NationStates Jolt Archive

Henri, Monsieur le Duc de la Côte d'Est, nursed his cocktail at the resort in Pele, still smarting that the gorgeous sidhe duchess, Heidi ni Aesin, whom he had been pursuing for weeks, had turned him down flat. Ever since Eleanor of Wintermore's visit to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, all the talk had been of sidhe. Every unmarried young nobleman was scrambling to find himself a sidhe wife. Some of the married ones were following Prince Andreus' example and trying to find sidhe mistresses. They were the ultimate fashion accessory. The flavour of the month. And Henri would've been the first to accessorise thus.

He took a deep gulp of his cocktail and forced himself to swallow it. Then he saw her, through the alcoholic liquid. He set his glass down and gazed across the bar at her. From her complexion, she looked like she was from India, Northern India. She was voluptuous, and wore an expensive (as well as a little revealing) bathing costume. She was coming out of the swimming pool by the bar, dripping wet, an absolute vision.

He had no idea if she was a noble or not, although almost all the guests were. But he knew he had to talk to her. Leaving his drink behind, he made his way through the bar, ignoring the other guests. He grabbed a towel from the towel boy at the pool, and went straight up to her.

"Mademoiselle," he said, handing her a towel. "I was sitting at the bar just now when I saw you. That's when I knew I just had to know your name."

The Indian woman smiled, allowing the man to wrap the towel around her shoulders. "I'm Duchess Manjula." She gestured to two women near her. "These are my friends, Lady Ambika and Lady Vaya." Her friends each fell far short of her in appearance, though in different ways. Vaya was thin, frail, far too skinny for her own good. Ambika, on the other hand, was quite muscular, butch even, in a very unfeminine way. Manjula, however, was just right.

Moving her long legs elegantly along with him, she headed for the tables near the bar. Selecting a table for four, she and her two friends walked over. Ambika and Vaya sat down on their own. Even a proper gentleman couldn't be expected to walk around and pull out every lady's chair like a servant when he was so outnumbered, especially when he outranked two thirds of the ladies present. Manjula, however, did wait for the Pantocratorian duke to pull her chair out for her, smiling softly if a bit wryly the whole time.

When she introduced herself as a duchess, he felt his heartbeat quicken. Naturally he held out her chair for her like a perfect gentleman, and politely acknowledged each of her friends.

"I am le Duc de la Côte d'Est, but I hope you will call me Henri, Mademoiselle la Duchesse. It is Mademoiselle, is it not?" he asked.

"You are Pantocratorian, Your Grace?" Lady Ambika asked when he introduced himself. "I have always wanted to go to Pantocratoria."

Lady Vaya smirked slightly, piecing together what she knew of Pantocratorian social customs and views on rank. "If I might ask, Your Grace, what would you have done had you introduced yourself to Manjula and found she was a wealthy tradesman's daughter?" Apparently it was long established that the three were on a first name basis.

Manjula smirked ever so faintly, letting her friends toy a little with the possible suitor. "It is mademoiselle, although that is not the normal usage in these parts. I'm from the country in southern Farinor, where many Danaans of Indian extraction live." She didn't tell him to call her Manjula, not just yet.

Ambika spoke again. "I hope Your Grace is not overly worried about the reaction of Duchess Heidi. She was merely...being Aesin."

"I am, Mademoiselle Ambika." Henri replied, although he barely made eye contact with her, he was so busy continually glancing back to Manjula like a distracted schoolboy.

"And Mademoiselle Vaya, nobody could ever have mistaken Mademoiselle la Duchesse to be anything but a noblewoman." he continued. "There's not a common thing about her."

Vaya smirked ever so faintly, but said nothing. His eyes didn't move from Manjula's face as she confirmed she was unmarried, his admiring gaze only shifting when Ambika spoke again.

"In truth, I couldn't be happier that she reacted like that. Not now, anyway." he replied, looking back to Manjula. "Mademoiselle is far more beautiful."

Manjula blushed faintly, though it could barely be seen on her dark skin. "You flatter me, surely."

"No." Henri shook his head. "I can't even remember what she looks like now. I saw you getting out of the pool and... and I don't think I'll ever be able to remember what another woman looks like again."

Manjula laughed lightly and gestured to Ambika. "That's what another woman looks like, Henri. They're actually very common."

He glanced at the other two women and blushed himself, aware of how silly he sounded.

"No offence, mesdemoiselles..." he added.

"None taken." Ambika said.

"With the way you work out, Ambika, I somehow doubt feminnity is your top priority." Vaya teased.

"A noble is, by definition, a warrior." Ambika responded proudly.

"It's not just how you look though, Mademoiselle," Henri said, addressing Manjula. "I saw you, and... it was like something forced me out of my seat and pulled me towards you. I knew I had to talk to you. I know it sounds absurd, and I apologise for being so forward, but from the first second I saw you, I wanted to know everything about you."

"Everything about me... Very well. I shall tell you what there is to know. However, everything is rather broad. Perhaps there are specific questions with which you would like to start."

"Why are you here?" Henri asked, smiling as if delighted by her response.

"I was actually taking Lady Ambika out on a last vacation before she enters the service this fall."

"Oh? Which service?" Henri asked Ambika.

Ambika smiled a little. "The Marines."

"Not the usual service for the younger children of noblemen." Vaya commented, apparently disapproving.

Manjula shook her head to Vaya. "Being a Danaan officer is a fit occupation for a noble-born man or woman. The specific service is not a factor."

"The Marines will be all the better for Lady Ambika joining them, anyway." Henri added.

Ambika laughed lightly. Manjula smiled. "Do go on."

"What are your interests?" Henri asked, returning his attentions to Manjula.

"I enjoy studying comparative theology, dancing, and swimming."

"Do you study at a university, or do you mean privately?" Henri inquired.

"I have one more year at university."

"Really? Which university do you go to?"

"The Danaan Academy, as do most young women of my rank."

"You're not most young women, of your rank or otherwise." Henri said, smiling and leaning in. "What makes you tick? What are you passionate about?"

Manjula paused. "That is a hard question. I like...I like to enjoy myself but also the more reflective things."

Henri nodded. He knew it was a hard question. One day he hoped he'd be able to answer it himself.

Henri looked through the bushes in the formal gardens of the court of Princess Elayne, stealing a glimpse of Manjula, who was sitting waiting for him at the place they had arranged. He leaned back out of the bushes with a contented smile on his face, and double checked his bouquet of flowers. He then emerged from around the bush with the flowers in hand.

Manjula smiled gently at the man. "Hello, Henri." She still hadn't told him to call her by her name yet.

"Mademoiselle," he said, holding out the flowers to her. "You get more beautiful every time I see you."

Manjula blushed and looked down demurely, taking the flowers. "Thank you, Henri."

Henri sat down next to her, quite close to her, and held her hand.

"What is it going to take?" he asked enigmatically.

"What is what going to take, Henri?" she asked, allowing her hand to be held.

"What do I need to do to be allowed to call you Manjula, Mademoiselle la Duchesse?" he asked. "You know by now that I'm crazy about you."

"I do." she answered enigmatically.

"You know that it drives me mad, don't you?" Henri asked. "Or do you not want to give me even a glimmer of hope?"

Manjula paused. "Well....I was always taught that there was a fine line between being a properly demure beloved and simply being cruel. I suppose you may call me Manjula."

Henri's face beamed with relief.

"So I do have a glimmer of hope then?"

"Henri, if you did not have more than a glimmer, I would have sent you away weeks ago."

"I've been waiting for what seems like a long time to say this, but now you've let me." Henri started.

"Go on."

"Manjula, I love you." Henri said, gazing into her eyes.

Manjula blushed fiercely, looking off for a long moment. Henri gripped her hand even tighter, and sat watching her face, waiting for her response with trepidation, on the edge of his seat.

"It's been...long enough by Danaan custom....if you have something you want to ask me."

"I do have something I want to ask you." Henri nodded eagerly. "But... has it been long enough by Danaan custom... for there to be any chance that I'll get the answer I hope for?"

"You'll know when you ask."

"Manjula, ever since I first saw you I haven't been able to think of anything else but this moment." Henri said. "I feel like my whole life hinges on your response. Manjula, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you make me the happiest man in the world, and be me wife?"

Manjula smiled ever so lightly. "Yes."

Henri gasped, and then almost laughed in relief. "You said yes!"

Manjula laughed lightly. "I suppose I did."

Henri leaned in and kissed her in a spontaneous, passionate moment. He pulled back before the kiss had gone on too long, and started fumbling in his pocket, before producing a little box. He got off the bench and knelt down in front of her. She extended her hand, ring finger out. He opened the box and produced a beautiful engagement ring, set with sparkling, precious stones, and gently, lovingly, put it on her finger, the colour of the stones and the gold contrasting sharply with her lovely skin.

The Church of St Constantine the Martyr was a pretty parish church in Henri's hometown, Thyrantion, a town along Pantocratoria's eastern coast, which was dominated by the imposing Chateau de Thyrantion, Henri's ancestral home. The Church of St Constantine the Martyr wasn't overly large, but it was large enough to seat the couple's guests. Henri stood at the altar, next to his best man, his younger brother Philippe, rocking back and forth on his heels, waiting in eager anticipation for Manjula's arrival.

"Stop rocking! She'll be here!" Philippe whispered to his brother. "You're making the priest nervous."

Ambika, Vaya, and the other bridesmaids smirked faintly as they waited. Just a few moments more. Henri turned to the priest.

"About one minute after the last time you asked me, Your Grace." the priest said.

Manjula entered as the appropriate music began to play, resplendent in a gown of purest white. Henri stopped rocking and instead watched her make her way up the aisle, an almost stupid looking grin of contentment on his face. Philippe smiled broadly, seeing his brother so happy. The priest clasped his hands together and leaned his head to one side, a slight smile on his face. Everybody seemed to be smiling, except for Henri and Philippe's mother in the front row, who was already in tears. Manjula's father gave her away to Henri, looking away so he didn't have to deal with the fact his little girl was grown up. Henri took her hand gently, and guided her over to the cushions in front of the altar, where the couple kneeled down together.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." started the priest.

Manjula kneeled, looking vaguely thoughtful.

"Amen." echoed the congregation.

"Peace be with you." said the Priest.

The priest said an opening prayer, after which time the congregation sat down and listened first to readings, and then to the priest's homily on the topic of the mystery of Christian marriage, the dignity that wedded love holds, the grace of the sacrament, and the responsibilities of the married couple to each other.

"Dearly beloved, you have come together in this church so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Church's minister and this community. Christ abundantly blesses this love." the priest started. "He enriches and strengthens you by a special sacrament so that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity. And so, in the presence of the Church, I ask you to state your intentions."

"Henri, wilt thou take Manjula, here present, for thy lawful wife, according to the rite of our holy Mother the Church?" the priest asked.

"I will." Henri answered.

"Manjula, wilt thou take Henri, here present, for thy lawful husband, according to the rite of our holy Mother the Church?" asked the priest.

"I will." Manjula replied.

"Repeat after me." said the priest to the Duke. "I, Henri Andreus Louis de la Côte d'Est, take thee, Manjula of Farinor, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"I, Henri Andreus Louis de la Côte d'Est, take thee, Manjula of Farinor, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part." repeated the Duke.

"Repeat after me." the priest said, turning to Manjula. "I, Manjula of Farinor, take thee, Henri Andreus Louis de la Côte d'Est, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"I, Manjula of Farinor, take thee, Henri Andreus Louis de la Côte d'Est, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part." she answered.

"I join you together in marriage, in the Name of the Father," said the priest, making the sign of the cross. "and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

The priest sprinkled the couple both with holy water. Philippe then handed him the ring, which he blessed.

"Our help is in the Name of the Lord." he said.

"Who made heaven and earth." was the response.

"O Lord, hear my prayer." said the priest.

"And let my cry come unto Thee." was the reply.

"The Lord be with you." the priest concluded.

"And with Thy spirit."

"Let us pray." said the priest, sprinkling the ring with holy water in the sign of the cross. "Bless, O Lord, this ring, which we bless in Thy name, that she who shall wear it, keeping true faith unto her spouse, may abide in Thy peace and in obedience to Thy will, and ever live in mutual love. Through Christ our Lord."

"Amen." was the response.

The priest handed the ring to Henri, who took it, and gently, oh so gently, put it on Manjula's ring finger. "With this ring I thee wed and I plight unto thee my troth."

Manjula smiled.

"You may kiss the bride." the priest said, smiling warmly to Henri and Manjula.

Henri lifted up her veil gently, and leaned in to kiss her lips. Manjula looked eagerly to her husband, kissing back.

Henri squeezed Manjula's hand as the couple sat in the back seat of a Peacock Motors limousine, driving through the streets of the Old Quarter of New Rome. Their honeymoon in the East Coast had been wonderful, and for the first time since he had met Manjula, Henri was now returning to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator.

"Almost there." he told her.

Manjula smiled a little. "I do have to confess I am slightly nervous. I have, of course, been to royal courts before but I hear the temperment is in many ways different in Pantocratoria, love."

"Oh?" Henri asked her.

"Yes."

"What do you mean, darling?" Henri asked her, cuddling her lightly so as not to disrupt her New Rome court dress.

"Well, you were presented to Princesses Elayne and Catherine when you were courting me."

"Yes?" he asked.

"So how would you compare them?"

"I suppose there are a few differences." Henri smiled. He kissed her on the cheek and ran his hands around her waist, as if he was struggling to keep his hands off her. "How do you like the dress?"

"The undergarment is too tight. Are you sure she measured it correctly?"

"Well... let me see..." Henri smiled, feeling around her waist. "Hmm... How far do you think you could run wearing this before you were out of breath?"

"About ten yards at the most."

"Ten?" Henri chuckled. "She must have made it too loose!"

"Too loose?! Well, if it needs to be tighter for the Emperor, so be it, but this is quite tight enough for other occasions."

"I'm kidding!" Henri smiled. "You look so beautiful, Manjula. You'll get used to the dress, don't worry."

Manjula smirked ever so faintly. "And I don't look beautiful in other things?"

"You always look beautiful." Henri told her genuinely. "But you know they don't wear other things in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. The same style of dress for the past two hundred and something years. Maybe three hundred, I don't remember. So you'll have to settle for looking beautiful in that while you're here, petite."

"But if I were wearing hideous rags you'd still think I was the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"If you were wearing them, they couldn't be hideous, darling. But why not? You're still the most beautiful woman in the world with nothing on at all..." Henri gave her a cheeky half smile as the limousine passed by the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator. Not long now until the walls of the palace.

Manjula blushed faintly and looked away. "I guess you're allowed to say things like that now that we're lawfully wed."

"I'll try not to say it in front of other people. But it's true." Henri promised her, settling back into his seat as the limousine stopped in front of a huge set of golden-topped gates.

Manjula looked out the window curiously. The magnificent gates were opened and the splendidly uniformed Varangian Guard stood aside to allow the limousine to enter the palace grounds. The trucks carrying their baggage had gone around another route and were being admitted through a somewhat less illustrious entrance at the same time. In front of the limousine stretched a vast courtyard, flanked with palace buildings and wings, dominated by a vast bronze statue of the Emperor St Constantine the Great. Manjula took it all in.

The limousine made its way across the courtyard to a vast formal entrance in the centre wing of the forward palace, where it came to rest. Pages in jackets embroidered in gold and silver thread with the letters "A I" and the imperial coat of arms rushed to the limousine and opened the doors for its occupants. Manjula stepped graciously from the limousine, reminding herself she was expected not to speak with the pages. Henri followed her out, and offered her his arm.

"Madame la Duchesse." he said.

"Monsieur le Duc." she said, taking it.

He led her into the entrance antechamber, a huge square hall, with decorative marble columns about the walls, a domed ceiling decorated with a haunting icon of Christ Pantocrator, and marble busts of Roman and Pantocratorian emperors. A huge oil painting hung along the entire width of one wall, entitled Le Martyre de Constantine XI. Across from the entrance was a set of giant cast bronze doors, flanked by Varangians.

Manjula walked graciously and calmly with her husband. As the pair crossed the floor, which was covered in tiles depicting the letters "L" and "T" intertwined, the Varangians, who were expecting them, opened the huge doors, revealing the cavernous great hall of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator beyond them. Manjula glided in with her husband.

The great hall was abuzz with gossiping courtiers. In its centre on an elevated dais stood a large, uncomfortable looking throne of solid silver. A purple cushion sat on the seat, but the back had no padding - there was only an icon of St Constantine the Great. As the courtiers passed by it, they stopped to bow and curtsey before proceeding on their way.

Trumpets flared and a herald said in a clear, loud voice which echoed through the hall:

"Their Graces, Monsieur et Madame le Duc et la Duchesse de la Côte d'Est."

Most of the buzzing gossip stopped for a moment and the various courtiers politely greeted the couple as they made their way into the hall. Manjula returned all greetings appropriately.

"Look how jealous they are!" Henri whispered to Manjula, indicating to a number of men standing underneath the arches along the edge of the hall, whose eyes were following Henri and his exotic new wife rather intently.

"Truly?" she inquired.

"You'd be jealous of me if you were a man." he told her, a hint of mischief and delight in his voice.

"I would feel horrifically effeminate if I were a man."

Henri was about to reply when he heard a young lady's voice call "Monsieur le Duc!" from behind him. He and Manjula turned around, to find a rather attractive young woman in front of them. Manjula turned around.

"Mademoiselle d'Eclesie!" Henri replied, forcing himself to wear an artificial smile. "What a pleasure. Permit me to introduce my wife, Madame la Duchesse. Madame, permit me to introduce Mademoiselle la Comtesse d'Eclesie."

"Madame," said Marie-Louise d'Eclesie, curtseying politely. "A pleasure to meet you."

Manjula inclined her head to the young countess. "Likewise, of course."

"Congratulations are in order, Monsieur." she said. "Madame is very beautiful. I suppose then, Monsieur, that les notres and I shan't be seeing you anymore at our little get togethers?"

"Get togethers?"

"No, I think not, Mademoiselle. If you'll excuse us." the Duke smiled.

Manjula nodded again to the lady. "It was a pleasure meeting you." She allowed herself to be led away, having the delicacy not to point out her husband's lack of an answer.

"Of course. It was a pleasure seeing you again, monsieur. And meeting you, madame." the Countess nodded, turning off on her way gracefully.

"She's nothing but trouble. Watch out for Mademoiselle d'Eclesie." Henri whispered to Manjula.

"Oh?" she whispered back.

"She and her little clique are good for nothing, scheming, debauchées." Henri concluded.

"Whose debaucheries you used to attend, darling?" she whispered back.

"No. Well, I went once, they were very fashionable you see, but once I had gone I certainly had no intention of ever returning. She only mentioned it to try make you suspicious, I might add, petite." he replied.

"I could never suspect you."

"Honestly, Manjula, I was not a regular fixture at her little parties." Henri insisted. "I had hoped that she'd have left the court in disgrace by now, God knows she behaves disgracefully enough."

"I wasn't being sarcastic, Henri. I would really never suspect you."

The trumpets blared again and then an orchestra up on the balcony which lined the great hall started playing a grand entrance. This was what the courtiers had assembled for - the Emperor had just finished attending to the day's business in the French Suite and was scheduled to make his reappearance, as he did every day at the exactly the same time. The rear entrance of the hall opened and the Emperor of Pantocratoria entered, with Sir Constantine on one side and a Varangian on the other. Manjula curtsied to the Emperor, and Henri bowed.

A path to the throne opened up as the courtiers parted and cleared the way, bowing and curtseying as the Emperor made his way to the throne, his wise, penetrating gaze passing over the faces in the hall, noting who was present (and perhaps more importantly, who was absent). His eyes fell on Henri, and then on Manjula, where they stayed for a moment longer than was usual as he noted an exotic new face. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, and wore a particularly fine example of New Rome court fashion, with a blue jacket decorated liberally with stitched patterns of silver thread.

Manjula smiled brilliantly as he passed. He nodded politely to acknowledge Henri and Manjula as he passed by them, as he did to several other courtiers on his way. He reached the throne, and whispered something to Sir Constantine, as the orchestra stopped playing and the courtiers went back to their usual gossip. Sir Constantine then made his way through the crowd to the newlyweds.

"Monsieur le Duc," he said, nodding to Henri. "His Majesty desires to speak with you, and the lady, whom I presume is Madame la Duchesse?"

"She is. Madame, may I present the Imperial Champion, Sir Constantine." Henri said to Manjula.

Sir Constantine was ruggedly handsome, although his face was marred by a number of scars. He smiled and bowed politely to Manjula.

"It is an honour, monsieur."

Sir Constantine led them back to the throne.

"Monsieur et Madame le Duc et la Duchesse de la Côte d'Est, Sire." he said.

Manjula moved gracefully after him, curtseying deeply to the Emperor.

"A pleasure to meet you, Madame la Duchesse." said the Emperor, rising from the throne to take her hand and kiss it as she rose to her feet. "And to see you again, monsieur."

"Your Majesty honours me."

"If I'm not mistaken," the Emperor started. "You two met in the Danaan High Kingdom? Are you Danaan, madame?"

"I am, Sire, from the Principality of Farinor."

"And I trust that you have enjoyed what you have seen of Pantocratoria thus far?" the Emperor asked.

"It is a land of many beauties, Your Majesty. The nobility is elegant. The people are charming. The countryside is lovely. However, what I enjoy most is that this is where I am going to build a life with the man I love."

Henri beamed. If the Emperor made a habit of smiling, he would've smiled, but instead he simply nodded and gave something approximating an approving smile.

"Well, I hope that you will find the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator to your liking, madame." he said. "It shall be all the more to mine for having you here."

"...demonstrates a complete lack of respect for me, your husband, and for our wedding vows!" Henri barked angrily. He and Manjula had been arguing in their bedchamber for some time now, and he had finally started raising his voice.

Manjula sighed, sitting on the bed. "For goodness sake, Henri, I was just talking to the man. You're screaming at me as though I were kissing him."

"You practically were!" Henri growled. "I can assure you that Monsieur d'Adriatique was certainly under the impression that he was mere seconds away from cramming his clever sweet talking tongue down your throat!"

"I am not responsible for what Monsieur d'Adriatique wants to do or even thinks he might be able to do!"

"You're the one who initiated it!" he insisted.

"I was trying to be sociable...with one of your friends, I might add."

"I barely know the man!" Henri blurted without thinking. "Well, OK, I do, but I can assure you, we won't be friends very much longer. And did you see me being so sociable with Lady Ambika, hmmm?"

"I don't mind you being sociable with Lady Ambika." Manjula commented quietly.

"You weren't just being sociable, and you know it." Henri growled. "You were flirting. Quite outrageously. Everybody could see it."

"Who exactly is everybody?" she insisted.

"Everyone else in the room!" Henri replied. "Even the servants had no illusions about it! How could you embarrass me like that, behave like that in so... shameless a fashion?"

"You're the one who's always criticizing me for being too talkative with the servants. Why do you care what they think all of a sudden?"

"You don't even care!" Henri shouted incredulously. "I can't believe it! Not only are you utterly unashamed about your own wanton behaviour, but you don't even care that you humiliated me, that you hurt me."

"I'm upset that you're so upset, darling." she equivocated, looking up at him in exasperation.

"Liar!" Henri replied, pacing the bedroom, fuming, hurt, angry.

"Henri, you know I love you. That doesn't mean I'm going to fall over myself apologizing when I didn't do anything wrong."

"Didn't do anything wrong?" Henri repeated, aghast, his handsome face twisted in a wounded scowl. He turned to the wardrobe, which he opened. From it he produced a chest, which he set on the table. He paused as if thinking about something. He asked quietly. "How can you claim to love me when you flirt with my friends shamelessly and then refuse to apologise?"

"I TALKED to the man, Henri. Is it an act of infidelity every time I speak with anyone but you? I didn't think they had purdah in Pantocratoria."

As if steeled by her words, Henri opened up the chest. He produced from inside a particularly cruel looking corset, even by the standards of the corsets worn in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. It was made out of a stiff, firm leather, reinforced with braces all the way around. Henri turned back towards Manjula.

"What are you planning to do with that?" she asked as she sat on the bed.

"I'm going to put it on you." Henri replied in a cold, firm voice. "Sit up straight."

"No, you're not." she said firmly.

"Don't argue with me. Sit up straight." he told her.

"I'm not arguing. It's not an argument. It's out of the question." She stood up and backed towards the door. "You're scaring me, Henri."

"You brought this on yourself, Manjula!" Henri insisted, chasing after her and catching her by the forearm. "You made me do this, now don't make it difficult."

"Jacques! Pierre!" she screamed for the two physically largest of the household help.

"Don't embarrass the servants, Manjula. You're always chatting with them, you wouldn't want them to see this, would you?" Henri shook his head. He pulled her away from the door and back to the bed.

She slapped him hard across the face, trying to pull free. "Let me go this instant!"

The slap made him angrier. He tossed the corset onto the bed, and grabbed Manjula roughly with both hands. He manhandled her onto the bed and started to force her to lie, stomach down, into the corset, when there was a knock on the door.

"Madame? Monsieur?" came Jacques' voice. "You called?"

"Jacques, help me!"

The servant opened the door and stepped inside, wearing his pyjamas. He looked about, turning to the sound of Manjula's voice on the bed. Then he froze in place for a moment.

"Oh, pardon me, Monsieur le Duc." he said, his face turning red in embarrassment as he nervously backed away. He stood around awkwardly waiting to be dismissed.

"Get him off of me! Now!" she cried. "And call the police!"

He looked at the floor, feeling a little powerless, and very embarrassed.

"You may go, Jacques." Henri told him.

"Yes, monsieur. Thankyou, monsieur." he said quickly, leaving the room and closing the door after him.

Henri started pulling the corset around Manjula's waist, every so often having to stop to hold down her struggling arms.

"Hold still!" he told her.

"Call the police, dammit!" she screamed after Jacques.

"Would you stop it?" Henri barked at her, some tears appearing in his eyes despite himself. How could she still be totally unconcerned with his feelings? He started lacing up the corset, pulling the laces up very, very tightly, causing Manjula intense discomfort.

"You're hurting me, Henri." she said more quietly. "You're hurting me and you're degrading me and you're assaulting me physically."

He kept lacing her up, making it very difficult for her to take anything but the most shallow breaths.

"And how do you think you made me feel?" Henri asked her.

"Not like this." she answered bluntly. "Although I'd like to right now."

He finished lacing her up. The final effect was to make it so difficult for her to breathe, and to constrict her movement so much, that anything but the smallest movements were almost totally infeasible. Henri picked her up and lay her on her back on the bed, and looked down expectantly at her. She just lay there, still and unable to move or even speak much, focusing on her breathing. She remained mostly inert until he decided it was enough, however long that might be. After a few moments, he scowled and turned away again, paced the room for a few moments, and then got into bed next to her. He pulled up the sheets and blankets over both of them, as if intent on leaving her like that all night. She just lay there. It wasn't as if she could speak even if she wanted to. Not much or easily, anyway. He rolled over to face her, still looking very hurt and upset. He gently turned her face towards him, stroking her cheek.

"Do you have anything to say to me?" he asked her quietly.

She closed her eyes after looking at him with hurt and frank disgust.

"Still!" Henri cried indignantly. "Still defiant! It can go tighter, you know."

She said nothing. Scowling, and looking very upset, Henri tossed back the blankets, got out of bed, and made his way back over to the chest and retrieved a tool to help him tighten the corset tighter than he could manage with his hands alone.

"Please, can't you see how much you've hurt me?" Henri asked her, waving the tool about.

She kept her eyes closed, unable to bear the sight of him. Henri dutifully, as if he disliked doing it intensely, turned Manjula over gently, and began tightening the corset until his ministrations elicited an involuntary whimper. Then he put the tool away, and turned her back around. When she still refused to say anything, he left the room for what seemed to Manjula to be like hours. After a few glasses of brandy, he returned.

"Please, Manjula. Apologise." he asked her, rolling her back around onto her stomach. She really couldn't say anything now. Henri started undoing the corset, the sensation of being so suddenly released after being so tightly constricted being a little painful at first, but subsiding quickly. He got it undone quickly, and gently lifted her out of the corset so that he could pull it away from underneath her.

Manjula stood, breathing slowly, and began getting dressed. She didn't bother with court clothes. She just slipped on some street clothes so she could go out without being indecent.

"What are you doing?" Henri asked her, setting the corset back into its box and putting it back into the wardrobe. "Why are you getting dressed?"

"I'm going to a hotel tonight. I'll get a plane to go stay with my mother tomorrow. I can't stay here if it's not safe." she answered, buttoning her jacket and moving for the bedroom door.

"What?" Henri asked, his eyes going wide with surprise. He moved over after her to the door, and cut her off.

"Do you plan to physically keep me captive the rest of my life or are you going to get out of the way?" she asked, tears running down her cheeks.

Henri shook his head, as if he failed to grasp why she was so upset.

"Are you really so set against the idea of apologising for flirting with my friend and humiliating me that you would fly to another country to avoid it?" Henri asked her.

"I'm so set against the idea of being assaulted in my own home that I am. Now please step out of the way, Henri."

"Assaulted?" Henri gasped. "That wasn't assault! That was a discipline corset!"

"That was assault. I don't care what you call it. As long as you keep it, I'm not staying here. It's not up for discussion. Are you going to get out of my way or not?"

"No!" Henri said, as if shocked. "No, I'm not, I can't let you jump on a plane and leave me, I love you!"

"Then throw that thing away. I mean throw it away right this instant."

"I... I don't understand..." Henri stammered.

"I don't care if you understand. Throw it out. It's not how civlized people deal with one another. It's a physical attack and you have no right to use it."

"But I'm you're husband!" Henri insisted.

"Henri, it's not up for discussion. It's that thing or me." Manjula said. "We can talk about it more after you throw it out, if you need to."

"OK, it's gone." Henri nodded. "Jacques!"

The servant reluctantly came to the door after a minute or so, and Henri handed him the chest.

"Dispose of that at once." Henri instructed.

"Yes, monsieur." Jacques replied, bowing before leaving the apartments with the chest and going off to throw it out.

Manjula sat down, sighing heavily. "Thank you."

Henri sat down next to her, starting to feel very guilty. He hadn't liked putting Manjula in the corset - far from it. But the discipline corset was a well-established tradition in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, and his married friends had all at various times advised him to use it to settle arguments. They felt it was a marvellous thing, because it "corrected" the wife's behaviour without "being forced to resort to brutish means". Manjula thought it was a brutish means.

"I..." he started. "...I..."

"Let me guess. It's some kind of centuries old holdover from the days when women weren't even allowed to go to school and you never thought about it in the way I see it before." she said, still rather cross with him, if a little calmer. He took her hand in his and started to cry.

"I'm sorry..." he started. "I'm sorry Manjula... I didn't realise... I thought that was what I was supposed to do. Please, forgive me, I'm not like that... I shouldn't be like that. I don't want to be like that."

"I know you're not, Henri. I did marry you, after all." She smiled a little, for the first time in awhile, and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry I flirted with the baron."

Henri smiled at the apology and shook his head by way of indicating that he had forgiven her and let the issue go. He was still crying.

"Why would they tell me to... to do that?" he asked her. "I'm sorry, I'll never put you in a corset like that again!"

"Because they don't respect women very much." She leaned into him a little. "I can forgive you, love. Which isn't to say....it really did hurt."

He put a hand on her tear-streaked cheek, and looked into her eyes.

"I promise you, Manjula, I will never never do that to you again. Ever." he swore. She leaned her head on his chest and started to sob, wrapping her arms around him.