At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 12

A colorful flock of young noblewomen were gathered in little clumps in her sitting room, some engaged in gossipy whispering and others fussing over a terribly elaborate dress (propped up like an absurd centerpiece for the room). They all quieted at her entrance, turning to curtsy demurely in her direction, with light echoes of "Your Majesty" following suit. Six pairs of eyes fastened on her curiously.

The silence lasted only a beat, before the one standing closest piped up. "It is an honor to meet you at last, Your Majesty," she offered sweetly. "I hope we'll serve you well." She was thin, verging on gaunt, and her smile almost looked too broad for her face. It was evident also that she had taken more than enough time to ready herself for the occasion; her hair was brushed to unnatural straightness, the colors of her gloves and shoes perfectly complementary. She dipped again, in introduction. "Lady Fiona, of Tovecliff."

One of the formerly giggling ladies took her turn in curtsying as well. "Truly an honor!" she agreed, brightly. "We were all just dying of curiosity and didn't know what to do with ourselves. Oh - I'm Lady Beatrice." Her curly blonde hair bobbed as she straightened. "Of Lyris."

The rest took their turn, one by one. Lady Isabelle ("Belle" for short, she insisted) and Lady Elizabeth ("Beth") were of the same stock and coloring as Lady Beatrice - and given how they'd clumped, seemed almost indistinguishable from each other. Lady Maerian and Lady Eleanor made up the quieter crew that were stationed vaguely like sentries about her dress. All of them hailed, unsurprisingly, from notable noble houses in Obsivia - Grasmere was excessively wealthy from its silver mines, Elry jealously guarded its monopoly over the southern trading routes, and Lyris was infamous for the fearless bloodthirst of its soldiers (and the severe regimen that warped them).

"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting," said Alais. Her eyes wandered warmly over each of the six ladies in turn: Fiona, Belle-Beth-Beatrice, Maerian, and Eleanor. Who were these women? Why these six? Had they been handpicked? For what reasons? Were they loyal to the King? Well of course they were. Idly, she wondered just how much authority she held over these handmaidens. Her handmaidens. Would they obey her commands, and to what end? They obviously couldn't be trusted as her dear friends left behind (and how were Bimba, Phil, and the others doing, so far and away and without their princess?). For now, they seemed only echoes of what they could be, but as a Queen who was finally (supposedly) at peace with being Queen, they were all now her new dear friends.

"You must be so excited," Beatrice prattled on cheerily. "To think! Of all the grand things that will happen today - and this beautiful dress - and the King - "

She and her trio giggled on cue, and Belle even uttered a sigh that sounded jealous. It took Alais aback for a moment, that her position should have been coveted (and the King admired) - but she reminded herself that she shouldn't be surprised. He was objectively very handsome and charming (when he wanted to be). And she supposed that his Obsivian subjects were used to demonstrations of violence and bloodshed.

"Yes, I'm sure it must be all very - much," interceded Fiona smoothly, throwing a look of sympathy in their new Queen's direction. "And that's what we're here for, to help you ease into everything."

Eleanor was a beat less immaculately composed than Fiona, and when a smile touched her lips, it lasted for but moments. To her credit, it was not a disingenuous smile, but there was something a bit more urgent in her disposition. She clapped her hands softly together, emerging from behind the giggling blonde trio - sparing them a bit of an exasperated glance as she did. "Indeed, there's much to be done," she said, her tone more businesslike. "If Your Majesty would, we shall have opportunity aplenty to discuss - after the grand event."

"You're right," Alais answered, after a pause.

Her gaze had lingered incredulously over the overly complicated gown for a moment: an incredibly long cascade of lace, satin, and silk. The outer fabric of the bodice was sheer lace, overlaying the patterns underneath - silhouettes of flowers, stitched seamlessly into ivory white silk. Though the tailoring was impeccable, she noted how the bodice tapered at the waist (of course) and flirted with the neckline (of course). Below this, the skirts of the gown rippled with layer upon layer of floor-sweeping cloth, aglitter with tiny pearls, crystals, and diamond dust. White was its primary color, with a lavish cloak of blue and black - the house colors of her cherished husband and king - framing it from behind.

There was no questioning the elegance of the design, and yet it comfortably toed the line of extravagance. That was to say that it suited her husband.

She allowed Eleanor to guide her closer into the heart of the chamber, where final measurements could be verified and pieces of the dress fitted together.

"How long were you all here?" asked Alais.

Fiona opened her mouth, but it was Beth who - ostensibly without noticing, judging by the blithe look on her face - preempted her, unleashing more chatter. "Oh! Not too long at all, Your Majesty, not too long at all. Don't worry about us! We were just summoned maybe an hour or two ago...oh, that does seem long, doesn't it! But we were happily preoccupied, what with your dress and your rooms and all the other preparations, so really it was as if we weren't waiting at all."

"Yes," said Fiona finally, when it seemed she might finish, "and we're very - "

"Though!" inserted Belle cheerfully. "We were also here yesterday night, you know, and we were so very excited to meet you then as well. It's been such a commotion these last few days, you just couldn't imagine! Or perhaps you could. Well, in any case, we were all of us summoned here to meet the new Queen, and all of us supremely proud too, to be selected for such an honor. (Though I heard Lady Margaret was dismissed at the last minute - isn't that a shock! And here she had been serving the highest of noblewomen her last three years - she left in such a state! I think it was some business to do with her brother, some Count Jarrett - though the cook isn't always to be trusted with his gossip, I think he might have the right of it there.) And so, we got here in a hurry, only for the King to tell us to return tomorrow, on account of your dinner with the Princess!"

Fiona stared at her, and for a moment, it looked like a muscle was jumping under her eye. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Yes, that seems to be a full accounting," she said. "And we hope you enjoyed the Princess Adeline's company. Now, with this dress..."

They fumbled around her, a flurry of expert hands and quick precision - this one making measurements, that one producing a brush for her hair. Soon, they were carefully placing the first (of many) layers of the gown over her, fussing over all the tight strings to be laced and silk to be straightened, while Belle-Beth-Beatrice were off to the side picking out her jewelry.

"How did you enjoy your trip to the hunting lodge, Your Majesty - if I may ask?" Fiona asked, solicitously. "I heard it's beautiful up there. At the very least, I hope it was restful."

Hushed giggles sounded from the jewelry cabinets, at the wordrestful, however innocently Fiona had posed it.

"It was - eventful," Alais indulged, the ambient giggling drawing no discernable reaction from her. It was distinctly pleasant, chiming, and playful, as opposed to jeering. "Will the wedding festivities also be like that, do you think? Eventful?"

She'd heard all about it being a grand affair, but not what it entailed exactly. There were all kinds of rumors surrounding Obsivian weddings - including one where five knights supposedly fought to the death for the honor of the bride - and she hoped the real traditions were not as...intense.

"Oh yes," said Beatrice. "We were instructed to tell you all about the ceremony!"

"You'll be going to the temple first," Eleanor provided. She picked out a needle, threading it dexterously and tying a quick knot; apparently the dress called for some last-minute stitching. "We understand you've already had a more private ritual, so it'll be quite similar. Except for the sacrifice, of course."

"Sacrifice?" Alais questioned. It was a little barbaric, but fine. "What sort of animal?"

Her handmaidens shared looks with one another.

"Not an animal," said Maerian.

It took a moment for the realization to sink in. "...oh."

She had heard of Obsivians practicing the rite of human sacrifice, but it had always managed to seem distant and exotic, existing in a reality entirely separate from her own life. But no, it was going to happen at herwedding.

"Are you quite alright, Your Majesty?" said Beatrice, looking concerned.

Alais cleared her throat lightly. "Yes. I'm merely... unfamiliar with your customs." That was probably the polite way to put it. "Does it not seem - excessive, to you?"

They looked blankly at her.

"But it's a royal wedding," Belle pointed out. "It must be properly blessed by the Gods."

"You needn't worry on behalf of the sacrifice, Your Majesty," assuaged Fiona, with a smile. "It's most often a horrible criminal of some sort."

"And they usually die in worse ways, in the arena," giggled Beth.

Well. She didn't even know why she was surprised, after all that she'd heard of Obsivia's infatuation with bloodsports. It only made sense that some of it would spill over to wedding ceremonies as well - especially with someone like him at the helm. She tried to quiet the butterfly feelings in her stomach (which had already been compounded by the fact that there was to be such a large ceremony in the first place). It wasn't as if she hadn't already seen worse at his hands.

"You'll ride out in an open carriage, by the way," said Eleanor, bringing them back to the discussion of the day's events. "So that you may see your new people."

Alais might have been concerned about the safety of such procedures, but the peasants seemed - for some reason - to adore their King. It was probably not hazardous.

"And then you'll return to the palace for the reception, in the grand ballroom!" added Belle.

They continued to explain all the proceedings in depth - which apparently included a gladiator display in her honor (ceremonial rather than to the death, to her relief), an obligatory feast, a gift-giving procession, and finally a ball. Most of the details were explained by Fiona and Eleanor, with the trio chiming in with commentary every now and then. Maerian was the quietest, though it was she who forewarned that the entire sequence would probably last well through the day.

By this time, they had made substantial progress on their preparations, for the first three layers of the gown were already situated and there were only two left to go (there was a brief flurry of panic when some of the lace came off, but a few quick stitches fixed the problem). Similarly, her hair had been brushed and combed and straightened into compliance, and was now being wound about a rather ridiculous (but regally elegant) hairpiece, which apparently required the devotion of three ladies-in-waiting at once. The Beatrice-Belle-Beth trio were finessing rings and bracelets onto her - already enough to make her a serious drowning risk, if only she had another boating accident.

"Your Majesty will be radiant," said Fiona. "No one will be able to keep their eyes off of you when we're through. Especially with these."

These turned out to be a magnificent, excessively opulent set of diamonds and pearls, all strung together into a glittering spiderweb of a choker. As Belle carefully swept the Queen's hair back, so as to bare her neck, Beatrice and Beth came forward with the contraption, slowly clasping it about her throat and arranging the jewels beneath.

She felt the coldness of the jewelry settle over her skin and suppressed a shiver. Those diamonds were resplendent with glittering beauty, from an objective point of view, but as a practical accessory they were not anything she would have willfully elected to wear upon her neck. Locked around her neck, the necklace felt like a ceremonial collar - a constant reminder of who she supposedly belonged to now.

"They were a gift to the late Queen Cordelia, from King Aeneas, when he was still pursuing her hand," explained Beatrice, talkative as ever. She giggled. "She made it quite difficult for him! The pursuit, that was. But no one can blame him for falling for her - for she was ever the beauty, and there was no one with more grace and refinement. So many suitors, too! Can you imagine - well - perhaps you can, Your Majesty, of course - but the rest of us..."

"Wasn't their wedding also in the late summer?" recollected Belle. "Oh, you'll be equally blessed, Your Majesty! What with the ceremony being so close in time to the Festival of Petals."

"Festival of Petals?" Alais queried. She stood, otherwise the image of serene complaisance even as they heaped the layers upon layers of weight upon her in fabric and jewels.

"Oh yes!" said Beth. "It is a very good omen."

Alais might have inquired further, but was cut short as Beth emitted a sudden gasp of terror. "Look out!"

More excitation and panic followed, including one or two shrieks of surprise, and Lady Belle even took to skirting behind the divan.

The object of their attention was no less than Prince Thunder, he who had apparently forsaken his comfortable resting place by the hearth and had decided to pay them his respects on the morning of this auspicious day. His jaws opened, in an enormous yawn, at the same time conveniently displaying two rows of sharp, lethal-looking teeth, which made her ladies-in-waiting tremble more. Then the tiger prowled closer.

Alais, however, relaxed upon seeing the source of their surprise. She had to stifle the smile that came, before it could blossom into a laugh. "Thunder." She met him after endeavoring a few steps forward, evidently comfortable enough to run her hands over the expanse of luxuriously striped, white fur carpeting his back. "Have you come to see me off?"

This was not taken calmly by her ladies-in-waiting. "Your Majesty - he's dangerous - "

The protest died in Fiona's throat as Thunder ambled forward, sweet as could be, and thrust his snout into the Alais's outstretched fingers. Contented, rumbling purrs emitted from him as he was stroked and scratched, his eyes closing lazily and his ears twisting back. After greedily soaking up a good dose of this attention, he nuzzled her hand, in what seemed to be an affirmative answer to her question.

"He's - very dangerous," repeated Fiona, rather weakly, as the tiger prowled away peacefully and laid down on a fine rug, apparently satisfied.

"How did you do that?" asked Belle, peeking from behind her hands, which had flown to cover her face (as if she had been afraid of what she might see otherwise).

It took a while for them to be cajoled out of their anxious state, but the drowsy half-asleep quality of the tiger - and its complete lack of aggression - eventually calmed their nerves enough for them to slowly return their attentions to the Queen's preparations, though continually suspicious glances found their way back to the gigantic predator in the room.

A good three hours later from their starting point, Fiona finished clipping a final dangling earring and declared they were finished, while Eleanor flourished the mirror in her direction.

Alais peered at her reflection, hardly recognizing herself. The gown was beautiful, for all its extravagances, and flattered her figure perfectly (down to the hint of decolletage); they must have gotten her measurements from her seamstress back in Vvaria. Her hair had been weaved into an elegant hairpiece, pulled back to accentuate the curve of her cheekbones and slenderness of her neck. And, of course, she was clasped in gleaming, glittering jewels - everywhere from silver earrings to pearl choker to gemstone rings.

They all gushed, with varying enthusiasm, over how lovely she looked, and moved to straighten her dress as they ushered her out.

"I suppose we await His Majesty, now," said Fiona.

*

His Majesty wasn't long. They must have sent word to the King once she was ready, for it was only a few minutes after the final touches that the door opened to him.

Alais couldn't so much as sidestep without catching some layer of lace, sheer, silk, or other beneath her heel and toppling over. This "official" dress by far outshone the one so expeditiously put together on during their first, more subdued wedding night, and even that skirted the bounds of over-extravagance and impediment.

Therefore, when he entered, it was all she could manage to turn a quarter to face him, so as to avoid rumpling the glittering fabric stretching far past her feet like some ridiculously impractical halo.

She dipped into a half-curtsey, hearing the rustles of her handmaidens doing the same behind her.

The King inclined his head in turn. He looked (annoyingly) handsome - more so than usual, to no one's surprise. Having undergone preparations of his own (which she suspected were far less grueling than hers), he was already appropriately clothed in a regal doublet and dark surcoat. The crown he wore only added to his height; the cloak over his shoulders only emphasized his imposing stature. She thought she could hear Belle-Beth-Beatrice suppressing plaintive sighs in unison.

A smirk settled over his lips, as if he knew full well the effect that he had. And yet, it took him a moment to speak - she realized, belatedly, that it was because he was also staring at her.

"You look beautiful," said the King.

A small part of her was oddly pleased to have such an effect on him. The other part despised the idea of having been adorned and garnished for him to enjoy (and doubtless show off) - like some kind of pretty ornament. The choker at her neck somehow felt more constricting than before, now that she was before him - cloaked in his colors, clasped in his jewelry. She hated him, in that moment.

But she could not allow herself to hate. Not if she was to survive, flourish. She buried away that flare of real emotion, deep in the dark recesses of her mind to summon later. And for now, she remembered how important it was to adore him.

"I'd hope so, after all that hard work from my handmaidens," said Alais, with the sweetest smile she could muster. She fell back on the diplomatic answer, which always came easily to her. How else was she to react, when he was eyeing her like that?

Her handmaidens beamed accordingly, straightening as the King's gaze fell briefly over them.

He smiled in turn. "As talented as an artist might be, the subject of his portrait must be equally lovely." He extended a hand to her. "Are you ready?"

"I can't imagine being more ready," she replied. She was already clasped in golden finery from head to toe that surely any more would be superfluous, even for him. Still, she kept her tone light rather than grumbling. Her bejeweled fingers reached for his hand.

As they made their way down the corridor, his soldiers and her ladies-in-waiting in their retinue, he summoned up a conversational air. "Despite the short notice, most of my subjects have traveled to pay their respects to you." To him, more like. But it didn't matter either way. She was ready to see what she had to work with. The King continued, "I invited your grandfather and brother as well, of course, but sadly, they were unable to attend."