comprehensible form. Time passed, the cardinal sin of arriving to a party early was paid for in the usual manner, awkward stalls and social pain, and new guests slowly by surely filed in. A group of 2- brother and sister, nobles. They seem like nice people, it's a damn shame they're nobles. Born to rule, no matter what kind of ruler they would make. And then their poor, born to work and die. I might get along with them, but I will never like them. There was "His Most August of Majesties"- That elaborate display of paranoia coming in, and then the title- God!, say no more! Then the King (or Emperor?) of Allanea, Alexander Blaken-Kazansky. The Basileus thought he heard much about him, then he arrived and the Basileus realized he was probably thinking of his daughter. The King's (or Emperor's?) entire party spouted nonsense- talking about nonexistent technologies and witches or something, and of beast- people or something. The King (say it with me, or Emperor?) must have had some grasp of reality- he ranted to his girl about classical literature and the sort. The girl responded with only the most ignorant and insipid comments towards it- only scorn and scoff towards anything that asks a question past her tiny mind. Ionnes did agree, to a fine point, with their denouncement for Pantocratorian conservatism. In short- God help the Allaneans if the crown is hereditary. None of this voiced out loud of course.

[Brasland]

Hôtel de Lansborn
New Rome

Sophia stood still in the middle of the room. The designer of the dress, the makeup artist and the hairdresser –along with their respective teams – had finally left the room and she was alone with Baroness Kiralyi.

“Well, that was intense”, Margot remarked.

“Quite”, sighed Sophia.

Margot opened a Word document in her iPad.

“I think you should know a few things about your future in-laws.”

“They can’t be as dysfunctional as we are, I assure you.”

“Actually, Sophia, they are good competition to your family.”

The princess turned to her friend, with a curious expression. “Tell me.”

“It is rumoured that Prince Constantine is gay…”

“Already knew that”, interrupted Sophia.

“Princess Marie is probably bulimic…”

“Not surprised.”

“Princess Theodora was severely traumatized, emotionally speaking, by her kidnapping…”

“Can you blame her?”

“No, of course not, let me continue. The Emperor’s favorite child is Princess Anna, while he and your hubbie don’t get along…”

“That’s common knowledge here in Pantocratoria.”

“Finally, there’s Princess Irene, the Pantocratorian version of your own Aunt Alexandra.”

“Oh, I think that’s unfair on Aunt Alexandra. She might be crazy, but she means well, and she generally succeeds. Besides, she’s had a hard life.”

“Well, I think that serves perfectly to describe Irene as well.”

Sophia turned to Margot again. “Really? Well, that’s a surprise. Should I keep my distance from her? You know I have a fondness for twisted souls.”

“Indeed, you’re marrying one.”

“That’s rude!”, exclaimed the princess, faking indignation. “I don’t think Andreus is a twisted soul, I would say he despises certain social conventions, even if he himself must adhere to them.”

“Well, he doesn’t adhere to them quite strictly. He’s quite liberated…”

“That’s something I like about him. He doesn’t care about stupid rules; he just goes and breaks them. We have that in common.”

“Yes, you’ve broken quite a few rules, darling.”

“And now I’m…”, Sophia began to say.

“And now you’re about to become an empress, isn’t it funny?”

“Not an empress yet, just a despotess.”

“You’ll have to battle against many prejudices.”

“Yes, but Andreus is a progressive man.”

“Really? A progressive man who keeped some sort of harem at his court in New Constantinople?”

“He did?”, a shocked Sophia asked. “I didn’t know, but that only means he is a man with money and power. And that he’s a man.”

“Sophia, you’re still on time to cancel this. Please think about what you’re doing!”

The princess looked at her friend, almost as if Margot was speaking Mandarin.

“Margot, what are you talking about? I won’t cancel my wedding, I want to marry Andreus. And even if I wanted, it would be too late, don’t you think? It would ruin diplomatic relations between Markund and New Rome. I just can’t, I have no chances of going back.”

“I’m just worried for you. New Constantinople is so different from Lansborn, and princesses here don’t have the freedoms they have abroad, even in the very conservative Brasland.”

“I know, my friend, but nothing you say to me will make me change my mind. As I said, I can’t walk out of this, now I’m forced to go on with everything, and I want to do it. You see, I love Andreus.”

“It’s not love, you just feel lust.”

“Margot Kiralyi!”

“It’s true, you do. He’s handsome and I think we both have wondered how he looks without his clothes, but that doesn’t mean one loves him.”

“I’ve talked to him, I’ve heard his opinions. He is a very intelligent man, and I want to help him to become more useful to this country.”

“So you’ve never pictured him in your mind…?”

Sophia laughed.

“You clown! I won’t answer that”, she said, blushing.

Both women remained silent for a while.

"This is it, then", said Margot. "I want you to know that I wish you the greatest possible happiness. I'm just not sure you can achieve it with the Despot, but I do wish it."

"Thank you, Margo", replied Sophia, trying to contain the tears. "I wish the same. Now let's stand up and go downstairs. The car will be here in every minute. Call my maids and tell them to help me."

[Knootoss]

Where Jan Willem Daatman, the Grand Pensionary, might have looked out of place in such a grand environment, the Knootian Prime Minister positively revelled in it. Maurits' feathered cap and sunglasses had been removed as a gesture of respect when he had entered the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator, the former placed in his lap and the latter dangling from the pocket of his white suit. The Prime Ministerial Date was glowing and pink-cheeked, wowed by the treatment she'd gotten so far. Right now, though, the feathers of her hat were perhaps blocking the view of those seated right behind her. This fact was pointed out by Maurits in a quiet whisper, which prompted her to giggle just as the choir began to sing.

The serious-faced silence that was demanded of everyone while the music played allowed Maurits the time to scope out the cathedral. In particular he was keen to learn the positions of all the cameras, in particular the one (or the two) that might catch the occasional glimpse of him. Looking good is important, after all, and he would show them his best side. Aside from those small concessions to aesthetics, though, he would let the proceedings... proceed.

[Pantocratoria]

Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator
New Rome

Inside the cathedral, the buzz and hum of the assembled guests from Pantocratoria, Brasland and all over the world was hushed by the organ buzzing to life. The guests, on the whole, knew to stand at this point, and those who didn’t know would have soon gotten the idea in the time honoured tradition of the infrequent church-goer, as everyone around them stood up. A procession began from the cavernous cathedral’s side entrance opposite the Marian chapel, behind a gold and silver crucifix born by one of the Archdiocese of New Rome’s assistant bishops, over thirty bishops from all over Pantocratoria, and twelve cardinals from across the Western Atlantic clad in the red robes of princes of the Church, moving in solemnity and grandeur towards the apse of the vast cathedral. The assembled prelates passed through the choir and then filled the space between the iconostasis and altar, in order of precedence (with cardinals in the front), all looking typically severely serene. The Archbishop of New Rome, Georges Cardinal Menotheses, took his place before the altar, in front of two plush purple cushions, embroidered in gold thread with the monogram of an overlapping A and S, which awaited the bride and groom.

Cardinal Menotheses and his brothers had a few minutes to find their places and settle down, before the assembled guests in the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator could hear the sound of trumpets and the crash of military boots against the pavers outside, which hushed the distant hum of the crowd, before a military band started to play “God Save the Emperor”, whose familiar tune drifted through the narthex and vestibule into the cathedral’s nave. A few minutes later, the Emperor of Pantocratoria led his sons, Prince Andreus, Despot of New Constantinople, and Prince Constantine, Count of Cerny, followed by his brother and sister-in-law, Prince Basil and Princess Jacqueline, followed by his sister Princess Irene and Prince Constantine’s wife Princess Morgan (who couldn’t walk with her husband because he was also the best man), followed by Princess Theodora and her husband Duke Brendan of Algha and the Emperor’s youngest daughter, Princess Zoë (those who knew the signs might realise her hair had been recently dyed back to something approximating its natural colour), followed at the very back by the thin and nervous figure of Princess Marie, into the vestibule. In the vestibule they were joined by altar boys in robes bearing ornate bronze censers they held from bronze and silver chains, and the cathedral’s second assistant bishop, bearing an identical crucifix to the one which had led the procession of bishops. The Pantocratorian men in the procession were wearing white military dress uniforms of nebulous branch, although none of them had seen active service. Duke Brendan wore the dress uniform of a Rear Admiral in the Royal Caldan Navy, decorated with the Cordelia Cross and the Cross of Valour, both earned in combat years before. The others wore their medals (badges from orders of chivalry and merit for the most part) on purple sashes from shoulder to hip. Brendan wore his hard-won medals for his military service on their conventional ribbons on his left breast. The princesses too had purple sashes, although instead of military uniforms they wore them over the elaborate gowns of New Rome court fashion - all in dull silver fabric with elaborate floral pattern embroidery in brilliant silver cloth thread. Their sashes too bore badges of orders of merit and chivalry, although they were the smaller, female variants, and in considerable less quantity than the men of the family.

The four hundred voice choir began intoning the hymn “Holy Emperor and Equal of the Apostles”, which was surprisingly quiet given the size of the choir and usual over the top ceremonial associated with the Emperor of Pantocratoria. The haunting, high voices of the choir filled the cathedral, and under the gaze of the giant icon of Christ the Pantocrator, the assistant bishop carried his crucifix, flanked by altar boys with their censers spreading incense, down the purple carpet towards the apse of the cathedral, leading the Emperor, the groom, the best man, and the rest of the Imperial Family (save those members already seated in the audience) eastwards towards the high altar and the waiting Archbishop of New Rome. As the serene procession made its way down the aisle, the Pantocratorians in the audience (most of whom were seated in the rear half of the cathedral) bowed their heads, and the women curtseyed, in the direction of the passing Sovereign.

The choir finished its hymn as the Imperial Family reached the end of the transept, where the groom and best man parted wordlessly from the Emperor and the rest of the Imperial Family. The organ started again, playing softly so that what followed did not take place in awkward silence, but unobtrusively. Prince Andreus and Prince Constantine stepped up onto the elevated platform of the choir and assumed their places to the left of the Archbishop. The Emperor and the rest of the Imperial Family ascended a purple-carpeted staircase up around one of the cathedral’s gargantuan pillars (which, unfortunately, marked it as far less architecturally ambitious than the Hagia Sophia, which it had initially been intended to resemble), into the Imperial Box, an elevated, semi-enclosed platform draped in dark purple silk and velvet, with the Imperial Coat of Arms surmounted over a double-headed crowned eagle embroidered in silver thread. The Emperor seated himself in a seat in the front of the box, whose high back gave way into a golden disc intended to resemble a halo around the Isapostolic head. The rest of the family was seated according to an order of precedence around him.

Just under a mile away, the King of Brasland and the blushing bride herself were at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, where a Braslandian honour guard watched them climb out of their comfortable, modern limousine, into a distinctly uncomfortable but extraordinarily splendid looking golden carriage, elaborately decorated in high rococo style, featuring the dolphin device numerous times. It had last been used in 1949, when it had carried Isabelle de Montmanuel to the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator to marry then-Despot of New Constantinople Prince Isaac Porphyrogenitus, the grandparents of Princess Sophia’s betrothed. It was considerably older than that too, but had been kept (or at least restored to) prime condition for this long awaited day. The car had taken them from Lansborn House to the palace - now the Despot’s State Carriage would take them from the palace to the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator. The same carriage would take Sophia back to the palace at the end of the ceremony, but this time with her new husband, not her brother.

[Palaiologos II]

The Basileus had been speaking to a few diplomats from a small country in the Caucasus trying to secure some kind of protectorate situation. His greatest purpose here was as a diplomatic figure, hoping to plant the seeds of partnership of alliance between his own countries and the countries of other guests. It helped that many of the guests were monarchs, who could strike something up on the spot without needing to consult anyone. Loud music began playing. Most guests fell silent and stood, so he naturally did the same. The royals of Pantocratoria- the Emperor and the royal family, a vast number of church officials, and, as far as Ionnes could infer, several dukes or lords, all appeared. If they had been in his midst before this he hasn't noticed, and he doubted the likelihood of not noticing these people. The Emperor especially was dressed in extravagant decoration. The music was either religious or patriotic, or possibly both- it was hard to tell with such... traditional places. Ionnes failed to point out the bride, and so he was confident that she had not yet arrived. His ultimate goal was to gain an audience with the Emperor- Pantocratoria was rich, and Palaiologos needed money. Now, with the Emperor in play and the bride not, this seemed like a golden opportunity.