"Most definitely," he said. "Mrs. Button." Shuffling a foot then at the door, he wondered, "But surely we can speak of it when this wedding and such has concluded, yes?"
He swore he witnessed the slightest of nods at his question, though it may just have been a shift in her head as she turned away. "Do you pride yourself on being the more irritating brother? Did you not get enough attention with Prince Tristian being the crown prince?"
"Now Lady Constance, do not be a pessimistic lady. I see what you are doing, but you'll find I take pride in being there for my brother. His shadow is no foul place. But, I can see you're becoming rather grumpy and need your prayer."
She held up a finger. "Do not patronise me, Prince Rhenan. I'm not some pretty flower like the rest of your women."
He held up his own finger and placed it at the tip of her nose. "Merely a pretty button."
She took a step backwards.
"Stop."
"You think you can hide your light under all of that black, but I assure you, I can see it. And so do many of your followers from your guild. They adore you. I understand why."
"I am not there to be adored. I am there to guide. My guild is not as simplistic as the rest of them. Comprehension of my duties are beyond you so it is not worth elaborating."
Perhaps they were in a place that was not all fun at the moment. A place he knew well enough. He thought once more of Diadara. The last he had seen of her had not been a fun moment at all. She had spoken not in jest, but with the weight of seriousness, an elaborate craft that purged social conduct of all things light. And when he had been unwilling to reciprocate, he had reverted to that which he knew: playfulness, roughness, and a baser side she had made wholly apparent she detested. As a result, what light she had in the moment had ceased.
He had no interest in replicating the moment. But he also had nothing to draw from that might entertain the female before him now. Today was intended to be that of mild celebration and meeting. He had succeeded in putting a smile on her face once, but no sooner, he had taken it away. He'd been unable to give Diadara what she wanted, but he and Constance were set to be wed. He had until the rest of their lives to give her all she wanted, and hopefully bring the smile back to her face.
"Do you fancy your guild a great deal, then?" he asked her.
"It is my work. Fancy perhaps is not the proper term to use when speaking of it. It's my duty and I take pride in it, as much pride as I can that is not considered sinful, of course. It brings me great joy to partake in my work and see that Redthorn's intellectual circles receive proper guidance."
He gave a nod and told himself he would commit this information to his memory. "What else brings you great joy?" Preferably something he could indulge seeing as he and words were not the best of unions, despite her being patron of the Writer's Guild.
She appeared to take the question as though it required a great deal of contemplation. "My work. I explained, did I not?"
"Yes, but surely there is something outside of your work?"
"I would consider it work," she stated softly as the corners of her mouth began to rise into a little smile. "Yes, but I still enjoy it."
That was a start! "Excellent. You can confide your joys in me fully. What is this other thing?"
Her lips then completed a smile that for once had the ability to send a chill into him. "Perhaps you might discover it soon."
28
~PETRA~
Two days out from the royal wedding...
Petra and her two daughters had enjoyed having their little meetings for many years now. As always, the boys were forbidden entry into whichever vicinity they chose to meet, upon the reason that a woman must converse with her daughters privately every so often. On this occasion, they had agreed to the balcony overlooking the highly anticipated work in progress below. Even by the light of the moon and various torches the servants continued to work to make the area perfect.
At first she had supposed that it looked like some form of arena where some display of bloodshed was to be fought for the amusement of the excited crowd. Instead, she had been informed by her eldest son, it was to be a dance floor, though before that it was to hold the tables where a lighter, less formal meal was to be held following the large feast proceeding the wedding ceremony.
He had not mentioned why he had chosen the blue garden to be the most fitting location. A stunning display of delphiniums coloured in the widest spectrum of blue, from icy pale to almost purple, sprouted so handsome and tall that they almost resembled a crowd watching the men at work. Lupins too joined the crescendo of witnesses along with hydrangeas providing an informal sort of hedging. Cornflower blue clematis had been transported over from the greenhouses to disguise the iron poles which held up the plush silk canopy, of which they were yet to decide on the appropriate shade. Blue or cream, though if the latter was chosen, then Petra would have encouraged an adjustment in shade to white.
Perhaps most peculiarly, her son had insisted that the gardeners find a particular shade of lavender. The plant was common throughout the kingdom and was grown in the herb gardens of the castle grounds to provide appropriate and plentiful scents to the ladies at court. Fashion had dictated that it was rather too popular a smell as lavender was grown in the gardens of farm hands and many poorer women favoured the scent. Roses were the favoured aroma of the women at court, though Petra had to admit that the scent of lavender was pleasant and fresh. A classic when subtle and not-too-offensive.
And that was what Tristian had insisted be moved into the blue garden. The guild of gardeners and florists had been summoned to meet with him in order to see the task through. Within days they had created the most beautiful display.
"What I cannot understand is why he was insistent that such a common plant was chosen?" Jocelyn began as she lounged against the plush arrangement of cushions. The lounger was large and square, intended for the company to share rather than have their own separate chaise.
"He was so determined. I never thought to question it. It is his wedding and he had a reason for it. Perhaps we may get an answer out of him afterwards."
"Blue lavender though, Mama! It's not even ambitious."
Beth shrugged as she settled in the corner. A blanket was pulled up to her waist and her fingers toyed with the tassels of a cushion. "Blue is not as common as purple, I believe."
"But still, lavender!" Jocelyn's voice rose and she shook her head. "It's common."
Of course Jocelyn was occupied with being fashionable and maintaining that they, as the royal family, kept on top of such trends. Petra did not wish to irritate her by informing her that it was the royal family's job to set the trends, rather than to follow, if they were to be concerned with fashion at all. Simply, the family ought to do their own thing, or not consider too much the thoughts of others when it came to matters of appearance. Their reputation and work was much more important.
"Tristian chose it personally, Jocelyn. It's his wedding. He would not have chosen it blindly—"
"But without a clue of what's fashionable."
She sighed and knew this conversation would circulate over and over. Just as she was about to offer a change in subject, Beth spoke up.
"I find it more interesting that he chose the blue garden, when the white garden is typically used for weddings."
"Rhenan might fancy that for his wedding. They probably agreed to it ahead of time so guests would have a change of scenery," Jocelyn said.
"Yes, but the blue garden. He wanted that straight away."
Her eldest shrugged. "Perhaps he just liked it. I've tried to make sense of Tristian's mentality for years and nothing has come of it."
Bethan smirked. "Princess Astrid's eyes are blue."
Petra smiled at her daughter's comment, though she had held the thought in consideration when Tristian had announced his choice of venue. "That is true, Beth."
Jocelyn merely scoffed. "He's not a romantic."
"Because he never had the chance to be
one before."
"Of course he did. He's a prince. Plenty of girls swooned over him. He possesses the ability to be charming only when he is concerned about getting a girl into his bed. Which he did with the wrong girl, of course, and now we've got this entire mess to deal with."
"And it is done, Jocelyn. We all recognise the mistake but we are to live with it. Tristian seems to have come around to the idea and as his family, we must support him the best we can."
"She is foreign!"
"Plenty of queens have been foreign before. You know what your papa says about me, or rather my family. Many years he declared that he now has vassals on the moon considering the strangeness of my family. I half-agree with him, of course."
"Merely a comment about in-laws."
She nodded and smiled at Jocelyn. "Of course. Which is what the Misseldon family are to us. In-laws. We must make an effort to be cordial. We shall have every opportunity to mingle with Queen Marianne and Prince Edgar at the wedding." Upon sending out invitation to Thellemere's king, a letter had been returned stating that the queen and her now youngest son were the only ones set to be in attendance.
Jocelyn scoffed and brought her glass of pressé to her lips for a quick sip. "Let's hope that icy offspring does not cause as much trouble as his sister."
"He's a youngster. He'll be at his mother's side repeatedly. Or at least, if the queen has any sense with young boys, he will be. He'll need at least a little restraint if he's anything like your brothers were—"
"Are." Jocelyn interrupted. Her daughter did have a point, furthered still when Bethan nodded in agreement. The entire family knew too well the habits the boys had when they were younger. Whenever there was an avenue for freedom, Tristian would take off to go explore places that remained a mystery to her to this day. Like an excited pup, Rhenan would soon follow and while she did not relish the idea of her boys being off on their own, she was comforted by the fact that there would always be guards, and if they were to get into trouble, they would at least have the other to assist them from it. Boys will be boys, as Gregor had told her.
Boys will be boys, she found herself thinking as of late whilst dealing with the work this sudden wedding had brought. When she rose early in the morning to when she slept late at night, putting her usual work on hold for the sake of helping her son plan a wedding that she hoped would be remembered as something impressive rather than by the nature of its coming together. The artists who hand-crafted each invitation, squinting by both daylight and by candlelight, had made some inevitable mistakes. The text was to be written in gilded ink, short and cordial, but enough. It would remove the necessity for fancy words. 'Padding' as her own mother had declared it when the specially formed wedding council were considering the appropriate guest list and names for her and Gregor's wedding.
This time there was to be no padding, she noted as she held one of the sample invitations between her fingers. The real work came with the embroidered border, with trails of luscious black and golden vines, a homage to the manes of the bride and groom, weaving together. In the top centre were the initials 'T&A', which were on many occasions crafted by the artists as 'T&C', though she had taken it as a sign of the hand recalling the previous intended, rather than as a sign of disapproval for the planned match. Many times when writing to closer associates she had formed a 'C' when she had intended an 'A'. She had sighed, discarded the parchment and had been forced to start again.
Boys will be boys, she had to tell herself.
"Did he behave himself at the rehearsal? I did intend on attending, but the menus required my attention."
She omitted the fact that it was the breakfast menu she had laboured over rather than the one for the wedding feast and subsequent celebrations. The breakfast menu now had pork and apple sausage removed, and the following week, when she hoped her husband would be occupied with the festivities, she would perhaps remove two and insist on the bacon being lean rather than juicy and fatty. She dreaded to imagine the state of Gregor's waist following not one, but two weddings. When they received two new grandchildren in the months that followed he'd be drinking and feasting to their health, with additional celebration if Tristian's child was to be male. The kingdom would come to a standstill in jubilation over the arrival of a future king.
"A little."
"The pig was ghastly as usual!"
Her daughters answered at once and she sighed inwardly. It would not do to have her family at each other's throats during the festivities. After the two sudden weddings and the uncertain aftermath it would bring, it was imperative they appear united and prepared to support one another. She did not doubt that Tristian was difficult, but the insults, eventually, would have to stop.
She wondered if they were too old or too stubborn to have their heads banged together.
"I think he's obsessed," Bethan managed to say before Jocelyn commenced another rant. "With her."
"Princess Astrid?"
"Yes. He seems to accept everything that's happening. Maybe he's calmed down."
Jocelyn shook her head. "Tristian? Calm?"
"To give him credit he is keen that the wedding will be a success. He wants everything to go smoothly."
"That's because he knows he's made a mistake," her eldest daughter stated. "He knows that this is his last chance to prove himself before his people. He knows he's made a mistake with the girl he's chosen, or rather something else seemed to choose. He's got to live with it and he's doing this purely for selfish reasons."
Her mind drifted to the earlier conversation regarding flowers. Tristian was a man who wished to display his prestige and to inform all of his princely status. Things were never typically done by half in the Hanson family anyway, especially when it came to the treatment of their women. Despite this, her son had chosen to have blue lavender specially moved to the location of the festivities. Many likely would not notice and she wondered whether it mattered, save one pair of eyes.
"He cares a great deal for her," she informed her daughters. Jocelyn rolled her eyes and Bethan did not react at all, though she did not doubt her daughters stood in too much disagreement. "I imagine he will be doing this for himself, though some of it is for her." She paused to ponder the situation for but a moment longer. "A lot of it is for her. So long as she notices the flowers, he'll be content. If she does not, well, we shall see."
She could easily picture his scowl if the gesture was not regarded, or perhaps worse, disregarded. From Astrid's behaviour towards Tristian she had witnessed, it did not seem likely that the gesture would not go without thanks. The girl seemed to think her son was truly wonderful. While it was not entirely beneficial to make a man believe that he was, it would certainly fuel some interest and satisfaction within her son. All she really wanted from this was for him to be happy.
"She will be all over him if she does. Spewing thanks and shooting him those smiles while fluttering her lashes," Jocelyn continued.
Was it really such a bad thing? To have a bride and groom excited to be in each other's company on their wedding day? So long as they did not make an overly affectionate display before those they had displeased, primarily Lady Constance and other Sirista officials, she saw no harm in them indulging in each other. She had attended plenty of weddings over the years, and nuptials where the bride and groom were tremendously miserable were always regarded as a failure and soured the mood of the relationship between the two families that was expected to follow.
"He really likes that," Bethan added. "His head is going to expand thrice the size eventually."
The comment brought a smile to Petra's lips. "He's happy. Bless his heart."
"Bless his heart. Bless his heart," Jocelyn mocked. "This is Tristian. You can't speak about Tristian that way."
She gave a slight incline of her head, a polite form of shrug she supposed. "He might be Tristian, but he's my son. I want all my children to be happy. Tristian included."
For the sake of preventing an argument she elaborated no further on
the issue. Tristian's smile was rare but when it emerged it was truly a special thing. To have someone be the cause of more of those smiles, more of those peaks of happiness, she supposed it was a cause for celebration.
"But the way they were all over her. It was sickening, Mama."
"Sickening?"
Jocelyn nodded. "She's his 'little hummingbird' now."
Adorable. "And does she favour the pet name?"
"Oh she purrs about it like some fat kitchen cat. She loves it."
"Is that not all that matters? If the couple themselves are pleased with the chosen pet name, then who are we to intrude?"
This time it was Bethan's turn to nod at her sister. She pointed briefly at Jocelyn and smiled. "What did I say? You're getting too bothered about this, Jocelyn. Princess Astrid enjoys the name and Tristian certainly takes pleasure in calling her it. You should not stress about it."
"I have every right to stress when he was so vile to me, and she took his side!"
"Jocelyn, she was hardly going to disagree with him."
"But it does not mean she was in agreement with me! That's the issue! He was clearly in the wrong."
This was a new development and one that they would have likely remained quiet about had Jocelyn not got emotional. She blinked in expectation and shot both girls the look that indicated that someone, either of them, was going to explain what happened. When neither girl was prepared to speak, she cleared her throat.
"Tristian made Jocelyn say sorry."
"Tristian was being a dramatic child!"
They spoke simultaneously, but from the whine in one voice and the matter-of-fact tone of the other it was quite clear who was saying what. Jocelyn shot a quick look of outrage to her sister, as though she had been betrayed by the one she expected to take her side.
Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1) Page 47
