A Boat, A Bride & Three Days of Feasting: Wedding in Cyretia

[Cyretopolitania]

OOC: This is open to the Western Atlantic and those nations regularly RP with the nations of the Western Atlantic. This will be a peaceful RP, so no armed bodyguards, no space battleships hovering over the city, etc. If you have any doubts about whether or not you should post, please telegram my main country, Excalbia, and request an invitation.

Cyretia, Kingdom of Cyretopolitania

The city of Cyretia was ancient almost beyond imagination. There was ample archeological evidence that the caves scattered along the cliffs below the city had been inhabited since the age of the neanderthals, if not before. At the time of the Great Pyramid, the pharaohs’ armies had built an outpost atop the cliffs overlooking the Gulf of Gafsa. As the power of the pharaohs ebbed, the Phoenicians had established a city here in the 7th century before the birth of Christ, which they named Ziretana.

The Berbers had overwhelmed the city and by the 3rd century BC - or BCE, as some prefer - it had been incorporated into their kingdom, which the Greeks called Cyretopolis after they conquered it. The Carthagians had ousted the Greeks and ruled Cyretopolis until the Romans took the city from them in 146 BC. After the Roman conquest, the city became the capital of the Roman province of Cyretopolitania. And so it had remained the capital of Cyretopolitania ever since.

Christianity entered Cyretia as early as the late 1st century or early 2nd century AD (of CE, if you prefer). As many as three Berber popes from Cyretopolitania may have held the throne of St. Peter before the Cyretian Church and its Patriarch fell out of communion with Rome and Constantinople after the Council of Chalcedon in the 5th century.

The Umayyad Caliphate launched its invasion of Cyretolpolitania in the 7th and early 8th centuries, only to be turned back by Aksel Kusilian - known as Caecilanius in Latin - who was proclaimed King Aksel I in 697 by Cyretopolitanian Pope Melchiades III. In the centuries since, the throne established by Caecilanius had withstood apostate kings, French crusader usurpers, Ottoman armies and even an invasion by the Ernestine Empire.

In rare cases, former invaders and foes had become friends, and so it was that on this day that the white and black flag of Cyretopolitania with its blue and gold cross flew beside the blue, white and green tricolor flag of Ernestria. The colors of the two flags mixed freely in the bunting that seemed to adorn every railing, shutter and lamppost. Exuberant crowds waving little Cyretopolitanian and Ernestine flags lined the winding route from the Royal port up the steep ascent cut into the cliffs and through the medieval city gates to the ancient Roman-Forum-cum-Royal-Palace eagerly awaiting the arrival of Princess Yulia, the intended bride of Prince Agizul.

[Brasland]

Royal Palace, Cyretia

While her older sister in Pantocratoria was facing family tensions due to her recent pregnancy, things were quite different for the Crown Princess of Cyretopolitania. Irene held her newborn son in her arms. His name was George, after the uncle that sat on the throne of Markund. She could not help but smile, satisfied that she had fulfilled one of her main duties, the continuation of the dynasty. Little George was a whirlwind of energy, but Irene felt she could cope with him. She was only twenty four... and not short on domestic help. Now, relieved by the election of her preferred candidate as Coptic Pope, she felt that the future was cloudless… for now.

As she gave George to one of the maids, Irene looked at herself in the mirror to ensure she was appropriately dressed for the occasion. She did, how could she not? She usually planned her official outfits months in advance, to ensure no details could escape her. On this occasion, she wanted to make very clear that she welcomed Princess Yulia with open arms. She was particularly glad that Agizul had chosen the Ernestine as his wife-to-be. For starters, they were distant cousins, not a strange thing among the reigning dynasties of Western Atlantic. Also, Irene’s brother was engaged to Yulia’s first cousin, Isabelle of Providencia. Such links would surely strengthen their friendship, the Crown Princess hoped. Like her, Yulia came from a German-speaking country, and shared her status as a foreigner, which she secretly thanked, because they would be able to share their experience as outsiders. Although she enjoyed life in Cyretia, there were few people she could truly call friends. Princess Ilizibith, Shayma Abensur and Cardinal Mzali were one of those few, but now the circle would expand and she would have an ally, a confidante, a sister.

Her husband, Crown Prince John, appeared looking quite handsome. She gave him an approving smile and grabbed his arm. It was time to receive the bride.

[Cyretopolitania]

Royal Palace, Cyretia

John smiled as he regarded his wife. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said as he patted Irene’s hand on his arm, “sure to upstage the bride-to-be.”

He pulled his arm away and reached into the pocket of his grey suit. He withdrew a golden necklace set with a large ruby surrounded by small diamonds. It was a well-known piece from the Queen’s jewels. “I thought this would go well with your dress. Mother is wearing the nemes headdress and wearing the lapis lazuli to go with it. So, she suggested that you might want to wear the ruby.”

John placed the necklace around Irene’s slender neck, then offered her his arm. “We should join Mother and Father to receive our new in-laws.”

[The Ernestine Empire]

SMY Prinzregent

The royal yacht ploughed through the calm waters of the Mittelmeer accompanied by a squadron of battlecruisers which, although of questionable military value these days, certainly made for an impressive show.

It was fair to say that the age of the royal yacht as a symbol of diplomacy and power had, for the most part, passed. Some monarchies, of course, still either owned or chartered pleasure craft as part of their vacationing but, in this age of jets, there did not seem to be any real purpose to the cost of maintaining a vessel that would take several days to make the journey that the average airliner could achieve in a few short hours. A royal yacht was not very cutting edge, not very modern.

Which was probably why the Ernestine empire had maintained such a ship, for she had never claimed to be progressive or forward-thinking. Quite the opposite; let nations like Aerion and Knootoss champion the white-heat of technology, the ever blurring line between man and machine. No, Ernestria stood for different values. For order, tradition, for a society where every man knew his place and what God expected of him. For a society where the proper way of doing things was not necessarily the fastest or most efficient.
Seiner Majestät Yacht Prinzregent had an interesting history. She had been laid down by an eccentric billionaire (though the later reports of auditors would show him actually to be a millionaire) who sought to recreate an Edwardian ship lost following an unfortunate collision with an iceberg on its maiden voyage to Ormarstadt in Brasland. The scheme, however, had more publicity than money and once it collapsed the half-completed hull was taken into government ownership.
The voyage from Previš had been a relatively smooth one considering how quickly storms could appear on the Mittelmeer. The calmness of the waves was not matched, however, by a serenity on the ship as people rushed about to prepare for the great event.

“So what does it feel like?”
“What does what feel like?” Yulia was not sure she liked where this question was going. Her cousin, Laodice, propped herself up on Yulia’s bed. “You know,” she replied, “Getting married.”

Yulia sighed. She liked her cousins, well most of her cousins, and she was pleased that Laodice was coming. She was less sure about the attendance of Laodice’s father, Uncle Gussie, since kings were almost always sucked up all the attention that Yulia thought really ought to be on the bride and groom.

She shook her head. She was just being grumpy, her uncle meant well and she was pleased that he was coming, it’s just she had been poked and prodded and measured and given great lectures on when to present the piece of fruit and what to say at what time and how to say it and what to do with her hands. She had even, in a ship's dining room that had been hastily converted into a chapel, been baptised into the Oriental Orthodox Church so as not to delay any of the forthcoming events. She felt a little sad about losing the Lutheranism of her childhood but she supposed that if no one else particularly seemed to mind this then neither should she. In truth she was tired and she had hoped for a small nap before they arrived in Cyretia. Her cousin, well meaning but a little clueless, had failed to notice the many exaggerated yawns.

“It must be so exciting to get married,” said Laodice, “I wonder who I will marry? I was hoping for Prince James of Excalbia but I hear he’s fallen for a commoner. Granny always says the Excalbians are terribly liberal and they all ride around on bicycles.” She laughed as though the idea of a member of an Imperial family on a velocipede was quite the funniest thing in the world. “Do you like him?”

“Who? James? Yeah he’s okay.”
“No!” laughed Laodice, “Agizul silly.”
“Oh Agizul, yes I do. He’s very handsome and, so far, very kind.” Yulia knew that royals tended not to have much choice in who they married but, considering there had once been talk of a potential match with the Hereditary Prince of Kartlis, she also knew she had been very lucky.

“Granny says they are a good match,” said Laodice with a nod, “She says the language is a bit strange but that they’re a very old family. There’s a lot of prestige. I wonder if I will get prestige when I marry?”

Yulia sighed again. They had ruled for over two hundred years but even now there was still a grain of insecurity deep within the House of Ernestidae, as though the humble birth of the first Ernest had forever marked them as usurpers. “Oh please,” she said, “No one believes in all that any more, or at least they shouldn’t. The only difference between Aksel and our great-times-five grandfather is about a thousand years. I mean, we’re both kingdoms. Should it matter which one is older?”

“I suppose you’re right,” her cousin replied though her face betrayed that she wasn’t so sure. She gave a small yawn. “I might go and see where father is, unless you want me to stay with you?”

“No no, you go, I will be fine.” Laodice had not been gone five minutes before her lady-in-waiting arrived.

“Oh good,” she said, “I’m glad you’ve managed to get some rest. We are just about to arrive.”

Outside the Prinzregent steamed into Cyretia’s harbour, her horn blaring as in the open water beyond the escorts fired their guns in salute.

[Cyretopolitania]

Cyretia Harbour

SMY Prinzregent was received in the Gulf of Gafsa by an escort of Excalbian-built Cyretian Royal Navy Wraith missile boats. Far older, and far more elegant masted, steam-powered naval ships met the Prinzregent and her escorts at the entrance of the harbour. They returned her cannon salute with one of their own.

The great natural harbour of Cyretian stretched out below the capital, spreading to the north, around the cliffs and continuing to the west, and continuing to the south and the east. A modern commercial port and Cyretia’s main naval base lay around the cliffs to the west. To the south and east were a docks for small personal craft, public beaches, and - a little further to the east - docks for commercial fishing boats.

Directly below the city, in the pivot point of the coast, stood the Royal Docks. Normally, the old-fashioned ships greeting the Prinzregent were docked here and kept open to the public. The Royal Yacht, the CRS King Leo, which was most decidedly not open to the public, stood nearby.

Prinzregent was directed to an open slip beside King Leo, where sailors of the Royal Navy quickly put a gangway in place before snapping to attention. Nearby, a color guard of white uniformed Royal Guards held the flags of Cyretopolitania and Ernestia, while the red-uniformed Royal Army Band stood ready to play the Ernestine national anthem.

Sir Cyrus Demsiri, a distinguished elderly gentleman dressed in morning coat and walking with an intricately carved wooden cane, approached the gangway and waited patiently for the Ernestines to disembark.

[The Ernestine Empire]

The Royal Party had assembled in the Grand Salon. Laodice and Yulia watched approach to Cyretia, one with excitement the other with some trepidation. Behind them their fathers chatted amicably. The Royal brothers were always more noticeably relaxed when their other brother, Prince Albert, was not with them (Yulia having made clear that her uncle and his sons were not to be invited).

“You ever been to Cyretia before Gussie,” asked Cyrille as he briefly turned to look at the missile boats. The King shook his head. “I don’t think so, it doesn’t ring any bells but then again all native dances and gala luncheons do start to blend into one.” The King motioned towards his niece at the window.
“Well Cyrille,” he said, slapping his younger brother on the back, “Little Yulia to be married. Well I never. You must be very proud and feel very old.”
The Prince laughed. “Aye it feels like that,” he looked toward Laodice, “Though it will not be long before your daughters are married.”
“Um yes well,” the King did not really like to talk about that, “I suppose we’d best get ready. Tanchev?” The private secretary appeared at the royal elbow. “Ah Tanchev, what order are we to depart?”

Tanchev looked at his tablet device. “Well, in usual circumstances, it would be in order of precedence, so Princess Yulia then Prince Cyrille and Princess Anna-Marie followed by Princess Laodice and your Majesties…”

The King clapped his hands together. “Ah,” said he, “Capital idea, so where do we go...”
“But,” interrupted Tanchev, “In the circumstances perhaps Princess Laodice ought to go with her aunt and uncle and Princess Yulia accompany you?”
Ernest (Gussie to his family) scratched his patchy beard. “Hmm,” he said, “I’m not so sure. I mean, I think we should probably do it in order, how we always do it.”
“But your majesty,” said Tanchev, “This was your idea when first you expressed a wish to attend your royal niece’s wedding.”
“Was it? I don’t remember that.”
“Oh but it was, sir,” said Tanchev giving a small wink to Yulia who had joined the main party, “You were in Birthälm Castle, you had just come back from the hunt.”
“Had I? Did I? Oh well, I suppose if it was my idea. Come on everyone.”

They all squinted as they stepped into the bright Cyretian sun. As the king had (apparently) decided, Prince Cyrille and his wife were the first along the gangway with his niece Princess Laodice. The Prince wore the uniform of a Großadmiral, his niece a dress of traditional cut that made her look younger than she actually was.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, for stuffiness declined the further you got down the line of succession. “Cyrille,” he said, proffering a royal hand, “This is my wife Princess Anna-Marie and this is my niece, Laodice.”

Laodice gave a formal courtesy. “How do you do sir.”

“We are the parents of the bride,” there was a small cough, “And this is the cousin of the bride. I say, I couldn’t help but notice your missile boats, damn fine bits of kit those. Naval man myself you see, thirty years man and boy, I’ve often wondered how…”

The Prince’s thoughts on Excalbian ship design were interrupted by a sudden blast of trumpets. “Their Majesties the King and Queen, and Princess Yulia,” declared the midshipman with the loudest voice. The King wore the uniform of a Field Marshal with the yellow sash of the Order of the Victor. His wife, Queen Marie, who a longer dress of an older design in a simmering emerald with one of her travel tiaras that wouldn’t be the end of the world if she left it in the room or in the back of an official car. Yulia wore a white (geddit?) summer/formal dress that she had felt strange choosing in Bodendorf, which had already seen the first snow of winter but here seemed perfectly in keeping. She would have to get used to that. As they walked down the gangway the king rested his hand upon his niece’s shoulder. She smiled at this, and it that happiness was a tinge of sadness that she was leaving them all behind.

[Cyretopolitania]

Sir Cyrus bowed slightly at the waist, then took Prince Cyrille’s hand. “Your Highnesses,” he said with a slightly lilting accent that almost sounded almost, but not quite Spanish, “welcome to Cyretopolitania.”

He smiled as Cyrille began talking about the ships and made a mental note to introduce him to Field Marshal Mehenni and Admiral Triki. His train of thought was interrupted by the blast of trumpets. The Royal Army Band immediately began playing the Ernestine national anthem and the colour guard snapped to attention.

Once the national anthem finished, Sir Cyrus turned to the King, Queen and Prince Yulia. He bowed as deeply as his age and stiff back permitted. “Welcome to Cyretopolitania, Your Majesties; Your Highness,” he said with a smile. “I am Sir Cyrus Demsiri, His Royal and Pharaonic Majesty’s Foreign Minister and Chief Adviser. It is my privilege and high honour to welcome you and your family, and to escort you to the Royal Palace.”

The aged Minister offered his slightly trembling hand to Yulia. He led her from the dock to a motorised conveyance designed to look like an ancient boat - one that might once have plied the waters of the Nile - covered in gold and richly coloured inlays.

At the side of the boat, Sir Cyrus relinquished Yulia’s hand. “This will convey you along the processional route, Your Highness.” Royal Guards dressed in white uniforms with polished black boots and gleaming golden blue-plumed helmets stepped forward and helped the Princess board her… wheeled boat.

“If you would come with me, Your Majesties and Your Highnesses,” Sir Cyrus said as he gestured to a large, open carriage that was nearly as gaudy as the motorized boat. More Royal Guards stood by to help King Ernest, Queen Marie, Prince Cyrille, Princess Anne-Marie and Princess Laodice into the carriage. Once they were situated the Guards assisted Sir Cyrus, practically lifting him, into the carriage.

“I hope you will all be comfortable, Sirs and Madams; it will be something of a journey up the cliffs to the Royal Palace.” He almost gave the appearance of shaking his head. “But the procession is tradition. And the people do love it so.”

With everyone finally in place, the procession began. It was led by trumpeteers heralding the royal parade. The colour guard followed the trumpeteers. A troop of black-uniformed soldiers of the Royal Army were next in line, followed by white-uniformed sailors of the Royal Navy, blue-uniformed airmen of the Royal Air Force, and white-uniformed members of the Royal Guard. More soldiers followed, dressed anachronistically in the garb of Roman legionaries and soldiers of the Pharaoh’s army.

After the soldiers, came a group of brown-robed acolytes with candles, censers of incense and a large crucifix. They were trailed by three, chanting black-robed priests. More priests followed, carrying large icons of the Blessed Virgin, the Holy Family, Christ Pantocrator, and Saints John and Cyrus.

Next came the Royal Army Band playing a selection of cheerful and celebratory tunes. A choir followed, occasionally singing along with the tunes. Then, a gaggle of young girls in white dresses followed. They tossed rose petals in the air, allowing them to land on the pavement of Princess Yulia and her golden boat. Then came the open carriage with Ernestine King and Queen, the bride’s parents, Princess Laodice and Sir Cyrus.

People crowded the sidewalk along the winding road waving flags, flowers and large pictures of both Princess Yulia and Prince Agizul. A few tossed flowers onto the road in front of the golden boat or the royal carriage. Many young girls cried and almost everyone seemed to be taking photos.

[The Ernestine Empire]

Yulia had been warned about the boat. How could she not be? How could something like that be left as a surprise? Even so she was still slightly shocked that this hadn’t all just been a cruel joke played by her fiance.

‘No,’ she thought as she was helped up, ‘There really is a gold dingy.’ But if royal life had taught her one thing it was that the show must go on and so she sat and arranged her expression in such a way that riding a golden boat into town was the most natural thing in the world. She waved politely as the procession got underway. ‘This reminds me of one of those Catholic festivals where they parade the statues,’ she thought for a moment before realising that this, in effect, made her a Virgin Mary. She hoped that the momentary frown did not appear on any of the thousand of photographs being taken.
“I hope Irene had to do this,” she said under her breath to no one in particular.

The Royal siblings tutted in the carriage behind. “Must my daughter travel alone” asked Prince Cyrille who clearly had not been paying attention when this was discussed at length. “I must say, sir,” grumbled he, “That, tradition or not, I find it very unkind that my only child has to travel into a strange city on the back of a parade float.”

He turned, made one solitary wave to the crowd, and then turned back. “Is no one permitted to ride with her sir? It is not as though the original conveyance would have magicked its way here without input, unless brides were presumed to row themselves?”

His brother the King was also complaining albeit for different reasons. “Cozy, isn’t it?” he muttered. The Queen gave him a severe look. “Behave,” she said in the same voice she gave the children.

The King fidgeted in his seat. “I have not been required to share a carriage since my accession.” Like any second son who unexpected inherited the King guarded his position carefully and diligently. The Queen leaned forward. “Look,” she said under her breath, “You kicked up a fuss over the chair so you have to travel in the carriage with everyone else. You can’t have it both ways.”

“That’s not fair, Marie, and you know it,” sulked the king, who had indeed refused the gold sedan chair that was originally offered to him for his journey from ship to city. “You know I get nosebleeds at heights and when oscillated,” he whined, “And what if I fell off? Eh? What if i dashed my brains out on some Phoenician stonework? And you have to admit Marie that it did seem awfully exposed. You know perfectly well that I have an allergy to being shot.” The Queen gave an exasperated sigh. “Just wave will you?”

[Cyretopolitania]

Sir Cyrus nodded sympathetically as Prince Cyrille fretted about his daughter’s solitude in the golden boat. “I apologize, Your Highness,” he said in a gentle, melodious voice, “however, it is a rather ancient tradition. I understand that it goes back to pharaohs and was passed down to the pre-Roman Berber Kingdom and revived after the Romans… withdrew. Back then, of course, the boat was carried by dozens of men. The addition of the motor and the concealed driver’s compartment was rather well received by the Royal Guard, as I recall.”

He gave a ghost of smile. “I also recall Queen Samia, she was a princess-to-be at the time, of course, riding the same boat along the same route. It seems that King - then Prince - Aksel had neglected to tell her about the boat. It elicited quite a reaction.”

The elderly Minister’s hearing seemed to suddenly fail him and the King began to complain about the carriage - the largest and most opulent of those belonging to the Crown - and he sat in polite silence.

Owing to the strain of the ascent, the girls with flowers were met by a nearly identical troop halfway up the route to the city. The replacement girls took the the place of the first set with practiced efficiency, allowing them to drift to the back of the procession and board one of the many support vehicles. Shortly after the transition, the band and choir took a break from playing and singing for similar reasons.

As the procession reached the city gates, the trumpeteers began playing in earnest and the band and choir resumed their glad tidings. All along the narrow streets people crowded against police barricades. In addition to the flags and pictures of Princess Yulia and Prince Agizul, a few raised portraits of the Cyretian King and Queen or of their Ernestine counterparts.

After winding through the city and passing the Cathedral of Saints John and Cyrus, Martyrs, where Pope John XI waited on the steps to bestow his blessing on the passing procession, the parade arrived at the gates of the Royal Palace. The Palace, having originally been built as a Roman forum, consisted of two large basilicas, several ancient temples and the ancient curia of the local assembly, all arranged around a large open courtyard and linked by colonnades. With the arrival of Christianity, one of the temples had been converted into a chapel, while the others were incorporated into the evolving and growing palace, which had eventually consumed every building in the forum, along with several medieval, renaissance and modern additions.

As they entered the Palace’s gates and approached the largest of the ancient basilicas - now the main wing of the Palace, the various companies of military men, musicians and singers turned to one side and then the other forming a passage for those who followed. The clerical delegation continued into the courtyard and proceeded to the steps of the Royal Chapel . The young girls tossed the last of the flower petals at the landing where stairs from second floor portico of the main basilica the ended in the courtyard.

When the golden boat came to a stop, Royal Guards approached and helped Princess Yulia step down from her perch. Others helped the rest of the Ernestines, and Sir Cyrus, from their carriage. Just then, the trumpets blared again and the tall, but slightly bent figure of the Royal Chamberlain, Duke Matthias Harroun descended the stairs.

The Duke announced in a loud voice, “His Pharaonic and Royal Majesty, Heir of the Pharaohs, Sentinel of Rome, Defender of Byzantium, Conqueror of the Umayyads, Defender of the Faith, Guardian of the Maghreb, and King of Cyretopolitania, Aksel IX, and Her Pharaonic and Royal Majesty, Mother of the Fatherland, Queen of Cyretopolitania, Samia.”

King Aksel XI appeared on the portico dressed in white robes trimmed with gold that seemed to float over the white uniform of the Royal Navy admiral. He was a tall, fit-looking fellow whose olive complexion matched that of most Cyretopolitanians, but whose features and blue eyes bore more than a passing resemblance to the Excalbian Imperial Family. He wore a blue and gold striped nemes headdress with a band of golden laurel leaves that constituted the Crown of Cyretia. He held out his hand to Queen Samia, who was considerably shorter than the King and whose colour palette was a bit darker. She wore a shimmering gold and silver gown with a jeweled necklace and her own nemes headdress and golden tiara. Hand-in-hand, the King and Queen descended the stairs.

The King approached the Ernestines and smiled slightly. “We bid you welcome to Cyretia, Your Majesties. Your Highnesses.” He turned slightly and gestured towards the stairs. The Crown Prince and Crown Princess had descended the stairs just a few steps behind the King and Queen. “May we present our eldest son, Crown Prince John, and our daughter-in-law, Crown Princess Irene.” An attractive young woman with blonde hair and an olive complexion dressed in a silver and white gown followed. “And our daughter, Princess Ilizibith, who you may recall from your garden party.”

There was a pause and everyone seemed to instinctively turn and look to the top of the stairs. Prince Agizul dressed in the black uniform of the Royal Army with a scarlet cape and gold epaulets began to descend the stairs. “And,” the King continued, “of course, you know our second son, Prince Agizul.”

Agizul walked across the courtyard, passing in front of his mother and father. He bowed to the King and Queen. “Greeting, Your Majesties.” He turned to Prince Cyrille and Princess Anne-Marie, soon to his in-laws. “And warm greetings to you, Your Highnesses.” Looking to Laodice, he added, “And to you, Your Highness.”

Finally, Agizul turned to Princess Yulia and smiled. A servant approached and offered a golden tray to the prince. He took a small loaf of bread, tore in half. He dipped it in a bowl of olive oil and offered it Yulia. “My provision, offered to you, Your Highness.” He bowed his head. “Will you accept?”

[The Ernestine Empire]

The Duke announced in a loud voice, “His Pharaonic and Royal Majesty, Heir of the Pharaohs, Sentinel of Rome, Defender of Byzantium, Conqueror of the Umayyads, Defender of the Faith, Guardian of the Maghreb, and King of Cyretopolitania, Aksel IX, and Her Pharaonic and Royal Majesty, Mother of the Fatherland, Queen of Cyretopolitania, Samia.”

King Aksel XI appeared on the portico dressed in white robes trimmed with gold that seemed to float over the white uniform of the Royal Navy admiral. He was a tall, fit-looking fellow whose olive complexion matched that of most Cyretopolitanians, but whose features and blue eyes bore more than a passing resemblance to the Excalbian Imperial Family. He wore a blue and gold striped nemes headdress with a band of golden laurel leaves that constituted the Crown of Cyretia. He held out his hand to Queen Samia, who was considerably shorter than the King and whose colour palette was a bit darker. She wore a shimmering gold and silver gown with a jeweled necklace and her own nemes headdress and golden tiara. Hand-in-hand, the King and Queen descended the stairs.

The King pretended to cough and, in so doing, whispered to the Queen “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” “Shush,” whispered the Queen without looking at him, “Be nice.”

The King approached the Ernestines and smiled slightly. “We bid you welcome to Cyretia, Your Majesties. Your Highnesses.”

The King coughed slightly. “We thank you for your welcome,sir, and bring you hearty and fraternal greetings from….” He was immediately interrupted.

“May we present our eldest son, Crown Prince John, and our daughter-in-law, Crown Princess Irene.”

“Oh,” said the slightly deflated king.

“And our daughter, Princess Ilizibith, who you may recall from your garden party.”

“Umm yes,” lied the king unconvincingly, “Of course. So nice to see you again. Isn’t it Cyrille?” The Prince realised that he had been inspecting the Princess a little too closely considering his wife and daughter were present. “Oh yes,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “Of course.” He wasn’t entirely sure what they had been talking about.

Finally, Agizul turned to Princess Yulia and smiled. A servant approached and offered a golden tray to the prince. He took a small loaf of bread, tore in half. He dipped it in a bowl of olive oil and offered it Yulia. “My provision, offered to you, Your Highness.” He bowed his head. “Will you accept?”

Yulia gulped. This was it, the first big moment. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind, she had even gone onto a popular search engine and used their map facilities to gain something of a familiarity with the setting. But they were static pictures of people frozen in time. This was different.

Her heart hammered in her chest. ‘Breath Yulia,’ she thought. Looking into Agizul’s eyes she paused dramatically before answering. Time froze until her cousin, assuming that Yulia had succumbed to nerves and thinking that she was being helpful, said in a stage whisper “S-A-Y Y-E-S.”

Yulia frowned for at this interruption. “Yes,” she said in a clear voice, “I will accept Your Highness’ provision.” Out in the bay the Ernestine ships, having been waiting for this cue, fired their guns again.

[Kartlis]

From an airy mediterranean belvedere in the rooms they had taken above the processional route, the Kartlian guests had assembled to view the arrival of the Ernestine princess and absorb the decidedly extravagant Cyretian customs. The Prince of the Kartlians, Teimuraz III, sat in his usual black court dress, his one concession to the Cyretian heat that his silk stockings were a pale cream, instead of the usual court black; he fanned himself periodically with a folding fan. The Kartlian party was, as usual, a mix of the hereditary nobility who sat atop Kartlian society and politicians, who actually ran it. The intersection between those two worlds was on full display today as well. The Count Liakhvi, who had the same thin, dark, patrician features of his uncle Prince Teimuraz's, was also the Deputy Prime Minister, and was representing Prime Minister Mikeladze's government at the wedding. Prince Royal Giorgi sat with two of his cousins, Alexander and Helen, the children of his father's brother and the Princess of Ilonburg, and the three younger Mukhrani alternated between royal restraint and excitement at the display below. Behind them was a large, dour-looking man in a white military uniform, Erekle Khidirbegishvili, the Spaspet, the head of the Royal House's security and the personal bodyguard of the Prince of the Kartlians. With them also was the Archimandrite Davit, one of the clergymen belonging to the royal household, an old man with an immense white beard.

"My goodness, they do enjoy a show." the Prince remarked, fanning himself ineffectually. "It is something indeed."

"It smacks of paganism, this display." the Archimandrite sniffed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Ancient heathen customs and they still wish to marry her in a church?"

"Are they not Christians, though, Father?" Count Liakhvi said gently. "Extravagance in a wedding is expected, after all. They are to be married in a church, after all. The boat is just the means of arrival."

"That is true. The Cyretians are not heretics. They are schismatics." the priest noted with a shrug and a wipe of the forehead. "But the bride's grandmother is a pagan. Will they let her into the church?"

"To whom are you referring, father?" Prince Giorgi said, catching a snippet of the conversation and leaning in.

"Annella Hantili, the Queen Mother." Count Liakhvi said. "She is a Snefaldian, from one of their deposed royal houses."

"A heathen and a Snefaldian, the worst combination." the Priest intoned, attempting to wring out his handkerchief and failing.

"A contradiction in terms, surely." Prince Alexander said with a laugh, and the Kartlians tittered. "But why is she a heathen? The Ernestines would surely have made her convert to Christianity to marry the King."

Count Liakhvi briefly rubbed his temples, preparing to step in an take over the conversation as a diplomat and politicians should. "Well, cousin, the King fell in love with her and she with him, and by good fortune she was from a former royal house, and converted to Lutheranism-"

"Heretics after all." Father Davit interjected, and was ignored.

"-she converted, and when her husband died, she returned to her Snefaldian practices, as I understand it. It is not often spoken of out of deference to her. And I must, of course, remind us all that while she is a Snefaldian, she is the Ernestine Queen Mother, and is thus due the appropriate respect and deference for a woman of her standing and rank."

"Avto, do they have any marriageable young women?" the Prince asked, leaning closer to the Deputy Prime Minister so that his son could not hear.

"Whom? The Ernestines, the Cyretians, or the Snefaldians?"

"The first two, Avto. Though your joke is funny. It is past time the young ones married."

The Count stroked his chin for a moment. "Well, Yulia has a sister. About twenty years old, I think. Laodice. And Agizul has one near the same age, I cannot recall her name."

"Ilizibeth? Elisabed? Something like that." the Prince said, nodding. "A bit young."

"What's a decade here and there?" Father Davit said, switching out one soaked white handkerchief for another and continuing to mop his profusely perspiring brow. "If she can have children and so can he, God will bless the union."

"Certainly, father." Count Liakhvi said. "But perhaps this is a conversation for another time. Where is dear Aunt Zofia? She is missing the procession."

Princess of the Blood Zofia, the Grand Dame of the House of Mukhrani, was the sister of Prince of the Kartlians Vakhtang VI, and thus the great-aunt of Prince Teimuraz. She made a point of attending every family event, marriage, or party of any sufficient size and social standing despite hear nearly centenarian status, under her own power and usually fueled by wine and whiskey.

"She is resting." the Prince said, fanning. "The trips are a chore. She will join us for the festivities."

"Good. I am sure they will be excellent, given this display." the Count replied, finding for himself a fan to deal with the heat, and pitying the poor Father Davit and his layers of silk vestments. "Although perhaps we should warn the bartenders she is coming."

[Cyretopolitania]

Agizul let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. A smile spread across his face. The women of the court, who stood on the balconies overlooking the courtyard made the high-pitched sound known as the zaghareet, a sign of joy which the women made by waggling their tongues rapidly from side-to-side. The Queen did not join them. Most assumed it was because she considered it beneath her station; the reality was that she simply never mastered the skill during her childhood in the Caldan Union.

King Axel IX gave a brief glance at Prince Cyrille and made a mental note to ensure that he was not seated too close to Princess Ilizibith at any functions, then turned to the Agizul and Yulia. He gave them a quick smile, then extended his hands. A functionary in a white robe appeared at his side and handed him the golden crook and flail that served as symbols of royal authority.

The King took the flail in his right hand and the crook in his left. He drew his arms quickly across his chest, crossing them at the wrists. Every Cyretian in the courtyard and on the balcony immediately bowed at the waist.

“Let the word go forth to every metropolis and every district, to every noble house and to patriarch, archbishop and bishop of the church, and to every commander of our armies and navies: the Prince of Cyretia, Agizul, and the Princess of Ernestria, Yulia, are to be wed. Let the name of Princess Yulia and that of her parents and all her lineage be added to the Book of the Kings and let her name be added to that Agizul on the Obelisk of Kusilian.”

The white robed man who had handed the King the crook and flail said, while still bowed, “So has it been said, so shall it be written.”

“So let it be done,” Aksel said as he uncrossed his arms. He handed the the crook and flail back to the attendant. “You have our leave,” he announced to the the assembled throng.

As people began to quietly disperse, Aksel turned to the Ernestine King and Queen and the soon-to-be in-laws of his son. “Now, that the rituals have been satisfied,” he said with a broad smile, “I can properly receive you, Cousins.” Aksel used the informal title borrowed from the Braslanders both because he had come to rather like it, but also because it was true in this case; both Ernest and Cyrille shared several ancestors with Aksel.

The King gestured through a gate set between the main basilica and another ancient building and to the lush gardens beyond. “Our servants have prepared refreshments. I’m sure that you’re weary from the journey,” he winked, “and the demands of ancient ritual. Come let us get better acquainted and consider yourselves at home.”

[Brasland]

Cyretia, Kingdom of Cyretopolitania

Since it was the wedding of a second son, the Royal House of Brasland sent another second son as its representative. Prince Leopold had been in Cyretia several times to visit Irene, who was her favorite sister. The two siblings resembled so much to one another that some people thought they were twins, which they weren’t. Now, the prince had come to the wedding with his fiancée, the exuberant Infanta Isabelle of Providencia. It was their first public appearance together since their engagement was announced and they were clearly excited. Leopold was quite happy for Agizul, whom he considered a close friend, and also delighted that he was marrying Isabelle’s first cousin, because he thought that would only bring the two couples closer. Everything on that trip promised to be joyous and vibrant, except for one detail, and her name was Alexandra.

Princess Alexandra was the doyenne of the Braslander royal family. Now in her early nineties, she was still strong and agile as a lioness, and her curiosity for the world had not diminished an inch. It had been long, very long, since she had last visited Cyretopolitania, and she was almost scared of not recognizing the places of her youth. She remembered with fondness the old days of Queen Helena, the grandmother of her friend, King Aksel VIII. Cousin Zofia refused to acknowledge the fact that Aksel, back then a prince, had tried to kiss young Alexandra, but the truth was that he had, and the girl had fallen madly in love with him but had been too shy to express it. When he married, her heart was crushed and she had sworn never to visit the ancient desert kingdom again. Now, knowing that the end was not too far, she had decided to free herself from the self-imposed ban and return to the country where the only man she had ever loved once reigned. It had been a youthful love, but love nevertheless, and she had never forgotten it. She would need lots of whiskey to endure that wedding. Why young people kept marrying?, wondered the grumpy old princess, lying to herself and pretending that she had never felt inclined towards such path. She would have never married his Ilonburg suitor or even Joshua of Excalbia, but for Aksel maybe, or more than maybe, she would have said y… For a moment, Alexandra thought this trip would be quiet and emotional, but then she heard Zofia was coming too. She laughed like a wounded hyena, not surprised at all. Bad weed never dies.

[Cyretopolitania]

Joint post with The Ernestine Empire.

Royal Palace, Cyretia

As people began to quietly disperse, Aksel turned to the Ernestine King and Queen and the soon-to-be in-laws of his son. “Now, that the rituals have been satisfied,” he said with a broad smile, “I can properly receive you, Cousins.” Aksel used the informal title borrowed from the Braslanders both because he had come to rather like it, but also because it was true in this case; both Ernest and Cyrille shared several ancestors with Aksel.

The King gestured through a gate set between the main basilica and another ancient building and to the lush gardens beyond. “Our servants have prepared refreshments. I’m sure that you’re weary from the journey,” he winked, “and the demands of ancient ritual. Come let us get better acquainted and consider yourselves at home.”

“Hello cousin,” said Ernest, himself descended from the Braslanders, “Good to see you again. And congratulations, we were aware that you had become a grandfather but we have been unable to pass on our salutations in...er...person.” He moved to one side as Cyrille spoke. “Aksel, old boy,” he said boisterously, “Still looking hale and hearty. I was saying to your man in the carriage that this business with the boat…it’s a bit rum. How did it, you know, come about?”

“I understand, cousin,” Aksel said to Ernest with a sympathetic nod. He reached up and removed his nemes headdress and crown and handed it to a nearby servant. His hair was thick and black, but showing quite a bit of gray mixed with white at the temples. “Being a grandfather - twice now - has been a blessing.”

He turned and faced Cyrille with a smile. “Thank you, Cyrille,” Aksel said, “playing a former collegiate tennis star,” he nodded towards his wife, “on a regular basis does wonderful things for the body.” He laughed. “The boat,” he winced slightly as Samia shot him an exaggeratedly comical scowl, “is a very old tradition. It goes back to pharaohs. Processions down the Nile and all that. It fell out of use for a while, until Gulussa III revived it in the 15th century. And we’ve stuck with it ever since.”

Cyrille nodded sagely. “Yes, ancestors have something of a tendency of suddenly reviving ancient custom and then obliging everyone to follow it. If I were king then I should be obliged to make my successors drive a flock of geese over a bridge every Michaelmas or something.”

“Well then, brother, let us be glad that you are not,” interjected Ernest.

As the five royal couples and the two single daughters walked through the gates, they stepped into the private Royal Gardens. The space was defined on two sides by the walls of ancient buildings and on the other two sides by high stone walls topped with iron spikes. Exquisite ceramic tiles covered most of the ground between beds of fragrant flowers and towering trees and several colourful fountains. Translucent awnings covered several separate sitting areas.

One of those covered areas had been set for royal party, with a number of well-cushioned chairs and sofas, and tables laden with fresh fruit, carafes of red wine and pitchers of cold water. King Axel IX and Queen Samia turned to their guests. “Please,” the Queen said in a pleasant, slightly Caldan-accented voice, “come make yourself comfortable and be refreshed.”

As everyone took their seats, servants appeared and began pouring drinks and serving food to the guests.

The king picked apart his food. “Don’t,” hissed the Queen, “Make a scene. Just eat it.”

“Do you think it’s rabbit?” asked the King.

“Just eat it.”

“How is the lamb?” Aksel asked with a grin.

At nearly the same moment Samia patted her husband on the leg. She gave her husband a warning look, then turned to Ernest. “It’s an old recipe; passed from one royal chef to the next.”

The Ernestine King poked his food. He was not sure he would necessarily want the recipe. “It is delicious,” he said, though his face gave the lie to the fact. He tried to change the subject. “Tell me Aksel, how long have you reigned now? When did the late king your father die? Must be at least ten years now.” He looked deeply into his wine glass. “It only seems like yesterday.”

Aksel nodded. “Indeed, you are correct, cousin. It has been ten years since my father passed and the crown passed to me.” He shook his head. “A great loss.” He looked over at Ernest. “And, of course the loss of your father and brother was truly tragic.” The King forced a smiled and picked up a glass of wine. “But let us not dwell on our losses, but rather celebrate the union - again - of our families.”

“Yes,” said Ernest, fetching his own wine glass, and shaking his head as though to remove the still painful memory of the late king his father , “After when more appropriate a time than on the hundredth anniversary of the great and terrible conflict that sundered the bonds of our families. After all the diplomatic and political rapprochement it is, I feel, only becoming that we cement this with a reunion of our two houses.”

[Cyretopolitania]

Grand Ballroom, Royal Palace, Cyretia

After the royal families’ informal luncheon, everyone retired to their quarters - the Ernestine Royal Family had been provided four suites interconnected suites in one of buildings that made up the Place - and prepared for the gala dinner scheduled for later that evening.

The dinner, which would formally welcome the extended family, friends and honoured guests of the royal families, was to take place in the Grand Ballroom, which filled the main floor of a building that had once been a Roman temple. Of course, it had ceased to be a temple as soon as Christianity came to Cyretia. Over the centuries, the building had been a storehouse, a barracks, even summer quarters for Julian I and Julian II. It had been turned into a grand ballroom and redecorated in the renaissance style under the Habsburg king Charles I.

As the guests entered, they were announced by a court herald and escorted through the vestibule and into the main hall by white uniformed Royal Guards. The spacious ballroom itself had been partitioned by silk drapes, with tables set for dinner on the far side. Closer to the entrance, waiters and waitresses served hors d'oeuvres and drinks, allowing the guests to mingle.

Once most of the guests had arrived, the herald began to announce the royal families. They began with King’s sisters, Princess Maryem and Princess Nadiya and their husbands, Princess Ilizibith, and the Queen Dowager. The herald continued with Prince Cyrille and Princess Anna-Marie. Then came Princess Laodice followed by Crown Prince John and Crown Princess Irene. A band, nestled away on the second-story gallery, began to play the Ernestine national anthem, which was followed by the announcement of King Ernest and Queen Marie. As soon as the Ernestine King and Queen were in place, the band played the Cyretian national anthem and King Aksel and Queen Samia were introduced. The King wore a tuxedo with a purple sash and lots of medal, but no ancient crowns, and the Queen wore a shimmering silver and black gown. Finally, to Ode to Joy, the soon-to-be bride and groom, Princess Yulia and Prince Agizul, were introduced.

With the formalities finished, the band began to quietly play and the families began to mingle.

[Brasland]

Crown Princess Irene grabbed her husband’s hand and whispered. “Come on, my dear, I want to meet my future sister-in-law.”

She did not specify which one she meant – for there were two women in the ballroom who filled the description – but just led John until they found Leopold and his fiancée, Isabelle of Providencia, who were holding hands despite the strict warnings against so indicated by the Braslander court etiquette. Irene embraced the infanta with a smile.

“Isabelle!”, she said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Leo has said so many great things about you.”

She then realized she had forgotten her manners.

“Forgive me, darling”, she said, turning to the Crown Prince with a loving gaze, and then returning to Isabelle. “This is my husband, John. We are both very excited about your wedding.”

After his fiancée greeted the Crown Princely couple, Leopold hugged his sister and gave his brother-in-law a manly embrace.

“Good to see you, Johnny”, he said, leaning towards the prince so that the women could not hear. “God, how I hate these formal things, do you know where the drinks are?”

If Leopold had asked his aunt Alexandra, he would have known where the drinks were, as the ancient Braslander princess held a glass of scotch on the rocks while sitting on a chair. She was venerable enough to be allowed to do so while the other guests remained standing. It was fun, she thought, to return after so many years and yet notice that the old palace was still the same.

“Only the bourgeois redecorate”, she philosophized to herself. “Why would anyone want to change their great-grandmother’s furniture? Unnecessary expense!”

[The Resurgent Dream]

Grand Ballroom, Royal Palace, Cyretia

At a wedding such as this, it would be unusual for the Queen of the Caldan Union to attend personally but Caldan tradition had not dictated that she match her representative quite as precisely with the status of the groom as the King of Brasland had done. For one thing, the Caldan royal family had no second sons of kings at present. In fact, there were no children of monarchs of any description, the Queen’s father having predeceased Queen Elaine.The Caldan Union was therefore represented by HRH Prince Samuel, the Duke of Huntington, who was present with his wife, Lucinda, sister to the King of Kartlis, and his son Andrew. It was not a coincident that Prince Andrew was part of the party. In the last year, he had become an embarrassing topic of tabloid speculation and the royal family was increasingly eager to push him into a match. Although any gathering of Western Atlantic royal and imperial families would have been attractive, the possible presence of Marie-Angelique de Votosoros, the Duchess of Votosoros, was especially appealing. Prince Andrew had taken to her on his trip to Pantocratoria the year before and she was a respectable and wealthy match. She was not royal but she noble and, if a Pantocratorian imperial princess could marry a Caldan duke, a Caldan royal prince was not above a Pantocratorian duchess.

Also attending from the Caldan Union, but as personal guests of Queen Samia rather than formal representatives of Queen Gwendolyn, were Queen Samia’s cousin, Yilma Solomon, the Duke of Carasia, his wife, Kidist, and his daughter, Candace. Queen Samia was the niece of the duke’s late father, Tafari, whose own father, Ras Mengesha Tewodros was an exiled prince, driven from his homeland in the 1930s. Granted not just sanctuary but a Caldan title commensurate with his birth, Mengesha had taken the surname of Solomon, organised emigre communities, become the most prominent patron and spokesman of Oriental Orthodoxy and particularly of the distinctive Tewahedo tradition within Oriental Orthodoxy, and become an icon for Caldans of African or Epheronian descent who did not otherwise see themselves represented in the nobility. His descendants had founded the Carasia Settlement in Alekthos, grudgingly become patrons of Rastafari admirers (especially in Dana and Hipolis), and continued to promote closer ties between the Caldan Union and Cyretia. In truth, the duke hoped Lady Candace might meet someone here to help foster those closer ties, but he was not as stressed about the matter as the Huntingtons.

After being announced by the herald, the six guests from the Caldan Union all made their way into the crowd. The men were all wearing the mess dress uniform of the Royal Caldan Navy in which all three had served, although only Prince Andrew had seen combat. The women were all wearing evening gowns appropriate to Cyretian culture and fashion without quite crossing the line into native costume. The two dukes exchanged a few pleasantries before Hungtington led his family in search of the Kartlians and Carasia led his towards Queen Samia herself.

[Excalbia]

Grand Ballroom, Royal Palace, Cyretia

Among the those in attendance were the Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Excalbia. Crown Prince Joseph wore the dark blue mess dress uniform of the Imperial Army replete with gold braid, a blue sash and a chest full of medals. His younger brother, Prince James, would also be in attendance, but would be arriving separately with his Anahuacan girlfriend, Suniefreda Hoogaboom. It was a match that still scandalized some elements of Excalbian society. A prince “getting serious” with a commoner was not unheard of in Excalbia - the current Empress had been a commoner - but a commoner from a communist state, not to mention the granddaughter of that communist nation’s leader was unprecedented.

Despite what the wags and gossips might say, the Emperor apparently approved of the relationship (but then, the gossips might add, he also approved of his sister’s marriage to another woman), and James’ and Suniefreda’s attendance at the wedding would represent their first official public event as a couple. The presence of both of the Emperor’s sons attested to the the close familial relationship between the Imperial Family and the Cyretian Royal Family.

After being introduced, Joseph and Anna entered hand-in-hand and began looking to see who they knew.

Meanwhile, outside, James adjusted his tie, waiting for Suniefreda to emerge from their car.

[Providencia y San Andres]

The Infanta Isabelle Cristina Maria Teresa de Habsburg released her fiance’s hand as she embraced his sister. “Your Highness,” she began, slipping into Providencian court custom, before correcting herself, “Irene! The pleasure to meet is mine. I have heard so much about you.”

Isabelle, dressed in a muted cranberry-colored gown with her brownish-blonde hair styled in a braided bun, curtseyed to Crown Prince, but, mirroring Princess Irene’s informally greeted him with, “John, a pleasure to meet you.”

A few steps away, her lady-in-waiting, stood keeping a discrete eye on the couple. Isabelle noticed the Crown Prince glancing in her direction and turned slightly. “Ah, please,” she began, “this is the Marquesa Andrea of Antiguo Puerto Libertad, my dear friend, Lady-in-Waiting and, at least until we are married,” she stole a sly glance at Leopold, “my chaperon.”

Andrea Evelyn Beatrice de Garza Garcia, slightly shorter and rounder than the Infanta, smiled and approached the two couple. She curtseyed. “Your Highnesses. A pleasure.”

Further away, the Infanta Letizia Isabelle Maria de Habsburg, Isabelle’s younger sister, drifted about the room dressed in a pale blue gown of modest length, yet cut to hug her figure rather tightly. She wore a perpetually bored expression, yet her blue eyes showed a glimmer of hope that she would find someone interesting to spend time with at this party. Close by, her own Lady-in-Waiting,Rosalia Maria de Carvajal y Garza, Countess of Santa Tecla, followed her hoping that Letizia would not become too interested in anyone.

[Brasland]

While Leopold, Irene and Alexandra were busy doing their own thing, their cousin and nephew Peter stood at a discreet distance from the main action. Like Prince Leopold, he wore the mess dress uniform of the Braslander Royal Army, with the red and blue sash of the Order of St Nikolaus crossing from his right shoulder to his left hip. Peter had met Prince Agizul and his sister, Princess Ilizibith, at the Ernestine garden party months ago. This was his first visit to Cyretopolitania, so he planned to make the most of it. After the festivities, he intended to make a private trip to the desert in the old style, which meant camels and tents. Much like Leopold, official occasions were not his forte, but he endured them with the stoicism and sense of duty which was proper of a Balkronn prince. Since he had little intention of joining his cousins, and absolutely zero of talking to the terrifying Aunt Alexandra, he stood on a corner holding a glass of champagne and amusing himself at the sight of the many and colorful guests, most of them completely unknown to him.

[Cyretopolitania]

Crown Prince John smiled and nodded his head as the Infanta Isabelle greeted him. He could tell that she was still adjusting to the informality that Braslander royals displayed among themselves and their peers, just as he had. “Isabelle, a pleasure.” He waited for her to offer her hand, then took it and kissed the air above it.

He turned and accepted Leopold’s embrace, returning in kind. He leaned towards the Braslander prince. “Still the same old Leo, I see,” he winked. “The bar is right over there, he nodded, “but I’m afraid your aunt Alexandra has already discovered it and set up court.” The Crown Prince turned and with the slightest of gestures summoned a waiter.

“Your Royal and Pharaonic Highness,” the young man said with a bow, “what may I bring you?”

“I’d like a glass of boukha. Neat.” John looked at Leopold. “I recommend the boukha - it’s a fig brandy - but order whatever you’d like.”

* * *

Queen Dowager Safiya had just turned 70, yet she looked barely a day over 60. She was a short woman of slight build, but she moved with the grace of a dancer. Her hair was snow white and she wore it in a neat, short style topped with a golden tiara. She did have a slight stoop in her walk, and the slightest of humps had started to appear at the top of her back. She drifted through the crowd until she arrived at the bar where Princess Alexandra sat drinking Scotch on the rocks.

Safiya eased herself into the chair on the other side of a low table from Alexandra and crossed her legs and the ankle, pulling her long dress to make sure everything was properly covered.

A waiter appeared and bowed. “Your Royal and Pharaonic Majesty,” the middle aged man said, “what may I bring you?”

“Boukha. Neat. With an applewine chaser.” The man bowed and departed. Safiya turned to Alexandra and gave a crooked smile. “Good evening, Alexandra. I would have asked if you cared for a drink, but I see you have already discovered the bar.”

* * *

Princess Ilizibith spotted Peter of Brasland as he arrived, but rather than approaching him, she drifted in and out of conversations just close enough to be seen by him, but not close enough for him to speak with her - without making the effort to approach her. She wore a long, pale pink gown that fit rather snugly and her blonde hair fell about her shoulders in cascades of braids. Her blue eyes stood out almost shockingly against her deeply tan skin. She looked over her shoulder and flashed a smile in Peter’s direction and waited.

* * *

Meanwhile, Prince Agizul was discreetly holding Princess Yulia’s hand as they made the rounds. He leaned over to her and whispered, “I hope the whole thing with the boat wasn’t too terrible.” He grinned. “At least I told you, unlike father. Mother still chides him for it to this day!”

[Brasland]

Irene offered her hand for the Marquesa to shake, giving her a friendly smile.

“The pleasure is mine, Marquesa”, she said, her informality not extended to those of lesser rank, as was the Braslander custom. “I hope you have enjoyed your stay in Cyretia so far.”

She then turned to her brother’s fiancée. “So, Isabelle, tell me everything about the wedding. Leo told me you’re marrying in Providencia, it sounds so exciting! I’m dying to stay in your country for a short trip. John and I are finding each other increasingly overwhelmed with two children. It would be nice to have some time alone for ourselves.”

While the women chatted, Leopold accepted the bukha and rather enjoyed it.

***

Princess Alexandra was bullying one of the waiters when the Queen Dowager appeared and sat at the table. She felt caught like a child stealing candy but, true to her style, she continued upbraiding the young man until she was sure he understood her clear indications about how to make the perfect Scotch on the rocks.

“You better follow my instructions, boy”, she warned him. “I wouldn’t want to be you if I’m not pleased with my drink.”

She emptied her glass and gave the Queen a poor attempt of a smile. It was a difficult feat to accomplish when you were a witch.

“Safiya, darling”, she said, with her own crooked expression. “It’s been many years since I last saw you. I think it was 1989, for Paul’s wedding in Markund. That stupid boy decided to marry the awful Lia of New Chalcedon! That girl was a curse, darling, a curse!”

She would have rambled endlessly if the terrified waiter had not come with the Scotch. Alexandra looked at him with distrust, quickly grabbed the glass and inspected it for an entire minute.

“It’s alright”, she said, after what for the young man would have seemed like an hour. “What are you waiting for? A tip? Disgraceful modern youth! Everything is about money for you!”

After the waiter was dismissed, Alexandra -now in her early nineties- remembered she was talking to Queen Safiya.

“Sorry, darling”, she said. “You know how these youngsters are. Tell me about you, what have you been up to all these years?”

***

Ilizibith’s smile had the desired effect, for Peter felt burned by a lightning bolt and his legs automatically walked towards her. His brain was of no use at that point, and if he had continued in that state a diplomatic scandal would have ensued, for he wanted to kiss and embrace her right there. Luckily for him, his brain started to work a few seconds before reaching the princess.

“Hello, Ilizibith”, he mumbled, fighting to keep himself together.

When she offered her hand, he thought it would be a pity to just kiss the air above it, so his lips touched her smooth skin. He then leaned towards her and whispered to her ear.

“I hope we can resume where we left in Ernestria”, he said with a mischievous smile.

[Cyretopolitania]

“Yes, yes,” the Queen Dowager agreed, “Paul’s wedding. Did you attend John and Irene’s wedding in Brasland a few years ago? It was lovely, as I recall."

Safiya took her glass of boukha and the separate glass of applewine, placing the applewine on the table beside her and taking a long sip of the boukha. “It is a shame when a young person marries poorly,” she nodded towards Alexandra. “Fortunately, I have approved of my children’s and grandchildren's matches. So far. Though I worry that Ilizibith may have inherited the tendency to fancy commoners from the Excalbian side of the family. Did you hear that Prince James of Excalbia is seeing a communist from Anahuac? And not only a communist, but the granddaughter of that awful Hoogaboom fellow?” She shook her head.

“As for me, I’ve been doing what Queen Dowagers are expected to do… Oh, how I am well and truly sick of knitting and opening supermarkets. I do not mind visiting churches - any prayer helps at my age - but I get tired of being followed around by babbling photographers.” She sighed deeply. “I thought I was done with all that when my dear, sweet Agizul passed away and Aksel became king. But no. It never ends.”

She looked at Alexandra. “And what is keeping you going these days, my dear. Apart from that awful Scotch,” she grinned.

* * *

“Hello, my dear Lieutenant,” Ilizibith said trying to sound aloof without completely succeeding. She offered him her hand and blushed slightly when Peter kissed its bare skin.

She returned his smile with a sly smile of her own. “I was wondering whether you had come for the beach. Or to explore the desert. Or to see me, my dear Lieutenant,” she whispered back to him. Then, she added, “I had almost given up on hearing from you after the Ernestine party. I thought that we had made… a connection, you know.”

[Providencia y San Andres]

Marquesa Andrea shook Irene’s hand. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, “I have had a very pleasant stay. Cyretia is an interesting and delightful country. So different from Providencia.” She leaned forward slightly. “It is rather exciting to be here.” She bowed slightly and stepped back, allowing Isabelle to resume the center of attention.

“Oh, my dear Irene,” Isabelle began, “you must come to Providencia ahead of the wedding. At the risk of being too bold, I must say that we have the most lovely beaches and the clearest, warmest waters. We have an estate on Isla Hermosa that is so delightful. And, of course, the nightlife in La Providencia is quite entertaining, if one is so inclined as to enjoy it.

“As for the wedding,” Isabelle continued excitedly, “it will be at the Catedral del San Salvador del Mundo. It’s a wonderful Baroque Spanish Colonial building. There will be flowers everywhere! It will be so lovely.” She lowered her voice. “Of course, there will be no golden boats in procession or,” she glanced at Leopold, “three days of feasting before the, how do you say, honeymoon, as I hear there will be here.”

[Brasland]

At the mention of Princess Ilizibith’s supposed interest in commoners, Alexandra repressed a laugh. She discreetly glanced at the young woman’s flirtations with her great nephew, but said nothing to Safiya. When the Queen Dowager mentioned the relationship between the Emperor of Excalbia’s younger son and Hoogaboom’s granddaughter, the old princess almost choked.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” she shouted, barely recovering from her near collapse. “Cousin David’s boy with a communist? Where is him? I’m going to have a chat with him!”

She stood up with surprising agility, quickly surveying the room. Then, she remembered a conversation with the King, who had warned her about behaving in public, especially abroad. For once, she decided to follow Georg’s orders, sitting back on her chair.

“Maybe not today, darling”, she said, regaining her composure. “Young people make mistakes, and sometimes, only a few times really, they learn from them. I hope David and his wife have some good sense and forbid such an awful match. But Excalbians, dear, you know how they are. So traditional in some aspects… but so liberal in others. I still can’t understand how Aunt Clotilde was allowed to marry Daniel III. I guess Grandfather was not really thinking when he gave his consent. Sometimes he drank too much, you know. I’m so grateful none of us inherited that trait.”

She sipped from her third glass of Scotch, listening with interest as Queen Safiya described her life as a dowager. She compared it with her own life and felt satisfaction with what she had achieved, although she did not mention this. A life of cutting ribbons was definitely not for her.

“I’m retired right now, darling”, she winked to the Cyretian queen. “But you know me, not really retired. I still advise the King in some matters, and sometimes they send me on secret missions. The last one was four years ago to arrange the wedding of Sophia, Paul’s oldest daughter, to the Despot of New Constantinople. The girl was not wanted in Brasland, some troubles with the King, you know, so we had to find a way to get rid of her. The Despot had been a bachelor for too long and needed a wife, well, an official one, if you know what I mean, so everything fell into place and now the poor girl is madly in love with the handsome Pantocratorian. I wonder how Lia’s girls have turned so different from her mother. Except for Helena…”

She did not say anything else about her favorite great niece, for despite her own conservative views, she still loved her very much and hoped that she was rehabilitated in public life. But she feared she would not live long enough to see that.

“Tell me about your daughters, my dear Safiya. I have not seen Maryem and Nadiya in centuries, what have they been up to?”

***

Peter smiled, mysteriously. What he had been doing in those months he would not say, but he gave her a cryptic attempt of an explanation.

“Duty is approaching like a hungry tiger, princess”, he said. “And I’m trying to escape like a desperate antelope, but I know eventually it will catch me.”

He winked at her.

“I’ve certainly not forgotten about you… or your eyes. Although officially I’m here as His Majesty’s representative, the real reason has more to do with an unfinished business started at a certain garden party. I volunteered to come, and let’s say pretty much everyone was shocked I would want to attend one of these things. I have a certain reputation at court.”

He wanted to hold her hand, but with hundreds of eyes in that room he knew it would be foolish.

“What about you?” he wondered. “What are your plans, princess? Is there any Braslander guy in the horizon?”