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palacechristian.
The Throne Room of Palace-Proper was truly magnificent, Callan thought as he looked around to hide his nervousness. He locked his hands behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting and studied the patterning of the marble tiled floors, the ornate columns and painted ceiling.
This ‘ceremony’ was to be private, with only the participants, witnesses and necessary functionaries present. After it was done they would stroll out into the foyer for a short while where the media waited to record the event and then, Marton had said, they could retire to the private living quarters and relax. Callan didn’t feel like he’d ever be relaxed again.
He turned as he heard the doors behind him open and needed no nudging from Edward to do so as Catherine of Dnara glided across the floor toward him. Callan stepped forward and bowed, a full, formal obeisance which, last time he had performed it, had earned him a small scowl from Edward. However, Callan had since had harsh words with his steward over the behavior and this time the thin face remained smooth and impassive.
“My lady.” he said, smiling as he righted himself. “Lovely to see you again.”
“And you, Callan.” Catherine leaned in to kiss his cheek, her scent wafting over him like a balm, a curative for his strained nerves.
They made small talk for a time, Callan delighting in the Queen’s soft laughter and gentle smiles until the doors opened once more and this time admitted Marton, with Christian right behind him. Callan sucked in a breath. He’d not expected to see the Crown Prince here today and the sight threw him for a moment. Perfectly groomed in a dark suit and white shirt, his hair slicked back from his forehead, Christian was just gorgeous and the fire in Callan’s belly flickered to life. Catherine, of course, noticed the direction of his gaze, the exhalation, and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
Callan scrambled for an explanation. “I’m Eradorian.” he said in a whisper as they drew closer.
“Ahh.” Catherine leaned in and spoke directly into his ear. “It’s not ingrained.” she said. “Time will fix it.”
Beautiful and insightful, Catherine understood the meaning behind the short phrase instantly. Callan could only hope that one day he could be as perceptive.
After that, the ceremony itself was brief and passed in a blur for Callan. He watched Marton and Catherine greet one another, envying their complete intimacy and the joy they found in one another’s presence. Then he signed the document, taking his turn after Catherine’s, with Marton signing last. The witnesses turn then, his own steward, Edward, a Councilor Masson from Dnara and lastly the Viscount of Talevara, Craig.
Then they went out into the foyer and posed for the cameras and it was there he discovered the reason behind Christian’s presence at the ceremony with the Prince taking his father’s place in the spotlight. Marton stepped back and the media left him strictly alone as Callan, Catherine and Christian all posed for what seemed like an eternity, shaking hands, smiling, pretending a happiness Callan knew Christian did not feel, being so close by his side.
At last they were done and the media escorted to the lift and gone. Callan turned from speaking to Edward to find that everyone had already retired into the living room. Everyone except Christian who, he assumed, had stayed behind to escort him. The lift doors closed on Edward and he was alone with the Crown Prince.
Callan raised an eyebrow, his face revealing nothing of what he was thinking. There was no need, now, to pander to Christian’s hostility with politeness, to make any attempt to be friendly. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt to let him know that his antagonism had not gone un-noticed.
“There is no need to subject yourself to my company.” Callan said brusquely. “The deal is signed.”
Christian had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. “My father thought we should talk.” he said.
Callan moved away from the lift, out of earshot of the guard station and over to the windows. “No need for that, either. So long as you are polite and kind to my sister, I don’t care what your private thoughts are. She has harmed no-one.” Nor have I, was the implication and Christian apparently heeded it.
“My apologies if I have offended your Majesty.” he said formally, but the words rang with truth. “It’s . . . difficult for me, yes, but I am trying.”
Callan turned and looked at him, fighting to overcome the surge of lust that threatened to ruffle his outwardly calm exterior. “I see that.” He made sure to sound slightly mollified. “And I appreciate it. Blaming an entire nation of people for the actions of one demented old man is unfair. But emotions are unreasonable things.”
Christian nodded his acquiescence. “Thank you for understanding, your Majesty. I promise I will be nothing other than welcoming to your sister and do my best to ensure she enjoys her stay.” Christian gestured and began leading the way toward the door into the private living area. “Will you be escorting her on the trip?”
The question was made out of mere politeness, but Callan had no hesitation about his answer, even if it was not one he’d give voice to. Damned right I will. he thought.
The Throne Room of Palace-Proper was truly magnificent, Callan thought as he looked around to hide his nervousness. He locked his hands behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting and studied the patterning of the marble tiled floors, the ornate columns and painted ceiling.
This ‘ceremony’ was to be private, with only the participants, witnesses and necessary functionaries present. After it was done they would stroll out into the foyer for a short while where the media waited to record the event and then, Marton had said, they could retire to the private living quarters and relax. Callan didn’t feel like he’d ever be relaxed again.
He turned as he heard the doors behind him open and needed no nudging from Edward to do so as Catherine of Dnara glided across the floor toward him. Callan stepped forward and bowed, a full, formal obeisance which, last time he had performed it, had earned him a small scowl from Edward. However, Callan had since had harsh words with his steward over the behavior and this time the thin face remained smooth and impassive.
“My lady.” he said, smiling as he righted himself. “Lovely to see you again.”
“And you, Callan.” Catherine leaned in to kiss his cheek, her scent wafting over him like a balm, a curative for his strained nerves.
They made small talk for a time, Callan delighting in the Queen’s soft laughter and gentle smiles until the doors opened once more and this time admitted Marton, with Christian right behind him. Callan sucked in a breath. He’d not expected to see the Crown Prince here today and the sight threw him for a moment. Perfectly groomed in a dark suit and white shirt, his hair slicked back from his forehead, Christian was just gorgeous and the fire in Callan’s belly flickered to life. Catherine, of course, noticed the direction of his gaze, the exhalation, and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
Callan scrambled for an explanation. “I’m Eradorian.” he said in a whisper as they drew closer.
“Ahh.” Catherine leaned in and spoke directly into his ear. “It’s not ingrained.” she said. “Time will fix it.”
Beautiful and insightful, Catherine understood the meaning behind the short phrase instantly. Callan could only hope that one day he could be as perceptive.
After that, the ceremony itself was brief and passed in a blur for Callan. He watched Marton and Catherine greet one another, envying their complete intimacy and the joy they found in one another’s presence. Then he signed the document, taking his turn after Catherine’s, with Marton signing last. The witnesses turn then, his own steward, Edward, a Councilor Masson from Dnara and lastly the Viscount of Talevara, Craig.
Then they went out into the foyer and posed for the cameras and it was there he discovered the reason behind Christian’s presence at the ceremony with the Prince taking his father’s place in the spotlight. Marton stepped back and the media left him strictly alone as Callan, Catherine and Christian all posed for what seemed like an eternity, shaking hands, smiling, pretending a happiness Callan knew Christian did not feel, being so close by his side.
At last they were done and the media escorted to the lift and gone. Callan turned from speaking to Edward to find that everyone had already retired into the living room. Everyone except Christian who, he assumed, had stayed behind to escort him. The lift doors closed on Edward and he was alone with the Crown Prince.
Callan raised an eyebrow, his face revealing nothing of what he was thinking. There was no need, now, to pander to Christian’s hostility with politeness, to make any attempt to be friendly. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt to let him know that his antagonism had not gone un-noticed.
“There is no need to subject yourself to my company.” Callan said brusquely. “The deal is signed.”
Christian had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. “My father thought we should talk.” he said.
Callan moved away from the lift, out of earshot of the guard station and over to the windows. “No need for that, either. So long as you are polite and kind to my sister, I don’t care what your private thoughts are. She has harmed no-one.” Nor have I, was the implication and Christian apparently heeded it.
“My apologies if I have offended your Majesty.” he said formally, but the words rang with truth. “It’s . . . difficult for me, yes, but I am trying.”
Callan turned and looked at him, fighting to overcome the surge of lust that threatened to ruffle his outwardly calm exterior. “I see that.” He made sure to sound slightly mollified. “And I appreciate it. Blaming an entire nation of people for the actions of one demented old man is unfair. But emotions are unreasonable things.”
Christian nodded his acquiescence. “Thank you for understanding, your Majesty. I promise I will be nothing other than welcoming to your sister and do my best to ensure she enjoys her stay.” Christian gestured and began leading the way toward the door into the private living area. “Will you be escorting her on the trip?”
The question was made out of mere politeness, but Callan had no hesitation about his answer, even if it was not one he’d give voice to. Damned right I will. he thought.
