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

[Kartlis]

In their formal attire, the Kartlians struck a somewhat antiquated figure as they arrive for the festivities; the court style in the country had always been old-fashioned, but in 2018 they seemed positively frozen in amber with the men in their knee-breeches and silk stockings and the women in high-necked, bustle-trained gowns. Prince Teimuraz, the Kartlian sovereign, was the first to make his greetings to the bridegroom and bride-to-be, as well as his greetings for the parents of the promised couple.

"It am quite honored to attend these festivities, and I will very much enjoy witnessing the joining together of two excellent and vibrant young people in the eyes of God." he said with a smile, kissing the hand of the bride-to-be in old courtly fashion. "And I speak for all of Kartlis when I say the warmth and sumptuousness of your country's celebrations are perhaps without peer. My son in particular found the boat procession most fascinating."

Prince Giorgi smiled broadly in the entourage behind. "I should like to present my nephew, Alexander, Count Liakhvi, my deputy Prime Minister in government." his father went on, listing all the names, until coming to the doyenne of the family. "And, of course, our most respected Princess Zofia, my great-great-aunt."

To the reining sovereigns, the elderly Zofia gave her best curtsy, made more difficult by one hand grasping an ivory-handled cane. To the younger figures, she proffered a soft, white-gloved hand that smelled faintly of lavender and rose, expecting by virtue of her age and rank that she would not need to ask them to kiss it. "It is a very fine reception, and such fine young people." she said quietly. "I am somewhat overcome at being back in Cyretopolitania after so many years. Prince Agizul, I am very pleased that you have found such a fine young woman. You would do your grandfather very proud, and I am quite sure that you will be as much of a loving and dutiful husband as he was to his dear wife."

She fixed an eye on Aksel, and gave a mischievous smirk, some of her fire returning. "I could tell you both some stories about the old days, I am sure. We shall save that for the receptions, though, shan't we?"

[Snefaldia]

Annella Hantili, in her youth, had been called "Black Eyes" in her native Snefaldia, owing to her dark, passionate appearance. As a young woman, granddaughter of the deposed Emperor of the Luwites, her family had paraded endless suitors in front of her, and she had dozens of others besides, enamored with her beauty and fierce personality. "It's the mountain blood in her" her father had said when she turned every one of them down in order to marry the heir of the Ernestine King, "you cannot move the mountains once they set their heart on staying still." The House of Wagasanali, the royal house to which she belonged, descended from the 14th century Luwite King Hattusul of Isaadlang, who ruled as Wagasanali I, and his wife, Zyanya, who hailed from the mountain fastnesses in the north of Snefaldia and had been renowned for her fierce demeanor.

Now, as the dowager Queen Mother of the Ernestine Empire, her black-brown hair had faded to a dull silver-white, but her dark, flashing eyes still retained the charm and power they'd had when she determined to have Ernest Keraunos and no other. She had put her fierce demeanor to use in the long years since that marriage, first as distrusted foreign queen, and then as grieving widow who had lost both her beloved husband and her strong first-born son. Ernest Soter, her second son, was still her soft, silly boy: he needed her strong guidance, always, and she had plenty of it to give, even on this day, couched in the smothering love of a woman who had never expected her second son to rise to the throne and had raised him that way.

From a stately perch at the festivities, she did not deign to rise for any guest, as was due the grandmother of the bride, the father of a crowned sovereign, and the dowager of a deceased one. The Snefaldian diplomats in attendance today had been instructed to pay their respects to her as a Queen of Ernestria, but even they would not have missed the regalia of the royal house of Wagasanali that she wore with her decidedly Ernestrian gown: the emerald circlet worn by daughters of the Emperor of the Luwites, and the jewelry and insignia of the orders and honors of the defunct Snefaldian monarchy. She would receive them with a smile and a proffered hand, speaking the antiquated court dialect of the Snefaldian language just to remind them that she would never forget who she was.

She tired of the parade, for a moment, and snapped her fingers for her son the King. "My son, dearest, your dear mother is thirsty. And try not looking so glassy-eyed. There are photographers here and we can't have them printing unflattering photos. Straighten up a bit, stand like a good monarch. Tall and proud, just like your father. That's a good boy."

[Cyretopolitania]

Safiya suppressed a snort as she laughed. “The Despot! Ah, the stories I’ve heard. Poor, poor Sophia.” She leaned towards Alexandra. “You know that my dear, sweet Agizul had quite a bit of Excalbian blood. We visited many times. An odd lot. Very, very religious, but liberal about it. And always about their machines and gadgets.” She paused. “Strangest of all, I will say, when you drive around they queue at bus stops! No pushing. No shoving. Such neat, orderly queues. For a bus!” She shook her head. “It still amazes me that they and the Pantocratorians are such close allies. David and Andreus as co-grandparents. I can barely imagine.”

“How is Helena?” Safiya asked.

The Queen Dowager sipped her boukha. “They are both busy with their children. Maryem’s oldest is married now. Expecting her first child. It will make me a great-grandmother for the third time. Nadiya is very involved with her charities. She was always such a kind, sweet girl.”

* * *

“Duty,” Ilizibith said with an exaggerated sigh. “You military men and your duty. What about living life?” She batted her eyes and looked away briefly.

“My plans, my dear Lieutenant,” she smiled secretively, “are the next few days. To celebrate my brother’s marriage and three days of parties.” She glanced Peter with a sideways look. “Whether a Braslander guy is involved depends quite a bit on what that particular Braslander guy wants to do.” She looked down. “So, dear Braslander guy, what are your plans now that you’re here? Trekking through desserts alone or spending time with... someone?”

* * *

Prince Agizul bowed to Prince of Kartlis and the rest of his family and entourage, then took Zofia’s hand and kissed the air above it. “A pleasure, Sirs. Madame.”

King Aksel mirrored his son’s actions, saying to Teimuraz, “It is a good thing that my wife is greeting her cousin, Sir; I’m afraid the boat is still a sore spot for her.” He chuckled. “It was a bit of a surprise for her at our own wedding.”

He smiled at Zofia. “I am sure you quite a few stories, Madame. And I look forward to hearing them!” Then, looking back to Teimruaz and his son. “We are honoured by your presence. Thank you for coming.”

[Brasland]

Alexandra sighed. “You Cyretians have Excalbian blood, Excalbians have Braslander blood, we Braslanders have Pantocratorian blood, and soon Pantocratorians will have Braslander, Kartlian and Caldan blood. I wonder if so much inbreeding among us is good, darling.”

She sipped from her glass. “But I guess it’s better than marrying communists.”

When the Queen Dowager asked her about young Helena, Princess Alexandra felt mixed emotions.

“That stubborn girl”, she said. “The only one of her siblings with a brain, and she decides to throw everything away for a stupid kiss. But she’s paying a high price, so I will say no more. I understand she’s in Excalbia right now, visiting some understanding relatives.”

As she finished talking about her favorite great niece, she heard the familiar voice of Princess Zofia.

“Oh no”, she exclaimed. “Not that dinosaur again, I thought she would have enough of travelling after the Ernestine party.”

Noticing Safiya’s confusion, she explained. “Come, darling, let’s move quickly or Zofia will see us. That old skeleton has the sight of a hawk.”

***

Peter smiled at Ilizibith’s suggestion. She had cornered him masterfully, but he was not one to accept defeat easily.

“The desert or a princess?”, he said, dramatically, as if he was reciting a play. “Why not both? A man can have it all.”

He got closer to her and whispered. “Join me after the festivities, don’t you want to get away from all this fanfare for a while? No stewards or chaperones, just the two of us... and the desert.”

She could not look more beautiful in his eyes than how she looked that night. The desert kept its treasures well hidden.

[Cyretopolitania]

Safiya nodded. “You are right, but what are we do if not marry into each other’s families? Marry commoners like our Excalbian cousins?”

The Queen Dowager cocked her head to one side as Alexandra spoke about Helena. She wore an expression of confusion for a moment, then recalled reading something about a scandal involving a kiss. Suddenly she realized just which Excalbian relative she must be visiting. “Ah,” she said after a moment. “Another commoner marriage.” Safiya gave a slight laugh. “It’s one thing, dear, to marry another girl; it’s another to marry one who is also a commoner. In that regard, your Helena has the advantage over Christiana, no?”

“Ah,” she turned her head at the mention of Zofia. As the youngest of the three she took some measure of delight when the two matriarchs matched acid tongues, though she had always managed to conceal the fact beneath the veneer of aloof nobility. “I’m afraid we are too late, my dear,” she said concealing a smile, “I believe she has seen us.”

* * *

“My dear Lieutenant, what a scandalous suggestion!” Ilizibith flashed an expression of mock horror, although her eyes seemed to smile. She took a half-step towards Peter. “Be careful,” she whispered, “my father is no powerless constitutional monarch. And the blood of desert warriors and highland barbarians flow through his veins. Slipping away without chaperones may provoke his wrath, if you tread carelessly.” She smiled and looked away modestly.

[Brasland]

“You may be right”, accepted Alexandra. “But I’m glad that John and Irene are not related. Bloodlines need to be renewed once in a while.”

Princess Alexandra was horrified at Queen Safiya’s joke.

“Safiya, for God’s sake!”, she exclaimed. “I don’t care one bit that Duchess von Kerlich is noble. She’s a dangerous seductress and she should be locked in the tower of the most remote castle of the Alps!”

Talking about Helena von Kerlich made Alexandra lose her temper, and it did not improve when the Queen Dowager demonstrated that she had no intention of hiding from Zofia.

“You, disrespectful girl!”, she said, angry. “You were always a stubborn child, only minding about what you wanted. Your father, that saintly man, I don’t understand how he had the patience to endure such a daughter!”

As if he had been summoned by magic, the poor bullied waiter appeared again bringing another glass. Alexandra sipped her scotch to recover from the irritation the “young” queen had caused her.

***

While her husband chatted with the Infanta, Irene watched the interactions between Peter and Ilizibith from a distance. She and his cousin did not know each other too well, for they had grown up in different countries, but his reputation was notorious enough for her to know that maybe the Cyretian princess should be warned about the Braslander.

“Don’t worry”, said Leopold, guessing his sister’s worries. “He’s not the rascal everyone says he is. Well, he may be a little, but she truly made quite an impression on him at the Ernestine party. As a matter of fact, she’s all he’s been talking about during these months. I’m quite glad I got rid of him tonight.”

“If you say so”, the Crown Princess said, not sounding entirely convinced. “I just hope he behaves with her. She’s not just another of his girls, she’s the daughter of the King of Cyretia and my sister-in-law. So, Leo…”

“Yes?”

“Just make sure he doesn’t hurt her”, she asked him.

Leopold laughed.

“I wouldn’t be worried about that”, he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at him”, he said, discreetly pointing at Peter. “If anyone is going to break someone’s heart that would be Ilizibith. He has that dumb expression we men have when we’re in love.”
This time, it was Irene who laughed. Her brother was a good judge of character.

***

“I wouldn’t want to have the King’s agents chasing me”, he said jokingly, precisely with the dumb expression Leopold described. “But the prize is too tempting not to take a risk.”

Then his smile disappeared and he was serious.

“I warn you, I won’t court you the way your brother courted Irene or Agizul did with Yulia. I’m not like that.”

He emptied his glass of champagne, gathering the guts he needed to say what he was about to say.

“Someday”, he began, measuring his words. “… someday you will be my wife, Ilizibith. I knew it from the moment I kissed you, but I also know myself, and I need some time and space. The desert is calling me, and if you can’t join me I understand, but you’ll have to understand me as well. I’ll stay in the city as long as the wedding festivities last and maybe for a few days afterwards, but then I’ll jump on a camel and ride through the dunes until I reach some place where no one knows who I am. Then I’ll return and ask your father for your hand.”

In his typical manner, he had not asked her what she thought of all this. It was not necessary, if she said no he would find a way to convince her.

[Cyretopolitania]

Safiya resisted the urge to smile with satisfaction at Alexandra’s annoyance. A little passive aggressive aggravation was really the only mischief left to her, considering her age and station. “My dear, departed Agizul considered me quite the prize when I finally accepted his proposal,” she said flatly, but with a slight smirk.

“Nonetheless, Zofia has yet to approach; perhaps you may yet be spared.” The Queen Dowager rose with surprising grace and ease. “Come, Auntie,” she extended a hand, “they keep an alcove for me… to rest, they say, when I need it. It is just behind these drapes here.”

***

John caught a snippet of the conversation between Leopold and Irene. He excused himself from his soon-to-be sister-in-law and turned to his wife. “What is up with Ilizibith? Is Peter bothering her?” He gave a knowing smile. “Or is she bothering him?”

***

Ilizibith could feel her jaw dropping and she worked it side to side, forcing it closed. It would not do at all for a princess of Cyretia to stand about looking foolish with her mouth agape.

“Your wife?” She sputtered after a few minutes. “Ask my father? Oh. My.” Her eyes widened. “That is terribly bold of you. Or maybe simply brazen.” She visibly trembled. “Am I to have any say in the matter? Or am I foreign territory to be conquered by the fierce warrior?”

She stood for a moment, then suddenly turned. “Excuse me, Lieutenant Peter.”

The princess stalked off, trying to maintain the measured gait of a princess without completely succeeding. As she turned to look back at Peter, she nearly crashed into her cousin, Hannah.

“Ilizibith!” Hannah said in the shock of the near collision. “What is wrong?” She asked softly after seeing the slightly older girl’s strange expression.

“He said he means to marry me,” Ilizibith said breathlessly. “He’s going out to the desert and when he returns, he wants to ask father for my hand…”

Hannah looked over her cousin’s shoulder at Peter. “That’s Peter? The guy from Brasland?”

“Yes,” Ilizibith said. “We kissed at the Ernestine party, but, I mean, it was just a kiss…”

“Do you like him?”

“I did. I mean, I do. I think I do. But,” Ilizibith shook her head, “this is… so fast.”

“He looks completely smitten with you, Lizi.”

“He does?”

Hannah nodded.

“I don’t know what to do. I wasn’t expecting this.”

Hannah looked around and spotted the Queen Dowager talking with another older lady. “We should ask Grandmother.”

“Grannie?”

“Yes. She’ll know. And you know she’ll tell you what she really thinks without worrying about being polite.”

Ilizibith took Hannah’s arm and led her across the room to the bar, where Queen Dowager Safiya stood beside Princess Alexandra.

* * *

Ilizibith and Hannah approached Safiya and Alexandra. The two girls curtseyed and waited for their grandmother to speak to them.

“Ah, Ilizibith. Hannah,” Safiya said with a smile. “What brings you over to visit us old fossils?” She turned to Alexandra. “This is Princess Alexandra of Brasland.” Then to Alexandra she said, “Alexandra, these are two of my granddaughters. Princess Ilizibith, Aksel’s daughter, and Lady Hannah, Maryem’s daughter.”

“Brasland?” Ilizibith stammered.

“Yes,” Safiya said. “What of it? Please, do not be rude to our guest. What is the problem?”

“Peter, from Brasland, Leopold’s cousin, I think, said he would marry Ilizibith,” Hannah blurted out as her cousin flushed a deep russet red.

[The Resurgent Dream]

“Yilma,” Queen Samia said with a broad smile, as she extended her arms towards her cousin, “I’m so glad you could come. And Kidist.” She let you go of her cousin and embraced his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “And this can’t be Candace,” she added turning to their daughter. “How long has it been?”

“Your Majesty,” the duke said as he lightly embraced his cousin, his wife coming in for a warmer, tighter hug. “Congratulations to your family!”

“It is good to be in Cyretia again,” Kidist said as she finally broke the hug. ‘A new pope. A royal wedding. The atmosphere is full of promise.”

Candace couldn’t keep from flushing slightly as she curtsied to her first cousin once removed by whom she was a little intimidated. It had been a long time and she had trouble thinking of Samia as anything but the Queen of Cyretopolitania. “About eight years, Your Majesty.”

“Too long,” Samia said to Candace. “But it is good to see you. All grown up.” She shook her head slightly and turned to Yilma and Kidist. “And to see you both, too!” She smiled. “Yes, it is a time of renewed hope. We were much relieved with the election of John XI. Augustine XII was such a dear man. A wonderful man of God. As is his successor, thank God.”

“Our prayers are always with the successors of St. Mark,” Yilma agreed, “and both His Holiness and Your Majesties will always have friends in the Caldan Union.”

“Thank you,” Samia said. “And I hope you will alway feel at home here in Cyretia.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Yilma said.

[Brasland]

Before Peter could say anything to explain his words, the princess stormed out, leaving him confused and afraid that he had really messed it up forever.

“Ilizibith!”, he called her.

It was too late.

***

When the two young women appeared and one of them told the story of Peter’s declaration, Alexandra laughed like a dying hyena.

“That boy!”, she cried. “He has always been wild, ever since he was born. I hope you said yes, young lady, men like him appear once in a century. In a way, he reminds me of your great-grandfather Aksel. God, how I miss that charming rascal!”

[The Ernestine Empire]

She tired of the parade, for a moment, and snapped her fingers for her son the King. "My son, dearest, your dear mother is thirsty. And try not looking so glassy-eyed. There are photographers here and we can't have them printing unflattering photos. Straighten up a bit, stand like a good monarch. Tall and proud, just like your father. That's a good boy."

For a man who so jealously guarded the position given to him by God and the untimely death of the Crown Prince his brother, the King was like a small and not especially useful lapdog when it came to his mother. He puffed out his chest, causing the various medals awarded to him on the basis of birth rather than military attribute (his flat feet had prevented him from completing basic training, much to the king his late father's perpetual disappointment), to clatter like a cow's bell. "Of course mater," he said, spying the Roman temple-cum-ballroom for a member of the waiting staff. "You," he said, suddenly picking on a small and young such specimen weaving his way back to the kitchens, "Is her Majesty to be as parched as the great deserts of your country? See to her at once." He smiled at his little witticism which, truth be told, he had been planning on using at some point this evening. His Regal Masculinity suitably demonstrated he chinked over to his mother. "They're just coming now mater," he said, gazing with her across the room. "I say," he ventured after a few moments, "I didn't know you could speak that, erm, that language that they speak in Snefaldia. Well, obviously, I knew you were from there originally of course but, well, I never really thought of you as speaking anything other than German. Or Lech." Blame the Emperor Jan August for making his native language the accepted language at court across most of the continent across the sea from Cyretopolitania. "Cyrille was asking me whether I have been here before but I confess that they all look the same really. You know, these foreign places. Did you and pater ever come?"

The present Queen Consort made away across the room towards the small man in a military uniform that was her husband but stopped when she saw who she was talking to. She did not mind Queen Annella in small doses, but prolonged conversation invariably resulted in Marie grinding her teeth with such force as to eventually make them throb. She therefore gracefully paraded in a circle and proceeded back into the centre of the room, collecting her daughter as she went. "But I thought we were going to father," protested Laodice as her mother suddenly linked her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction.

"You see your father everyday," replied the Queen, "This is an excellent opportunity to meet some people, new people." 'Maybe someone nice' she thought to herself. She looked about the room for someone she could introduce her daughter to.

[Cyretopolitania]

“Yes, Ma’am. I mean, no Ma’am,” Ilizibith stammered, momentarily startled. “I mean, yes, I am sure that Peter is a wonderful young man, but, no, I didn’t say ‘yes’.” She looked at her grandmother. “The thing is that he didn’t so much ask me as he told me.”

The young princess took a deep breath. “He said that he would marry me. He didn’t ask or say he wanted to ask. Just that he would go into desert with or without me and would come back and ask Father for my hand, then he - would - marry me. It was like I had no choice.”

Safiya crossed her arms and looked at Alexandra. “Your nephew is a bull in a china shop, Alexandra!” Then, to Ilizibith she said, “Of course you have a choice, dear. Just because he wants to marry you does not mean you must. Do you want to?”

“Maybe,” Iliziibth said, glancing at Princess Alexandra. “But it would be nice to get to know him better. We’ve only seen each other twice. His statement took me by surprise.”

The Queen Dowager turned her head to one side. “What was that about the desert?”

“Well…” Ilizibith looked down at her feet.

“Speak up, child.”

“He suggested that I go out to the desert with him. Alone.” Ilizibith looked away, avoiding her grandmother’s gaze.

“Well, now, of course you told him you would do no such thing.”

“Yes,” the young princess said, “of course. I told him father would be furious.”

“Good!” The Queen Dowager said. “And if tries to get too fresh, kick him in the…”

“Grandmother!” Hannah said, covering her mouth.

“That said, at least he is decisive.” Safiya rubbed her chin. “Some boys wait for years just to say they might think about marriage. He’s decisive and traditional. Both are good.” She looked at her granddaughter out of one eye. “You should get to know him better. Go and meet him in the desert.”

“Grandmama?” Ilizibith looked shocked.

“Not alone, Iliziibith,” Safiya said sternly. “Go with your cousins. Hannah can be your companion and your cousin Michael your protector. He knows the desert routes well. Take them and a few servants. Go ahead of Peter. Set your tents, as in the old days, and let him come upon you. See him in his element.” She looked around. “This is your element.” She nodded towards the young, uniformed man who still stood looking sullen across the floor. “He is a boy who craves adventures. Just look at him. See how he behaves in his own element. I wager you will have a better sense of him after a few days in the desert than you would after months in the Palace. Perhaps then you will know what you want to do.”

Saifya looked at Alexandra. “You know the boy. Am I right?”

[Brasland]

Puzzled by the question, Alexandra ignored Safiya and turned to Ilizibith.

“Your grandmother asks the funniest questions, my dear”, she said. “Do I know the boy? He’s my great nephew, for God’s sake, of course I do! We Balkronns are a tight lot.”

She sipped from her glass of scotch, waiting for a few seconds as she enjoyed its taste.

“The boy is adventurous, but not stupid”, she remarked. “I’m sure he wouldn’t dishonor the daughter of our ally, the King of Cyretia.”

She remembered, however, that he had invited the princess to go alone with him.

“No”, she muttered, as if speaking to herself. “He’s too virile for a young maiden to be left alone with him. Safiya, that arrogant girl, is right for once. Ilizibith must go with her cousins.”

The glass was emptied and left on the table. Alexandra stopped her whispering and spoke, thinking no one had heard her before.

“Young girl, if you travel alone with him, say goodbye to your reputation. He’s so charming that he can seduce an armchair if he wants. So you must follow your grandmother’s advice. She’s quite annoying when she wants, but she has some good ideas.”

Feeling tired, she left them to return to her chair, and with her hand she signaled to the waiter that it was time for the next scotch.

[The Ernestine Empire]

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!”

Yulia squeezed Agizul's hand slightly. "Oh don't worry about that, I've done worse," she lied, "And don't mind father, he makes it a point of principle to never pay attention to anything important. If he did then maybe the boat wouldn't have been such a shock." She gaze a graceful bow as they passed another dignitary, "Besides, it's important to keep up traditions, otherwise we'd be like the Caldans."

[Uncle Noel]

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.

Suniefreda breathed out deeply. 'Come on Sunie,' she thought as she stared at the back of the seat in front, 'Pull yourself together. You should be used to this by now.'

She was no stranger to public events. As the favoured grandchild she had been taken on tours of tractor factories and Anti-Air emplacements almost as soon as she could walk, a small cherub ('if you can believe that' she thought to herself) next to her grandfather the Great Draftsman. She'd even attended some events on her own. But that was home, where her face was known and everything was respectable and orderly. But here; here she could already feel the tendrils close around her heart. Suniefreda Hoogaboom was dying, she knew that; she could feel it. It was like the radio on a long journey where the station becomes quieter and quieter until it is lost to static until another, stronger voice emerges. Suniefreda Hoogaboom was fading out, her voice being lost to the hiss whilst in her place someone else was beginning to talk. That person was...

was...

Her Imperial Highness The Princess James? She shook her head. 'You were fine at the emperor's ball, just be yourself.'

But how could she? Already in her mind's eye she saw herself on the cover of a magazine, respectably but fashionably dressed, accepting a bouquet of flowers from a host of Excalbian school children as she opened a swimming pool or a community centre, an Imperial smile upon her face showing the correct amount of gleaming Imperial teeth whilst back at the palace her children, of whom she had no say in naming, were attended to by nannies.

"Er, Miss Hoogaboom," said the driver politely. She shook her head. "I am sure it is just the nerves," she said partly to him but more to herself. She emerged as gracefully as she could before tripping slightly on the hem of her dress and her hands reached forward to steady herself on the starched shirt of James. "Sorry about that," she said, biting her lip and seeing not the great royal palace of Cyretia before her but a thousand social media variations of

Wot a joke she cant even walk properly

[Snefaldia]

For a man who so jealously guarded the position given to him by God and the untimely death of the Crown Prince his brother, the King was like a small and not especially useful lapdog when it came to his mother. He puffed out his chest, causing the various medals awarded to him on the basis of birth rather than military attribute (his flat feet had prevented him from completing basic training, much to the king his late father's perpetual disappointment), to clatter like a cow's bell. "Of course mater," he said, spying the Roman temple-cum-ballroom for a member of the waiting staff. "You," he said, suddenly picking on a small and young such specimen weaving his way back to the kitchens, "Is her Majesty to be as parched as the great deserts of your country? See to her at once." He smiled at his little witticism which, truth be told, he had been planning on using at some point this evening. His Regal Masculinity suitably demonstrated he chinked over to his mother. "They're just coming now mater," he said, gazing with her across the room. "I say," he ventured after a few moments, "I didn't know you could speak that, erm, that language that they speak in Snefaldia. Well, obviously, I knew you were from there originally of course but, well, I never really thought of you as speaking anything other than German. Or Lech." Blame the Emperor Jan August for making his native language the accepted language at court across most of the continent across the sea from Cyretopolitania. "Cyrille was asking me whether I have been here before but I confess that they all look the same really. You know, these foreign places. Did you and pater ever come?"

The present Queen Consort made away across the room towards the small man in a military uniform that was her husband but stopped when she saw who she was talking to. She did not mind Queen Annella in small doses, but prolonged conversation invariably resulted in Marie grinding her teeth with such force as to eventually make them throb. She therefore gracefully paraded in a circle and proceeded back into the centre of the room, collecting her daughter as she went. "But I thought we were going to father," protested Laodice as her mother suddenly linked her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction.

"You see your father everyday," replied the Queen, "This is an excellent opportunity to meet some people, new people." 'Maybe someone nice' she thought to herself. She looked about the room for someone she could introduce her daughter to.

"Servants can be commanded, not cajoled, and they will perform the same." the Queen Mother said quietly with a disapproving tone. "A king does not need to shout. Nor jape." Even when he did as he was asked, he would always fall short. "It is not the Snefaldian language they speak today, which I can, of course, speak. It is High Luwite, the old court language. I spoke it to you as a toddler, as a Wagasanalid scion should have it taught, but your dear father's politicians put a stop to it." she said, ending with sourness in her voice. "It would have suggested you might make a claim on the Snefaldian throne, which would not do."

She glanced at the Queen Consort wheeling about with her granddaughter and inwardly smiled. Deep down, in an unconscious place, she liked the woman, truly. Her son's wife, mother to the grandchildren, and a good mother at that. But... they had never gotten along, in the same way that a dog and cat in the same house might be fed by the same hand, breathe the same air, and be loved by the same family, and yet spend their living years in a constant circle, never fully trusting the other. Annella would often be the cat in that situation, sitting quietly and waiting for a mistake, then striking out with a soft paw that concealed razor claws and savaging her daughter-in-law in full view of everyone. She liked to think of it that way, yes: one of her granddaughters had shown her one of the "viral videos" (whatever those were) that are so popular with the youth, of a cat eating out of a dog bowl while the hound sat, confused and dejected, but waiting patiently, a meter away, and that was a good summary of how the relationship worked in the Queen Mother's mind.

She instinctively reached out for her son's hand, not even looking at him, knowing he would take her arm out of habit and begin to walk. "I am sure we have visited here before, years and year ago. I cannot recall. It is not important."

She stopped briefly, an idea entering her head. "You should visit Snefaldia. A state visit. Remind them how good a king can be, and look." she smiled, pinching the cheek of her crowned sovereign son."

[Cyretopolitania]

“Yes, thank you,” Ilizibith said haltingly. She looked at Hannah and made a small gesture with her head. “If you’ll excuse us, Grandmother, Ma’am.”

The princess took her cousin by the hand and headed back across the floor of the dining room. Once they were out of earshot of their grandmother, Hannah stopped and turned excitedly, smiling at her cousin. “We have so much to plan! We’ll need tents and provisions!”

Before Hannah could continue, Ilizibith crossed her arms and frowned. “I have no intention of going out to set up some desert camp to entice Peter.”

“But,” Hannah stammered, “I thought… Grandmama and Princess Alexandra…”

Ilizibith sniffed. “I refuse to play the role of a princess in a TV-movie romance. No.” She glanced over towards Peter. “Still, it would be… interesting to see him in his own environment…”

“Ilizibith?”

“We will go into the desert,” at Ilizibith’s words her cousin smiled, “but under my terms.” Hannah’s smile faded and Ilizibith continued. “If he wants to wander the desert on a camel, then we shall go with him.”

“We? On camels?”

Ilizibith smiled and narrowed her eyes. “You’ve ridden before…”

“But I didn’t like it…”

“Too bad. You will go as my cousin and companion. Michael will go as my cousin and guide…”

“What if he doesn’t agree?”

“Oh, I think Peter will accept my terms.”

“No, I meant Michael…”

“Oh, he’s always up for an adventure. He’ll do it.” Ilizibith spotted Peter and grabbed Hannah’s arm. “There he is, let’s go.”

* * *

Safiya watched her granddaughters walk away. She smiled and turned to Alexandra. “If I know Ilizibith, she will do as we suggested. But not as we suggested it. She’s quiet, polite and strong-willed. And she knows that she can wrap boys around her fingers, if she wishes. I hope your young man is up to the challenge he’s invited upon himself.”

Looking at the tired-looking woman beside her, Safiya sipped her own drink. “You seem to be feeling your age, Alexandra. Would you like to lie down?”

* * *

Agizul gave a short laugh. “Traditions do have their place,” he said. Then smiled and squeezed Yulia’s hand. “However, the best part of being a prince is being able to… bend them once in a while. This will be a long slog… perhaps we can find some time… to be alone between events.”

[Excalbia]

Suniefreda breathed out deeply. 'Come on Sunie,' she thought as she stared at the back of the seat in front, 'Pull yourself together. You should be used to this by now.'

She was no stranger to public events. As the favoured grandchild she had been taken on tours of tractor factories and Anti-Air emplacements almost as soon as she could walk, a small cherub ('if you can believe that' she thought to herself) next to her grandfather the Great Draftsman. She'd even attended some events on her own. But that was home, where her face was known and everything was respectable and orderly. But here; here she could already feel the tendrils close around her heart. Suniefreda Hoogaboom was dying, she knew that; she could feel it. It was like the radio on a long journey where the station becomes quieter and quieter until it is lost to static until another, stronger voice emerges. Suniefreda Hoogaboom was fading out, her voice being lost to the hiss whilst in her place someone else was beginning to talk. That person was...

was...

Her Imperial Highness The Princess James? She shook her head. 'You were fine at the emperor's ball, just be yourself.'

But how could she? Already in her mind's eye she saw herself on the cover of a magazine, respectably but fashionably dressed, accepting a bouquet of flowers from a host of Excalbian school children as she opened a swimming pool or a community centre, an Imperial smile upon her face showing the correct amount of gleaming Imperial teeth whilst back at the palace her children, of whom she had no say in naming, were attended to by nannies.

"Er, Miss Hoogaboom," said the driver politely. She shook her head. "I am sure it is just the nerves," she said partly to him but more to herself. She emerged as gracefully as she could before tripping slightly on the hem of her dress and her hands reached forward to steady herself on the starched shirt of James. "Sorry about that," she said, biting her lip and seeing not the great royal palace of Cyretia before her but a thousand social media variations of

Wot a joke she cant even walk properly

“Are you alright?” James asked as he turned to Sunie. He caught her arm and helped to steady her. He allowed his hand to slide down her arm into her hand.

“Don’t worry; everything will be fine. These things always seem deathly dull until you figure out who to watch to entertain yourself. I guarantee you that someone will drink too much and talk too loud and things ‘people don’t discuss’ in public. That’s usually good for a laugh or two.” He smiled and leaned closer. “Then, we can always watch the single royals and nobles circling each other, trying to find a suitable match. Sort of speed-dating for royalty.” He gave Sunie’s hand a light squeeze. “Thank you for saving me from that!”

As the couple entered the Grand Ballroom, James’ eyes immediately fell on Agizul and Yulia. “Ah,” he turned slightly to Sunie, “the bride and groom. Let’s go ahead and start getting the greetings out of the way, then we can get a little wine and enjoy ourselves.”

“Agizul!” James called out as he approached his distant cousin.

“Jimmy!” Agizul said in response. He leaned over and whispered to Yulia, “Prince James of Excalbia, in case you haven’t met him before.”

James bowed slightly, then extended his hand. “You know I hate being called Jimmy, Aggie.”

Agizul shook James’ hand and laughed. “Alright, alright. Truce. Just, please, never call me Aggie again.”

Agizul turned held his hand towards Yulia. “My fiancée, Princess Yulia.”

James bowed slightly. “Your Highness,” he said, taking her hand (if offered) and kissing the air above it, “a pleasure.” He turned to Sunie. “My girlfriend,” he gave the same big, goofy, involuntary smile that he gave every time he referred to Sunie as his girlfriend - although he hoped that someday soon she would also be his fiancée, “Ms. Suniefreda Hoogaboom.”

[The Resurgent Dream]

Lucinda was, among all her siblings, the most like her brother the Prince, in both appearance and demeanor. Slim and patrician, she too was fond of smiling, save that her teeth were a pearly white. The kindest papers called her graceful, and sometimes even noted that she seemed to have little of fiery, brusque manner that defined Kartlian women, such as the Princess-Consort Tamar.

The Prince beamed widely as his sister and her family approached, and he grasped her hands to peck her on both cheeks. “Beloved sister. I had hoped to find you here. Prince Samuel, what a pleasure it is to see you again. Giorgi, say hello to your aunt and uncle.”

“It is good to see you too,” Samuel grinned. “It has been too long, hasn’t it?” He looked to Giorgi and then grinned back to his brother-in-law. “I am not completely sure he remembers me.”

Andrew, for his part, bowed gracefully. “It is good to see my mother’s family. It’s too long since I’ve been to Kartlis.”

“And we find too few occasions to visit Caldas.” Giorgi replied with a smile. “It’s been five years since our last trip. I went cross-country skiing up north.”

“Brother, it looks like all the nieces and nephews are here.” Lucinda said, inclining her head around the room at the bevy of young Mukhrani dynasts. “Ah, and dear Avto is here as well. Avto! Avto dear, come say hello.

Count Liakhvi walked over, greeting his aunt, and extending a hand to Prince Samuel. “You remember Avto, the son of my sister Helen.” Lucinda went on. Count Liakhvi was the oldest of the grand-children of the late David VII, Lucinda’s father, and had first served as a diplomat to being his career. Before he was elected to parliament and rose up the ranks of the National Party he had been required to receive the permission of his uncle, the Prince, to even run for a seat, but having gotten his seat he proved a valuable figure in the government of Isidore Mikeladze for the better part of a decade, first serving as Foreign Minister before receiving the Deputy post in 2017.

“Yes, I remember,” Samuel said as he shook the other man’s hand. “Quite the rising star as I recall.”

“Uncle Samuel. It’s very good to see you again.” Count Liakhvi said with a smile. “I had hoped to see you in Tarana a few months back when I was there on government business, but the time does get away in government service.

“Ah,the summer is the worst time to catch us in Tarana, I’m afraid,” Samuel said. “The College of Peers is not in session.” Huntington rarely attended in any event. Those familiar with such things knew the College of Peers routinely did business with about a quarter of its members present. “Perhaps someday you’ll have a chance to see more of the country. To only see Tarana is not to see much of Caldas.”

“There’s also Narich and Caer Gawen,” Andrew said, earning him a look from his father.

“Thank you for the suggestion, cousin.” Avto said with a smile at his younger relative. “Parliament will be out of session in late January for the Christmas holiday, so perhaps my wife and I will take the opportunity to visit Caldas on more private terms.”

“That would be wonderful,” Samuel said.

“Orthodox Christmas, dear.” Lucinda reminded her husband. “And Andrew, be sure to pay your respects to Princess Zofia. I pray daily, asking the blessed St. Peter to intercede with the Lord God to ensure her continued long life. She is nearly one hundred years old, thanks be to God.”

“I remember, my love,” Samuel said to his wife, a small smile as he glanced to her.

Andrew nodded to his mother’s request. “Yes, mother. I’ll be sure to speak with her. She’s seen so much history.”

“When did you take an interest in history, son?” Samuel asked lightly.

“Iesus Christi,” Andrew answered in a thoughtful tone. Mention of that conflict tended to be a conversation killer.

The Kartlians devoutly crossed themselves. Prince Teimuraz coughed politely into his handkerchief. “It is well to be interested in history. After all, our family has been there for so much of it. You know, dear nephew, that your mother’s family is traced back to the very Christianisation of Kartlis. Praise God that the dynasty has been so blessed to reign so long.”

“Yes, I have heard,” Prince Andrew said. “I’ve always found old stories striking. One moment they seem utterly removed from modern sentiments but others could be taken from today’s newspaper. The more things change, I suppose…”

“They do stay the same. War and peace, death and life.” Count Liakhvi opined gravely. “It is as much as one can do as a politician to protect the latter and prevent the former. The government has breathed a sigh of relief that war was averted in Zamimbia. It is a testament to the strength of international diplomacy in the region.”

“It is the policy of my government to avoid military entanglements and work to avoid conflict wherever possible.” Prince Teimuraz said with a nod. “I am sure that my Prime Minister, and my dear nephew, will continue to work to do so.”

“...hand in hand with our relations in the Caldan Union.” Count Liakhvi added. “I should very much like the opportunity to discuss political affairs, off the record, while we are all here and there is nothing pressing. Perhaps, Uncle, I could impose upon you to smooth the way?” he said with a smile at his Caldan relative.

“Oh, I certainly think I could arrange that,” Huntington said with a knowing grin. “It’s always best to get a private word with the right person.”

[Uncle Noel]

“Are you alright?” James asked as he turned to Sunie. He caught her arm and helped to steady her. He allowed his hand to slide down her arm into her hand.

“Don’t worry; everything will be fine. These things always seem deathly dull until you figure out who to watch to entertain yourself. I guarantee you that someone will drink too much and talk too loud and things ‘people don’t discuss’ in public. That’s usually good for a laugh or two.” He smiled and leaned closer. “Then, we can always watch the single royals and nobles circling each other, trying to find a suitable match. Sort of speed-dating for royalty.” He gave Sunie’s hand a light squeeze. “Thank you for saving me from that!”

She squeezed his hand back and, in so doing, her racing heartbeat began to return to normal. "Everything is bearable with you," she said, perhaps with an intensity that she had not originally foreseen.

Agizul shook James’ hand and laughed. “Alright, alright. Truce. Just, please, never call me Aggie again.”

Agizul turned held his hand towards Yulia. “My fiancée, Princess Yulia.”

Yulia rolled her eyes with pronounced exaggeration. "Men and their jokes" she declared with a smile on her face. A royal hand was offered.

James bowed slightly. “Your Highness,” he said, taking her hand (if offered) and kissing the air above it, “a pleasure.” He turned to Sunie. “My girlfriend,” he gave the same big, goofy, involuntary smile that he gave every time he referred to Sunie as his girlfriend - although he hoped that someday soon she would also be his fiancée, “Ms. Suniefreda Hoogaboom.”

Sunie, who had been clasping her hands together so tightly that her knuckles had begun to turn white, gave an awkward curtsy. "H-hello," she said suddenly overcome with an uncharacteristic bashfulness, "Nice to meet you."

The Princess regarded her for a moment before saying anything. She had known, of course, that the Fiefdom girl was coming. She had been tempted to veto it, on the grounds of propriety, but various officials had reminded her that it did not serve anyone's interest to antagonize the Excalbians and their rather large navy.

She looked at James. He looked smart enough she supposed, but it spoke to Yulia of the rot in the Imperial Family that a prince of blood could be left to mess around with computers whilst courting a bolshevik. And yet, regarding this woman who was so obviously terrified pierced the hard princess' hard Ernestine carapace, and now that she looked at Suniefreda Hoogaboom her carefully rehearsed put-me-downs seemed to evaporate like dew in the desert. Instead of raising her hand, and taunting the Jacobin into kissing it, she instead took the older woman's hand in her own. "I," she emphasized that, "Am delighted to meet you. And myself and Prince Agizul are so pleased that you," he motioned to the James and Sunie, "Should make this your first occasion as an...." She paused as she tried to think of the English word. "What do I mean Agizul," she asked rhetorically, "Oh yes, as an item."

She released Sunie and turned to James. "Though you, your highness, have some explaining to do." She placed her hands on her hips and frowned at the Excalbian. "If my uncle the King puts on a garden party then I want a good explanation as to why you couldn't come!" She laughed at her joke. "Though your Benjamin seemed very nice, I must say, from those small conversations I had with him. Perhaps he should have been invited to the wedding instead of you," she teased.

[Excalbia]

She squeezed his hand back and, in so doing, her racing heartbeat began to return to normal. "Everything is bearable with you," she said, perhaps with an intensity that she had not originally foreseen.

James smiled. “I feel the same way,” he said softly.

Yulia rolled her eyes with pronounced exaggeration. "Men and their jokes" she declared with a smile on her face. A royal hand was offered.

James bowed slightly. “Your Highness,” he said, taking her hand (if offered) and kissing the air above it, “a pleasure.” He turned to Sunie. “My girlfriend,” he gave the same big, goofy, involuntary smile that he gave every time he referred to Sunie as his girlfriend - although he hoped that someday soon she would also be his fiancée, “Ms. Suniefreda Hoogaboom.”

Sunie, who had been clasping her hands together so tightly that her knuckles had begun to turn white, gave an awkward curtsy. "H-hello," she said suddenly overcome with an uncharacteristic bashfulness, "Nice to meet you."

The Princess regarded her for a moment before saying anything. She had known, of course, that the Fiefdom girl was coming. She had been tempted to veto it, on the grounds of propriety, but various officials had reminded her that it did not serve anyone's interest to antagonize the Excalbians and their rather large navy.

She looked at James. He looked smart enough she supposed, but it spoke to Yulia of the rot in the Imperial Family that a prince of blood could be left to mess around with computers whilst courting a bolshevik. And yet, regarding this woman who was so obviously terrified pierced the hard princess' hard Ernestine carapace, and now that she looked at Suniefreda Hoogaboom her carefully rehearsed put-me-downs seemed to evaporate like dew in the desert. Instead of raising her hand, and taunting the Jacobin into kissing it, she instead took the older woman's hand in her own. "I," she emphasized that, "Am delighted to meet you. And myself and Prince Agizul are so pleased that you," he motioned to the James and Sunie, "Should make this your first occasion as an...." She paused as she tried to think of the English word. "What do I mean Agizul," she asked rhetorically, "Oh yes, as an item."

James blushed slightly when Yulia said he and Sunnie were an item.

She released Sunie and turned to James. "Though you, your highness, have some explaining to do." She placed her hands on her hips and frowned at the Excalbian. "If my uncle the King puts on a garden party then I want a good explanation as to why you couldn't come!" She laughed at her joke. "Though your Benjamin seemed very nice, I must say, from those small conversations I had with him. Perhaps he should have been invited to the wedding instead of you," she teased.

“For witty conversation, Benjamin was clearly the better choice,” James said giving a half-smile and little shrug. Thinking that the real explanation - he was starting a new job - would be too mundane and unbelievable to an Ernestine royal, he spread his hands and went with an incomplete truth. “I apologize for my absence at the party; Benjamin said it was lovely. The truth is that Father is realizing that some of younger members of the family need… more experience, shall we say, representing the Sword at official events. So, he decided to break Benjamin in among friends, before making him face the Knootians or the Sabaris or the Snefaldians.” He winked. “Benjamin was quite grateful for that.”

[Breucia]

Somewhere far away

Zhang Guolao stirred the tea in his iron pot as he looked down from the sacred mountain. He looked, not with eyes of mortal men, but with the perspective of one who had become unbounded from the prayers of the righteous and the bonds of crude matter.
He sipped the tea. It was not quite ready and so he stirred it some more. One of the benefits, and curses since both dwelt in true harmony, of being an Immortal is that Zhang looked not at what was and had been but on all that ever was. In his small house lay yellowing maps of countries that no longer existed and had never existed, as far as the world of men below knew. Beyond a small door was a vast archive in which mouldering books told the histories of countries that never existed, or histories rendered obsolete by present necessity. All these things had been forgotten by the mortals down below; only Zhang alone remembered and recorded.

Who knew of Otiacicoh? No one in Anahuac save, perhaps, those troubled by strange dreams of pasts that never were. Where was Trevor Macmillan, nephew that nation’s dictator and would-be successor. In the shifting sands of reality his story was no longer needed and so it faded like the summer grass. He had not been killed; he had never been born.

Zhang could go on. Who remembered the Fae of the Resurgent Dream, those creatures from the other place who ruled their human subjects with a rod of glass. No one alive could remember this, but Zhang could. Who could trace upon a map where Maghreb Afroni was, or New Chalcedon? None but Zhang and those like him.

He sipped his tea again and nodded. Just right.

He could feel another change coming. Before his gaze borders began to shift, histories grow and flower like the blossom, fates become intertwined. Who would remember the old Ernestria? None but Zhang

SMY Weixelbach III, a few days before

The figure awoke, his bedclothes sticking to him in a cold and anxious sweat. The room about him seem to shift and move and, for a brief moment, he thought the urge to retch. A figure stirred in the bed next to him. Through a mind still fugged with sleep a word appeared in his head. ‘Wife’. Another followed shortly afterwards. ‘Marie.’

“Marie Marie,” he shook the figure, “Wake up. I’ve had the strangest of dreams.” She awoke, looked at him through half-closed eyes, then at the clock which ticked upon the bedside table. “What time is it?” she muttered.

“Never mind the time,” he said, “I had the strangest dream in my life.”

She looked at him again, the sleep beginning to pass from her face to be replaced by a look of annoyance. “Have you been at the cheese again?”

“I had a dream that I was a king,” said the figure. His wife sat up. “But Ernest you are a king, several times a king as it happens.”

“No no,” said the Emperor, “I dreamt that I was only a king. And there was this place called Ernestria…”

“Ernestria?”

“...Yes, and it was like home only different.” The Emperor was silent for a moment. “Jan August!” he exclaimed suddenly. The Empress blinked.

“What about him?”

“He seemed to feature in it. Is he real?”

“Real, of course he’s real. Or he was, at least, he’s been dead two hundred years.”

“And were we founded by him?”

“What?”

“Was the country a offshoot of his?”

She looked at him sternly. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just answer the question.”

She shook her head. “No, don’t be ridiculous. Your great-something-grandfather, the Emperor Heinrich, fought him. Not very successfully but long enough to win in the end.”

The Emperor nodded. “It all seemed so real.”

Marie patted him on the arm. “You shouldn’t read the internet before you go to bed. It affects your mind.”

Ernest looked about the room again. “Where are we?”

“The Imperial Yacht, we’re going to Cyretopolitania.”

“Why? What for?”

“Yulia’s wedding, she’s marrying Arrigul, Agazool, I’m not sure how you pronounce it, I’m sure Tanchev will tell us, but he seems a very nice young man.”

“Oh yes,” said the Emperor with a sigh of relief, “I remember now. Maybe you’re right, post-dinner cheese always seems a commendable idea but it does play havoc with my digestion.”

The present

The Emperor suddenly flinched as though being roused from a daydream. “Apologies mother,” he said to the Dowager Empress Annella, “I feel dizzy all of a sudden. And I have a strange feeling of deja-vu. I think, er, I think I need some fresh air.”

He made his way across the room, looking anxiously around for an exit, so much so that he careened into Prince James’ back.

“Look where you’re,” he began angrily before seeing who it was, “James! I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. How's your father?”

Her Imperial and Royal Highness, the Prince Yulia, looked upon the Emperor. “Are you okay Uncle Gussie, you look a bit pale.”

Ernest waved a dismissive hand. “Oh I’m fine, I’m just trying to find the exit for some fresh air, I think that carriage ride under that desert sun has given me a funny turn.”

At this point he noticed the woman with the dirty blond hair. “Oh hello,” he said pleasantly, “We’ve not met, Ernst, or Ernest as you insist on calling it in English. The long title takes several minutes but the short one is, Emperor of Breucia, King of Karinthia etc etc etc.” He extended a hand.

Suniefreda took it anxiously. “Suniefreda,” she said with a slight stammer, “S-Suniefreda Hoogaboom.”

“Oh, the commie girl?”

Suniefreda blushed. “Yes,” she said in a quiet voice, “That’s me.”

The Emperor smiled. “Well these things can’t be helped. Being born in a stable doesn’t make you a horse, somebody said.” He smiled again. “Oh hello Aggie, I didn’t see you there. Nervous are you? Well there’s nothing to worry about, at least this isn’t one of those cultures where people have to get completely naked as part of the ceremony.”

“Uncle Gussie!”

[Brasland]

Peter followed Ilizibith’s movements with a mix of shock and curiosity. What was she up to? First, and looking pretty upset, she spoke to a girl of her same age, then the two went to talk to a couple of old ladies. Wait! The old woman to the right, she looked familiar. Oh no, it was Aunt Alexandra. God knows how she would react. The Cyretian princess was surely telling them what a horrible patriarchal pig he was. “Say goodbye to your desert expedition, Peter”, he thought. He paced quietly through the room, trying not to draw attention to himself. He asked for a glass of vodka, he needed something strong to confront the scandal that would surely ensue. Then he noticed that Ilizibith and his friend were curtseying to Aunt Alexandra and the other lady and were now walking in his direction. He drank all the vodka and gave the glass to a passing waiter. When the princess and her friend were finally in front of him, he tried to explain.

“Look, Ilizibith”, he said, looking miserable. “I didn’t intend to offend you. I thought you would think of me as decisive and romantic, that you would see I was sure of my feelings.”

[Cyretopolitania]

Ilizibith tried to hide her smile as Peter began babbling his apology. She traded knowing glances with her cousin Hannah, then cast a cold eye at Peter.

“You certainly convinced me of your… decisiveness, Lieutenant,” she said coolly with just a tinge of something else that might have been sympathy, “if not your manners.” Her expression softened even as she tried to keep a hard edge to her voice. “I have decided to forgive your presumption and…,” the young princess paused and stole a glance at her cousin, “accept your invitation. On my terms.”

Ilizibith crossed her arms, hiding her own nervousness. “Rather than go with you alone,” she began, “we shall go as a foursome.” She nodded to her cousin. “My cousin, Hannah, and her brother, Michael, will come with us as… chaperones and guides. Michael, Viscount Gafsa, is familiar with the deserts. Having him along may well save your life, Lieutenant.” She gave a slight smile. “As Hannah will… preserve… our reputations.”

The princess leveled her gaze at Peter. “Do you accept my terms, my dear Lieutenant?”

[Brasland]

Peter noticed that behind the hard façade, Ilizibith was a little nervous. That amused him, as it revealed her vulnerability. As she set her terms, the prince listened attentively and a smile appeared on his face.

“I do”, he said, winking at her.

[Cyretopolitania]

Ilizibith smiled, then quickly forced it from her face. “Good,” she said with a nod. “After the wedding, we shall head out into the desert. I’ll send Michael to discuss with you all the boring details of route, provisions, and such.”

She turned and started to walk away, then turned back. “Later there will be music and dancing. I would find an invitation to dance… acceptable, Lieutenant.”