Nuestra Señora de la Gran Barrera Basilica
San Felipe, Royal Capital District, Costa Cambera
The Duke of Tazmania's worn, serious expression was still. His gaze, like that of every other person within the grand, vaulted Basilica, was fixed on one man, his nephew. They called the young man who held the attention of the assembled El Reyito, the little king. Of course it had been months since his father's untimely departure, when the Duke himself lost a brother and the nation its Sovereign. For all his magnanimity and charm, the late Juan Felipe II was not an ambitious man, and had left the politicking to his younger, wily brother. He was a beloved Prince, and some months had passed since the black dolour of his state funeral. Enough time for hearts to mend it was not, but long enough to appropriately crown the Infante Miguel.
The Duke's muddy brown eyes followed the man now as he slowly and ceremoniously made his way down the aisle and towards the altar. Behind him was his wife, Letizia, and their young son Andres, along with the remaining royal family. As Duke of Tazmania, Josue himself was seated among the other Grandees, just across from the enviable section reserved for foreign dignitaries. He did not recognize with particularity any of the faces, his attention being drawn from the diverse and variously adorned crowd of foreigners by the passing profile of Miguel. He was a small man-hence the nickname-and looked younger than his thirty years. He was dressed relatively plainly, contrasting markedly with the assembled and his coterie of relatives. His face was attractive if serious, and Josue could see how tightly the soon-to-be Prince clenched his jaw as he neared awaiting Bishops atop the altar.
Time to him always seemed to slow in church, and the ritualized coronation before him was no exception. Miguel mounted the altar and bowed to his knee, and the Archbishop began his Latin incantations. A minute. Five? Miguel rose, and with ceremony, the portly cleric before him made the sign of the cross over the smaller man. More Latin. More kneeling. More Latin. Finally, Miguel kneeled, this time with his head raised, and the opulent meeting of Gold and jewels that was the People's Crown was produced from further atop the platform before being brought to the archbishop. He lifted it from its silken bed, where it was scarecely cold from his father's head, and placed it atop his dark head. Miguel stood and was handed two objects- a sword and a eucalyptus branch-which he took into his grasp. The blade pointed downward and the greenery of the limb reached toward heaven. A great cloak, not bejeweled and heavy like traditional coronation gowns, but vibrant, colorful, and light. It fell easily past his feet, and the thin man seemed completely consumed in the carefully sewn motifs of orange and blue. Letizia and the toddler Andres were also crowned, with less pomp, but with the same grinding slowness.
Finally, Miguel faced the thousands of assembled dignitaries. If he had been nervous, his dark brown eyes did not betray it. The priest, at Miguel's side and bearing his great staff, spoke loudly, and in Spanish, much to the relief of the Latin-averse assembled. "Behold," he began, "Behold Miguel, by the Grace of God and Blood of Patriots, Prince and First Citizen of the Camberano people and Protector of the Christian Faith in the South. Que vive el Principe!"
Corresponding cheers filled the great hall of the great church. "Que Viva el Principe." Josue said, with sad but genuine inflection. If his brother had been content, Miguel was anything but. He was young, too young some said, and bold, too bold some said. As Chief of State, the Duke of Tazmania certainly had his work cut out for him with the passionate younger monarch, chief among them containing his purportedly hawkish and authoritarian tendencies. It was not a position he envied, but for decades, the Duke's wits and gravitas had guided the Crown through times good and bad, and he was determined to do the same for his nephew. There was unrest among the Moor-Malays of west Timur. The country was in the midst of a two year drought, and the constant spectre of raging, uncontrollable wildfire had much of the interior gripped in fear. The peseta, to make things all the worse, was wracked by inflation and the deficit careened out of control. With a heavy sigh, he stood along with the other grandees as the newly enthroned royal family made its exit. The attendees filed outward in two lines, by rank, after the new Prince as he stepped into the sunlight. Once the glare had cleared, it was clear that thousands of Sanfelipenos had assembled to lay eyes on their sovereign.
Some hours later, as evening sets in - - -
West Court, Hacienda Real
The Camberano reputation for opulent festivities and exceeding hospitality was well-earned. The spacious, brick paved courtyard had been converted into a sort of reception for diplomats and nobility alike. A platform was erected and shaded in a crimson fabric, and under it was a table where Miguel and the royal family were seated, along with the Queen Mother and Duke of Tazmania. Below them were two, long rows of tables that met to form a rectangular enclosure. Here were seated various Dukes, Bishops, and, most interesting of all to Miguel as he scratched at his goatee pensively, the foreigners.
Presently, the spring air was warm and the Sun shined its last few rays before it would lay down beyond the horizon. No less than a dozen women were placed in the rectangle's center, the clacking, aggression, and melodic guitar revealing it as a Flamenco-like dance, accompanied with a sad but vibrant alto. They were followed by several traditionally clad, traditional performances by various indigenous groups, most stirringly by a band of the Fifth Royal Maori Skirmishers.
Once the spectacles had abated and most of the guests had seen to the generous platters of fish, steaks, and pork, Miguel stood suddenly and advanced to the edge of the platform, where he spoke loudly enough to be heard by the assembled guests. He caught a nervous look from one of the half dozen guardsmen that protected him, to which he responded with a grin and a wave of the hand.
"Friends, brothers, sisters, I am proud to have you here in celebration of our great nation. Today, a crown was placed on my head, but I will say, this is not a day for me, but for all the people of la Costa Cambera. The challenges we face together are great, but by the rights granted to me by God and by the struggles of our proud people, I will not rest until we defeat them. As for our friends from around the globe, near and far, like us and not like us, do accept my humility and gratitude for being here today. Know that this reign will be one of cooperation, where feasible, with the larger international community to address our common challenges. I seek a new era in Camberano-global relations, and look to bring us closer to the world at large. After all, we are all the children of God, and surely have more that unites us as members of the human race than that divide us as Camberans or Britons or Cottish. In that spirit, to all of you, I offer my warmest welcomes and raise this toast in your honor." The Prince raised the mostly empty glass of red wine in toast and took a sumptuous gulp himself before returning to his seat and observing the recommencing festivities.
