It was such a mess, this marriage. Closing his eyes, Marcel thought he should never have agreed to it in the first place.
There was no turning back now, though. He had agreed, Gilbert had agreed, the emperor had made his decision. Now they would all have to live with the consequences.
*~*~*
The College of Science and Technology would be the first of its kind in the empire. It was modeled after the great University of al-Karaouine, where Marcel had just spent the past almost two years studying mathematics.
The building itself—or collection of buildings, to be precise—had been warehouses before the Marquis de la Marche bought them and the architect Riku Takahashi redesigned the buildings. They now sported glass-domed roofs and beautiful sculpted metalwork that shone in the sunlight.
When he'd stopped by Gregory's townhouse, he'd been told that the Marquis de la Marches was here. So Marcel climbed the stone steps that led up the front doors and pulled them open, stepping into the main hall.
The Marquis de la Marche, Sushil Mukherjee, and Lady Yujia looked up from where they'd been studying a blueprint of some sort. The inside of the great hall still looked like a work in progress with scaffolding and worktables everywhere. Marcel ignored all of it as he headed for the group.
"Marcel!" Gregory was the first to respond, striding across the space and hugging him. "I'd heard you were back. Come to see the new school?"
"I've actually come to ask about Berti," Marcel said when Gregory let him go. "What happened when I was gone?"
"What do you mean?" Sushil had come to stand a little behind Gregory, giving Marcel a puzzled frown.
"I went to see him," Marcel said, keeping his voice even. "Something had happened. He seemed ... sad."
"It's probably about Tristan," Yujia said, and all three turned to look at her.
"Yes, probably," Gregory sighed, running his hands through his hair.
"Tristan?"
"While you were gone," Gregory turned back to Marcel, "Gilbert fell in love."
It shouldn't have hurt, physically hurt, but it did. It was like being kicked in the gut; Marcel concentrated on breathing because he couldn't do anything else past the pain in his chest. He'd always known it would happen one day. In fact, it was a wonder Gilbert had not taken a lover before this. Gilbert had always seemed, if not happy then content, to remain single with his books, insects, and Marcel for companionship. It had lulled him into a false sense of security; he had gotten used to a life where even if he could not have Gilbert he wouldn't have to see him with another man.
"Tristan was Charlotte's aid when he came to the palace, good-looking enough, I suppose, if you like them tall, blond, and heavily muscled, and Berti fell in love."
"He never said." Marcel's voice came out much softer than he'd meant it to, and he gripped his cane tighter with his good hand. "He wrote to me, letters, so many of them, but never talked about this at all."
"He was very quiet, shy about it. You know Gilbert. I don't think in the beginning he really believed Tristan was interested, and then he convinced himself that if he talked too much about it that it would all magically go away. But they were really cute together, happy. In the beginning."
"What happened?" Marcel had a sinking feeling he knew, but he needed to hear Gregory say it.
Gregory, Yujia, and Sushil all exchanged looks.
"Tristan left him. They had a fight. I think Tristan cheated, although Gilbert never said. Certainly Tristan said unkind things to him right at the end. Charlotte reposted him to the tower in the northern mountains, and he's not coming back anytime soon."
"Oh God." Marcel looked away from the three of them. Stupid, stupid he was so stupid. But it hurt so much to think of Gregory with someone else, some lowlife soldier who had gone and broken his heart, no less. Of course Gregory didn't want to be with him when he did not share Marcel's feelings. Not to mention he was still most likely feeling fragile and used from being treated badly by the one and only man he'd trusted to be his lover. Here Marcel had come along, overeager when he'd been offered something he'd wanted so badly for so long, putting his foot in it and probably hurting Gilbert more. He'd potentially destroyed any chance they might have had together. He started to laugh, although there was nothing remotely funny about it. "We're engaged to be married."
"What?" Gregory stared at him.
"Berti and I," Marcel was still laughing and found he couldn't really stop. Everyone was staring at him now like he'd gone mad, which he might have. "We're engaged to be married, the emperor has decided it. And here am I, a mess of unrequited love, and he's heartbroken because ..." Then Marcel wasn't laughing anymore as he struggled for a word that properly expressed the amount of anger he felt when he thought that someone had been loved by Gilbert and treated him badly. "Some bastard left him."
"You two are getting married?" Sushil repeated as if he really couldn't believe it.
"I'm sure it will work out. You two have known each other for a long time." Gregory clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't give up hope now. I can guarantee you that he loves you more than he ever did Tristan."
"Yes, just not in the same way." Marcel shook himself, trying to pull himself back together before he completely lost all control over his emotions. "So show me the rest of the college while I'm here."
"Sure." Gregory grinned at him and gestured at the rest of the building. "It's coming along nicely; I think Riku did a gorgeous job planning it out, and of course you'll want to see the mathematics wing where you'll be teaching."
"Not much to see quite yet." Yujia crossed her arms over her chest, looking amused. "The builders have barely started on that section."
"Still might as well have a look," Gregory said cheerily, and led the way.
*~*~*
The first thing Marcel did the next morning was go to his mother.
She was not at her townhouse, and the servant who answered the door informed him she had gone to work at her office. Marcel headed across the city towards the imposing stone building that housed the Emperor's High Court of Law.
The building was huge, housing dozens of offices and courtrooms where hearings took place. Marcel had been in and out of the building his whole life, though, and navigated the halls filled with bustling robed lawyers, clerks, and assistants with ease.
The office of the Chief Magistrate, the Marquise de Montespan, was large and would have been spacious if not for the bookcases that lined every wall, parting only to make room for windows. The most imposing mahogany desk Marcel had ever known took up space in the center of the room. In front of it stood the marquise, reviewing a stack of papers with what looked to be a junior magistrate about Marcel's own age.
Marcel paused in the doorway to watch.
The marquise's grey hair was pulled back from her face in a tight bun, and she wore flowing black, still in mourning for his father even after three years. With her left hand, she leaned on a silver-headed cane. She looked tired, he thought, but still as formidable as always. She looked up and spotted him.
"Ah, my son." She waved him in, and the junior magistrate turned towards him as well, giving him a curious look. "Lord Marcel de la Mont de Anges."
"My lord." The young magistrate bowed as best she could while holding an armful of case files.
"No, please, none of that." Marcel gave her a smile he hoped was friendly and encouraging.
She gave him a tiny one back before making for the door as fast as she could without outright running. Probably relieved to be able to get away from the marquise's scrutiny. Marcel knew the marquise's reputation for strictness and uncompromising attitude when it came to getting even the smallest detail correct was legendary among the magistrates. She was especially strict on the juniors and they all dreaded having to present any of the documents they had drafted to her. The poor woman was probably delighted at the excuse to make a quick exist.
"How may I help you, Marcel?" The marquise tilted her face up so he could kiss her cheek.
> "I want to speak to you about my proposed engagement to Gilbert."
"What about it?" She eyed him curiously. "I have spoken to Henri-André about this, and we both agree it is a good match. Very advantageous for our family to have yet another tie to the royal line, and as the youngest son, Gilbert could do far worse than you, my dear."
"Yes, well." Marcel squared his shoulders—did he really want to do this? This was his one chance at a life with Gilbert. They could take it slowly, make it work. But then he remembered the sadness in Gilbert's eyes and the way he'd been so distressed by the idea of marrying Marcel. "I want you to speak with Henri-André about finding me another match."
The marquise turned slowly to stare at him, a frown creasing the space between her eyes. "Why? It is a good match and you and Gilbert have been good friends since you were children."
Marcel hesitated; he did not want to tell tales at Gilbert's expense, yet he needed to say something to justify himself. "I think his heart belongs to another."
She laughed at that, moving around her desk and settling herself behind it. "My dear, this is a contracted marriage, a business arrangement, nothing more." A smiling lingered on her lips as she gazed at him fondly. "You two will be good together, but as long as you get along it need not be anything more. If he is in love with another, than his marriage to you need not stand in the way of that."
"But …"
She waved her hand in that dismissive way he remembered so well from his childhood, a gestured of the emperor's own Chief Magistrate not his mother. "Do not worry so much Marcel. You have remained unmarried for too long as it is, and this match will be good for you and this family. Accept it. Married life is not nearly as difficult an affair as you seem to believe, especially if you let it be what it is and do not expect more."
He looked at the floor, trying to think of something to say to persuade her. I'm in love with Gilbert and cannot bear to think that this marriage would bring him even a little bit of harm or unhappiness. But that would be far too emotional of him, far from the elegant legal argument that was the only kind she would accept. He wasn't like her, he didn't know how to use words like a knife or tool to gain exactly what he wanted or bend his opponent to his will.
"I don't want this marriage. Henri-André promised me that if I did not want it he would not push it upon me and Gilbert, so I am telling you now I do not want this match."
She sighed, and Marcel stomach tightened like a fist. He was going to lose; he knew even before she opened her mouth to speak.
"Do not be a child, Marcel, you think there will be a better match for you than one of the emperor's own sons? All his other children are already taken, and Gilbert as Lord de Blois will bring us lands that this family could very much use. Now despite what Henri-André may have told you, I am telling you now that the decision has already been made and the emperor and I have been more than generous. You will not disobey me in this. Whatever is between you and Gilbert, fix it, accept your duty, and move on with your life."
Marcel let out a long breath. "Of course." He bowed to her and turned on his heel to leave.
"Marcel." His name stopped him and he turned to see her gesture for him to come close. As soon as he was in reach, she took his hand, clasping it between her smaller, more slender ones. "I am very happy for you," she said, some of her chill thawing. "I never wanted you to marry a stranger, and I hope you grow to be happy with this choice."
"I hope so too." He really did hope that both he and Gilbert could be happy with this. He bent and kissed her cheek in a more affectionate farewell.
She was right, of course, he reflected during the carriage ride back to his own apartments. It was just a business arrangement and it was his duty to obey both his mother's and his emperor's wishes. All he could do now was do his best to find a way of making this marriage work without hurting Gilbert or himself in the process.
*~*~*
The engagement ceremony was to be a simple thing, held in one of Henri-André's larger offices.
Gilbert dressed carefully in a very fashionable suit in deep shades of brown with gold embroidery. He tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped as he ran a comb through his hair. It was just long enough to tie back now, so he searched until he found a ribbon and pulled it back from his face.
His palms were sweating as he found the case with the engagement present he'd had made for Marcel and checked it over for what felt like the hundredth time. It was absurd to be this nervous, he told himself. It was only Marcel and only a political marriage.
He checked his reflection in the mirror one more time before sighing and turning away. He still could not really believe Marcel had agreed to this. He had been so sure Marcel would say no.
Picking up the case from off the tea table where he'd put it, he headed out of his rooms and towards his father's wing of the palace.
Henri-André was already there when Gilbert entered the office, along with Marcel and his mother, the Marquise de Montespan. Gilbert found himself a little surprised that she had come; she so rarely tore herself away from court for anything. Then again, Marcel was the only son of the de Montespan line, even if it was by adoption rather than birth. Marcel had originally been born on the island of the Far East, which was attested to by the dark brown of his skin. He had been a de Montespan since was old enough to talk, however.
The marquise was dressed in a dark green afternoon gown befitting her station and widowed status, since full back would have been inappropriate for the occasion. She sat in front of Henri-André's desk with Marcel by her side.
Silk and embroidery were all the rage now, so of course Marcel was wearing neither. Instead he was in black with a cranberry red velvet jacket.
His arm was wood and carved to look as if it were made entirely from interlocking leaves, as was the cane he carried. Dark brown curls were swept back from his finely featured face.
To Gilbert, Marcel seemed tense today, it was in the way he held himself stiffly without his usual easy grace. He was also avoiding Gilbert's eyes, very purposefully not looking at him in fact, his features settling into a small frown when he thought no one was watching. Underneath his calm elegant exterior, Marcel was ill at ease and that gave Gilbert a moment of pause. He thought Marcel had agreed to this, and he had even seemed happy about it last time they spoke. He tried to study Marcel to figure out what had changed as he passed him to greet the marquise.
"Gilbert," the marquise said, smiling, and held out her hand for Gilbert to kiss. "How are you, my dear?"
"Well, thank you, madam." Gilbert bent over her hand before straightening, sliding Marcel another quick look. He wished they could have a moment alone so that he could ask if Marcel was having second thoughts. Strangely, the idea that Marcel might have come to his senses about the entire thing made Gilbert's stomach clench unpleasantly. He gave himself a hard mental shake; he'd been the one with doubts about this entire affair from the beginning, and he wasn't allowed to feel hurt that Marcel might now be agreeing with him. Then again, Marcel wasn't protesting the match—in fact, here he stood, ready to put his signature to the contract that would solidify their engagement and move them that much closer to marriage.
"I am so glad I lived to see this match come to pass." The marquise reached up to pat his cheek. "Your father and I have been planning this marriage for a very long time."
He forced a smile for her. "I am happy Marcel agreed." Looking up, he caught a strange expression as it passed over Marcel's face—sadness or regret. It made Gilbert's insides freeze. Did Marcel not want this after all? But if he didn't, why wasn't he saying anything?
The papers were already spread out on Henri-André's desk, awaiting everyone's signatures.
"Well." Henri-André smiled at them all, standing and coming around the desk. "Shall we get started?"
Gilbert glanced at Marcel again. He still could not clearly read Marcel's expression, but he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. He needed to know if Marcel still was a
ll right with the marriage. Gilbert needed to hear him say it. "Just a moment," he turned to the marquise and Henri-André. "If you and the marquise don't mind, I need a private word with Marcel." He just waited long enough for the two of them to nod, both looking puzzled, before gripping Marcel's good arm and leading him out of the room.
"What is this about?" Marcel asked when they were in the hall.
"Do you want this?" Gilbert said. "Really want this, I mean, because there is still time to say no."
Marcel's brows furrowed. "Gilbert, I already told you I was fine with this, why are you asking me about it now?"
"When your mother spoke of this marriage," Gilbert said, "you seemed unhappy, and I don't want you to do this unless you want to do this."
Marcel shut his eyes for a moment, looking tired. "I want this," he said when he opened them again.
"All right." Gilbert searched his face, still unsure what Marcel's expression had meant. "All right, then." He reached back to open the office door and stopped when Marcel took his hand.
"I am happy to be marrying you," Marcel said, his tone soft and far more serious than usual. "Believe that, please."
Gilbert looked up at him, feeling a little caught off guard by the intensity in Marcel's gaze. Marcel's hand was larger and warm around his own, and Gilbert swallowed and then nodded. "I believe you."
"Good." Marcel let go of his hand then, letting Gilbert open the door.
"Everything ready?" Henri-André asked when they stepped back inside, and Gilbert nodded, forcing another smile.
"Good." Henri-André gestured to the papers, and the marquise moved to the desk, signing each one in turn. Then Marcel stepped forward to add his name with a dramatic flourish under his mother's. He handed over the quill to Gilbert when he was done. Gilbert's stomach was cramped into knots, but he signed his name anyway and watched as his father readied the royal seal. Henri-André signed his name and full title, then dripped the wax in a large pool. The seal was a heavy gold thing that pressed firmly into the wax, and Gilbert forced himself to breathe out as his father lifted the seal away.
Winter's Bees Page 3
