Alistair was fuming, his eyes taking on a hardness and determination that sent people scattering in his way as he strode by, jumping to the sides on instinct alone even as they wondered why the foreigner - and a simple soldier at that - left them feeling so small and insignificant. The girl had nerve, he would give her that, but it did not mean he was about to bare his soul and history for her to dissect and find him wanting. If Saskia Castravet wanted to play the hero through her sacrificial marriage to him, she was indeed going to find another way. He was not about to bring this sacrificial lamb into the capital unless he expected his opponents to die of laughter while he spent valuable resources protecting her as her empress. And while she had diplomatic skill, the court of Argent was much different to the wasp's nest Alistair inherited.
The empress position was as much a death sentence as it was a priviledge - the only question was who would be the victim. If Alistair bound himself to a weak woman or one who could be moved to act through different leverages, one who could be turned against him, he was doomed. There would be no way to escape such a union or to protect the interest of the empire when she could not fight back on her own. Regardless of the inner turmoil, Alister would be needed on the battlefront come Spring which meant leaving the governance and politics to his wife. That he would be married before the snow melted was certain even if he hated the very notion. If his wife was too willful and unable to yield when it was absolutely necessary without breaking, if she did not trust him, he would be a widower faster than one could say ‘long live the empress’. And if the princess of Lys was not perfect for this role, he was simply wasting time.in
“We're leaving,” Alistair growled, slamming the door to Riddle's apartments with enough force that the diplomat, peacefully relaxing before the fire with a glass of brandy, jumped a good meter up, the amber liquid spilling in thick drops on the wooden floor. In the neighboring chair, Sir Keith turned to look at the younger man with a raised eyebrow, a glass of his own apperative in hand.
“Sir Alexander!” Riddle exclaimed with a hasty bow before pulling out his handkerchief to wipe away some drops off his tunic. “May I enquire as to the haste with which we abandon our diplomatic mission that you, I dare say, defined as one of the upmost importance?’
“Does it matter?” Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. “The arrangement won't benefit the Empire as you had pointed out yourself.”
“Is it safe to assume that you have met the Princess Royal milord?” Keith smoothed out his mustache, his voice a soft contrast to both his companions. Alaric's glare only made his smile grow.
“Assumptions get men killed,” Alistair shot back. “Do you forget who you are talking to?”
“Your own hasty actions will get us killed,” Riddle seemed to be talking primarily to the knight commander in the chair than the fuming man standing up. “We arrive here with the desire to negotiate the treaty and retain the peace only to leave in the middle of the night like thieves. It will put the Empire's strength, resolve and goodwill at risk. There would be declarations of war before we reached the border, a war that our emperor explicitly said he cannot afford. In the case that Sir Alexander met with the Princess Royal and has finally come to the agreement that a marriage would not benefit the Empire, we cannot just leave. We need to provide adequate reasoning and ensure peace without the arrangement.”
“He's right,” Keith took a sip of the brandy. “Even if you do not care for the song-and-dance of the politics, think of the men and horses. We pushed them hard today, they need the rest and comfort to be in any condition to leave.”
“So you suggest we stay here?” Alistair's temper was starting to be reined in, his mind listening to what the older men had to say.
“I suggest we attend the banquet and allow Riddle to do his job,” the Knight Commander nodded in the diplomat's direction, “Let the men rest. A small group can leave tomorrow.”
“That would be best,” Riddle agreed before downing his drink.”Come Sir Alexander, let's get this night over with.”
They were right which irked Alistair more than he let on and did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. The finer games of politics and foreign affairs were new to him, often unattainable, He had pushed the delegation, threatened and instilled fear because he knew it was risky to leave Asterios for long - rumors and coups were the least of his worries. Appearing weak and galavanting around the country would only weaken his position further. He was needed by his people and his loyal men who were struggling on his behalf thus a part of him was relieved that he met the Princess Royal alone early for it meant that he was able to pass his judgment. He had not accounted for the time Riddle would need to make the deligation and negotiations appear urgent, logical and reaffirm Asterios’ position in the mind of the young prince. Leaving within a day would mean a declaration of war which would encourage coalitions and collaborations among his enemies. His resources were already spread way too thin, his demand pushing men to their limits. He could not ask them for more.
The men led the way through the halls, following a young page while Alistair strode behind them, his mind trying to rationalize his own response. The princess of Lys was an interesting woman, that was certain, but he couldn't afford to bet his life on simply being interesting. Many said he ruled by fear and perhaps they were correct. Alistair couldn't afford otherwise, not now when all he could see around him were people wanting power and trying to undermine him at every turn. Every lord in the Empire that had been part of his brother's, or worse his father's, court thought he could bully, push or manipulate him, not about anything important but gauging just how much they could scare, blackmail or undermine him. It was exhausting work to watch his every word and action, something he had never done. In the Flight, all that mattered were your actions - whether you could make the call and stand shoulder to shoulder with your men regardless if he was a noble or a commoner. There was no time for intrigue, no time for grudges.
As the trio walked into the huge banquet hall, the young man was drawn out of his dark thoughts by the stark difference of Lys’ warmth to the cold splendor of Asterious. The huge hall stood nearly 80 feet tall with stained glass windows depicting scenes of Lys’ history. A fireplace warmed the stone structure, standing behind the main dias where the Prince Regent and his ministers sat. Involuntarily, Alistair found himself trying to find the Princess Royal among the group though the seat for the young woman at her brother's side remained vaccant even as he saw the Prince Guard stride over and whisper something to the young man, both Lys royals turning their heavy gazes in his direction. Exposing his canines in a predatory grin, Alistair turned to observe the rest of the interior. Whatever they were talking about was irrelevant - he could barely be faulted for having a conversation with a woman who could have been his wife. Excluding the kiss of propriety, he hadn’'t even touched her.
Huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the light illuminating long tables on either side of the room seating mostly Lys nobilty and, close to the dias, the Asterian deligation minus the three diplomats - chair for those were reserved at the grand table to the Prince Regent's side. In the corner, a group of musicians was tunning their instruments, the sounds of violins and trumpets echoing across the hall though presently, they were drowned out by the constant chatter among the people presently seated. Servants of all races muddled around, carrying decanters of wine and bowls of water to clean your fingers.
“Lord Riddle, please,” the prince stood with a goblet in hand, his face a mask of pleasantry. “Come my lord, I would like to toast to the new emperor of Asterios.”
“Your royal highness,” the diplomat bowed, followed by Sir Keith and with a slight hesitation Alistair himself. “You bring tears of gratitude to my eyes. I beg you hold that toast so that I may add to the King of Lys and his speedy recovery.”
“Come,” Keith placed a heavy hand on Alistair's shoulder, steering him towards the space the Asterians had left them at the table, ignoring the emperor's shrug and instead squeezing harder. “Riddle is right - stop drawing attention to yourself. Especially now that the prince regent and his brother have noticed your presence. No reason to give them any extra information on your identity.”
“Hand off my shoulder if you want to keep it,” Alistair responded half-heartedly, sliding into the spot beside Westley. Keith only smirked before moving off to sit further up the table close to the diplomats on the dias as his role dictated.
“The wine is particularly good this evening,” Westley offered innocently, smiling flirtatiously at one of the woman with a decanater who blushed and made her way over to fill their goblets. Alistair glared at him. “You do know I am a bit of sommelier - I know my wines, Alexander.”
“Shut up,” the wine was good indeed - think and rich with a beautiful aftertaste of mead and red berries, it was potent enough to envelop Alistair's annoyance into something he could handle. Every sip allowed him to push back the unexpectedly passionate conversation with Saskia to the back of his mind, separating the girl from the potential political figure. He had finally managed to find his thoughts lightening just as the majordome arrived, clearing his throat.
“Her Royal Highness Princess Saskia, the Princess Royal!”
The hall seemed to go quiet as all eyes turned to the young woman, chairs and benches pushed back as every man scrambled up from his seat before bowing to the princess as she floated by, Alistair gritting his teeth as he folded himself into the proper form even as his back protested the difference. Beside him, he heard Westley give a low whistle.
“I thought she was pretty before but Al, she's gorgeous,” his friend's voice held genuine admiration free of his usual carefree boyish charm. Alistair grunted, forced to admit that the man was right. The princess royal was beautiful with the charm, grace and propriety to match. She had commanded the room with her presence alone and changed the atmosphere the second her name echoed across the hall, stealing the away the breath of every bachelor as she made her way to the dias. “Sebastian was a lucky man.”
“Westley, I swear,” Alistraid growled, sitting down with the rest before reaching for his goblet and downing the rest of the wine as though it was Asterian fire whiskey. Signaling for more, he closed his eyes. “She won't do.”
“If you are not going to have her Alexander, can I?” Westley's laughing expression only became more amused with Alistair's glare. “God above, you may be right, If you bring her to the capital, I would be worried for the legitimacy of your children.”
“I would be worried about surviving long enough to have children,” Alistair muttered, turning to the servants carrying in the food. “Pass the pork, will you?”
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