NationStates Jolt Archive

High King Owain hardly knew what to make of the last few years. Everything he had known, centuries of history, fallen away before his eyes as though they'd never happened. His family had been restored to the throne. He had been elevated to the throne.

A small sigh escaped the king's mouth as he looked over the finely arranged maze of flowers which formed this particular garden. Such complicated patterns were all the rage among the nobility of Zutern and Owain's palace in this new principality could hardly lack an impressive example. After all, image before the people was itself a duty of the Crown, one of many.

That was why he was here in the Palace of Seven Emeralds in the Zutern countryside, to oversee one of the many duties of the Crown. Owain was overseeing a joint ball for his youngest sister, Grand Duchess Morgan, and for Princess Yuko of Adoki, that evening. Invitations had already been extended to all friends and allies in the region and the world, especially those with fitting, unmarried princes. He turned to his queen with a small frown as they walked through the garden. "I feel...I don't know..."

Pausing briefly during their walk to pick a rose, High Queen Marissa looked at Owain, her own features twisted into a look of concern as she caught the expression on his face. Her eyes found his eyes, as a sparkle appeared in her gaze. “You have no reason to feel anything but proud.” She smiled, as she twiddled the rose in the fingers. “Tonight is going to be wonderful, everything is going to be perfect, and you will be smiling by the time you go to bed.”

She reached her hand out and took hold of his. “Owain, there is nothing to worry about. Morgan and Princess Yuko of Adoki will have a Ball they will never forget.” Her feet stopped moving bringing them to a halt. “I hope you are planning on saving at least one dance for me?” She smiled, a playful twinkle in her eye.

"The first and the last, as always, Issi." Owain answered her, looking off distractedly. He shook his head, his red hair waving slightly in the light breeze that always came down from the North this time of year. Strong hands almost unconsciously adjusted the fur-lined green cloak he wore over his shoulders.

"I know my duty. There is no cause for concern." The words were spoken in a decisive and commanding tone, the tone Owain always used to end conversations which were not actually finished. He had been a reserved man when she met him and, while he had opened up a good deal since they were wed, there were still quite a few burdens which he insisted on bearing for himself.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her gently. "We should make out way to the ballroom. Even if our foreign guests have not yet arrived, the nobles of Zutern should be here shortly."

"It'd be such a bore!" Constantine protested. He was engaged in an argument in his chambers in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator with his bodyguard over the topic of whether he should attend the ball at the Palace of Seven Emeralds, as his uncle Prince Basil had suggested.

"But Monsieur is right, kiddo, you said that yourself." Erik told him.

"So I should go along and pretend to be interested in the princesses and duchesses and debutants and dance and..." Constantine started.

"Hey, don't you think it'd look good if you did?" Erik said. "Go on, what harm could going do? I mean, you were going on about the diplomatic and political benefits..."

"Well, yes..." Constantine conceded. "But it'd still be boring."

"Fine." Erik shrugged. "Your business not mine. Besides, I'm sure Monsieur will mention it to the Emperor before too long, and then you won't have a choice... and you'll have missed the chance to make it appear to be your own initiative."

Constantine bit his lower lip thoughtfully as Erik walked off into the bathroom to brush his teeth before bed.

"Well..." Constantine thought. "OK, but if I'm going to Ambara, I'm going to go to Andrium... do something with the Christian Democrats..."

"Don't mistake anything I said as an invitation to start talking about politics!" Erik protested from the bathroom, whose door was left open. He hated it when Constantine talked politics. The young prince grinned and reclined back on the bed.

Owain lad Marissa back inside, through the halls of the palace to the courtyard for which it was named, the Hall of Seven Emeralds. Placed evenly around the courtyard, amidst vines growing in and over raised stone mini-gardens, were seven statues of kings and queens to whom Owain claimed blood relation, carved into green marble. Among them were numbered Cunedda Wyrtig, Arthur Pendragon, Constantine III, Kamamameha the Great, Timon ap Gwydion, Ambrosius Aurelianus, and Kamameha. In the center of the courtyard stood a fountain with a status of a gryffon in the center, spurting water from his beak. Atop the gryffon's head was carved a crown in which were enset seven emerals, sparkling in the sun's golden rays.

Servants walked about the courtyard, holding trays with local cheeses, juices, ciders, and wines made available. Owain made it a point to serve the finest local foods in all of his palaces instead of simple importing his beloved Welsh cuisine.

The nobility of Zutern had indeed been arriving and the otherwise idyllic courtyard into which Owain and Marissa walked was full of shiny uniforms and lovely gowns adorning well-groomed but overwhelmingly average looking and dull aristocrats. Although royal graciousness would never allow him to say it, even to his wife, Owain had always considered this the most boring place to hold his court. Still, he guided Marissa towards the young Ulrich, Prince of Zutern, smiling politely. "Your Highness, it has been too long since we last had the pleasure of your company."

Ulrich bowed deeply to the king and queen. "I am, as always, at Your Majesties' loyal service."

Marissa wandered into the courtyard with Owain, amazed as always with the transformation the place seemed to undergo whenever something special was happening. It had been the same back in Tartarus and at the other palaces that she visited. Walk through them when on an ordinary day and they were stunning, walk through the same one when some event was taking place, and the whole area seemed to come alive.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you, Prince Ulrich.” Smiling at the prince, Marissa made the simple greeting, before allowing Owain to continue with the pleasantries. Her fingers idly moved up to her face, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair away that had come free from its clip. Her eyes lingered on the man before them before flicking briefly to Owain as he spoke, a smile lighting up her face.

Prince Constantine and Princess Helen arrived in a black Peacock Motors limousine together at the Palace of Seven Emeralds in the countryside of Zutern. The New Rome tabloids, having learned of Helen and Constantine going to the ball together, had been filled with stories about the two of them being a couple. Helen in particular had been victim of a good deal of criticism in the tabloids, which had frequently regarded Prince Andreus and her to be a couple prior to the Despot's marriage to Empress Aurora of Lavenrunz. Seemingly jumping from one brother to the other was scandalous, at least in the opinion of the tabloids. Helen was frankly relieved that the jumping from brother to brother was the scandal the tabloids had picked up on, rather than her relationship with Countess Marian. Prince Constantine was positively ecstatic about the rumours, although he didn't show it. Neither cousin had any clue about the reasons the other was content to let the tabloids run whatever stories they wanted to run suggesting that the two were romantically linked.

Prince Constantine got out of the limousine first, and then offered his arm to Helen and helped her out of the car. Constantine wore a splendid tuxedo with a purple sash from the shoulder to the waist underneath the jacket. Helen was wearing a beautiful, if uncomfortable looking gown in the New Rome court fashion, and a delicate diamond tiara on top of her carefully coiffured hair. The two entered the palace and were guided through until they emerged at the courtyard.

Ulrich smiled at the High Queen. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Her Highness is about here somewhere."

Owain nodded. "We look forward to seeing Princess Christina as well. We still fondly remember that wedding." He gently took Marissa's hand and squeezed it lightly.

Gwendolyn, meanwhile, was looking about for Peter in the courtyard after having come back from freshening up in the ladies's room. As she searched the courtyard for her husband, she found herself instead confronted by the arriving Constantine and Helen to whom she inclined her head politely. "Welcome, Your Imperial Highnesses. It has been too long."

Morgan and Yuko, meanwhile, were speaking to one another inside, patiently awaiting to signal for their grand entrance.

"I'm sorry, ha..." Helen began, a look of puzzlement on her face.

"Your Royal Highness," Constantine interrupted to try spare Helen the embarrassment. "We haven't seen you since your wedding..."

Helen blushed a little but smiled and nodded, hoping that it looked like she had remembered Gwendolyn immediately.

"How is P... His Highness your husband?" Helen asked, reminiscing of the crush Peter had once quite obviously had for her.

"And more importantly, how are you?" Prince Constantine smiled.

OOC: if this is a closed RP, then disregard

IC: Emperor Giusecchio el'Von Rystal III, Emperor of Khallayne arrived in a black limo, he was wearing ceremonial robes of yellow and white silk embroidered with dragons and skroms (tigers with deer antlers) made from crushed rubies. His auburn hair had been cut and he wore a gold cirlet and plenty of rings, his sky-blue eyes seemed to suck everything into them then disregard it.

The Emperor also came with over 20 bodyguards armed to the teeth (which he left at the Limo).

The Emperor and his entourage of lightly armed guards swept into the party and the Emperor made for the buffet table, and after one of his guards waved a poison-snooper (a wonderful new invention for the Imperial Family) the Emperor had a glass of wine. Emperor Giusecchio then noticed Prince Constantine and decided to introduce himself.

"Greetings Prince Constantine, I am Emperor Giusecchio el'Von Rystal III, Emperor Khallayne. It's a pleasure to meet you." the Emperor said with a smile.

OOC: It's not closed but you can't bring men with firearms into the Palace. More men with more guns would stop them outside. The Emperor will have to come in with more lightly armed guards.

OOC: Ok, I'll edit it.

Done!

Prince Constantine arched an eyebrow, wondering how the Khallaynan Emperor managed to miss the fact that he was engaged in conversation with Princess Helen and Grand Duchess Gwendolyn.

"I beg your pardon, ladies." Constantine said, and turned to the Emperor. "The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty. Permit me to introduce Her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess Gwendolyn, and my cousin, Her Imperial Highness Princess Helen. Your Royal Highness, Mademoiselle d'Adrienople, may I present His Majesty the Khallaynan Emperor."

The herald cried out as the Emperor of Khallayne entered "His Imperial Majesty, Giusecchio el'Von Rystal III, Emperor of Khallayne!" After that, the man struggled to maintain his rigid composure, his face paling slightly.

Owain arched a brow ever so slightly before turning his gaze briefly to his wife. "Would you care for some refreshments, Your Majesty?"

Gwendolyn smiled warmly at Constantine and Helen, ignoring the other woman's confusion. "We're both doing..." She paused as the boorish emperor cut her off. Pulling back, her lovely young face losing some of its color, she curtsied politely. "Your Majesty."

The Emperor smiled and accepted their greetings, sometimes one had to be a little rude to get noticed. One of the Emperor's guards who had been talking on a cellphone quietly then informed him that a sect of Christian Cultists were located in Evenport and were being sent to the Temple of Justice for "questioning".

"Why are there those who reject the glory of Yellow Heaven and The Way of Peace?" the Emperor Giusecchio III asked of himself in sorrow. "I hope that the Inquisitors know what to do?" The guard nodded and made the call. "Make an example of..." was all anyone could understand from the guards quiet chatter.


His Blessed Majesty Emperor Giusecchio el’Von Rystal III, Emperor of the Khallaynans, the Son of Heaven, Protector of the State, Defender of the Faith, Descendant of the Prophet, Ascendant to Yellow Heaven

Gwendolyn was quite simply at a loss for words when she overheard the man. She looked to Constantine, her eyes almost literally begging him to say something and not simply be the polite courtier.

Quite a few of the nobles were talking among themselves. They did not speak directly to the Emperor of Khallayne but neither did they bother speaking particularly low. From the many men and women in the courtyard, whether Christian or Shinto or other, the Emperor could hear whispered words such as "murderer," "tyrant," "hate-monger," "extremist," "bigot" and so on and so forth.

Ulrich turned towards the growing wave of discontent, tightening his expression and his fists. Owain simply pretended not to notice. Men who snubbed him in his own court would receive the same in turn. Certainly, he made no move to make the Khallaynean Emperor feel more welcome among the increasinly hostile crowd. Tyrants he had dealt with many times but fools were another matter and this man had been foolish enough to flaunt among the Danaans that he murdered the coreligionists of most of the Zutern nobles for their faith.

The Emperor Giusecchio el'Von Rystal III simply accepted the muttering as part of what heathens did when they were confronted with the truth of their false ways. "Besides I wonder what they would do to Followers of the Prophet of The Way of Peace if they lived here." Giusecchio thought to himself as another of his guards handed the Emperor a small snack from the buffet table.

It wasn't easy being the Son of Heaven.


His Blessed Majesty Emperor Giusecchio el’Von Rystal III, Emperor of the Khallaynans, the Son of Heaven, Protector of the State, Defender of the Faith, Descendant of the Prophet, Ascendant to Yellow Heaven

Gwendolyn didn't look at the Emperor of Heaven with fear or horror or even contempt (and certainly not with the guilty conscience he seemed to expect). Her eyes were filled with pity, real pity like one might have for an abused dog or a little kid who spilled their ice cream cone. Another woman near her was crying, however.

Owain actually frowned for the first time and he spoke without actually deigning to look at Giusecchio. "You will comport yourself after the manner of a civilized man or you will leave. It is against our laws to commit crimes against sentience while standing on our soil, even for foreign leaders."

A few of the Royal Guard tensed, hands dropping to their sidearms. There were easily enough to deal with Giusecchio and his guards if they made trouble, although there was no swarm of twenty around Owain nor would there ever be a need for such paranoia and ostentation. A Protocol Officer approached the Emperor and politely offerred him a book on simple court ettquette, compliance with which was required to be received at all at the High King's court.

"Even when I'm away and ask to not be disturbed by Imperial Policy my Uncle , the Grand Vizzer, seems to depend on my judgement more and more." Giusecchio said in an apologetic tone. "But since all this is going on in Khallayne and subject to laws older than my Dynasty I had little choice."

Then Giusecchio smilled and took a small sip of wine before continuing. "But let's move on from this subject. This is truly a lovely party, I so rarely get to relax and this is my first trip beyond the Empire."

One of his guards took the book of ettiqute and didn't look at it (beyond checking it for anything dangerous) as it was a gift to the Son of Heaven.


His Blessed Majesty Emperor Giusecchio el’Von Rystal III, Emperor of the Khallaynans, the Son of Heaven, Protector of the State, Defender of the Faith, Descendant of the Prophet, Ascendant to Yellow Heaven

Gwendolyn looked at Constantine and Helen. "Come with me, Your Highnesses. I'll introduce you to my brother, His Most Esteemed High Majesty, and my husband so soon as I find him."

She guided Helen and Constantine over to Owain, Marissa, and Ulrich. Owain smiled broadly at the two Pantocratorians. "Your Highnesses, it is so good of you to come. You are both looking quite well."

The woman near Giusecchio was crying now. She was a small, rather beautiful woman with coffee skin and bright, intelligent eyes. She turned and began to move into the crowd, a few gentlemen moving towards her with deep frowns of concern.

A herald near the palace gate cried out "Her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Morgan."

Morgan walked out with a smile as the crowd watched with bright grins on their faces. She was a young woman of around 21 years of age with dark brown hair cut short in a boyish cut. Today she wore a flowing green gown with gold lining as she turned her face out over the men gathered.

One of Giusecchio's guards (with a nod from the Emperor) walked towards the crying woman with a look of one who knows he has offened but isn't sure how. The guard (Eadamm was his name) tapped the woman on the shoulder and whispered to her that the Emperor was sorry for any offence to his words... and that he was sorry she had to hear heartless Imperial Policy.

"Would you like a handkerchief?" Eadamm asked as he handed her a yellow silk Handkercheif with a skrom on it, the symbol of Khallayne and The Way of Peace.

By now, almost everyone had taken His Majesty's que and was literally pretending the Emperor and his men weren't there, something that was unlikely to change until the man presented himself properly.

A few men did scowl at Eadamm and three or four scowled at the Emperor for gesturing Eadamm over. One of them, in fact, moved as though to block the guard, except that the woman herself help up her hand to ward him off and allow Eadamm to approach. "I'm sorry it is Imperial policy." she stated harshly. "I also don't see how any man can not understand how announcing to a room that you think half of them should ideally be killed, refusing to present himself in the court of another nation, and insulting every man and woman around him with almost his every word is offensive." She took the hankerchief and wiped her eyes. "Thank you. You're a gentleman." She shook her head a little as though to clear it. "Where I came from, people would be killed if they were Catholics or Jews or atheists or so-called heretics...like my parents were, burned alive in the name of truth. So you will forgive me if I am a little more sensitive to such things as most." She shook her head and smiled almost apologetically. "It is not your fault. My name is Antigone Cook." She offered the guard a hand, palm down.

Morgan moved to the side the herald cried "Her Most Divine Imperial Highness, the Princess Yuko, Daughter of the Radiant Sun and Flower of the Sublime Dawn!" Only a few brows went up at the more fanciful Adoki title.

OOC: Present Himself?

IC: Just then one of the Emperor's guards handed the Emperor a cellphone saying that "Her Majesty has called." Giusecchio excussed himself and went outside, he took in a breath of the night air and heard his wife Empress Penelope rant about the abuse and insults to her character at a party SHE was attending elsewhere... or something like that as the Emperor had trouble hearing over her yelling.

Eadamm shook Antigone's hand in the Imperial fashion, pointed straight with an eased grip. "For what you have suffered I don't think it's my place to say sorry since that word doesn't cover it, but... Sometimes things happen that nothing can change, especially in Khallayne." Eadamm sighed and whispered that last part lest others hear.

He then whispered into Antigone's ear, "I'm not sure I should tell you this but certain members of the Rystal Family are becomming more tolerant to other faiths and it's been whispered that Giusecchio's time might be up before his first year. But it's only rumors, the Emperor doesn't believe it... But I'm not sure."

OOC: Keep OOC comments to telegrams. And it's proper for a visiting monarch to present himself to the monarch whose land he's visiting before doing anything else

"Good." Antigone said savagely. She shook her head a little. "Why is he here, anyway? He's already married." She shook her head ever so slightly, looking towards Morgan and the emerging Yuko and then back at the guard. "I never got your name."

"My name is Eadamm Titor," Eadamm said quietly, "The reason the Emperor is here is because he is trying to "promote the glory of Khallayne and Yellow Heaven" which if I might say so he is failing at badly."

The Emperor meanwhile was worried that his hearing might be damaged from his wife's angry tirade about whatever was going on at her end. Giusecchio sat down on a bench outside for a few minutes of fresh air, and to clear his ears of the awful ringing.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. It is a pleasure to see you again." smiled Prince Constantine. He inclined his head politely and Helen curtsied self-consciously, remembering how Owain had snubbed her when she had first met her - although in fairness to the High King, he hadn't done so intentionally. Constantine and Helen both made the appropriate greetings to Marissa and Prince Ulrich.

"Sire, if I may..." Prince Constantine said, lowering his voice a little, although not troubling to lower himself so that only Owain, Helen and Gwendolyn could hear. "This so-called Emperor of Khallayne is behaving in an insufferable fashion. I am aware that there was an open invitation to this ball, but surely Sire, this man represents the last sort of person one would want to be present here at a ball in Ambara, where our nations have come together to put to rest exactly the sort of crimes this man has just committed so casually via telephony. He's upsetting Mademoiselle d'Adrienople and many more besides, isn't he, mademoiselle?"

"Uhm..." Helen started, not expecting to be brought into this. "I don't want to make a fuss..."

When Morgan entered, Constantine turned and nodded to her briefly, and turned back to the King so as to not be inattentive to Owain's response. Helen discreetly looked around the courtyard, seeing if she could catch a glimpse of Prince Peter. She was surprised, but she felt vaguely jealous of Gwendolyn for marrying the Excalbian.

Owain shook his head gently at Constantine's question. "A knight is civilized unto the barbarian, gracious to the graceless, chivalrous to the chivenly, noble to the base..."

He turned his gaze to Morgan as she entered, as did Gwendolyn. The older sister smiled and asked no one in particular "Isn't she growing into a marvellous young woman?"

Peter walked into the courtyard searching for Gwendolyn. He spotted her at some distance standing with her brother, Owain, and Marissa. He blushed with embarrassment over his tardiness. Then, he spotted Prince Constantine and Princess Helen. His blush deepened. He wondered, as his eyes met Helen’s, whether she was remembering the attraction they had felt for each other.

As Peter made his way towards his Gwendolyn he gently shook his head. He drove away the bittersweet memories of New Constantinople and focused on his precious Gwen.

The prince approached the cluster of in-laws – he actually smiled at the thought that everyone in the tidy little group was related to each other, one way or another, by marriage. He bowed gracefully. “Your Majesties,” he said towards Owain and Marissa. Then, turning to Constantine and Helen he said, “Your Highnesses.” He smiled broadly at Gwendolyn. “I am sorry I was delayed, my love.” Peter looked around. “Have I missed much?”

Emperor Giusecchio el'Von Rystal III would of returned to the party but had recived another call and this one required that he return to Khallayne immediatly. The Emperor sent another guard back to the party to find Eadamm and tell him that his Emperor needed him, and to inform His Majesty Owian that urgent matters had come up but that the Son of Heaven wished him 10,000 years of Long Life and Good Luck.

Eadamm made a quick goodbye to Antigone and gave her his cellphone number to keep in touch with him.

As Emperor Giusecchio III left for the Imperial City and home he didn't realize that his days were numbered.


His Blessed Majesty Emperor Giusecchio el’Von Rystal III, Emperor of the Khallaynans, the Son of Heaven, Protector of the State, Defender of the Faith, Descendant of the Prophet, Ascendant to Yellow Heaven

Gwendolyn slipped her arm into Peter's, still keeping her eyes on her sister. "The fault is mine, Your Highness." she murmured. "You missed...nothing you would have wanted to see, in any event."

Owain inclined his head to Peter as the prince walked over, still waiting for Yuko to step out for her presentation. He seemed rather uninclined to allow much interruption to the presentation of the two ladies, although he did take the Khallaynean Emperor's note from the servant who brought it over, reading it briefly. He shook his head slightly and handed it back in a rather disiniterested manner.

Antigone took the cell phone number in some surprised. She seemed flattered and insulted, charmed and repulsed, all at once. It was just such an odd thing for the guard to do. Nonetheless, she took it politely and hid it away quickly so that the other lords and ladies would not see that she had accepted such a thing.

Marissa, like everyone else present, had been slightly taken aback by the arrival and strange behaviour of the Emperor of Khallayne. She had been witness to bad behaviour in her life, but never had she seen someone of such ranking fail to observe proper protocol. She looked at Owain and frowned, lowering her voice. “I fear that you may have to vet your guests more closely, my love.” She smiled sadly, and turned her attention to Prince Peter, who had approached, and stood beside Gwendolyn.

“Your highness, it is a pleasure to meet you again.” She smiled, more brightly now as her humour returned following the previous spectacle. “It is nice to see Gwendolyn’s smile returned.” She looked at her sister-in-law, who she already considered a friend as well as a sister, even if she did not get as much opportunity to converse with Owain’s sisters as she would have liked to.

Peter took Gwendolyn’s arm in his own and reached across with his other hand and gently squeezed his wife’s hand. He whispered, “Nothing too unpleasant I hope.”

He turned his face to Marissa. “And it is a pleasure to see you again, your Highness.” Marissa and Owain seemed nice enough and he looked forward to getting to know them better. Peter realized that this was very fortunate, since he suspected he would be spending most of his time in the Resurgent Dream.

He turned to look where everyone was looking. He spotted Gwendoyln’s younger sister Morgan. She was certainly an attractive girl, especially in the green and gold gown and she had the attention of most of the guests. Peter guessed that she had just been presented, so he was just in time.

He stole a glance at Gwendolyn. Morgan was attractive, but Gwendolyn, he thought was truly in a league of her own. The prince turned back to the entranceway, realizing that Princess Yuko must be about to be presented.

Princess Yuko stepped out in a light green silk dress after the courtly Japanese style. She was a voluptuous woman to most Western eyes, with a finely curved and compact figure. However, she was known to be considered overweight by her own people who preferred tiny, frail princesses. Perhaps this reputation in Adoki was wehat made any number of Danaan noblemen look with surprise at the beautiful young woman before them.

Yuko smiled at the admiring crowd and linked arms with Grand Duchess Morgan. The two approached the High King and High Queen (and, correspondingly, the small group around them). The ladies courtsied lightly to Marissa before courtseying deeply to Owain and remaining in position.

A number of Adoki guards moved alertly through the crowd, staying out of the ceremony but still making absolutely certain that no harm would befall the Daughter of the Radiant Sun while she was here in the Principality of Zutern.

Gwendolyn smiled warmly to Marissa. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Then she went silent and watched her sister and the Adoki princess approach.

Owain first took both of Morgan's hand in his and guided her to her feet. Then he kissed the air above her hands and both her cheeks. "You are received with honor." he said loudly, with a warm smile. He then repeated this with Yuko.

As he pulled back, Owain announced "The first dance of the evening belongs to Their Highnesses and their partners only. The dance floor opens after that." He then looked to Peter and Constantine, clearly expecting them to dance with the two young ladies.

Christina finally slipped back to Ulrich's side, curtseying to the king and slipping an arm through her husbands. She smiled warmly at the two royal maidens.

Prince Hermann arrived quietly through the crowd. He was dressed in fine courtly robes of the Marlundish style, ressembling little so much as the billowing robes common among nobles of the German Reformation. His hair was grey and his rugged face was lined with both age and care. He was a tired man and his dignity, while royal, was of the quiet sort. Not for him was the dashing chivalry of younger princes or the opulence of great emperors. He was simply stately, suited to his station but hardly standing out among his peers.

He started towards the Danaan king but, seeing him occuppied at the moment, he stopped next to Duchess Ygraine, the king's mother. He bowed politely, kissing the air just above her hand. "I must say, madame, your daughter has turned out splendidly. I might be inclined to pay her suite if I were a few decades younger."

Watching the progression of Princess Yuko and Grand Duchess Morgan, Marissa could not help feeling a tinge of pride. It brought her a lot of pleasure to bear witness to the traditions that surrounded her life in The Resurgent Dream. Her eyes briefly touched on Owain, watching as he performed his part of the ceremony and made his announcement. It was a nice change to take a back seat, allowing others to take centre stage. It meant that Owain could at least relax and enjoy himself a little.

Her gaze followed her husband’s as he looked at Constantine and Peter, waiting for them to take Owain’s subtle hint. She could not stop herself grinning slightly.

Constantine, seeing that Owain and Marissa wanted him to dance with either Yuko or Morgan, took a deep breath, and then stepped over to Morgan. He bowed courteously, and kissed Morgan's hand in the Danaan style. He wasn't anywhere near as good a dancer as his brother, but he was competent enough, and at least he didn't have his brother's insufferable, self-assured conceit about his dancing ability.

"Your Highness, would you do me the honour of this dance?" he asked her, a twinkle in his eyes.

"The honor would be mine." Morgan said, giving Constantine a polite smile. She slid her hand into his and let herself be led to the dance floor, her thoughts wandering. She knew that Owain was having this ball largely to find her a husband. She knew that he would likely select one if she didn't. She knew that on a superficial level, Constantine had been sent to court her as a gesture of friendship from the Pantocratorian Emperor. She also knew that neither Owain or Andreus had seriously considered the possibility of a match there, as the two nations were already tied together by marriage. However, she also surmised that, given the unexpectedly low attendance at the ball, Constantine was the best match currently present. Of course, knowing that the Emperor was not particularly seeking another Danaan match, he might hold back his suit once he saw the situation was such that it might be accepted. Or Owain might...There were a hundred things like that to be considered. However, Morgan knew most of them were largely out of her control. She let herself focus on the dance, clearing her mind and pretending she was just another 21 year-old girl dancing with a boy.

Owain looked very slightly, but pleasantly, surprised for a moment before resuming his usual expression of perfect reserve. Mentally, he was going over the crowd at the ball, noticing all sorts of subtle manuevers for visibility and position even as everyone seemed to stand quietly and watch the first dance.

Peter watched Owain formally receive Morgan and Yuko at court. The look in the king’s eye told him that Owain was expecting him to ask either Morgan or Yuko for their first dance. As Peter was weighing his decision, Constantine made it for him by asking Peter’s young sister-in-law first.

With a smile and a graceful bow Peter turned to Yuko. “Your Highness,” he said pleasantly, “may I have the honour of the dance?”

Constantine smiled charmingly at Morgan as he led her out onto the dance floor. He reached his arm around her waist, his hand resting on her lower back, and pulled her close. He danced well, but not exceptionally so - he looked happy to be dancing with Morgan but there was something a little odd about his expression which Morgan couldn't quite put her finger on.

"You look very beautiful this evening, Your Highness." Constantine offered quietly.

Helen stood nearby Owain and Marissa and watched as Constantine and Peter danced with Morgan and Yuko. She couldn't help but allow her eyes to be drawn to Peter and Yuko in particular - she actually felt somehow betrayed by the knowledge that Peter had married Gwendolyn and was now paying court to another woman entirely. It was a silly feeling, really, and Helen knew it was silly, but she the way Peter had pursued her in New Constantinople months ago still seemed very recent. Evidently all his sugary words had been insincere.

"Thank you, Your Highness." Morgan said with a smile. "I'm afraid I've never quite been as much the courtly lady as my older sister, however. I was actually rather nervous."

"Well you didn't need to be." Constantine replied with a smile. "You look fantastic, and you're doing fine, mademoiselle."

Yuko slipped her soft hand into Peter, smiling slightly. "You may, Your Highness."

She allowed Peter to lead her out onto the dance floor. She was trying, rather unsucessfully, not to look nervous. In Adoki, it was almost unheard of for a woman of her rank to interact socially with another woman's husband and she was unsure as to how it was done politely in Zutern. If she was too friendly, she feared Peter, Gwendolyn, and the onlookers might read all sorts of things into it. On the other hand, if she was too aloof, she might foster the image of Adoki as aloof and haughty that was already rather common. She decided to simply follow his lead in conversation.

Peter led the princess onto the dance floor. He could see that she was nervous. Peter smiled and said softly, “You are looking quite lovely this evening, your Highness.” Peter began to dance. He was a rather graceful and well-practiced dancer, if not particularly creative.

“I imagine it must be quite exciting being formally presented at court for the first time. One could hardly blame you for being you somewhat nervous, but I must say you are holding up quite well, your Highness.”

As Peter and Yuko danced, the prince could not help but notice Helen watching him. Peter felt a far-away warmth as he thought of the Pantocratorian princess. He had felt something very strong for her and would probably always have fond memories for her. Those memories, however, were coloured by guilt over his behaviour in New Constantinople. Yet, more than that, he felt something like pity. Helen, it seemed, had gone from being André’s “plan B” to being Constantine’s. Peter wished she would stand up for herself and chart her own life.

Morgan smiled to Constantine. "Thank you, Your Highness. I take it this is your first visit to Zutern?"

Gwendolyn smiled slightly as she watched her husband dancing with the Adoki princess. Whatever cultural concerns the woman had, it was fairly clear Gwendolyn wasn't worried in the least. She turned her gaze to her brother after a minute or so. "Things seem to be going well."

"Well enough." the king commented, non-commitally.

Gwendolyn then turned to Marissa. "I imagine this is your first trip to Zutern, Your Majesty?"

Owain turned to Marissa as well. "Perhaps we should tour all of the grand duchies and principalities in the near future. It is something which would be expected of us in good time and it is fit that a queen have seen all the realms over which she rules."

Marissa, who had been watching the pairs as they moved about the floor, turned to Gwendolyn as she spoke. “This is my first time here.” She smiled. “It is so nice to see different parts of The Resurgent Dream.” Her gaze then turned to Owain as he spoke, her eyes instantly focusing on his. “And you know that I would love to see as much of our nation as I can. The idea of visiting the various parts is something I have been thinking about. It is so much more enjoyable to see a place first hand than read about it in a book.”

Once more she looked over at Gwendolyn. “I am so pleased that you could be here tonight. It is always preferable to be surrounded by a few people that you know, and I am sure that Morgan is happier to know that her sister as well as her brother is here with her.”

Gwendolyn smiled and took Marissa's free hand, squeezing it lightly. "I am very glad to hear that. I do hope you won't forget Shieldcrest during your travels. I would love to receive you"

Owain smiled lightly. "We're start with Shieldcrest, then Bilbtoria, then on through the other principalities. I would very much like to visit Pele again."

Yuko smiled slightly. "Thank you, Your Highness. I'm very glad you and Her Highness were able to attend." Her smile faded as she reflected on the small crowd for a brief moment. "Although you seem to be among the only ones..."

Yuko shook her head. It didn't matter. The ball was more for Morgan anyway. The chance that any foreigner might come around who her father would actually allow her to marry was miniscule.

"I hope that you enjoyed your honeymoon in Pele. I have always been meaning to visit myself. By all accounts, it is among the lovelier islands in the world. I do hope you and Her Highness found a place to stay which allowed you to eat together." There was a habit among the most aristocratic and the most rural native Peleans that men and women were forbidden to eat together. Ordinary Peleans paid no heed to this rule nor did any of the hotels which generally catered to tourists. It was an anachronism of Princess Beatrice's court and of a few rural backwaters. Still, as a royal couple, Yuko worried that Peter and Gwendolyn might have wound up in an ultra-traditional aristocratic venue.

"It is my first visit, yes." Constantine replied to Morgan. "Do you come to Zutern often, or is this your first visit as well?"

Morgan shook her head. "It is my first visit as well. It is a charming principality but the culture is a good deal less open than one might find in Tarana, especially towards women. They do, however, make the best fondue in the High Kingdom."

She continued to let Constantine lead. "But tell me something of yourself, Your Highness. I am given to understand that you are the Deputy Leader of the United Christian Front in Parlement? Perhaps you would wish to de...to tell me of such matters?" It was clear that Morgan really would rather debate than keep exchanging pleasantries, although she caught herself from saying something so unladylike just in time.

Marissa smiled at Gwendolyn, and listened as Owain replied to his sister. “We would be most honoured to visit you and Peter, Gwendolyn. I am so grateful that Owain is going to let us visit you first, it will start the tour off in the best possible way.” She looked at Owain and smiled. “The thought of being able to see your homeland and my new home is a very happy one. I want to feel like I belong here and experience as much as I can.”

Her eyes once more fell upon the two couples dancing, before she looked back at Gwendolyn. “Peter dances wonderfully. I am sure you cannot what to take your turn? I know that my feet are itching for the opportunity to whisk Owain around the floor, at least once.” She caught her husband’s eye, a twinkle of mischief in her gaze.

Peter gave the princess a cheery smile and, in his most reassuring voice, said, “It is quality of the guests and not their quantity, your Highness. Nevertheless, I am sure you will have many opportunities to meet new friends.”

Peter stole a glance at Gwendolyn and gave her a loving smile before turning back to Yuko. “Yes, had a wonderful time! Pele is beautiful place and we found some wonderful, secluded spots,” Peter grinned, “so we were free – most of the time – to do as we pleased.”

Owain smiled slightly, pulling his wife towards him gently. He did give her a light squeeze, his way of indicating that he thought she was being overly informal without embarassing her. "It is my custom to reserve the first and the last dance for Her Majesty." he commented to the small group.

Gwendolyn grinned back at Peter before turning her smile to Marissa. "Of course you belong, Your Majesty. You are family." She followed Marissa's gaze to her husband again. "His Highness is a wonderful dancer. However, I can patiently let the young Adoki princess have this one dance. I have him for the rest of my life, after all." She shook her head a little. "We will, of course, make ready to receive you. Since the honeymoon, we have been making the palace in Shieldcrest our home, although the prince is taking some time adjusting to the fact that we do not serve alcohol of any sort, excepting with the Lord's Supper."

A gentleman approached Owain around this point, bowing at the waist. "Begging Your Majesty's pardon, you asked to be notified as soon as..."

Owain nodded before the man finished. "Yes, I recall. I would dance with my wife first. Tell him I shall be with him in ten minutes."

The man bowed. "As Your Majesty wishes." He backed away before heading back inside.

"Do you mean to tell me that Pe... His Highness... doesn't drink anymore?" Helen asked Gwendolyn, with a hint of surprise, remembering the Prince being among the frequently-drunk of the Despotic Court of New Constantinople. "He must be having a positively awful time in Shieldcrest."

She added the last part quietly, but bit her lower lip, realising it probably wasn't the most diplomatic thing to say. Still, for some reason she couldn't help but be jealous that Gwendolyn now had Peter's attentions instead of her, and the fact that she came off so self-righteous and pure only increased the catty resentment. Meanwhile, on the dance floor...

"What would you like to know, mademoiselle?" Constantine asked with a charming smile. "You are correct, I am Monsieur's deputy."

Gwendolyn laughed ever so lightly. "Oh, we've been having a wonderful time, Your Highness! We're just expanded the recreational facilities to suit His Highness's tastes. We would, of course, be honored to share our joy with our friends if you ever wished to visit."

"What do you think about the new elections in Pantocratorian Ambara?" Morgan asked Constantine with interest.

"That does sound rather pleasant, Your Highness. Did you, by any chance, try surfing? I hear it is quite popular in Pele." Yuko continued making small talk as she danced, deciding it was much more fun than the not talking and looking constantly demure which was her lot back home.

"There are, I believe, a few people back home who have taken up the sport but it is not nearly as popular among the aristocracy as it is in Pele." She smiled a little. "What games do they play in Excalbia, Your Highness? I am actually very curious about your nation. My people have had almost no contact with yours until very recently, when Excalbia began sending troops to Marlund."

"I think it's disappointing that they didn't produce a clearer cut result." Prince Constantine replied. "Many in my party were looking to the elections in Pantocratorian Ambara as a microcosm of voter intentions in Pantocratoria itself, hoping to see a clear sign of dissatisifaction with the Drapeur Government. They were disappointed, although the result indicates that the United Christian Front would probably improve its position in the Imperial Parliament if fresh elections were called. I take it you're interested in politics, mademoiselle?"

Helen managed half-smile despite the fact that she had by now determined that she definitely disliked this Gwendolyn with a passion.

"Would I be allowed to drink if I did visit, madame?" Helen asked.

Morgan inclined her head as she continued to dance gracefully. "Of course, Your Highness. A proper royal lady must be involved in the affairs of her country, after all. I do also try to keep an eye on Pantocratorian politics as well."

Gwendolyn smiled. "Of course, Your Highness. There are a great many places in Narich which serve alcohol."

Constantine smiled and nodded slightly, although he found the answer a little disappointing in that it was somewhat general.

"I'm a little bit more involved than is normal for most in our position, I suppose." he said. He bit his lower lip lightly and decided to probe a little further. "Tell me, mademoiselle, what do you think of the recent elections in Pantocratorian Ambara?"

Helen smiled briefly and looked away, not wanting to persist on the topic and make an ass of herself. Her eyes passed over the dance floor to Prince Peter and Princess Yuko and she sighed ever so slightly. She looked back to Gwendolyn with a vaguely wistful look in her eyes.

"I suppose you're looking forward to His Highness finishing his dance with Mademoiselle la Princesse so that you can dance with him." she said.

Morgan smiled a little nervously. "Perhaps you are, historically speaking, Your Highness, but you are following in the footsteps of your aunt and uncle. The involvement of the Pantocratorian imperial family in Parliamentary politics seems to be becoming a new tradition. As for the elections in Pantocratorian Ambara..." She sighed heavily, glancing off for a moment. "I would say your problem is a failure to adjust properly to the situation in Ambara and the new Orthodox population of Pantocratoria. People are dissatisfied with the socialists but a good proportion of your base probably moved to the right of your affiliate in Ambara because they were unwilling to accept the presence of the Eastern Orthodox population. Others who might have voted for you have accepted the presence of the Orthodox Church and, now that the religous homogenity of Pantocratoria is broken, they don't see any reason to defend two churches instead of three, at least not with the kind of passion they defended having only one Church. If you made the campaign about specific issues such as abortion, crime, contraceptives, letting the UN dictate domestic policy, defense, and other issues where the right is usually stronger, I think you'd be able to gain a majority in Pantocratoria. Of course, I do happen to know that my government would not be willing to renegotiate the sections of our treaty relating to sentient rights or the section relating to borders, visas, passports, and the like."

"Very much." Gwendolyn answered.

"Their Highnesses would like to make a family friend of the Princess, however." Owain added, much to his sister's apparent surprise.

"You're quite insightful, mademoiselle." Constantine smiled, impressed. He agreed with most of Morgan's assessment, having already reached many of the same conclusions himself - that didn't stop him from being pleasantly surprised by her grasp of the matter. "Insights like that will be most useful in the preparation for... hmm... perhaps I shouldn't say this, but since you keep a close eye on Pantocratorian politics, you'll find out soon enough I suppose. Negotiations to form a government in Pantocratorian Ambara with the support of the various independents and minor parties are all but ended. We're quite confident that the Socialists won't be able to form government either. I'd expect the parliament to vote to dissolve itself in its first sitting, next week, calling on Sir Pierre to call fresh elections."

Helen bit her lower lip as her attempts to subtly seek Gwendolyn's permission went unnoticed.

"Would it be... too inappropriate for me to ask... if I could be allowed to dance with His Highness after you, madame?" Helen asked Gwendolyn hopefully.

Morgan inclined her head slightly. "The independent and minor party voters are probably less committed to specific positions than their representatives are. If you look at specific blocks of independent voters, you can gain twice as much ground by conceding half as much on issues. Forming a..." Morgan laughed lightly at herself as she continued to dance with Constantine. "I'm just telling you what you already know, aren't I, Your Highness?"

"Of course not." Gwendolyn said with a friendly smile to Helen. "You two are old friends, after all."

Constantine's eyes twinkled and he smiled broadly at Morgan's realisation and chuckle.

"Don't worry about it." he told her. "It was still very insightful. Perhaps you'd like to tell me about your views on Danaan politics?"

"Friends... yes." Helen replied and looked away again. Was that how Peter had described her? She felt almost disappointed by the description.

"Danaan politics is at a crossroads." Morgan said. "There's obviously a good deal of uncertainty as a result of the Shattering and some political confusion as a result of recent Party realignments. I believe a large proportion of the Nationalist vote in the last election was a temporary result of fear and uncertainty. I think there's no better indication as to how foreign Mr. Baxter's politics are to the Danaan spirit than the fact that bitter political enemies like Mr. Goldfarb and Mr. Llewelyn were willing to sacrifice some deeply held political principles as well as a large measure of support within their own parties in order to exclude him from government. That is probably the most important recent political move in Parliament." She smiled wryly. "Not, however, the most interesting to the student of politics. The emergence of such a broad coalition, what is in essence a National Unity Government, although I would never publically use such a term to represent a manuever against another legal Danaan party, has had an interesting effect on the dynamics of governance. As Your Highness doubtless knows, the broader a coalition, the smaller the common program which all entering party's promise to support. In the case of this government, the majority of issues which come up for a vote are such that the governing coalition does not vote together. My hypothesis, and so far all my inquiries confirm it, is that this tends to separate the Government as such from the legislature as such, introducing certain dynamics between the Prime Minister and the Parliament familiar in places like the FMSA where the local government has a distinct Executive (the political tactics when she's pushing a bill that both the Nationalists and the Patriots oppose are almost exactly like those one sees when the FMSA elects a divided government). It also creates unique tensions..." She frowned slightly. "It creates rather trying tensions for Ministers to try to work together in a government and fight for opposing sides of issues in the legislative process. However politically interesting it is, it's an unfortunate necessity. It is my sincerst hope that the people will see how well the Liberals have done in uniting the country, even in such a difficult position, and allow the election of a genuine Liberal Government in the next election."

Gwendolyn smiled slightly at Helen before looking to Owain with an arched brow. "I do find Her Highness charming but...I am not sure from where this comes."

"Trust me." was the High King's only reply.

"Why are the Liberals the one who have united the country though, mademoiselle?" Constantine enquired. His tone was friendly, and somewhat detached from the process in his analysis - certainly not hostile to Morgan's opinion. "They are, after all, only one out of three parties in this... national unity government. And the voters may see things the other way... Baxter won a plurality after all. What if they turn against all three minority parties who joined together to deny government to the party chosen by more Danaans than any other? Trying to make her party look like a unifying force rather than an unprincipled one which abandoned most of its principles to form a national unity government with such a narrow base of common ground will be no mean feat for Madame Karamanlis. I saw her speak in the Imperial Parliament recently... are you sure she's up to such a feat of political finesse?"

Morgan laughed lightly. "You misunderstand, Your Highness. I did not say that my analysis was that the Liberals were bound to win. I simply said I hoped they would. Labor, although nominally and perhaps, to an extent, sincerely monarchist, is a party devoted to breaking down the natural structure of our society, the rules of just exchange within basic background justice which it has taken centuries to perfect. No royal lady could support that. However, the Patrots policies are far too unsympathetic to the poor. As a Christian and a member of a royal house which has traditionally considered itself a protector of widows and orphans, I do not support their policies. So I hope the Liberals win."

She smiled ever so faintly. "And, yes, I certainly think she's up to it. I believe that she is by merit and, if I do not sound overly prejudiced for saying so, birth, the best fit of all the current party leaders for the position."

"We shall have to talk more when we're done dancing, mademoiselle, I'm practically tripping all over myself. How you manage to remain so graceful whilst engaged so thoroughly in conversation is quite amazing." Constantine smiled as he flattered Morgan.

Morgan blushed ever so slightly. "I'm hardly...Thank you, Your Highness. We shall certainly have to talk more after the dance." Morgan danced in silence for another few minutes until the dance came to a close. She curtseyed to Constantine after pulled back from his arms, but she didn't walk away. She walked alongside the Pantocratorian prince, eager to continue their conversation.

Owain turned to Marissa, offering her his hand. "Lady, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

Gwendolyn smiled brightly, looking to Peter as the first dance came to a conclusion.

Constantine was flattered by the fact that Morgan obviously wished to continue her conversation with him rather than go dance the second dance, although he felt a little guilty for dragging her away from the dance floor.

"The other gentlemen will be very cross with me." he said as the pair walked to the side of the dance floor.

Peter smiled pleasantly at Princess Yuko. “Yes, we did some surfing. Pele has some very good waves. Have you tried it yourself, your Highness?”

He listened as Yuko continued to speak. “Yes,” he said nodding, “and the deployment to Marlund has greatly increased interest back home in all the nations involved in operations there.” The prince paused. “Sports are very popular in Excalbia. Hiking and climbing are widely enjoyed. Football, American football, baseball, hockey, basketball… I guess most spectator sports have some following in Excalbia.” The prince grinned. “Just about the only thing that has not caught on in Excalbia is jousting, though it is practiced by some of our closest friends.”

As the dance came to a conclusion, he bowed gracefully to Yuko and escorted the princess back to where Gwendolyn, Owain, Marissa and Helen stood. “Thank you for the dance, your Highness. I hope we will have a chance to chat further later.” He bowed again, then turned to Gwendolyn.

“Your Highness,” he said to Gwendolyn with a broad smile, “may I have this dance?”

Morgan laughed slightly. "I am sure Princess Yuko will be pleased at the increased attention. I am also sure that quite a few gentlemen would be honored to dance with your lovely cousin." She smiled at him. "I hope I haven't put you off by bringing our political differences into the open. I presume you prefer the Patriot Party among the Danaan parties?"

Meanwhile, a wide variety of Zutern noblemen of various ages, ranks, and builds were indeed heading towards Helen, giving her a wide selection among dance partners.

Gwendolyn offerred her hand to Peter, smiling warmly. "With pleasure, my lord."

"I'm sure Mademoiselle d'Adrienople will be thrilled." Constantine smiled as he guided Morgan to a seat and offered it to her. "Why do you assume that I would prefer the Patriot Party?"

Helen glanced at Peter and Gwendolyn's little exchange. Seeing the oncoming Zutern noblemen, she looked away at nothing in particular and tried to appear disinterested as she waited for whichever one would first approach her.

Morgan sat with a light smile. "Well, the Patriot Party is the most similar party to the United Christian Front. The only major policy difference I can think of off the top of my head is that the Patriots do not support a nationally established religion protected from external intervention. However, I would not imagine you would support that sort of policy in a predominantly Protestant nation."

A young man, well-built, with dashing blonde hair approached Helen. As Owain started off with Marrissa, he turned with a smile. "Your Highness, allow me to introduce His Grace, Heinrich, Duke of Merringer. Your Grace, Her Imperial Highness, Princess Helen."

Merringer bowed to Helen gracefully. "An honor, Your Highness."

"It might depend on which denomination they chose." Constantine joked with a wink indicating he wasn't serious. "I don't think the Patriot Party is similar to the United Christian Front, actually. I don't think Danaan politics really has an equivalent to the United Christian Front. With the exception of some... ex-Pantocratoria First members... we generally don't have a problem with big government programmes. Like you, we believe in taking care of the less fortunate members of society, widows, orphans, the elderly, the disabled, and the otherwise economically disadvantaged. In the past we've done that through the Church, although there's some debate about whether we want to move back to that sort of system when we're returned to Government."

"The honour is mine, Your Grace." smiled Helen, offering him her hand.

"The Patriot Party does have a few programs like that." Morgan said. "Although they mostly take place on a principality level. In Wyrnsk, Selinia, and Shieldcrest, three Patriot controlled principalities, government cooperation with the established church in carrying out charity work is a popular program. The difference is that the government in those cases only contributed limited funds and some standing government organizational and demographic resources. The Patriots never have advocated the funding of Church charities through the large-scale use of funds collected as a matter of law." She smiled slightly. "So, if I might ask, and if I might be forgiven for having guessed wrong the first time, whom would you support were you a Danaan politician?"

Merringer took Helen's hand and bowed over it, kissing the air just above the skin. "Your Highness, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

"If I were a Danaan politician?" Constantine asked. "I think I'd have to start my own political party. My policies would be completely unsuited to the Danaan environment. It could be called the Fish Out of Water Party, and nobody would vote for it. I'd lose every election, but the important thing would be that I'd lose it in style."

He grinned playfully.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Certainly, monsieur. It would be my pleasure." Helen replied demurely, and allowed Merringer to lead her out onto the dance floor.

"And what would this Fish Out of Water Party stand for?" Morgan teased lightly. "I assume something rather stylish, if you're going to be losing with style in every election."

Merringer led Helen out to the dance floor and began dancing elegantly with her. "How are you finding Zutern, Your Highness?"

"We'd stand for unpopular, but good, principles. We'd stand for a godly society, everything and everyone in their place, happy and well-looked after, no hunger, no crime..." Constantine said. "...and for the compulsory introduction of mesh lids for fishtanks so that we fish couldn't get out of water in the first place."

"I only just got here, monsieur, I haven't found enough of Zutern to comment yet on how I'm finding it, I'm afraid." Helen replied, letting Merringer lead and mentally judging his rhythm, his touch, and his confidence.

"And these are the policies you think no one would vote for?" Morgan asked, still in a jocular tone but with an edge of seriousness to it. "I had no idea that we Danaans were so universally hostile to God, king, and country, and so universally supportive of poverty and crime?" She studied Constantine intently, as though trying to see into his soul, her gaze losing its playfulness for a long moment as she looked into his eyes. After a moment, she looked away nervously, giving a light laugh. "You are quite a politician, Your Highness." Somehow, she managed to make it sound like she was impressed and disappointed at the same time, leaving it a total mystery how this new discovery was in any way distinct from the fact that he was in and was interested in politics, something clear from the beginning of the conversation.

Merringer led Helen firmly with an almost casual air of command, smirking down at her as he spoke. "It is a young principality but it is fast becoming one of the most prominent in the Resurgent Dream, a rival to Shieldcrest itself in population and culture." He grinned broadly. "Is this your first time in the Resurgent Dream, Your Highness?"

"No, that isn't what I meant..." Constantine offered, but gave up as she looked into his eyes and then concluded that he was quite a politician. "You're quite a young lady, Your Highness. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"No, monsieur." Helen answered, feeling herself naturally respond to his commanding touch. "I've been to the Resurgent Dream several times, most recently I was in Tarana for the weddings of my cousin, Princess Theodora to Monsieur le Prince of Holista, Their Majesties the High King and Queen, and Grand Duchess Gwendolyn and His Highness."

"You didn't." Morgan smiled a little. "You just expressed what your party would stand for in terms of things no one could possibly be against rather than in terms of specific, debatable policies. That is how good politicians campaign. However, it comes out wrong if you do it right after you so charmingly confess your policies would not garner many votes." She smiled wryly and gave him a little wink. "I suppose Danaan politics has a much narrower range than Pantocratorian, in practice, if not by law. We are no longer trying to decide what sort of society we want, at least not on any fundamental level. I am sure you could find a minor party to your liking in Wyrnsk or Sanero, however. In Kagerlund, there are even a few who identify themselves more with the UCF than with any party in their own country."

She paused as if considering for a moment. "If it is not too probing a question, Your Highness, are you by any chance a Thomist?" she asked, almost out of the blue.

"Tarana doesn't count." Merringer said. "It could just as easily be Knootcap or New York as the Resurgent Dream."

"I don't tend to classify myself like that, but I was certainly very heavily influenced by lessons from tutors who would've described themselves as belonging to the Thomist school." Constantine replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh." Helen replied, biting her lower lip gently and blushing faintly. "Well, I've been before, but... it was during the Shattering and... it wasn't... well, you know, monsieur, it wasn't the most pleasant time to visit."

"It is no matter." Morgan responded, feeling suddenly very awkward. The conversation, which had started out rather pleasant, seemed to have died in the last few moments, since Constantine had made his rather tactless comment, which he now seemed to try to pretend hadn't happened.

"Quite tragic." Merringer commented. "Whatever made you want to come during that time?"

"No, really, why?" Constantine asked. "I'd really like to know, mademoiselle. You are, if I may say so, a very insightful young woman... I'm..."

He blushed a little, obviously shy.

"...well you keep looking at me... with this... intense gaze... like you see more of me than... I'm sorry, I'm being odd." Constantine said. "I'm just interested to know what made you ask that question."

"I didn't want to come..." Helen told Merringer quietly as they danced. "But my friend, she was a sidhe, and... well, she had to return. It was... horrifying."

Morgan smirked faintly. "I asked because I don't want you to talk to me like you're making a campaign speech. And everything I asked...the way I was looking at you...I want to know what you see when you look at me. I do know how your party feels about Protestants."

"So she's in the Dreaming now?" Merringer inquired.

"I'm sorry..." Constantine said sheepishly. "Sometimes everything I say comes out like a campaign speech. I... when I look at you, mademoiselle, I see a beautiful, but more importantly, intensely intelligent young lady. You're insightful and thoughtful. And although I couldn't at first... now I can see all of those things in your face and especially... in your eyes. You're much too clever for campaign speeches."

He paused for a few moments and took a deep breath.

"I think you might misunderstand how the UCF feels about Protestants, although I can certainly understand why you might." Constantine offered. "Pantocratoria has no significant Protestant population. My party has always pursued national unity... cultural unity, religious unity, linguistic unity. It isn't that my party... dislikes Protestants or any other religious denomination... but as a matter of policy it has always sought to preserve Pantocratoria's religious unity, something which the underhanded tactics of the Constantinople Party has now undone. I realise that the distinction isn't necessarily a palatable one, and I understand completely, but if my party really had an objection to Protestants generally as opposed to simply Protestantism taking hold in Pantocratoria, we would never have arranged and signed treaties of alliance with Excalbia. We wouldn't so whole-heartedly support our treaty of alliance with your own nation. I'm sorry that that's cold comfort."

In the meantime, Helen danced with Merringer and continued to talk.

"No... not exactly..." Helen replied awkwardly. "She's not a sidhe anymore though. She transformed into a human so that she didn't have to leave our world."

"It is certainly unpalatable." Morgan said. "However, politics would be rather boring if we all agreed on everything, wouldn't it? But tell me what you think about a man like Nationalist MP Gwydion Davies who desires religious, linguistic, cultural, and even racial unity for this country?"

"That sounds rather odd." Merringer said.

"That they would be, mademoiselle." Constantine replied, breathing a slight sigh of relief that she didn't find the answer unbearable. "I've never met this Davies fellow, or, to be honest, even heard of him. But I'm sure I'd find his policies most objectionable, but then I would, being outside of the religious, linguistic, and cultural grounds on which he was seeking national unity. Possibly the racial ones as well, I'm not sure."

"Well, I can understand not wanting to leave all the things in the world behind..." Helen said, but trailed off, thinking it better if the topic of Marian were left to lie. She leaned into him a little, not inappropriately, but to refocus Merringer's attention on the dancing. "You're a skilled dancer, monsieur."

"You would be. Of course, so would our Prime Minister." She laughed lightly. "However, in fairness, it is a substantively different matter. Imposing unity where diversity already exists is a rather more severe matter than simply attempting to preserve it. However, I would submit to you, Your Highness, that the sudden emergence of a large Orthodox population seems to indicate, not mass conversion, but that Pantocratoria had less religious and cultural unity than you believed originally."

Berringer pulled Helen closer. "It is an interesting story."

"It's true that it is no longer possible to make the argument that Pantocratoria had true, sincere, religious unity, and obviously, the linguistic variation between French and Greek speakers always testified to a linguistic disparity..." Constantine conceded. "But the schism in the Pantocratorian Church is not insurmountable, and was only made possible by the Constantinople Party's interference in Church affairs through an act of parliament. Both Catholics and Orthodox share a desire for unity, both in the abstract and in a real, practical sense... we just need to sort out a few issues first. Our new policy is to help address those issues and facilitate that debate so that unity can be restored, rather than to simply impose it or suppress schism. And as for linguistic disparity, even before the last election we conceded that the imposition of French on the entire Empire hadn't been entirely successful, and our new policy is to seek a new kind of unity, if you will, through the removal of linguistic barriers. I'm sorry... I don't want to sound like I'm making a campaign speech again... but in politics everything changes."

"You're... from Zutern, I take it, monsieur?" Helen asked quietly as Merringer pulled her closer, seeking again to change the topic from Marian.

"Yes, we've noticed that in the last year." Morgan said with dry irony. "I don't blame people for being scared. It isn't just the Shattering in and of itself. It's the way things have been developing in its aftermath."

Owain continued to hold his hand out to Marissa, waiting for her to take it so that he could guide her out onto the dance floor.

"I am." Merringer said to Helen.

"Your country's been through something... unthinkably terrible." Constantine said, gently touching his finger tips to the top of Morgan's fingers, not really sure of what to do or say to comfort her. "How are things developing in the Shattering's aftermath?"

"It's... it seems like a lovely place." Helen said a little awkwardly, feeling a touch uncomfortable, as if she had to say something to fill the silence.

Peter escorted Gwendolyn to the dance floor, his eyes twinkling. His movements on the dance floor seemed even more graceful and fluid now that he was matched with his bride.

For a long time the prince was content merely to enjoy the company and beauty of his new wife. As the dance continued he whispered, “What were you and Helen discussing? She was giving me some rather odd looks…”

Marissa placed her hand lightly on Owain’s and accepted his invitation to dance with a slight bow of her head and a smile. She walked with him to their position on the floor and turned to look into his eyes, as she lowered her voice to speak. “I apologise for my slip, Owain.” Despite her smile, her eyes showed the sincerity of her words. “Speaking to your sister is like speaking to my own, and I forget myself.” Her eyes suddenly sparkled again, as she prepared for the dance ahead.

Owain smiled slightly as he led her in the dance. "It's quite alright, Your Majesty."

Gwendolyn danced contentedly with Peter, smiling at him. "She just wants to dance with you at some point, Your Highness."

Morgan nodded slightly. "The country seems a lot more diverse, some would say divided. The principalities seem so different from one another now that they don't have the common element of Fae."

Merringer smirked at Helen. "And you are a lovely lady."

"Are you worried... for the long term... viability of your nation now that the Fae, the unifying factor, are gone?" Constantine asked her thoughtfully.

"Merci, monsieur." Helen smiled, blushing faintly from a combination of the compliment and from the awkwardness of having being the one to propel the conversation. "Tell me about yourself, Your Grace?"

Gwendolyn danced contentedly with Peter, smiling at him. "She just wants to dance with you at some point, Your Highness."

Peter smiled at Gwendolyn’s use of his title. “I find that surprising – your Highness,” he said with a grin. “In any case, however, she will need to wait; I wish to enjoy the company of my wife for sometime now.”

Peter led Gwendolyn gracefully across the dance floor. His feelings for his new wife were obvious in the way he gazed into her eyes and held her in his arms.

Gwendolyn smiled up at Peter. "Yes, she certainly will....Prince Olof." She kept dancing with him, her smile happy and content. "So how did you find Princess Yuko, Your Highness?" she asked,glancing briefly over at the Adoki princess who was now dancing with a Zutern nobleman.

"Now that the Orthodox Church has established a presence, are you worried Pantocratoria will dissolve and cease to be a nation state?" Morgan asked Constantine back with a slightly teasing smile. "No, I'm not worried about that. I think it even makes our nation stronger and richer in certain ways."

Merringer shrugged lightly. "I am an avid sportsman. Do you enjoy shooting, Your Highness?"

Marissa fell quickly into the dance with Owain, enjoying this part of their customs more than anything. It was so nice to have him to herself for a moment amidst a crowd of people. It was one of those strange feelings, that although they were surrounded with people, during a dance it was almost as if they were in a world of their own. She smiled happily, as they turned around the floor.

“Grand Duchess Morgan is looking enchanting this evening.” She said, merely trying to make conversation in a way that would not cause her to slip up again. “You must be so proud of her.”

"Heh, I... I suppose." Constantine replied, blushing as he grinned sheepishly at Morgan's question. He recovered from his embarrassment and changed the topic with a smile. "Enough about politics... what else interests you? To which other pursuits do you apply that keen intellect?"

"Shooting?" Helen asked, as if Merringer had asked rather a silly question. "Ladies don't shoot, besides which even if they did... I think it's dreadfully cruel, hunting animals for sport. Is that what you mean, or do you mean... shooting clay pidgeons or other inanimate things?"

Morgan smiled at Constantine. "Well, I play fychell and also chess. I hunt. I enjoy philosophy and literature. How about yourself, Your Highness?"

Merringer laughed lightly. "I had not figured you for a vegetarian, Your Highness. However, the Bible does clearly give us dominion over the beasts and the field and the birds of the air, to use for our food and labor." He paused a moment, regarding her thoughtfully. "I could teach you to shoot if you wished. It would be no imposition."

Owain smiled down at his wife. "I am very proud." he commented. "I also cannot help but notice that she seems to be getting along very well with Prince Constantine."

Marissa looked over to where Morgan was standing and nodded. “Yes, she does.” The young queen looked back at her husband. “Do not rush her into settling down, Your Majesty. I know that we were probably more fortunate than most, marrying for love, but hurrying to marriage is not always a good thing.” She fell silent, realising that she had probably said more than she should.

"I like to drive, and I collect cars." Constantine replied, with a vaguely mischevious grin. "Fast cars, mostly. I occasionally play chess, but I'm afraid I'm not very good. My sister, Madame de Langeais, is both quite fond of the game and very good at it. I also occasionally hunt, but I don't quite share the same enthusiasm for it as Monsieur and His Majesty, so they often prefer to leave me behind."

"I'm not a vegetarian, monsieur, and I'm quite sure that the Bible says nothing about shooting animals for sport." Helen replied. "And I couldn't think of anything I'd like to learn how to do less than shooting, there's far too many people who do that already."

Morgan smiled at his answer. "I've never driven a car before. Perhaps Your Highness could teach me some time? It does sound rather interesting."

"Well, you should eat the animals you kill, I suppose." Merringer said. "I thought you didn't believe in the Bible anyway? I didn't know there were many Christians in Pantocratoria?"

Owain continued to dance with Marissa, sighing lightly. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"Maybe I could, mademoiselle... but that would depend on how much time we would be spending with each other." Constantine replied, dancing around the issue with Morgan.

"Not many... b..." Helen stammered, a little bewildered. "Monsieur, it's an entirely Christian nation!"

"It would." Morgan confirmed, not letting herself be drawn out more than that, however. "Do you have a great many cars, Your Highness?"

Merringer arched a brow slightly. "I'm sorry, Your Highness." he said. "I had just always heard Pantocratoria was Catholic. I suppose one cannot believe everything one hears."

"A great many, yes." Constantine nodded. "Forty nine sportscars, a few others. I don't get to drive all of them on a regular basis, but I have a few favourites I get to drive quite a bit. I'd very much like to teach you..."

"Wh... what would you call Catholics then, monsieur?" asked Helen, frowning. "Mahommedan? Hindu?"

"I'd very much like to learn." Morgan said.

"Well, not really either." Berringer answered. "Closer to Hinduism though. Muslims only worship God, not idols and the like."

Marissa smiled as she danced around the room with Owain. “Is that a trick question, Your Majesty?” She looked into his eyes, her eyes sparkly momentarily with fun before she fell into a more serious mood. “Like you said, they do appear to be getting along well together.” Her eyes briefly moved over to where Morgan was standing, a sadness passing over her features but within seconds it was replaced with her usual smile. “As to your question, I can only assume that it is as much as I love you.” Her cheeks grew slightly darker, as her eyes twinkled as they once more found his.

"What sort of literature do you read?" Constantine inquired.

"What?" Helen scowled, attempting to wriggle and twist out of his grasp. "I've never met anybody so... objectionable in my life! Let me go!"

Morgan smiled a little. "Well, I really liked War and Peace. I also enjoy most things Jane Austen wrote."

The man let Helen go gently, looking at her as though he was honestly confused as to why she had been offended. "I am not quite sure what I have done wrong, Your Highness. Your irrational prejudice against Hindus is most unbecoming on a lady."

"I like to think that is a lot." Owain answered Marissa.

Constantine opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a collective gasp and a sharp noise from the dance floor. He turned his head to look.

With an uncharacteristic look of fury on her delicate face, Helen scowled up at Merringer, and slapped him across the face. It wasn't a very hard slap, but it was quite noticeable to the onlookers and seemed to be amplified by the sudden sharp silence from the crowd.

"Vous... oaf ignorant!" Helen cursed in French (although it was obviously easy to guess what she had called Merringer in English).

Helen instantly found herself surrounded by bowing men, all telling her how zealous they were for her cause and how skilled the were with a sword. They clearly expected her to select one of their number.

Helen's frown turned to a confused look as her eyes passed about the room. Constantine looked on in concern. "I'm sorry... why are you telling me... erm..." she murmured as the men started talking.

"I would consider it a great privilege to defend your honour, my lady." said one Sir Daniel Acklin, a young man who had claimed to have been the head of his secondary school fencing team.

"I beg your pardon?" Helen asked, frowning again. "Defend my honour? From what?"

"From the scoundrel who has offended it." he said, looking at Merringer.

"I don't follow." Helen shook her head, and looked at Merringer. "What is he talking about?"

"You just challenged me, girl." Merringer said. "Unless you intend to fight yourself, you need to pick a champion."

"What?" Helen practically yelped. "I didn't challenge you, I slapped you for being a pig, you oaf."

"A slap is a challenge." he said matter of factly.

"No, it's an expression of how repugnant I find you." Helen replied defiantly.

"You mean you do not desire a champion, Your Highness?" asked Sir Daniel, sounding like a little kid hearing playtime was cancelled.

"Correct, monsieur, I do not." Helen replied to Sir Daniel. "Although I thank you and the other gentlemen for the offer... I think."

He bowed deeply. "It would be the greatest honor to pay tribute to so charming a lady."

Helen couldn't help but smile at the compliment despite her anger. She gave a quick curtsey to Sir Daniel and then looked back at Merringer scornfully.

"Are you still here, monsieur?" she asked.

"You are the one throwing the fit." he said. "I figured you'd have stormed off by now."

Helen's jaw dropped in indignant shock, and she put her hands on her hips.

"Must I slap you again?" she hissed.

"If you do, I will insist on a duel." he said calmly.

"Are you threatening me?" Helen demanded.

"No." he said in a condescending but slightly annoyed tone, as though talking to a child having a tantrum.

"Are you going to skulk off like the scolded dog you are or not?" Helen said, crossing her arms in front of her, her pretty face curled up in an imperious scowl which bore a faint resemblence to her aunt's usual expression.

Merringer shrugged. "It isn't my fault you're a pagan."

"Insolent wretch!" snapped Helen, slapping Merringer again.

"Select a champion." he said calmly.

"Helen!" gasped Constantine over by Morgan, and started to weave his way through the dance floor.

Morgan followed him, frowning deeply.

"Don't be absurd." Helen replied haughtily to Merringer.

"Honourless whore." he said as though it were a self-evident fact.

Helen's jaw dropped again, this time in complete disbelief. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before. She took a few steps back from Merringer, at a complete loss as to how to even comprehend such an insult.

"Wha... what did you call me?" she asked at a stunned whisper.

"The king is her champion." Owain announced from where he had stopped his dance with Marissa, turning his attention to the scene on the dance floor. "You have comported yourself after a most ungentlemanly fashion, Your Grace, tarnishing your own name and making a mockery of our hospitality. You shall leave our presence this instant and we shall...deal with you...at our good pleasure."

Merringer, ignoring Helen's question, bowed curtly and turned to stride out, his look finally turning from glib to angry.

"Did you hear what he called me?" Helen said, beginning to blubber as Constantine and Morgan arrived. She turned to Constantine and burst into tears on his shoulder.

Gwendolyn smiled up at Peter. "Yes, she certainly will....Prince Olof." She kept dancing with him, her smile happy and content. "So how did you find Princess Yuko, Your Highness?" she asked,glancing briefly over at the Adoki princess who was now dancing with a Zutern nobleman.

Peter chuckled at Gwendolyn’s reference to their first conversation.

“Princess Yuko,” he said slowly in response to his wife’s question, “seems like a fine young woman. A little… stiff, perhaps,” he said softly, “though I am sure that was merely due to the unfamiliarity of the situation.”

As he and Gwendolyn continued their dance, he noticed the growing commotion around Helen. “Who is that man dancing with Helen?” Peter asked.

By the time the second slap echoed in the hall, Peter had stopped dancing. Taking Gwendolyn by the hand he led her towards Helen.

Seeing that Owain was dealing with the ruffian, Peter held back for a moment. Then, still holding Gwendolyn’s hand, he said, “Your Highness, we are so sorry. Is there anything we can do?”

Helen regained her composure uncharacteristically quickly, and began to calm down and dry her tears as Peter spoke. She blushed faintly at the scene she had created and smiled weakly at Peter.

"I don't think so, Your Highness, but thank you anyway." Helen said. She turned to Owain with an air of embarrassed appreciation. "Thank you, Your Majesty... but please, don't fight that ogre on my account, I don't want to be the cause of any bloodshed, especially not yours, nor even his."

"That's the Duke of Merringer." Gwendolyn informed her husband as she walked with him.

"It is no bother, Your Highness." Owain said to Helen, watching her with faint concern. "Are you sure you are alright?"

"That's the Duke of Merringer." Gwendolyn informed her husband as she walked with him.


"A duke," Peter whispered. "Is he always so... disruptively opinionated?"

Marissa stood slightly behind, watching as Owain dealt with the situation that had arisen. She looked at Helen and then at the Duke of Merringer, her eyes lingering on the man who had caused such a ruckus in their presence. Knowing that her husband had everything under control, despite her fear that the Duke might have done something foolish, she watched as several members of the party moved away from the scene.

Following the Duke with her eyes as he left, she turned once more to Helen, who was now wrapped in the arms of Constantine. Taking a step forward, she addressed Constantine. “There are several anterooms that Her Highness may wish to use. A little time away from other’s eyes may be beneficial.” She turned to Helen. “If there is anything that I can do, please do not hesitate to ask. I am most distressed that as a guest of His Majesty and myself you had to endure such behaviour.”

"An excellent suggestion, Your Majesty." Constantine replied with a quiet nod to Marissa. He glanced at Morgan apologetically, and then looked down at Helen. "Would you like to retire briefly to one of the antechambers, mademoiselle?"

"I... yes, that would be a good idea, Your Highness." Helen replied.

"Then I shall escort you." Constantine sighed a little. He looked to Owain and bowed. "With Your Majesty's gracious leave."

"Sometimes." Gwendolyn answered her husband as the two went over to see the commotion.

"Of course." Owain answered, nodding to Constantine.

Yuko frowned slightly as she finished her dance, walking over towards where everyone had gathered. She paused a few steps behind and slightly to the right of Marissa. "Is Her Highness alright?" She'd been rather reserved regarding the Pantocratorians since the outrageous behavior of Prince Andreus back in Tarana but she still couldn't help sympathizing with the distraught princess. This Merringer seemed even worse than Andreus.

Constantine looked apologetically to Morgan again, and then gently guided Helen out of the hall to one of the antechambers. Once safely away, Helen sighed loudly and left Constantine's side to go sit down on a couch.

"What an abominable man! Did you hear what he called me?" Helen asked to Constantine, still visibly upset. "I have never, ever, been called anything so awful before!"

"I heard it." Constantine said, walking over to Helen and putting his hand on her shoulder.

"How dare he call me that?" Helen demanded indignantly between shocked tears - and she genuinely was shocked, nobody had ever dared insult her so crudely to her face before.

"He's a pig of a man, Helen." Constantine said.

"But doesn't he know who I am?" Helen sputtered.

"I'm sure he does, I just don't know if an animal like that is cultured enough to care." Constantine told her.

"Is the King really going to fight him?" Helen asked after a few moments spent collecting herself and calming herself down.

"I... I'm not sure. Danaan customs surrounding duels are rather... alien to me. But I would imagine he'd have some sort of champion, like Sir Constantine is His Majesty's champion." Constantine told her.

"I don't want anybody getting hurt for my sake, Connie..." Helen told him clearly despite her otherwise emotional state.

"Don't call me that, please." Constantine bristled slightly at Helen using a diminuitive name by which nobody other than Erik called him.

"Oh... I'm sorry... monsieur." Helen frowned, wondering to what Constantine was objecting.

"You don't need to call me monsieur, Helen, I just... just Connie is what you all called me when I was a kid. I'm twenty one now..." Constantine explained.

"Oh, sorry." Helen said. "And sorry for dragging you away from the King's sister..."

"Well..." Constantine started.

"No, you don't need to explain it, she's a lovely looking young lady, and I'm sure she's very nice." Helen smiled up at Constantine as she dabbed her damp cheeks with her handkerchief.

"She is, actually." Constantine admitted with a blush.

"Well, I'll be fine here, I just need a few more minutes. You go back in without me before some other young man snatches her up." Helen offered with a grin.

"Are you sure?" Constantine asked. Helen nodded wordlessly, and Constantine grinned. "Great... I mean... if you're sure, then I'll go..."

"Go!" Helen nodded. "I'll be fine."

Constantine grinned and leant over to kiss Helen on the forehead, before returning to the hall. Helen sighed and spent a little while longer reposing herself.

Gwendolyn turned to Yuko with a slight smile. " Her Highness will be alright. She is merely rather distraught."

Owain, meanwhile, clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slightly through the assembled crowd before turning to lock eyes with one of the nobleman for ever so brief a moment. "Count Mader, please see that Sir Evyn Fuell is sent for from the Her Highness's Court at Ezanas."

The man, apoparently Mader, bowed with a flourish. "As Your Majesty commands." He took several steps back before turning and walking towards the inside of the palace.

Smiling slightly, Owain lightly touched the backs of Morgan and Gwendolyn, guiding them towards Yuko. "Perhaps, ladies, after such disruption, you might walk with Her Highness to get something to drink." The contact, while it would be normal in most families, might well strike Marissa or Peter as particularly brotherly, as they certainly knew that His Majesty rarely expressed affection publically, even with his family.

Morgan smiled slightly. "That might be wise." She then turned her gaze to Yuko. "If it is pleasing to Your Highness?"

Marissa smiled at Owain, watching as he dealt with the disturbance that had drawn everyone’s attention. She looked at Morgan and Gwendolyn as they moved away towards Yuko, before taking a step towards her husband. “What is going to happen now?” She asked; her voice low enough not to draw too much interest to her conversation. She felt a little uneasy about what had gone on, and Helen’s insistence that His Majesty not get involved in a duel before she was escorted away, had brought a fear to her mind that had not been present before.

"Now we continue with the ball." Owain answered his wife reassuringly. "It has been twice disturbed with poor comportment by men who should know better but the behavior of the uncivilized reflects only upon themselves."

Marissa smiled and offered her hand to Owain. “I hope the rest of it continues free from such behaviour.” She looked around the room, feeling more than a little saddened. “I fear I have lost the Grand Duchess Morgan her companion, at least for a little while.”

Owain took Marissa's hand in his gently, turning to look briefly at the men waiting near the door before he looked back to his wife. "I hardly see how you are responsible. Would you speak to Prince Constantine for me when he returns?"

OOC: Assuming Owain's glance towards men at the door absented him from the room...

Prince Constantine returned from the antechamber after calming his cousin Helen down a little bit. Seeing that the King was missing, he approached Marissa and bowed graciously - it would be improper for him to simply rejoin the festivities without acknowledging the monarch.

"Your Majesty," he started. "It was a most excellent suggestion of yours to take Mademoiselle d'Adrienople to one of the antechambers to recover. Her Highness is quite calm now and is allowing herself a few moments more to recover."

“Your Highness,” Marissa smiled as Prince Constantine approached. “It is unfortunate that such an action had to be taken. I do hope that Mademoiselle d'Adrienople is soon up to rejoining us.” The High Queen glanced around briefly, before returning her gaze to the man before her. “Let us hope that the rest of the evening passes without incident. His Majesty and I would like everyone to have a pleasant evening. If only it were possible to foresee what others had in their minds.”

She repositioned her body slightly to indicate the group of young people, including Morgan. “Dancing has resumed, please enjoy your evening.”

Owain, meanwhile, had walked back inside, the small party at the door following him. He was shwon into a small room where he sat down at a wooden table. He waited for five or six minutes in silence before a page entered. "Presenting, His Most Esteemed Highness, Suizei Tokudaiji, Prince of Kadoki..."

"She will be, madame, and I apologise sincerely for any inconvenience my cousin caused." Constantine replied, uncertain whether Marissa was referring to Helen or to Merringer or to both when she said that she wished it were possible to foresee what others had in their minds. He decided that she probably meant Merringer, but thought it best to apologise for Helen just in case. He offered Marissa his hand and bowed.

"Would it be too forward of me to ask Your Majesty to dance? I should hate to see you standing her alone in the King's absence." Constantine asked.

“Your highness, Mademoiselle d'Adrienople most certainly has caused no inconvenience. I hope you will stress to her that we do not hold her accountable for what transpired.” Marissa smiled and paused for a moment, before answering Constantine’s question. “I would be most honoured to dance with you, Your Highness.” She accepted the Prince’s arm and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.

Constantine smiled and led Marissa out on the dance floor. He was a competent dancer, but held her a little awkwardly, obviously conscious about holding the High Queen in a manner which wouldn't be considered inappropriate.

The night moved on. Yuko became closer to Morgan and Gwendolyn. Owain returned after a time, dancing once more with his wife and once with Yuko with whom he seemed to be speaking quietly. Hermann and Ygraine spoke on the sidelines as the hours passed, seeming to enjoy one another's company. As the dance drew to a close, Hermann pulled Owain aside and spoke to him briefly. After a few minutes, Owain turned away smiling, looking knowingly towards Prince Constantine before moving again away from the main crowd. Helen had returned from the antechamber after only another fifteen minutes absence or so, having recomposed herself and cleaned herself up. She kept looking for opportunities to speak with the King throughout the night, but none presented themselves until the ball drew to a close. As Owain looked towards Prince Constantine, Princess Helen approached him and curtsied.

Owain looked slightly abashed as Helen approached. "I am sorry that I did not have the opportunity to dance with you, Your Highness. Unfortunately, between several disturbances and several unexpected, although not unwelcome, duties, I was not able to partake of the dancing as much as I'd wished."

"Oh... not at all, Your Majesty." said Helen, not even having thought of how Owain had avoided dancing with her until he had mentioned it. She wondered whether he had been snubbing her for causing a scene with Merringer earlier. "Actually I wanted to speak to you, Sire, about another matter."

"I consider you a friend of my house, Your Highness. You are always welcome to speak your mind." Owain responded.

"It's about Duke Merringer, Sire." Helen said.

"I do apologize for that." Owain said sincerely. "However, rest assured that the slight shall be avenged."

"Sire, you don't actually intend to fight him, do you?" Helen despaired.

"Normally, it would be done by the Royal Champion. However, if you wish me to handle the matter personally, I am quite capable of doing so." Owain explained, half-hoping she did.

"But he's huge!" Helen said, thinking Owain a little delusional.

"I've fought Trolls before, Your Highness. They tend to be larger than His Grace." Owain bragged.

"That's horrible." Helen replied flatly, clearly unimpressed. "Your Majesty, I don't want you or anybody else to fight the Duke for me."

Owain arched a brow faintly at Helen's blunt insult. Helen took a deep breath in and looked back at Owain sincerely.

"I don't want anybody hurt on my account, Sire. Not even him." she pleaded.

Owain paused for a long moment, as if examining Helen, before he finally nodded. "I will grant you what you ask."

"So you won't fight him?" she asked, tentatively.

"Exactly."

"Nor ask your champion to do so?"

"He won't be harmed, Princess." Owain clarified.

"Good." Helen smiled lightly and breathed out. She looked down and curtsied again. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Of course." he said, nodding.

Helen withdrew politely, clearly relieved. A few minutes later, Constantine approached the King. Owain turned to Constantine with a small smile, having some idea what he was going to ask.

"Your Majesty," Constantine said with a polite bow, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Your Highness." Owain answered, returning the bow.

"I was wondering, Sire, whether it might be permissible for certain enquiries to be made through the usual channels in regard to Her Highness the Grand Duchess Morgan." Constantine said, faintly biting his lower lip as he finished speaking.

Owain arched a brow ever so faintly, for the second time in five minutes. "The usual channels, sir?"

"Yes, Sire." Constantine nodded.

Owain looked at him patiently. Constantine looked back nervously. Owain decided to repeat his question as Constantine seemed not to have understood it. "I am afraid I do not take you meaning."

"I mean, Sire, whether, if His Majesty should so desire, it would be possible for His Majesty to make enquiries through the usual diplomatic channels, regarding Her Highness?" Constantine clarified.

"His Majesty should feel free to do so." Owain said with a very faint frown.

"Thank you, Sire." Constantine replied with a broad smile.

"Of course." Owain said, resuming his normal reserved expression.

Constantine bowed politely, although he still looked strangely excited, perhaps even nervous, and withdrew. Owain, for his part, moved back inside. Under his expression of formidable reserve, he was quite embarrassed. He hated feeling as though he didn't know what was going on and hardly felt that a king could afford to be in such a position. Passing into a study, he gestured for the door to be closed behind him before looking to one of his scretaries.

"Mr. Lewis, would you be so kind as to find me a book on Pantocratorian courtships?" he asked. The man bowed and slipped out the door to find an appropriate work.

Morgan was walking with Princess Yuko, speaking quietly about something. Helen drifted over towards the other princesses with a self-contented expression on her face. Constantine stopped a waitor to get a glass of something strong to settle his nerves a little. The two princesses turned to Helen, curtseying and politely greeting her, each in turn.

"I hope I didn't interrupt, mesdemoiselles." Helen said hopefully.

"Not at all." Yuko answered.

"I trust you both had a pleasant evening?" Helen continued, biting her lower lip lightly.

"Oh, most pleasant." Morgan answered.

"I'm sorry my little outburst tore my cousin away from you earlier on, mademoiselle." Helen apologised to Morgan.

"The Duke quite deserved it." Morgan stated.

"Yes, he did, but you didn't deserve to be disrupted, I apologise." Helen continued.

"It is quite alright." Morgan soothed. "I am sorry to have kept him from you for so much of the evening."

"Not at all, mademoiselle." Helen said. She wondered whether the wrong impression had been given by her attendance with Constantine (or rather, by what the tabloids had made of her attendance with Constantine). "His Highness and I aren't... well, you know."

"I know. But he was your escort here." Morgan pointed out.

Helen smiled and nodded, blushing faintly. Constantine finished his glass of scotch and made his way over to the ladies. Yuko and Morgan curtsied to Constantine.

"Your Highnesses," he said, clearly nervous. "A pleasure to see you all again."

"A pleasure." Morgan said with a friendly smile.

"It is nice to see you once more." Yuko added. She sounded rather excited about something, occasionally glancing towards the palace proper.

"I saw you speaking to the King just before, monsieur." Helen observed, grinning characteristically.

Morgan blushed and looked down slightly.

"Indeed I did, mademoiselle." Constantine replied awkwardly, nodding to Helen and glancing at Morgan.

"I think I should go speak with the Duchess Ygraine. If you will excuse me..." Yuko said, curtseying and slipping off.

"Didn't you want to speak with Duchess Ygraine as well, mademoiselle?" Constantine asked Helen.

"No." Helen replied with a knowing grin.

Morgan's blush deepened a little.

"Helen..." Constantine bit his lower lip as he whispered to his cousin.

"Fine." Helen sighed, looking disappointed. She smiled to Morgan. "If Your Highnesses will excuse me."

"Yes, certainly, most assuredly, you are excused." Constantine replied.

Morgan inclined her head. "Of course."

Helen wistfully slinked off, and Constantine took a few deep breaths. Morgan looked down demurely.

"I asked His Majesty the King whether I might ask His Majesty, my father, to pursue, through the regular diplomatic channels... a certain matter which concerns Your Highness." Constantine said nervously.

"The regular diplomatic channels?" Morgan asked in sudden puzzlement, which either through less skill or less effort was much more poorly concealed than her brothers.

"Yes, mademoiselle, through letters and ambassadors and the like." Constantine said, thankful for the time to compose himself before explaining what the 'certain matter' was exactly.

"Oh." Morgan said. "I've read about that."

"About what?" Constantine asked, confused.

"About addressing...certain matters...through letters and ambassadors." Morgan said, thoughtfully. "I was merely..." She shook her head slightly. "In any event, go on."

"I'm not sure how to say it..." Constantine admitted. "So I'll just say it. I would like it very much if both Their Majesties were to agree that the two of us should be married."

"His Majesty will agree if I do." Morgan said rather confidently.

"Would it be something... to which you'd be inclined to agree, mademoiselle?" Constantine asked her nervously.

"It would be." Morgan said with a grin.

http://www.iinet.com.au/~a_marrington/ns/achievement.gif


His High Majesty Owain ap Cunedda
High King of the Resurgent Dream

Frère, votre Majesté,

As We write to you We pray that God has granted you good health and happiness in both your marriage and your realm, and that the King of Kings showers His blessings upon your reign and grant it the same longevity as your predecessor's predecessor enjoyed in her reign.

We write to you after recent discussions with Our son, His Imperial Highness the Honourable Prince Constantine Porphyrogenitus, regarding your sister, Her Highness Grand Duchess Morgan ni Cunedda. We propose that Our son marry your sister. It is Our desire to arrange with you, brother, the necessary details to facilitate the marriage of Their Highnesses.

Such a match has benefits for both the Resurgent Dream and for Pantocratoria. The closer ties between the House of Cunedda and the House of Bourbon-Comnenus-Palaeologus which would come about as a result of such a marriage would add to the sturdy foundation of the marriage of Our daughter to your bondsman, the Prince of Holista. The closer ties between the Resurgent Dream and Pantocratoria which would come about as a result of such a marriage would add to the sturdy foundation of the pact of alliance signed at Subeita.

There are some procedural requirements to be satisfied in order to move down this road, brother. Should you express a desire to move forward, then suitable arrangements could be come to in regards to your sister's religion, place in the Danaan succession, and other matters which require clarification prior the wedding.

In this matter We have the upmost confidence in Our niece and ambassador, Princess Marie, who shall act as Our agent in Tarana.

Given by Our hand at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator on the feast day of Saint Francis Xavier, on the thirty second anniversary of Our accession to the Imperial Diadem, with Our sincerest fraternal regards to Your Majesty,

ANDREUS
By the Grace of God, Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrator of the Romans, Caesar Augustus, King of France and Navarre, Equal of the Apostles, God's Vicegerent on Earth, King of Kings Ruling over Rulers, et al.

His Imperial Majesty, Andreus I Capet
Emperor of Pantocratoria

We most sincerely hope that Our letter finds Your Majesty in good health and that your lands and your people know prosperity and happiness.

As Your Majesty has doubtless been made aware, We have already expressed Our willingness that Our sister, Her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Morgan ni Cunedda, should be wed to your son provided appropriate arrangements might be made. As you doubtless also know, Our sister has similarly expressed to your son her aquisence in such an arrangement.

Our assesment of the virtues of such a match for Our nations is in concurrence with your own. We would also add that such a marriage would strengthen the entire network of marriages, treaties, and cultural contacts which exists not only between our two nations but with Excalbia as well.

Agreeing to proceed down such a path, We come now to the issue of negotiations regarding certain arrangements. With regard to the issue of the Danaan succession, We do not see anything in this match requiring provisions beyond those already existing in Danaan law and custom. If Your Majesty harbors serious concerns in that area, We would wish to be informed of them directly. As to the other issues you have mentioned, We will discuss them with Her Highness, Princess Marie. There are other issues of concern to us with regard to which Our ambassador and cousin, the Princess Sarah, shall act as Our agent.

By Our own hand,
Owain ap Cunedda
High King of the Resurgent Dream, Grand Duke of Tarana, Duke of Tasat, Grand Marshall of the Armies, Lord Admiral of the Fleets, Lord Constable, Knight Peerless, et al.

His High Majesty Owain ap Cunedda
High King of the Resurgent Dream

Frère, votre Majesté,

We pray that this letter finds you well. We write to clarify Our concerns regarding the Danaan succession insofar as We see it as a potential impediment to the marriage of Our second son to your second sister.

It is Our understanding that at the present time, Her Highness the Grand Duchess is the second in line to succeed Your Majesty. At the present time, His Highness the Prince is second in line to succeed Us. We think it best that should it arise that His Highness were to become Dauphin (that is to say, Our heir apparent), his wife should exclude herself from the Danaan succession until he ceased to be Dauphin. She should naturally also be excluded from the Danaan succession should His Highness become Emperor Augustus. We do not begrude her the Danaan crown in the highly unlikely even that His Highness should become Caesar, unless he is also Dauphin.

We have asked that Our niece make the appropriate arrangements for an audience with you, brother, which would also be attended by Her Highness the Grand Duchess. We feel that the details she has been entrusted with are of too sensitive and personal a nature to discuss in any depth in correspondence.

Given by Our hand at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, on the feast day of Saint John Damascene, in the thirty second year of Our reign, with Our fraternal regards,

ANDREUS
By the Grace of God, Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrator of the Romans, Caesar Augustus, King of France and Navarre, Equal of the Apostles, God's Vicegerent on Earth, Grandmaster of the Order of the Pantocrator, et al.

His Imperial Majesty, Andreus I Capet
Emperor of Pantocratoria

It is Our sincere hope that Your Majesty's reign enjoy the longevity which Holy Scripture ascribes to the fathers of the fathers of men. While it is true both His Imperial Highness your son and Her Royal Highness my sister both stand second in line to the thrones of their respective homelands, We feel that this is at best a temporary situation when Ourself, Our sister the Grand Duchess of Shieldcrest, and your son the Despot of New Constantinople are all three recently wed and in apparent good health. Because Her Highness is Our father's youngest child, We are particularly hesitant to exclude her from the succession any sooner than necessary. After Her Highness, the line of succession passes not to younger royals of the same blood but to more distant relations, namely to Our cousin, Prine James of Farinor. While this might be a small enough matter in better times, the tragedy of the last year leaves Us especially concerned that the Crown appear as stable as possible.

All that being said, as Your Majesty does see it as an area of concern, We shall be happy to discuss it with Princess Marie along with the other issues you wish addressed. However, you should be aware that We do not consider it a proposal to which We might assent lightly.

By Our own hand,
Owain ap Cunedda
High King of the Resurgent Dream, Grand Duke of Tarana, Duke of Tasat, Grand Marshall of the Armies, Lord Admiral of the Fleets, Lord Constable, Knight Peerless, et al.

Princess Marie waited to be admitted into Owain's presence in a palace antechamber. She found she preferred meetings with the King to meetings with the Danaan Prime Minister and her cabinet. The King was close to her own age - Danaan politicians were invariably middle aged at the very least, besides which politicians were more slippery by their very nature. There was also, of course, the matter of class - Marie found it easier to relate to royals and aristocrats than she did to members of parliament, unless those members of parliament were also royals or aristocrats, like her father. In performing her tasks as ambassador therefore, she much preferred her interactions with the King to the more formal and legalistic interactions she had with his ministers, and so even when the matter at hand was a delicate one, as it was now, she felt quietly confident and self-assured.

The footman showed Princess Marie into Owain's study. The High King stood with a light smile, walking out from behind the heavy oak desk. "It is nice to see you, Your Highness."

"The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty." said Marie, curtseying politely.

"My sister will be joining us in a moment." Owain informed her.

"Thank you, Sire." Marie nodded.

Owain stood quietly regarding Princess Marie as the time passed. Marie was dressed somewhere between New Rome court style and the fashion of the court at Tarana - distinctly Pantocratorian elements like the elongated sleeves and corset had been retained as a slight mark of differentiation on what was otherwise rather a Danaan gown. She stood quietly by, being sure not to meet the King's gaze, but by no means shifting uncomfortably under it.

"I trust Your Majesty is well?" Marie ventured to fill the silence.

After a few moments, Morgan entered the room, curtseying first to her brother and then to Princess Marie. Owain smiled lightly at her. "Please have a seat, ladies."

"Thank you, Sire." Marie smiled as she sat.

Morgan sat as well. Then Owain sat back behind his desk. "Please proceed, Your Highness." he said to Marie.

"Yes, Sire. Thank you." Marie started. "His Majesty indicated to me that there had been some correspondence between the two of you on the issue of the Danaan succession, and that he could respect and understand your position, Sire, to which he assents."

"I am grateful for His Majesty's understanding." Owain said with a light smile.

"The matter which His Majesty asked me to discuss with you both today is similarly delicate." Marie continued in a considered, gentle voice. She looked to Morgan. "That is the matter of your religion, Your Highness."

"Oh?" Morgan asked.

"Pantocratoria is a Catholic nation." Marie offered as explanation.

"Go on." Owain pressed with a slight frown.

"Yes, Sire, I apologise." Marie said. "His Highness Prince Constantine is the second-in-line to the throne, and his children will be directly in-line to the throne. He must hold to the Catholic faith, and his children must be brought up in it. Further, and this is the matter of particular concern to His Majesty, his wife must be Catholic."

"Then one would wonder why His Majesty requested the match." Owain commented.

"His Majesty had hoped that Her Highness would convert." Marie offered quietly. Her tone overall was quiet and apologetic, since she knew the request itself was quite abrasive enough.

"That was not a realistic expection." Owain commented. "I wonder how His Majesty would have reacted had his eldest daughter been asked to convert to Protestantism."

"Sire, with respect, if she were married to Prince Constantine, Her Highness might one day be Empress of Pantocratoria." Marie replied quietly.

"Your Highness, what you ask would not be granted for any political consideration, even were the kingship of all the Earth involved." Owain said, his frown deepening.

"It isn't a matter for political consideration, Sire, but a matter of conscience and for religious consideration." Marie clarified in as inoffensive a voice as possible. "An empress is more than a political figure, she is the spiritual mother of the nation just as the emperor is the father."

"I am sorry to have gotten your hopes up, sister." Owain said, turning to Morgan.

Marie sat quietly, looking a little disappointed, and looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Owain turned back to Princess Marie.

"Please convey to His Majesty that it was most ungentlemanly to propose a match while planning to impose a condition which he should have known could not be granted. I am personally hurt and offended by the act. Do have a pleasant evening." he rose at that, followed by Morgan.

Marie rose as courtesy demanded, and curtsied to the King.

Princess Sarah ni Beaumayn waited in François Ier room in the French Suite in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, frowning deeply. She had received word earlier that day to be prepared to be replaced in her office on short notice. While Sarah had been informed that the formal alliance between the Danaan and Pantocratorian Governments remained solid, she also knew how real the danger of open dynastic, as opposed to national, hostility was at the moment, and that made this meeting one of the most potentially dangerous in her career.

"His Majesty will see you now, Your Highness." said the Emperor's private secretary for internal court matters, the Chevalieur du Plains-Demetrine, as he emerged from the adjacent Sun King Room. The Varangians opened the doors and M. du Plains-Demetrine showed Sarah in. "Her Highness the Danaan Ambassador, Monseigneur."

The Emperor was already standing by the window, looking out over the palace's vast gardens as he often seemed to be doing when receiving foreign ambassadors. He turned to Sarah and then indicated a beautiful but not particularly comfortable looking couch. "Please, do be seated, Your Highness."

Sarah walked in, curtseying to the Emperor and then settling down on the couch. "Thank you, Sire. I wish that I were here under happier circumstances."

"I wish you were as well, mademoiselle. Unfortunately your King doesn't seem to share our mutual desire." the Emperor observed. He looked to M. du Plains-Demetrine. "Leave us."

"Of course, Monseigneur." replied the Chevalier, who drew the doors closed behind him.

The Emperor sat down on the couch opposite from Princess Sarah, and picked up a copy of Princess Marie's report on her meeting with Owain from the small antique table in front of them both.

"I would like you, mademoiselle, to express to His Majesty my surprise and displeasure with his petulent outburst to my ambassador in their recent meeting." the Emperor began, his cold gaze passing over the words on the page in front of him. "Please assure His Majesty that I am equally, quote personally hurt and offended, end quote, that he described me as ungentlemanly, as he appears to be about the request which Her Highness made to him at my direction."

"I doubt His Majesty will appreciate his feeling of betrayal at what he feels could never have been a sincere proposal being described as a petulant outburst." Sarah remarked. "However, I will convey your remarks. I might soon be in a position to do so in person, Sire."

"Good." the Emperor replied, setting the report aside and regarded Sarah with his usual stoney gaze. "I would also ask you to convey to His Majesty that in the light of the special regard my son has for his sister, and the special regard I have for his country, that despite the fact that there are no shortage of princesses whose lieges are not so intransigent, I am prepared to make certain concessions on the matter of the Grand Duchess' religion, and that I hope His Majesty is likewise prepared."

"His Majesty is prepared." Sarah said. In her mind, everything clicked at that moment. It seemed to her that the Emperor and the High King had both planned such an outcome from the beginning, that the Emperor's rather strong demand had been designed to strengthen his position, that Owain's response of apparent hurt and anger had been designed to strengthen his, and that the Emperor's expression of hurt was likewise a bargaining ploy. She had no idea that both men had in fact been in earnest. " I am authorised to negotiate on His Majesty's behalf within certain instructions." she went on.

"Very good." the Emperor said, leaning back in his couch a little although his face, as usual, showed no sign of relaxation. "If Her Highness is willing to publicly confess the Catholic faith, that is to say, confess certain creeds, and attend Mass with the Prince, and not to make any public observance of her own religion, we would regard that as adequate, naturally with the provision that any children of the marriage be raised as Catholics."

"Would it not be improper for Her Highness to be communicated at Mass?" Sarah asked.

"I said nothing about Her Highness receiving the sacrament." the Emperor replied. "So long as she attends. It bears pointing out to Her Highness that in the event that Prince Constantine became Emperor, there could be no coronation of her as Empress on account of her being unable to receive the sacrament, something she might want to think about."

"Her Highness does not completely refuse the possibility that she might ever convert." Sarah clarified. "However, she would consider it insulting to the Catholic as much as to the Protestant faith to do so for any reason other than the development of a sincere conviction that the tenets of the Catholic faith were the truth of God."

"You are sitting in a room dedicated to a man whose grandfather converted from Protestantism to the Catholic faith with only the remark that France was worth a Mass." the Emperor said, indicating with a gesture of his left hand to the portrait of Louis XIV hanging on the wall. "Her Highness' special conscience is unusual when considered in the context of what we are trying to arrange, but I suppose I should have expected it to be so. I can have a priest prepare a copy of the creeds in question in English for Her Highness' perusal, you could take them with you, mademoiselle, either to copy for your report, or to hand to the King personally, depending on which opportunity presents itself."

"Which creeds are they, Your Majesty?" Sarah inquired.

"I wouldn't expect Your Highness to be aware of them." the Emperor replied. "I am aware that the distinctions involved must seem rather inane to a non-Christian."

"At times." Sarah admitted. "However, I have been given rather specific instructions on the matter. If Your Majesty would let me know, I have been sufficiently briefed to reply immediately."

"The Nicene Creed, the Athanasian Creed and the Apostles' Creed would be satisfactory." the Emperor said.

Sarah looked briefly puzzled for a moment but then nodded. "That can be arranged."

"Good. I shall have a priest prepare an English translation of each. Are those arrangements satisfactory, mademoiselle?" the Emperor asked.

"They are, Sire." Sarah replied. "Although I am curious as to what objection Your Majesty has to already existing English translations?"

"Only that I am not explicitly familiar with them. Her Highness would be professing those three creeds in order to satisfy Pantocratorian sensibilities, it follows that the translation of those creeds should themselves be satisfactory to Pantocratorian sensibilities." the Emperor replied.

"There are other English translations done by the Catholic Church and used in her services in English-speaking countries." Sarah pointed out.

"Fascinating." the Emperor replied. "I am of course aware of that. The translations will be delivered to your embassy as soon as possible. You may reassure His Majesty that I will make no further concessions on this matter, and that even this offer is against my better judgement. Thank you for coming, mademoiselle."

The Emperor rose to his feet and made his way over to the door, which he knocked upon. The Chevalier du Plains-Demetrine opened the door and bowed.

"Have Father Guillot prepare translations into English of the Nicene, Athanasian and Apostles' Creeds at once. Deliver them to the Danaan embassy." he commanded the secretary.

"Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty." Princess Sarah said, curtseying and taking her leave.

"It is always a pleasure to see you, mademoiselle." the Emperor replied.

Princess Marie waited patiently in the palace antechamber for the King to receive her. The confidence she had enjoyed before her last meeting was now totally gone - she had received a telephone call from her father expressing the Emperor's supreme dissatisfaction with the advice she had provided him about how Owain would react to the demand that Morgan convert to Catholicism, and dissatisfaction in her personally. It wasn't just confidence she was lacking, Marie looked a little faint and her cheeks lacked their usual colour. After having the Imperial Displeasure conveyed to her, she had been beside herself, and had actually spent much of the past week binging and purging, much to the concern of the few members of her staff who were aware of it. She wondered how much longer she'd be in Tarana as the Emperor's ambassador.

The footman again showed her in. "Her Imperial Highness, the Princess Marie..."

"Your Majesty," Marie said, curtseying politely to the High King.

Owain looked up at her, his expression not particularly friendly anymore. "Good evening, Your Highness." he said, rising briefly for the lady before returning to his seat.

"May I, Sire?" Marie asked, indicating to a chair, picking up that Owain wasn't in the best of moods.

Owain had actually not been planning to ask her, but actually refusing her request seemed to be a bit much so he nodded. "Please."

"Thank you, Sire." Marie replied and sat down in the seat.

"As you know, His Majesty and I have come to an understanding regarding the matter of religion." Owain said. "Which means that we should resume our negotiations regarding other matters."

"Yes, Sire, very good, Sire." Marie said, nodding gently. "Forgive me, but will Her Highness be joining us?"

"Not today." Owain said. "Her Highness has, unfortunately, taken ill."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she recovers quickly, Sire." Marie said apologetically, although she suspected that Morgan wasn't really ill.

"I do as well." he said.

"Should we begin then, Sire?" Marie asked after an appropriate concerned silence.

"Yes." Owain said. "For dowry, we are prepared to offer the County of Cerny, including the manorhouse, the full kennels, the full stables, the full mews, perhaps more to His Highness's taste the full garage, all current china and furnishings, and, of course, the accompanying income of 500,000 sterlings a year."

"Pardon my ignorance, Sire, but where is the County of Cerny?" Marie asked, frowning faintly in confusion.

"In Kagerlund." Owain explained. "It would hardly be polite to offer a property Their Highnesses could rarely visit in person."

"You're offering to cede the Count of Cerny, in the Principality of Kagerlund, to Pantocratoria?" Marie asked uncertainly.

"No. I am offering to give the land of title to His Imperial Highness as my sister's dowry. It would not become sovereign Pantocratorian territory. It would simply be a title and lands beloning to His Highness." Owain explained patiently.

"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, Sire." Marie nodded. "That would be most acceptable."

Owain nodded. "I would also like for my sister to maintain control over her retinue."

"Sire, there are certain privileges which a lady's husband and adopted liege traditionally enjoys in regards to her retinue." Marie replied. "Do you mean that you would have His Highness and His Majesty both give up those rights?"

"More strictly speaking, I would have them vouch to limit their use of those rights." Owain left it briefly at the theoretical correction, drawing out the time before more practical statements were made.

"How, specifically, Sire?" Marie inquired.

"I would ask that at least one fourth of Her Highness's retinue should consist either of the retinue she shall bring with her or of other women of her choice and that this fourth should include the Duchess of Cadwallon until such time as that lady should wed or should be dismissed by Her Highness or otherwise depart with Her Highness's consent."

"Of course, Sire, it is the Emperor's will that Her Highness be happy in Pantocratoria, after all." Marie replied, surprised at the mildness of the demand.

"Your Highness doubtly knows better than anyone that life is typically much more... private... here than it is at your uncle's court." Owain commented obviously.

"I do, Sire." Marie smiled at the observation.

"Because that might be difficult to adjust to, I would ask that His Highness agree to spend a total of at least a month out of every year in more private locations." Owain asked.

"That may not be possible, Sire. It certainly wouldn't be possible should His Highness become Emperor." Marie replied. "Does it have to be a... contiguous month? Or could it be a month split apart into several shorter periods?"

"I had assumed it would occur in increments of a few days to a week." Owain explained.

"I don't suppose that would be a problem while His Highness remains a prince..." Marie said.

"But?" Owain prodded.

"If His Highness becomes Emperor, it will become quite impossible, Sire." Marie explained.

"Oh?" Owain pressed.

"The Emperor and the Empress are public people, Sire." Marie said. "Their subjects are entitled to have access to them, it is the price they pay for their position."

"Of course." Owain allowed. "However, as even a prince and princess are public people, the lady's honour is particularly important. I do desire assurances that, when I entrust my sister to His Highness, he will defend her honor with the same zeal and in the same fashion as a Danaan lady would be accustomed to."

"Do you mean duelling, Sire?" Marie asked.

"I do." Owain clarified.

"Duelling is not practised in Pantocratoria, Sire." Marie replied.

"So my sister is to have neither privacy nor honour?" Owain asked in calculatedly shocked tones.

"She is to have as much of both as any lady in her position would have." Marie replied, defensively. "Duelling has been banned in Pantocratoria for hundreds of years, and the wife of an heir to the throne is a public figure."

"Very well." Owain said resignedly. "At the least, however, I would wish her bodily integrity. I would like His Highness' assurance that he will make no use of discipline corsets nor of any comparable device and that likewise he shall not use any other form of physical correction."

Marie, who knew that her father used a discipline corset on her mother, blushed bright pink at the discussion of such a thing. Her eyes opened wide in shock and she looked away from the King, embarrassed that he would talk about discipline corsets in front of her, let alone to her directly.

"I understand that this is a delicate matter for a lady such as yourself. I would also be more comfortable broaching the issue with a man. However, you are the Pantocratorian ambassador and you are here to make arrangements regarding married life. There will be more sensitive topics addressed before this meeting is over."

"Yes Sire, I'm sorry Sire." Marie replied in quiet embarrassment. "I will pass that on to His Highness but do not foresee that... he would be unwilling to make such an assurance."

"Perhaps while we are already on such matters, we should go ahead and ask the most sensitive question." Owain commented.

"Oh..." Marie practically groaned anxiously.

"Is Prince Constantine a virgin?"

"He's a man!" Marie replied, completely taken back by the question.

"May I take that as a no?" Owain clarified.

"I wouldn't know, Your Majesty." Marie replied truthfully, regaining her composure.

"You are correct that the issue is of more concern for women than for men. However, seeing as the lady is expected to offer rigorous guarantees of her chastity, the answer to a yes or no question seems rather little to ask. Would you have an answer sent to me?"

"Sire..." Marie bristled a little. "I... don't believe such a request would be considered appropriate in New Rome, and I would counsel Your Majesty against making it."

"On what grounds?" Owain asked tersely.

"On the grounds that you observed yourself just now, Sire, that the issue is a concern for women, not men." Marie replied.

"That is not at all what I said just now." Owain corrected. "And if I said my sister's submission to your examination was conditional upon it?"

"Sire..." Marie pleaded. "You were just now talking about the value of privacy, surely if there were any matter which warranted privacy..."

"It is not an unreasonable intrusion into privacy in the context of marriage." Owain persisted.

"Not for the bride, but for the groom it is." Marie said. "Sire, begging your gracious pardon, but were you asked that question prior to your wedding?"

"No, but Her Majesty wasn't either." Owain informed her. "And I could have answered it without shame had it been asked."

"If Your Majesty insists, I shall pass the question on to His Highness and ask that he reply to you directly." Marie gave in, despairing.

"Thank you." Owain replied. "Of course, Their Highnesses shall have residential rights in all Danaan royal palaces should they choose to make use of such, provided only that they give a week's notice of any such trip. Also, I am inclined to add to Her Highness's dowry my Florida residence. I would wish them to visit it every two or three years. The value of that sort of property lies in the use."

"Her Highness will have to submit to a physical inspection." Marie said, apparently ignoring what the King just said to return to the previous topic.

"Of course." Owain said with a light frown at being ignored when offering Constantine free stuff. "That was never in question."

"Oh." Marie said. "I'm sorry."

"Of course, Their Highnesses shall have residential rights in all Danaan royal palaces should they choose to make use of such, provided only that they give a week's notice of any such trip. Also, I am inclined to add to Her Highness's dowry my Florida residence. I would wish them to visit it every two or three years. The value of that sort of property lies in the use." Owain repeated.

"Your Florida residence, Majesty?" Marie enquired.

"Yes." Owain confirmed. "Was there any other arragnement you wished to make?"

"I didn't think the Danaan High Kingdom had any holdings in Florida, Sire..." Marie said, confused by the King's remark.

"It doesn't. No territory, at least. However, as the Pantocratorian Crown shall have a claim to lands and titles in Kagerlund as its personal property, so the Danaan Crown owns certain residences in other nations as personal property. Most of which were also received as gifts from various other monarchs on various occassions."

"I must confess to not knowing anything about Your Majesty's residence in Florida. Could you be more specific as to its location, Sire?" Marie asked patiently.

"It's in the Everglades." he explained. "It's a small, thirty room affair located in one of the most scenic locations in all Florida and on prime hunting land. There is no associated title or income, which is why I said the value was wholly in the use."

"I see." Marie nodded. "If I may, Sire, His Highness isn't as enthusiastic a hunter as many at court."

"I consider the hunting more of a side benefit in any event." Owain replied with a smile. "I am sure His Highness will enjoy it. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"Not at this time, Sire. I have quite a lot to discuss with His Majesty, and with His Highness, for the time being at least." Marie said.

Princess Marie wondered whether Morgan was dreading this examination as much as she was. Accompanied by a nun and a doctor, she waited to be admitted into Morgan's apartments in the palace. She was shown in. Morgan was sitting on her bed, in a mostly undressed state. In place of a corset and underskirts, she was wearing silken undershorts and a white undershirt such as she sometimes wore to medical check ups. She rose and gave a weak smile as the three women entered.

"Thank you for seeing us, Your Highness." Marie started, curtseying politely. "This is Sister Marie-Thérèse, and my physician, Doctor Dudier. Are you... still willing to undergo this examination?"

Morgan started to curtsey before blushing more deeply. After considering a moment, she bowed. "I would look rather ridiculous if, after such intense negotiations, I called off everything simple because I was shy, would I not, Your Highness?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, you would." Marie sighed. She was dreadfully embarrassed - and she wasn't the one being examined. "Shall we proceed then?"

"We shall." Morgan said, turning to the doctor. "I am in your hands, madame."

"Actually mademoiselle, first, I am to examine you." Marie interjected quietly. "Would you kindly... disrobe?"

Morgan slipped out of her clothing, blushing more deeply.

"Would you stand up and hold your arms away from your body please, mademoiselle?" Marie asked.

Morgan complied with a frown. Marie took a deep breath and slowly walked around Morgan a few times, examining her naked body for minor blemishes or imperfections. Morgan had a small mole a few centimetres above her right hip. Marie produced a pen and pad, and took down a few notes, including detailing the mole's size and location.

"Would... would you care to... spread your legs, slightly, mademoiselle?" Marie asked at a barely audible whisper.

Morgan remained completely silent and looked quite miserable as she complied. The nun and the doctor looked on dispassionately as Marie ginger crouched down and took a few more notes.

"Doctor... sister... if you please." Marie finally said, having completed her part of the inspection. She stood back up and took a few steps back. "You may lower your arms now, mademoiselle."

Morgan lowered her arms to her side. The doctor set her bag down by the bed and fumbled through it for some instruments.

"Would you please lie down on the bed, Your Highness, and spread your legs widely?" the nun asked.

Morgan, still deathly quiet, replied with this instruction as well. The doctor produced a steel speculum and put on a pair of latex rubber gloves. The nun just satisfied herself with watching on intently. Morgan closed her eyes tightly. The doctor conducted her examination as carefully and as gently as possible, with the nun looking on. Morgan whimpered ever so faintly.

"Her Highness is fully intact." concluded the doctor, withdrawing with her instrument when the inspection was complete.

"Sister?" asked Marie.

"Yes, fully intact." agreed the nun.

Morgan slowly opened her eyes again, closing her legs. Marie took down her last few notes on her pad, and then flipped it closed and screwed the lid back on her pen. She was blushing bright red, looking thoroughly embarrassed herself, although not as mortified as Morgan did. The doctor and the nun both withdrew from the bed and resumed standing behind Marie.

"You may get dressed again now, mademoiselle." Marie offered gently.

Morgan got back up and retrieved her clothes, dressing once again. The Pantocratorians stood by quietly and waited for Morgan to say something.

"Is there anything else?" Morgan asked.

"No, mademoiselle, nothing." Marie said. "I'll pass on the results of our examination to His Majesty in my report. With your gracious leave..."

"Of course." Morgan answered.

The Danaan watched them leave, relief washing over her as she sunk back down onto the bed and sniffled quietly, curling up on herself. Marie cringed as she heard Morgan crying as the door was closed behind her.

"C'était horrible..." Marie whispered quietly to her doctor as they entered the hallway.

Chantouillet wasn't really much of a winter palace, it was more a summer retreat. Its usually beautiful and colourful formal gardens were rendered lifeless and grey by the cold weather, a wasteland of frozen mud, frost covered grass, and dead branches. Not that anybody would've gone outside at that very moment anyway, since it was pouring rain. Prince Constantine stood by the window of his apartment on the second level of the west wing, watching the water pour down the outside of the glass. He caught a glimpse of Morgan's cars coming up the drive towards the entrance and found himself catching his breath.

The three limousines pulled up in front of the palace, a footman in the green and gold livery coming around to open the door for the grand duchess. While the rain was soaking the man to the bone, he gave not the slightest of even noticing that it was raining. As Morgan stepped out, she handed the man an umbrella which he proceeded to open and hold over the grand duchess's head. In actuality, the umbrella was large enough to prevent much more rain from striking the footman as well. The only other person in the small party, Morgan's chief body guard Major Magda Cantacuzino, stepped out as well, walking alertly behind the grand duchess. The three approached the door while the cars drove around. Her Highness's other attendants would bring the luggage in through the servants' entrance after parking.

Two Varangians wearing their raincoat uniforms snapped to attention at the palace door, and opened the glass double doors for the Grand Duchess. The palace servants stood by to guide Morgan about the palace. Morgan stepped inside, adjusting her fine fur coat slightly as she glanced about for any sign of Prince Constantine. Seeing none, she turned to her footman as he folded up the umbrella.

"Thank you, Paul. I'm sure someone here will show you to your room where you can change into something dry. I shan't be requiring you for a few hours at least."

The Pantocratorian staff stood by silently as Morgan spoke to her servant in a language they didn't understand. One of the servants approach Morgan from behind, ready to take her coat. The other servant took up position in front of her. Both were dressed in splendid crimson jackets, finely embroidered with gold thread - the front of the jacket was stitched with ornate finery, the back with the initials "A I", a crown and a double-headed eagle.

"May I take your coat, Your Highness?" asked the servant behind her, in French.

"You may." Morgan responded in the same language.

The sevant gently removed Morgan's coat and took it away. The servant in front of Morgan bowed formally.

"Follow me, if you please, Your Highness." said the other servant.

Morgan inclined her head slightly as she and the Major moved to follow the servant. The servant led Morgan and her bodyguard through several stately halls which were decorated with paintings, primarily of the past few generations of Pantocratorian Emperors and Empresses and their families, more often in relaxed, familiar, family poses than in the formal portraits more widely circulated and hung in the palaces of New Rome. He led her into a large, comfortable lounge suite, with a warm fire in a formal fireplace, and then stopped.

"Is there anything I might get you, mademoiselle?"

"No thank you." she answered, looking briefly from Cantacuzino to the servant.

The servant bowed and left the room, leaving Morgan and her bodyguard alone with the fireplace. A portrait of the late empress hung on the wall above the mantlepiece. Delicate curtains lined the windows - the quiet serenity of the room was in stark contrast to the storm outside visible through the windows.

Morgan and Cantacuzino settled down into the armchairs. The grand duchess smiled faintly over at the other lady. "It reminds me of Wyrnsk, Magda."

"The weather is often like this on my father's estate, Highness." Cantacuzino conceded with the tiniest of smirks.

After about ten minutes, the sound of the footsteps and voices of about half-a-dozen people on the polished wood floor of the corridors outside the room could be heard echoing about the quiet palace. The conversation was in French, naturally.

"...your granddaughter, Sire!" was the first voice which was audible. It belonged to an excitable sounding gentleman.

"Enough!" came an authoritative, booming voice. "Tell Monsieur d'Adrienople I have no interest in the matter and kindly ask him to cease sending me his continual reports about Madame de Montmanuel and her child."

"Perhaps he should be directing them to Monsieur le Duc..." came another voice, this one a woman's. It had a hint of mischief about it.

"Oh, it says here she has a mole above her hip!" came another lady's voice.

"Madame! Stop reading His Majesty's correspondence over my shoulder!" exclaimed the first, excitable male voice.

"Or at least do it more discreetly." muttered the authoritarian. "Quiet now, you all know how sound carries in this place."

There were some hushed sounds of agreement, before the room's doors were opened and a group of six people entered the room. Foremost amongst them were the tall, imposing figures of the Emperor (wearing a relaxed version of New Rome court fashion), and Sir Constantine the Hardy. There were two other men, and two women. The men were all middle-aged and asides from the Emperor, wore clothes which wouldn't have been out of place on the streets of New Rome. The two women looked to be in their early thirties and wore fashionable day dresses. The Emperor glanced between the two Danaan ladies, and then nodded politely to Morgan.

"Your Highness, welcome to sunny Chantouillet." he said, his tone severe and his face humourless although he had clearly just made a joke.

The two women rose. Morgan curtseyed to the Emperor and Cantacuzino bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Morgan said. "Please allow me to introduce Major Magda Cantacuzino."

"Your Majesty." the other woman said.

"Major." the Emperor said to the bodyguard, but didn't nod. "Mademoiselle, permit me to introduce Monsieur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de la Bergetaine, Madame la Comtesse de Porte-Demetriople, Monsieur le Chevalier du Plains-Demetrine, my principal private secretary of court affairs, and Sir Constantine the Hardy, the Imperial Champion."

Each of the people introduced bowed or curtsied in turn.

"I trust your journey was pleasant?" the Emperor enquired.

Morgan returned all of the greetings in kind, her face remaining calm. "It was quite pleasant, Your Majesty."

"And I am quite sure that you've been offered refreshment?" the Emperor asked.

"I have." she replied.

"Good." the Emperor said. He turned to the Imperial Champion. "Sir Constantine, perhaps you would like to familiarise the Major with our security arrangements?"

"Monseigneur." Sir Constantine nodded. He looked over to Morgan's bodyguard. "Major?"

"Of course." Cantacuzino answered Sir Constantine, bowing once more to the Emperor and to Morgan. "Your Majesty, Your Highness..."

"Lady Magda." Morgan said with a nod as she dismissed the other woman.

Sir Constantine led the bodyguard out of the room. The Emperor watched them leave and then regarded Morgan again. He then offered her his hand.

"Permit me to show you the way upstairs, mademoiselle." he offered.

Morgan slid her hand politely into the Emperor's. "I would be honoured, Sire."

As she did so, Morgan noticed Madame de Porte-Demetriople look at her slightly askew, not entirely in an approving fashion. Monsieur du Plains-Demetrine closed the folder of correspondence he was carrying around with him before Morgan had a chance to see it, looking a little annoyed at himself for forgetting to do so earlier. The Emperor led the little party out of the room, guiding Morgan by her hand. Morgan didn't seem to notice the woman's glance, following the Emperor.

"I'd like to be alone with Her Highness." the Emperor said impatiently to the rest of his little entourage as he led Morgan up the grand staircase. He had thought that they might have picked up that he didn't want them following him around, given that they were about to enter his family's private apartments.

"Of course, Sire." said Monsieur du Plains-Demetrine.

"Yes, Monseigneur." nodded the Duke.

"As Your Majesty desires." said Madame de Porte-Demetriople, her voice laced with sex.

The courtiers left, although Madame de Porte-Demetriople took her time curtseying and attempting to catch the Emperor's eye, although he didn't seem interested at that moment. Now alone, the Emperor and Morgan resumed their way up the stairs.

Of course, the Sons of the Reformation were not idle during all of this. As soon as the word of the events of the ball leaked out, fliers were ciculating throughout the Resurgent Dream broadly declaring "Apostate King Sides With Idolotrous Whore Against Christian Nobility." In addition to the roundest condemnation of Princess Helen as a "vile anti-Christ whore, whose polluted and unnatural womanhood swarms with disease and vermin" among other things, the fliers showed pictures of the Princess in the nude, engaging in perverse sexual acts with the members of her own family, her friend Countess Marian, and even some barnyard animals. Each picture had the caption "Her perversion knows no bounds." Some copies were also snuck into Pantocratoria, although these were plastered surreptitiously on walls and carefully shielded from the eyes of the police. Courtesy copies were mailed to the Emperor, Prince Basil, Princess Marie, and Princess Helen herself.

Another flier was released after the terms of the marriage between Morgan and Constantine began to be known, entitled "Apostate King Promises Own Nieces/Nephews To Satan." The flier explained how the High King forced his sister "already a heretic doomed to eternal fire" to promise to raise her children as "worshippers of idols and followers of the anti-Christ" and this to do everything in her power to damn them to Hell. Copies of this flier were sent to the High King himself, his mother, his sister, the Emperor, and Prince Constantine.

After a few moments, one of the Pantocratorian manservants returned and led Paul to the servants' quarters where he immediately went to shower. While Paul was in the shower, the rest of Morgan's staff, two drivers, two pages, and a clerk, unpacked the Grand Duchess's belongings and set them up in her chambers before she arrived there. They put most of her things away and left her copy of Byron on the dresser as they knew she preferred. This task completed, they unpacked Magda's belongings and then finally their own, having a fresh change of clothes ready for Paul by the time he'd showered and dried. They settled in and began quietly occupying themselves with books and laptops. Although someone always had to be on call, their duties would be very light on this trip. Naturally, as a guest and having consciously come unattended, she would be mostly in the care of the Pantocratorians. Were it not raining, half the Danaans would have been free to slip into their civvies, head out the servants' entrance, and explore Pantocratoria. But, as it was, they were simply crapped and bored.

Magda was meanwhile moving alongside Sir Constantine, her hands clasped lightly behind her back, engaged in talk of the security arrangements. "I am sure Her Highness will appreciate how unobtrusive you've managed to make the security arrangements, Sir Constantine."

Morgan smiled graciously to the Emperor as he got rid of the rather unendearing Pantocratorian courtiers. "Is His Highness about, Sire?" she asked with measured enthusiasm.

"Yes." the Emperor replied simply to Morgan's question as the two finished climbing the stairs.

A pair of Varangians standing on either side of a set of glass doors snapped to attention, and then opened the doors. Morgan continued to walk, falling silent again. In the comfortable (although lavishly decorated) family living room beyond, Princess Zoë was sitting with a cushion from the couch on the floor by one of the full-length windows, wearing comfortable, modern winter indoors fashion just like any other very pampered teenage girl, reading a popular New Rome based teen magazine and listening to music on her PeacockPod. Or more accurately, trying to listen to music on her PeacockPod. She wondered whether she had got any water in it when she had briefly been outside (under cover of course) in the storm. Whatever it was, it kept freezing and skipping half-way through tracks. Crappy Pantocratorian electrical goods... Zoë scowled as she gave up trying to listen to her PeacockPod and pulled the earphones out of her delicate ears. They had remained inside just long enough for the door to be opened for Morgan and the Emperor without the young princess hearing. The Emperor caught a glimpse of the teen magazine and scowled noticeably. Zoë happened to notice the two of them and fo a few seconds of awkward silence, tried to dispose of the magazine in a panic. She rose to her feet and held the magazine behind her back. Morgan didn't say anything, lowering her gaze slowly towards the floor and forcing a small, nervous smile towards the little girl. The Emperor arched an eyebrow at Zoë, still scowling disapprovingly. Zoë curtsied without moving her arms (which were fixed behind her back with the forbidden magazine).

"Your Highness, may I present my youngest, Her Highness Princess Zoë. Zoë, I present Her Highness Grand Duchess Morgan." the Emperor said.

"A pleasure, Your Highness." said Zoë.

Morgan inclined her head deeply. "Likewise, Your Highness."

"Come here Zoë." the Emperor said, walking a little closer to the fireplace. Zoë obediently approached her father and prospective sister-in-law.

When she was in arm's reach, the Emperor turned her around with one brief motion, snatched the teen magazine, glanced at it and then tossed it into the fire. Morgan just stood there, really having no idea how to respond to this happening right in front of her. She couldn't help letting her awkwardness show in her face either.

"What are you listening to?" the Emperor asked, indicating the PeacockPod.

"Music, Sire." Zoë replied nervously. "Please don't burn it as well..."

The Emperor decided not to persist with determining what sort of music it was.

"This is the children's room." the Emperor said, turning to Morgan with a markedly improved look on his face. "This apartments are for the Imperial Family only. My children and my nieces spent much of their childhood here until several years ago. This room has seen a lot of growing up in it, and will hopefully see some more still."

He glanced meaningfully at Zoë who blushed at the reference to her misbehaviour.

"We tend to be relaxed and informal in these apartments, and always have been. If you so desire, you may call my daughter Zoë." the Emperor continued.

"Thank you, Sire." Morgan said with a small smile as she looked from the Emperor to the teenager. "It's nice to meet you, Zoë. You may call me Morgan if you wish."

"The pleasure is mine, Morgan." Zoë replied with a cautious smile. She hoped the Emperor didn't mind her calling the Danaan by her Christian name, even if she didn't.

"Well, perhaps you would like to remain here with Zoë while I speak with Constantine?" the Emperor asked Morgan.

"I'd be glad to." Morgan said, her voice sounding pleased enough but not enthusiastic. After all, it would be quite improper to be enthusiastic over a delay in meeting one's fiancé, however reasonable.

"Good." the Emperor replied, before withdrawing from the children's room and making his way to Constantine's rooms.

Zoë smiled briefly at Morgan, and then went over to sit on an usually comfortable (by formal Pantocratorian standards) couch, retrieving her cushion from the floor as she did so. She smiled at Morgan once seated to make it clear she wouldn't object if Morgan wanted to sit nearby. Morgan went over to sit near Zoë, smiling nervously as she looked around the room.

"Would you like me to get you anything?" Zoë offered.

"No. I'm good." Morgan answered.

"So... are you... going to marry Constantine, Morgan?" Zoë asked, usually directly.

"I am." Morgan answered, looking at the fireplace.

"His Majesty doesn't like me reading those magazines. He says they're unladylike, and trashy. Well, he doesn't actually say trashy, but he says a bunch of things which mean trashy." Zoë explained, following Morgan's gaze to the fire.

"Oh." Morgan said, a little startled at the teenager's train of thought. "I wouldn't know. I had not been aware of such a magazine before just now."

"Oh." Zoë said, frowning a little as if confused. "Well... His Majesty is right, of course. They really are trash. That one supposedly had photographs of me sunbathing at the beach in it. The photos were there, but they weren't of me. I think they used a computer to put my face on somebody else's body... still... some of the articles are interesting..."

"Well, that was a rather dishonest thing of them to do. Did they say anything wrong or just show a fake picture? Either way it sounds rather disreputable." Morgan commented.

"They just showed fake pictures. They weren't... you know... topless or anything, but they were in a two piece bathing costume. I don't sunbathe, it's silly, and I've probably never been to this beach." Zoë said, seemingly strangely enthusiastic. "I actually kind of like the idea that... well... photos of me sunbathing would be faked in order to sell magazines. I look on it as a sort of weird compliment..."

"A very weird sort of compliment." Morgan said. "It is understandable but...the sort of men who would desire such a thing are not the sort whose compliments you want."

"That magazine for teenage girls, not men... or do you mean the men who own it?" Zoë clarified.

"Oh." Morgan said. "I'm not sure I understand why they would do that then."

'Well..." Zoë grinned. "May I be ever so immodest, just for a moment?"

"You don't need my permission." Morgan said with a small smile. "I'm just a guest."

"Not for long." Zoë replied, her grin turning into a smile. "The reason why teenage girls want to see me in my bathers is because they want to be like me. It's so weird, so cool, and so... kinda scary at the same time."

"That does sound flattering, Zoë. I don't think many other girls could be like you though." Morgan replied.

"Just two." Zoë answered with a grin.

"Just two?" Morgan asked.

"My sisters." Zoë explained, still smiling.

"Madame de Holista has certainly proved herself most charming in the few months I have known her." Morgan commented.

"I miss having Theodora around..." Zoë remarked in a melancholic tone.

"Maybe His Majesty might let you visit her and Prince Brendan on the way to Menelmacar." Morgan suggested.

"No, he won't." Zoë said.

"Oh." Morgan said, looking down.

"I miss her." Zoë reiterated, her tone of voice sounding like she wasn't too far away from crying about it, and probably would if pushed.

"When do you think your brother will be here?" Morgan asked with an increasingly unhappy expression.

"Connie?" Zoë asked. "Not long. The Emperor will need to get a chaperone, of course, that's probably the delay."

"Oh." Morgan repeated yet again. "I had thought His Majesty might have remained present himself."

"He might. I don't know." Zoë confessed. "You know, I've already spoken more with you than I ever have with my other brother's wife?"

"Well, Her Majesty has all sorts of duties to attend to in Lavenrunz." Morgan said almost wistfully. "Whereas I will be...living here."

"I'm glad." Zoë confessed. "That way at least one of my siblings will still be here when I finally have to go live in Novar Ohan..."

Morgan just nodded at Zoë's words although her own attitude was sombre. While she gave no overt indication, it was obvious her attitude towards staying here was little different from Zoë's attitude towards Novar Ohan.

The doors opened, and the Emperor re-entered the room with Prince Constantine in tow, who was wearing a nice blue shirt (without a tie) and trousers. He looked a little nervous.

"Monsieur, you no doubt recall Her Highness the Grand Duchess." the Emperor said.

"Your Highness," said Constantine bowing with a nervous flourish. "Ho... are you well?"

She rose as Constainte came in with the Emperor. "I am well enough, Your Highness. I have recovered largely from my bout of ill-health."

"You were ill, mademoiselle?" Constantine asked, frowning in concern.

"I apologize." Morgan said. "I assumed your cousin might have told you." Morgan had, as Princess Marie would know, kept to her rooms the last few weeks due to illness.

"No, she hasn't, was it serious?" Constantine enquired. His concerned seemed genuine.

"It cannot have been too serious. I am moving about once more." Morgan said with a jovial smile at the prince.

"Well... good." Constantine smiled, breathing out in relief. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Thank you." Morgan said, sitting once more.

The Emperor gave a pointed glance at his son, who seemed not to notice as he sat down next to Morgan. Zoë watched the stunned glance with some surprise of her own - Constantine had invited Morgan to sit in the presence of the Emperor while His Majesty was standing, and had then done the inexcusable and sat down himself. The Emperor didn't seem in a hurry to point it out, but he would be sure to do so later. He went over to an armchair on the other side of the room and sat down, beckoning Zoë over.

"I'd like to see what music you have on that Podthingy, mademoiselle." the Emperor told Zoë sternly, who cringed and approached him, carrying her PeacockPod, giving Constantine and Morgan a modicum of privacy.

"I'm very pleased to see you, mademoiselle." Constantine told her.

"I'm pleased to see you as well." Morgan said. "It makes up for the weather." she added with a wry grin, adding a joke of her own to keep from laughing at the Emperor having used the term "thingy."

"Chantouillet's usually much nicer than this. Especially in the summer..." Constantine apologised.

"It's fine." Morgan reassured the nervous young man.

"I understand that negotiations are proceeding quite succesfully..." Constantine said, biting his lower lip gently.

"They've been completed." Morgan responded, a little confused at the question. "Unless you were referring to something else...?"

"There may be a few details still to be ironed out." Constantine replied with a slight shrug. "I'm not aware of what the King's response to my refusal to answer his question to me was..."

Morgan blushed a bright red and glanced around the room, looking at anything but Constantine and seemingly having no clue what to say. After a moment, she managed to stammer "His...His Majesty will accept your refusal...although he...he finds it a little..." She just trailed off at that.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you." Constantine whispered apologetically to Morgan. He glanced at the Emperor, who was frowning as he read the PeacockPod's screen through his spectacles.

"Brain... Freeze?" the Emperor asked Zoë.

"Excalbian music, Sire." Zoë replied.

Neither had seemed to notice Morgan's humiliated stammering.

"It's alright." Morgan reassured him once more, looking down at her hands now.

Constantine inwardly cursed himself for being insensitive to Morgan's sensibilities. How did his brother manage this so effortlessly? It was SO difficult to talk to women!

A servant in blue and gold livery was adjusting the clock on Count Rosenburg's mantlepiece in the study at the embassy when Baron Wolfmar walked in, bowing politely. Count Rosenburg checked his watch along with the computer screen showing time in Hofburg. All Lavenrunzian embassies had to have clocks that showed the time according to the Imperial Capital.

Nodding the servant, who left with a bow, Rosenburg remarked, "Well, well...things have been somewhat busy, hey?"
"For the Imperial Court, you mean?" Wolfmar inquired. He was wearing his First Class dress uniform, the standard parade dress, and he had his cap tucked under his arm as he stood.
"Oh, sit down, let's not stand on ceremony." said Rosenburg. "Yes, and of course I mean their Imperial Court. So!" he smacked the desk. "We'd better start advising Her Majesty about wedding presents, yes? Find out what you can about how this relationship seems to be progressing."
"Me? I thought I was supposed to be assessing the military potential of the Entente." Wolfmar objected mildly.
"Since there is hardly anything pressing going on with that, you can probably manage to do this as well without it being a crushing workload." said Rosenburg sardonically.

The Armonvale Examiner, 10 December 2005

A Lady's Duty
by Deiniol James

As practically everyone has already heard. His Most Esteemed High Majesty has recently agreed to grant the hand of his sister, Her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess Morgan, to Prince Constantine, the son of the Pantocratorian Emperor. As usual, rumors have been rampant. While it is generally accepted amongst students of the Court that this is not a love match, less reputable sources have gone farther, suggesting without basis that Her Highness actively resents the match. The specifics of such rumors vary from allegations that Her Highness would prefer to wed another (sometimes identified as the Prince of Thorlund) to more obscene speculation regarding Her Highness's sexuality. There is no real reason to believe any of this to be more than simple Court gossip.

More importantly, a number of critics have raised political questions about the terms of the match itself. Reverend Mbabane Landeck, a prominent Lutheran clergyman, described the agreement that any issue from the match be raised Catholic as "an unpardonable bartering of children's souls for political gain" comparable to "when vile Judas sold our Lord for a paltry sack of silver coin." Aeronwen Abernethy, widely considered the leading independent expert on Court politics, objects on less religious grounds. She says, "The Pantocratorian Emperor essentially got what he wanted on every question. While the actual negotiations do remain secret, it is unlikely that he could have asked for anything more than what is included in the finished deal. Allowing such advantage to the other side, even in friendly bargaining, is, to be frank, dishonorable to the dignity of the Crown and correspondingly to the dignity of the nation. The arrangement is a national shame."

Despite such criticisms, the mood in Tarana maintains optimistic with regards to the match. An unnamed source near the Prime Minister commented, "We are currently engaged in building a network of alliances based upon ties of carefully nurtured cultural, intellectual, and economic ties, bilateral treaties, and intermarriage. This network currently consists of ourselves, Pantocratoria, and Excalbia with looser and more informal ties to Lavenrunz and Tartarus. While this is obviously much smaller than our multilateral alliances, such as VERITAS, we also believe it is based upon much more solid ties and is ultimately far more useful to the point of being the most important aspect of our foreign policy."

Palace sources also dismiss fears about the private relationship between Her Highness and the Pantocratorian Prince. One unnamed source from the Palace claimed "While it can hardly be called a love match, I don't think anyone who knows His Majesty's character could seriously believe that he would send his own sister into a life where he had reason to believe she would be unhappy in any fundamental way."

Even ordinary Danaans are divided on the matter. Our latest poll shows that 52% of Danaans (including 41% of Protestants and 63% of Catholics) approve of the match. It is likely both public and expert opinion will begin to settle as events unfold.

Adrienople Morning Herald
Regular Editorial Column - Sir Jacques' Journée
The United Christian Front's Prince and his Danaan Heretic
by The Hon. Jacques Antoniou, KMOP, IC
The United Christian Front just can't get a break. Just weeks after its Ambaran affiliate, the Ambaran Christian Democrats, decisively lost their plurality in the recent elections in Pantocratorian Ambara, which led to the Socialist affiliated ASA forming a minority government, their deputy leader is set to marry a Danaan Grand Duchess, who through some bizarre twist of fate has managed to negotiate to retain her religion.

Many United Christian Front voters will regard this as a cruel betrayal - and they will be right. As the Party which is supposed to stand for religious unity, the United Christian Front will find it difficult to defend the hypocritical marriage of its deputy leader, HIH the Hon. Prince Constantine, to Grand Duchess Morgan ni Cunedda of the Resurgent Dream, who subscribes to an obscure Arianist heretical sect called the Unitarians.

As a man knighted by the Emperor's hand, who has had the pleasure and honour of serving as one of His Majesty's Ministers, and who bears more than the usual love borne by a subject for the Emperor, I am struck dumb by the very idea that such an arrangement could be satisfactory to His Majesty. When I served as Foreign Minister, I was frequently involved in discussions pertaining to potential marriages for all of His Majesty's unwed children in the Council of Ministers, including Prince Constantine at that time. I know that as a matter of principle, the Emperor was insistent that all His daughters be married to Christian princes (Catholics preferably), and that His sons especially should be married to Catholic princesses. It was important, in His Majesty's wise and considered view, that a woman who might one day become the Empress of Pantocratoria, as the wife of a prince might, should share the religion of her husband's empire, the religion of the people who could one day become her subjects, the religion of Jesus Christ and the Apostles. As His Majesty's Foreign Minister, I humbly agreed with His Majesty's wisdom on the topic.

One cannot imagine what could have transpired to change the Emperor's mind on the topic. Perhaps it was prolonged exposure in Council of Ministers meetings to that abrasive egalitarian, Demetrios Raoul, the Drapeur Government's Minister for Foreign Affairs - I would not care to speculate. In any event, it would appear that the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator now sees no problem with the fact that His Highness' fiancée is an obstinate heretic, if she can in fact be even counted as a Christian heretic (and one familiar with their vile doctrines should find it difficult to extend the term Christian to an Arian). One can have little doubt, however, that the United Christian Front's backbench is bound to find a problem in Her Highness' "faith".

Some United Christian Front backbenchers and senior party officials have already conveyed to me Monsieur's personal reservations with the match. Monsieur has long nurtured Prince Constantine's political career, and has always looked upon his nephew as a political protègé. The split between the Loyal Christian Front and the Pantocratoria First Party was caused by Monsieur's positioning of the very young Prince Constantine as a rival for the deputy leadership to Princess Irene. All these favours have now been repaid by Prince Constantine seeking permission to marry a lady whose religious beliefs are profoundly disturbing, and insulting to the United Christian Front's constituency.

Even Prince Constantine's liberal Catholic faction has been taken off-guard by the Prince's choice in brides, and rest assured, Grand Duchess Morgan is much more the Prince's choice than the Emperor's, a fact which you, gentle reader, will not only be able to corroborate with other articles printed in this most excellent and reputable of newspapers, but also in as many irreputable magazines which report on gossip, rumour and innuendo from the court as one could count on both hands. The loyalists and the hard right are even less enthusiastic - there are rumours that at the party meeting the morning Parliament is recalled, Prince Constantine will be challenged in the deputy leadership.

Before writing this editorial, I called the man whom Prince Constantine recently challenged and beat for the deputy leadership, the Hon. Isaac Comnenus, and asked him if he now intended to challenge Prince Constantine for the position. His reply was "no comment", and, gentle readers, we all know what that means.

"Aha." said Rosenburg, putting down his paper as Baron Wolfmar entered his office. "Well, you see? It's all out now."
"What, you believe what's in the newspapers, Count?" drawled Wolfmar, glancing at them and smiling.
Rosenburg tapped the copy of the Armonvale Examiner and said, "This is not some rag, my dear Wolfmar, this is a reputable source of media."
Wolfmar looked skeptical.
"In any case," Rosenburg continued, "Our new Cultural Attache has arrived, so you are scot free. You can go back to figuring out how many warships we will have to commit to the Entente and so on."
"Who is it?" asked Wolfmar.
"Some fellow called Tepes. Foreigner." sniffed Rosenburg, "Moved here from Estavia a couple of generations ago."
"Johnny newcomer." said Wolfmar with a straight face.
"But you'll of course introduce him at the parties and such. I must appear to be entirely impartial in all things." Rosenburg remarked, smiling inwardly at Wolfmar's barely suppressed glare.

"Your Highness, is there, by chance, anyone in Pantocratoria who regards the Councils of the Church of the last hundred years with even a modicum of respect?" The voice addressing Princess Theodora belonged to a short, unsightly man who just happened to be the Count of Gealigain, sitting perched on a drawing room stool while ostentatiously examining a copy of the Adrienople Morning Herald and the Palace Library's copy of Unitatis Redintegratio .

"That is a very complicated document, isn't it?" timidly inquired his wife, Daireen, a beautiful daughter of a rich capitalist who had married the Count to combine her family's money with his family's rank. The Countess by marriage was almost always timidly silent in the presence of the Prince and Princess, feeling that she did not belong in this world. This might well have been the first time Theodora had heard her say more than hello.

The Count just glared at his wife annoyedly and did not even bother answering her question. Sir Aindriú O'h-Eitegein, a moderately handsome older gentleman with a perpetually calm demeanor, took it upon himself to answer intead. "It is not that complicated. It is merely that some are in the habit of taking it as saying what it does not. While the document does advocate understanding, outreach, and solidarity towards the Eastern, Oriental, and Protestant communities, it does so with the express purpose of moving towards a restoration of the unity of the Visible Church of Jesus Christ, which is, of course, understood to, of necessity, be the Apostolic Catholic Church as that phrase is understood by all those of orthodox belief." He smiled lightly at the young woman, reveling in the role of elder.

"Yes, yes, no one's denying all that." said the Count vehemently. "My point still stands."

"You, yourself, have made the exact opposite point a thousand times in our hearing." commented the dashing, middle-aged, Duke of Odhrain. "You have only changed positions now because you are a national bigot before a religious one."

"I knew I shouldn't have ordered the Palace to subscribe to the Pantocratorian papers." commented Prince Brendan to his wife, largely ignoring the squabbling of the courtiers. "It is only to be hoped that the unfortunate vehemence of many Pantocratorians does not so far alienate the lady so far that it hinders her from being moved towards the Church by her husband's example and influence and by the experience of Catholic family life, as the Church instructs us to pray in the case of mixed marriages." The Prince straightened slightly in his armchair, a gesture normally meaning that he had had the last word and the conversation was now over. Changing the topic, he turned to Odhrain. "Your Grace, you will likely be glad to know that Count Borowska asked me about the welfare of your youngest daughter when I was last in Tarana."

"Oh..." began the duke.

It was evening, and the sound of the gardeners shovelling the walks around the gardens seemed particularly chilly to Wolfmar. He turned as a servant bowed a pale man dressed in black into the room. The man put a walking stick to the side and smiled and bowed. "Baron Wolfmar? I am Vladimir Tepes, the new Cultural Attache, I hope I am not disturbing you."
"No. My man Fritz told me that you'd be arriving late, that you were something of a night owl. How do you do?" Wolfmar politely returned the bow and his eyes flickered in response to Fritz, who was closing the door, putting a finger to his nose. Fritz would have a word or two, probably over a foaming stein, with the new arrival's servant.
"Very well thank you. My, this certainly is a lovely country! Almost reminds one of home." Tepes said.
What home might that be? wondered Wolfmar, smiling and indicating for Tepes to sit down.
"I don't know if you are aware yet but Count Rosenburg is thinking of having a soiree or a ball or something, and your input would be invaluable. You are something of a student of Pantocratorian history and customs?"
"That is correct, and my french is quite up to snuff." said Tepes. He was a very sleek man, his skin smooth as a girl's. Wolfmar found himself disliking him though he could not put a finger on why.
"Good, you should have no difficulty then." said Wolfmar with a nod. He thought I'd better at LEAST get a staff college posting or an independant command out of this...

After she had been given the opportunity to rest from her travels, Morgan was invited to dinner. Unlike the Emperor's meals in New Rome, in the private, almost intimate apartments of the second level of Chantouillet, dinner was an almost comfortable and relaxed affair. In a dining room with a single long table, with no audience or other guests, were to sit the Emperor, Princess Zoë, Prince Constantine, the Countess of Porte-Demetriople, and of course, Morgan herself. Morgan smiled as she glided into the room, joining the others around the table. Politely, she waited for the Emperor to sit first. This time, so did Constantine. The Emperor sat down, and was followed by everyone else.

"You look very nice this evening, mademoiselle." said Constantine with a nervous smile.

"Thank you." Morgan said with a small smile of her own. "You look rather striking yourself, Your Highness."

Constantine blushed and Zoë grinned at Morgan's remark. The entrée, escargot in garlic butter, was served, with the cooked escargots in their shells. The place settings already had snail tongs and forks. Morgan began to eat with the others, daintily eating a snail. The others ate as well, with Madame de Porte-Demetriople making eyes at the Emperor throughout much of the entrée. Zoë kept on glancing at Morgan as if hoping for her to say something, because Constantine seemed strangely nervous and the Emperor seemed content to eat in silence. Morgan didn't say anything or eat much. She slowly and daintily ate a few of the snails on her plate.

"Do you like escargot, mademoiselle?" asked Zoë, feeling like the responsibility to fill in the silence had fallen to her.

"It is quite lovely." Morgan said with a polite, but somewhat meaningless, smile. She daintily plucked another snail from its shell, slipped it passed her lips, and consumed it with a small contented sound before daintily wiping her red lips with her napkin. "I think it shows far a far greater sense of style to serve them in the shells."

"I am told that in Marlund, they are in the habit of plucking the snail from the shell before it is served and likewise of serving only the meat of crabs and lobsters, even in the highest circles. I always thought that a rather boorish custom." Morgan went on, making nervous small talk.

"Marlund isn't known for its haute-culture." nodded Madame de Porte-Demetriople.

"Of course, if that were its most serious problem, it would be a much happier country." Morgan continued.

"Her Highness has a keen interest in politics, Sire." Constantine nodded and said to the Emperor.

"Indeed." the Emperor commented in his usual tone. "What would you say is Marlund's most serious problem, mademoiselle?"

Morgan paused for a long moment, as though considering the question. "Marlund's most serious problem is that its people do not yet possess the critical thinking skills necessary for the exercise of their newly obtained freedoms. There is always the danger of what is referred to as illiberal democracy developing."

"What do you mean by an illiberal democracy, mademoiselle?" asked Constantine, listening intently.

"Well..." Morgan began "...for centuries before any Western nation developed representative institutions, or at least representative institutions powerful enough and broadly representative enough to merit the name, the West was developing a basic concept of rights such that, if the sovereign was never bound to respect them, morality nevertheless was understood to require that he should do so. The subjects of even the most conservative of Western powers were free to a degree almost literally unimaginable in most of Africa or Asia. Despite race, religion, and language, I think it is fair to say that, in a very profound sense, the culture of Marlund belongs more properly to this latter group than to the West."

"So, again, what is an illiberal democracy?" the Emperor asked, now taking interest in Morgan's opinion.

"And other concepts, too, had deep roots in the West: The rule of law, the dignity of man, the tendency to think of right and wrong in more universal, more abstract terms, the idea of fraternal bonds based solely on a shared humanity...However, imperfectly achieved, these ideas were always rooted there, always part of how men justified their opinions. But when you just juxtapose a representative system upon men who still think not as citizens but as members of a tribe or as a totalitarian public seeking to level all differences, social or even personal and intimate, as individuals with nothing but self-interest to govern their decisions...men as they naturally are without the benefit of several hundred years of living with the benefits of the combined wisdom of Israel, Greece, and Rome refined a thousand times over by thinkers raised in rational discourse, then what you often get is a majority more tyrannous than the most objectionable autocrat one might imagine, a majority set not on its own emancipation but upon a reign of terror against everyone outside of it...and that is illiberal democracy."

"So how can we hope to, in a few years spent on a military reconstruction mission, to... compress two thousand years of learned cultural experience into some format digestible by the Marlunder people?" asked Constantine.

"That is a question which people older and wiser than me, from both our nations, are expending great effort in answering." Morgan answered modestly.

"Maybe it would be simpler if Marlund were to become directly administered by a state which already has the benefit of all that cultural experience." suggested Madame de Porte-Demetriople, glancing at the Emperor. "It might be split between Pantocratorian and Danaan holdings in Ambara, for instance..."

Morgan waited silently to see how the Emperor answered that, since the lady seemed to be looking for his response. The Emperor deferred the question to Morgan with an ambiguous arch of an eyebrow.

"We are not in the business of conquest." Morgan answered. "It is easy enough to say that one is simply annexing territory and admitting its people into the national community, but, in practice, such things never work out that way. Not to mention that dividing or subsuming a historical nation is always a dubious proposition at best...Still, speaking for the High Kingdom, it is true that we might be in a position of more direct influence if the negotiations regarding my mother and Prince Hermann go well."

Emperor Nakamikado frowned to himself as he went through his papers in his study. He was not sure what he thought of this Prince Suizei Tokudaiji. He was of mostly Japanese ancestry, but it could not be especially pure. He was, after all, a relation of High King Owain. He was Shinto but with certain disturbing tendencies.

Nakamikado frowned, standing and pacing about the room. It could be forgiven. All of that could be forgiven in the husband even of an Emperor's daughter. It was not Suizei that bothered him. Without a male heir, the fate of the Adoki throne would certainly be a matter of negotiation in which the Danaan Throne would certainly be involved. Would the dignity of the Empire survive his death?

The Emperor sat down with, resuming the same utterly dispassionate expression he wore almost always. He had cast his lot in with the Danaans fifteen years ago and he stood by his decision. Knowing there was no going back, he slowly reached for his pen and began to write a handwritten letter.

Ygraine sat on her bed back in Tarana, smiling lightly as she opened the sealed envelope. It was from Prince Hermann, written in his own hand. WHile the letter said that, Ygraine had long since learned to recognize the difference between the writing of His Highness's secretary and the Prince's own hand. They had, after all, been corresponding ever since the ball in Zutern.

The negotiations regarding Morgan and Constantine were not the only negotiations that had sprung from that event. However, her relationship with Hermann was a different manner. He, as the independent prince of a sovereign nation, was free to negotiate in his own right. As far as Ygraine was concerned, so was she. While every stage of the arrangement had to pass through the High King, it was simply unthinkable that he should arrange affairs for his own mother in the way he did for his younger sister. And so Ygraine and Hermann were slowly coming to their own arrangements, as a bond grew between them which could not be compared to the passions of the young but rather a sort of understanding sense of companionship between mature people. For Ygraine, Hermann could never replace the father of her children, dead these fifteen years, but he could make the remaining years of her life quite amiable.

"Or perhaps, mademoiselle, Marlund would be in a position to more directly influence the Resurgent Dream." the Emperor replied ambiguously.

"Perhaps." Morgan allowed rather non-commitally.

"It is after all, your mother who will be the Prince of Marlund's wife, at the endpoint of such negotiations." the Emperor continued.

"Yes, it is. But at Her Highness's age, it seems unlikely that she should prove as impressionable as a younger woman, even to her husband." Morgan responded.

"Are younger women more impressionable, mademoiselle?" asked the Emperor. Constantine watched the exchange thoughtfully. The Emperor's expression didn't betray anything of his thoughts.

"I would expect they are. They have had less time to settle into their opinions and most of their views on more sophisticated and adult questions are still emergent and unformed." Morgan answered.

"Including yours?" Constantine enquired with a smile.

"Yes..." Morgan said nervously, growing a little uncomfortable now.

"I'm not going to have my views on the more sophisticated and adult questions impressioned by my husband." declared Zoë, defiantly.

"Does your fiancé even have any views on the more sophisticated and adult questions?" Constantine asked her with a bemused smile.

"That's enough." the Emperor cut off the conversation about Grand Duke Sebastian quietly.

Morgan ate another snail. Madame de Porte-Demetriople observed Morgan with studied disinterest for a few moments, before returning her attentions to the Emperor. The Emperor didn't seem to study the widow at all, with disinterest or not. Instead his eyes remained on Morgan, his uncomfortable, penetrating gaze not shifting as they seemed to examine and assess her. Constantine's glances in Morgan's direction were becoming less nervous. Morgan tilted her head curiously at the Emperor before daintily eating another snail. The intensity of the Emperor's gaze remained as constant as its fixture on Morgan.

"Do you like tennis, Your Highness?" Zoë asked Morgan.

"I've never played." Morgan answered with a light smile.

"Oh." Zoë said, looking a little disappointed. "We have courts here at Chantouillet. An indoor one too. I used to play it with my sisters. We weren't allowed to play in New Rome."

"Anna was very good." Constantine nodded.

"I shall have to learn then." Morgan commented.

"Do you speak Greek, Your Highness?" asked the Emperor.

"Unfortunately, I don't, Sire. I speak English, Welsh, French, Dutch, Hawai'ian, and German only." she answered.

"You will have to learn, then." the Emperor observed, and finally looked away from Morgan as he ate another snail.

"Why? It's a stupid backwards language anyway." pronounced Zoë.

"As you wish, Sire." Morgan responded, arching a brow slightly at Zoë.

As they were now done with their snails, the servants removed their plates, and allowed them a few minutes before the main course.

"I wonder whether it will rain tomorrow..." Constantine wondered out loud.

Prince Suizei Tokudaiji was walking with Prince Heinrich Aehrenthal in the latter's rose garders at Zedlacher Palace. The Prince of Kadoki was in his Danaan Marshall's uniform. Back home, he always thought that it made him look dashing; that it combined the the flare and individuality of the West with the strong sense of fillial duty of the East, a fit image for the leader of a principality where the people were Danaans first and foremost but still proud of their own heritage. Next to the classically Helvetian form of his distant cousin, it just seemed to make him look short.

"She's younger than you." Heinrich said, breaking a silence which had lasted several minutes.

"She is." Suizei answered him. "I was, of course, already aware of that."

"I know." Heinrich answered. "It is just something to consider. It doesn't seem like much is being considered in this match. There have been practically no negotiations."

"The High King has more important issues requiring his attention." Suizei answered with an inscrutable expression. That wasn't the reason his marriage was going forward with practically nothing set down for certain. The problem of the succession had no solution. He could not be Emperor, not in the sense that the past Emperors had been, although he was the most acceptable man of royal rank who could be found. His European blood (although barely a sixteenth), his foreign attitudes, all of that made him unacceptable, just as every Adoki nobleman was unacceptable and just as Yuko was unaceeptable. No one after Nakimikado could again be styled an akitsumikami or manifest spirit. Everything would change after the exhaustion of the male line of Prince Shoko.

Heinrich, oblivious to these reveries, nodded slightly. "He does. I am not sure I approve of this business with another Pantocratorian marriage but His Majesty's mind seems settled on the matter. Whether it is or not, there isn't any way out now without mortally offending the Pantocratorians."

"Well, they did mortally offend my betrothed, if you will recall. His Majesty should take some thought of that." Suizei responded sharply.

"Well, one can hardly call that a mortal offense." Heinrich answered. "If you want my opinion..."

Invitations were sent to persons of notability and good taste at the Imperial Court for a date set after Constantine and Morgan would not be present.


You are cordially invited to a Christmas Ball at the embassy of Her Majesty Empress Aurora, which will include a programme of dancing, a feast, and entertainments. His Excellency the Ambassador hopes you will find the time to attend and bless the gathering with your presence.

with greatest anticipation
M. V. Tepes
Cultural Attache

Princess Sarah arrived at the Lavenrunzian ball arm in arm with Colonel Gal Chertok. The princess wore a highly decorated gown of light blue, embroidered with genuine gold thread in an intricate geometic pattern and tastefully set with emeralds. A hooped underskirt created an elaborate bellshape to her skirt and tight sleeves ending in white frills made her hands look smaller and more delicate than the otherwise would have been. A moderately tight corset reduced her midsection by about three or four inches. Her neck was left bare but her shoulders were well covered and nothing of her cleavage was exposed. In all this she followed Pantocratorian Court fashion. However, she did not use the typical make-up of the court which had the effect of making the skin seemed fairer but instead consciously emphasized the relatively slight difference of complexion between herself and the Pantocratorians, creating a slightly exotic image.

For his part, Colonel Chertok was dressed in his dress uniform, a dashing green coat in a formal military cut with gold buttons, a white dress shirt with restrained ruffles at the chest, black trousers, and black boots. Chertok was a pleasant, slightly round man of about thirty, relatively handsome although not eye-catching. He smiled politely as he escorted in the princess.

As the guests arrived, the Adagio overture from the "Music for the Royal Fireworks" was being played expertly by the musicians which Count Rosenburg kept on staff, who were all dressed in blue coats with gold buttons and white wigs. Count Rosenburg himself smiled as the first guests arrived, and bowing deeply said, "Highness, I am delighted that you could come...it is kind of you to attend our little soiree. Colonel, delighted my dear sir. I am sure you know my military attache, Baron Wolfmar?" He indicated the man, who somehow looked quietly competent and tough in spite of his 19th century style dress uniform and sword. The Baron bowed politely, his eyes discreetly admiring Princess Sarah.
"And this is my new cultural attache, Herr Vladimir Tepes." he indicated the pale almost ascetically dressed man, who like Hamlet was all in black.

Prince Basil and Princess Jacqueline arrived at the Lavenrunzian embassy wearing a tuxedo and New Rome court gown respectively. Basil's tuxedo was generously decorated with an appealing variety of shiny and impressive medals, some of which were military medals he had never earned, and some of which were medals representing the Order of the Pantocrator and that he had once been a member of the Council of Ministers (in actuality, he was still a member of the Council of Ministers, as nobody was ever removed from the Council of Ministers, he just no longer attended meetings since his party was no longer in government). The latter two adorned the purple sash he wore, the rest decorated his jacket in three straight lines over the left breast. Jacqueline's gown was carefully embroidered in gold and silver thread in delicate floral patterns, and she wore a tiny diamond tiara in her even more delicately styled chestnut hair. Her earrings were white gold, into which were set tiny saphires and emeralds into the shape of a little peacock (a peacock guardant - the heraldic emblem of the Duke of Adrienople).

They were announced as "Monsieur and Madame, the Right Honourable the Leader of the Opposition, His Imperial Highness the Purple-Born Prince Basil MP, and Her Imperial Highness Princess Jacqueline, the Marquess of Adrienople."

"I certainly hope not." Morgan responded. "It has rained enough today for an entire month and I was hoping to get to see the Pantocratorian countryside." She smiled slightly. "Perhaps we could go for a drive if it's clear?"
...
"It is lovely to be here, Your Excellency." Sarah answered with a light smile. If she noticed the baron's gaze, she gave no sign. "It is a joy to see you both again, my lords, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Tepes. I wonder how you are finding the cultural scene in Pantocratoria?"

"Yes, I know the good baron." Chertok answered, something vaguely resembling a smile making a rare appearance on his hardened face. "Perhaps we might find a chance to talk about this message from the Sakkrans sometime tonight. We are partners in VERITAS, after all." The colonel then nodded off-handedly to the cultural attache. "It is good to meet you, sir."

Rosenburg bowed in the direction of Prince Basil and Princess Jacqueline, and politely excused himself from the conversation, leaving it to Wolfmar and Tepes. Tepes was remarking, "Pantocratoria is extraordinary in how it resembles Lavenrunz, and yet it also in a sense resembles my own ancestral land of Estavia, where the Byzantine influence was also felt, more perhaps than the Roman. And you, Highness, may I inquire as to how it has been with you?" Tepes in manner was exquisitely polite, and though detached physically his eyes were warm and inquiring.
Wolfmar smiled at the Colonel and was relieved to talk about something a little more substantial than all the usual diplomatic twitter. "What is your take on it, Colonel? You do outrank me after all," he remarked genially.

Rosenburg smiling approached the Prince and Princess and said "I am honored to receive you here in Her Majesty's house. I am glad that you could spare the time...what with all that is going on lately, Monsieur mon Prince et Madame Princesse...

"But of course we would make the time, Monsieur le Comte." replied Basil with a smile. Unlike both his siblings, he was prone to smile, laugh, and otherwise show signs of happiness, and his smile was quite charming. "We couldn't stay away if we wanted to. You remember my wife, Princess Jacqueline, from when you were presented at court?"

"Charmed, monsieur." Jacqueline said, offering Rosenburg her hand, palm down.

"It rains much more than that in a month." Zoë remarked.

"Maybe we could..." Constantine replied to the second part of what Morgan said.

Morgan smiled eagerly.

"Unfortunately your cars are all back in New Rome." the Emperor reminded Constantine. "Besides which, I am told that hail is expected tomorrow."

"There was some earlier today..." nodded Zoë. "Not for long though."

"That is unfortunate." Morgan commented.

"One of the court companies is performing La Malade imaginaire tomorrow night in the opera house." the Emperor remarked.

"Oh, I love Charpentier!" piped in Madame de Porte-Demetriople in put-on excitement.

"At least it's not Armide again..." sighed Zoë. "I'm so sick of Armide, I thought the companies weren't supposed to do the same opera as another company had already performed earlier that year... and wait, didn't the May Company put on La Malade imaginaire already this year?"

The Emperor frowned at Zoë by way of telling her to stop complaining. He then looked at Morgan again.

"Are you fond of the opera, mademoiselle?" he asked.

"Quite, Sire." Morgan responded.

"French opera?" he enquired.

"I have rarely been." she answered.

"You should join us tomorrow night then." concluded the Emperor before looking down at the plate of boeuf-bourguignon a servant had just laid down in front of him. The staff then served everyone else the main on plates of sterling silver.

"I'd love to join you." Morgan made answer.

"The court has twelve opera companies, each of which perform two one month seasons per year, one of which is an old favourite of some description, and another one of which is an original composition." Constantine explained to Morgan. "So at any given time at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator in New Rome, there are two operas being performed every night, one old and one new. We're only borrowing the June Company for a few days here at Chantouillet..."

"That does sound like a lovely way of doing things." Morgan commented.

"The same arrangement exists for theatre and ballet but I don't think we've a theatre or ballet company here with us at Chantouillet, do we?" said Constantine.

"No, monsieur." replied Madame de Porte-Demetriople.

"Are you a fan of the ballet, Your Highness?" she asked Constantine.

"I watch it... I prefer theatre though." Constantine replied.

"I prefer cinema." Zoë declared.

"Vulgar nonsense." the Emperor remarked disapprovingly between mouthfuls of beef.

"I have never seen a Pantocratorian film." Morgan commented.

"That isn't surprising." Constantine replied. "And once you've seen one, you'll understand why."

"They're not that bad." Zoë frowned faintly. "But... well they're not great either."

"They cannot be much worse than what comes out of Caer Gawen these days." Morgan said with a wry smirk.

"What comes out of Caer Gawen?" asked Zoë.

"Well...there was the oh so dreadful Night of the Undead Lepus." Morgan mentioned.

"You aren't a... fan... of cinema, are you, mademoiselle?" asked the Emperor.

"Not particularly." Morgan answered.

"Good." the Emperor replied, returning to his dinner.

The curtain fell on the June Company's performance of Le Malade imaginaire, and in the Imperial Box in the palace of Chantouillet's opera house, Zoë was practically sighing with relief, Constantine had just finished politely applauding what had been an excellent performance, and the Emperor just sat there without giving any sign as to whether he had in fact enjoyed himself or not. Morgan clapped politely, smiling warmly at the performance.

"What did you think?" Constantine asked Morgan as the applause ended.

"It was a fine performance." Morgan judged.

"It was up to their usual standard." Constantine nodded.

"Did you like the story?" Morgan asked.

"I've seen it so many times..." Constantine said with a slight grimace. "It's excellent of course, it was written by Molière... the words that is... not the music of course. He was a comic genius, but the same joke gets old after a while."

Morgan laughed ever so lightly. "You do have a point."

"Although Polichinelle always gets a chuckle out of me..." grinned Constantine.

Morgan nodded.

"You know, when he asks if it has become fashionable to speak in music..." Constantine started to explain.

"Yes, yes, we know." Zoë said impatiently, evidently listening in on Constantine and Morgan's conversation.

"Erm... yes..." Constantine blushed at being cut off by his little sister. "My brother loves comic operas... even English ones. You've heard of Gilbert and Sullivan?"

"Don't mention The Mikado." the Emperor said, rising from his seat.

Morgan didn't say anything as the Emperor seemed snappish. Constantine sighed as he rose to his feet and offered his hand to Morgan to assist her to hers. It was so hard to make conversation with her. Morgan rose as well, smiling slightly. Zoë was already on her feet, practically hopping up and down she was so eager to leave the opera house. The courtiers below (and there were only a few who had accompanied the Imperial Family to Chantouillet, since it was a smaller, intimate palace) rose to their feet when they saw that the Emperor was standing. They began to bow and curtsey as the Emperor left the box into the corridor behind it, where Sir Constantine was waiting for him. Morgan followed along with Constantine.

The party soon arrived in the Imperial Family's private upstairs suites. On the way, the Emperor issued Sir Constantine some quiet instructions. When they reached the lounge suite, the Emperor bade everyone good evening and retired for the night, instructing Zoë that she was also to go to bed for the night. Sir Constantine remained with Prince Constantine and Morgan as chaperone, but he sat quietly in the corner and read a newspaper. Morgan sat down quietly near Constantine, looking at him curiously.

"So..." Constantine sighed, wishing that they had something to talk about.

"So?" Morgan inquired.

"Yes." Constantine said, looking depressed.

"Are you alright?" Morgan fussed.

"Yes, I'm fine." Constantine said with an unconvincing smile, nodding. We got along fine in Zutern... she seemed so intelligent and interesting...

"That's good to hear." Morgan said in a rather unconvinced tone.

"You?" Constantine enquired.

"I...I'm alright." Morgan managed.

"I'm sorry about the weather. We might be able to go out for a walk tomorrow." Constantine offered. Talking about the weather... ugh...

"Or a drive." Morgan said. "I'd like that, I think."

"I don't have any of my cars here." Constantine grinned. "There are some we could use, of course."

"I just have limousines." Morgan commented. "I guess we could drive one but it would seem odd. That kind of car really requires a chauffeur."

"It is the point." Constantine nodded. "My brother doesn't drive. Neither does His Majesty, or Monsieur. Just me."

"So you've said." Morgan commented.

"I have?" Constantine frowned.

"I think so." Morgan answered.

"Serves me right for trying to boast I guess." Constantine said, a little crestfallen.

"You sound upset." Morgan repeated.

"Not really, I'm just finding it difficult to make conversation..." Constantine admitted.

Sarah smiled politely at Tepes, hiding whatever was going through her head behind that polite but absolutely non-committal smile. "I am afraid I am not familiar with the land of Estavia, although I have heard the name before. Perhaps you might tell me something about it?"

Chertok returned Wolfmar's smile. "My take is very simple. I don't doubt our Danaan men and women in uniform are a match for these Antarans but I don't know exactly how we can get them into the fight. Danaan society is essentially Earth-based and, while we have some space capable vessels we have purchased from friends and allies, the bulk of our military forces and equipment are designed for use on this planet. From what I know of Lavenrunz, I would guess you have a similar situation?"
...
Morgan looked at Constantine intensely for a very long moment, seeming to be thinking before she sighed heavily and looked away. "Have you, by any chance, been following the Danaan elections, Your Highness? Coalitions were announced recently."

The Emperor, Sir Constantine the Hardy, Prince Constantine, and Princess Zoë were sitting at the breakfast table upstairs in the palace of Chantouillet, waiting for Grand Duchess Morgan to join them. Overnight the weather had changed dramatically and outside it was unseasonably sunny and pleasant. They were all already dressed in outdoor clothes, looking forward for a chance to go outside for a change to take advantage of the weather. Grand Duchess Morgan strode into the room with a polite smile, curtseying to the assembled family members before taking her seat at the table. Breakfast was served, and the family began eating.

"The weather has changed dramatically..." Constantine told Morgan.

"I've noticed." Morgan said with a light smile. "It is unfortunate that you are absent your cars. Perhaps a walk might do as good?"

"I'm going for a walk too." Zoë said.

"I will be going hunting." said the Emperor.

"That sounds like a good idea as well, Sire." Morgan said eagerly. "I have always found it exhilirating."

"Indeed." the Emperor replied. "Perhaps after we're done, we could go riding with you and Zoë after your walk, mademoiselle?"

"Sire?" Morgan asked.

"Horse riding." the Emperor clarified.

"I thought hunting was an alternative to the walk." she pressed.

"It is." the Emperor replied. "I shan't be walking, neither shall Sir Constantine, or several others."

Morgan frowned and went quiet. The Emperor regarded her for a few moments between mouthfuls. She didn't seem to even notice him, looking at her plate without much appetite.

"Were you hoping to be invited, mademoiselle?" asked the Emperor.

"Yes." she answered simply.

"Ah, that explains that then." the Emperor nodded to himself, satisfied with the explanation for Morgan's questions.

"Although His Majesty very generously invited me to join him," Prince Constantine said diplomatically, glancing at the Emperor in acknowledgement for a moment before looking back to Morgan. "I told him that I would rather stay with you, mademoiselle. We needn't go for a walk if you don't want to, we can do whatever you like."

"Please do say a walk, I could show you the winter garden..." Zoë started, but Constantine silenced her with a pleading glance.

"As you wish, Your Highnesses." Morgan answered, not seeming much cheered up by Constantine's words.

"Or... I could borrow a car..." Constantine suggested, watching Morgan closely for some sign of enthusiasm.

Morgan took another bite of her breakfast. Constantine, looking a little dejected, looked back down at his breakfast and picked at it. Morgan also picked at her breakfast in miserable silence, stuggling to hold back tears.

"The hunting at Chantouillet is good when the weather permits." the Emperor said, almost cheerfully, to Sir Constantine. "Do you remember, when the children were young, that stag?"

"The one which thought it was hunting us? Yes, I remember." Sir Constantine grinned at the memory.

"Not this story again..." Zoë groaned.

"Zoë, hush." the Emperor frowned.

Morgan took a deep breath and continued to eat slightly and in silence. Constantine leaned closer to her, looking concerned and miserable himself.

"Do... are you in the mood... would you like for me to start teaching you how to drive today, Morgan?" he asked her quietly as the Emperor and Sir Constantine began to tell the story about the stag in question.

"If you wish." Morgan answered.

"Do you wish?" Constantine insisted.

"Not today." Morgan answered.

"OK... a walk then?" Constantine whispered as Sir Constantine gesticulated wildly about the size of the stag's horns.

"Very well." Morgan said resignedly.

"Morgan, what do you want to do?" Constantine asked.

Morgan arched her brow slightly at the question. "We can do whatever you like."

"...had the Emperor pinned against an oak!" Sir Constantine recalled before laughing boisterously.

"I had him exactly where I wanted him." the Emperor told Zoë in a voice that only his closest friends and family knew indicated he was joking.

Constantine reclined back in his seat after Morgan's reply, unhappy and disappointed. He moved some of his omelette about his plate with his fork, but had lost his appetite. So had Morgan, who felt bad that Constantine was feeling bad. Morgan sat silently through the rest of breakfast, not eating anymore. When it was finally over, she looked over at Constantine. Constantine looked back at her, before standing along with everyone else when the Emperor rose to his feet. Morgan stood with the others, quietly.

"Good luck. Come back with some new stories." Zoë said, being a little cheeky.

Morgan's frown deepened slightly as she looked at Zoe.

"We shall endeavour not to disappoint." the Emperor replied, patting Zoë as he left the room with Sir Constantine.

Morgan opened her mouth as though to say something and then closed it, looking at Constantine again.

"Well... shall we go for a walk then?" Zoë asked hopefully.

Constantine looked to Morgan for her answer. Morgan was looking to Constantine for his.

"Please, you decide." Constantine finally said.

"Somebody decide!" Zoë said impatiently.

"I'm no longer in the mood." Morgan said simply.

"You're not in the mood for a walk?" Zoë askd, looking disappointed.

"Not anymore." Morgan repeated. "I think I'll go back to my room."

"Morgan, please... let's not waste the good weather." Constantine pleaded.

"I said we could do what you wished." Morgan pointed out.

"But you don't want to drive or go for a walk." sighed Constantine.

"Your Highness, what I want does not matter in my position. We all have our duties. What would you like to do?" she asked again.

"Of course it matters... what do you mean, duties?" Constantine frowned. "This is a holiday..."

"OK, I'm going for my walk." Zoë sighed and left the room.

"I meant what I said." Morgan answered with a sigh. "Just decide, please."

"I apologise, mademoiselle, I didn't think to make a chore out of rare sunny day." Constantine said, stiffening, hurt that Morgan clearly regarded spending time with him as a duty. "I'll take my leave from you, if you prefer."

"Thank you." Morgan said, unwilling tears starting to roll down her cheeks as she rose, heading for her room.

"By your leave, mademoiselle." Constantine said. After she left, he departed and went to catch up to Zoë, struggling not to cry himself.

Morgan stayed in her room for the rest of that day, sending word that she was not feeling up to riding or having lunch or dinner. Constantine respected her wishes and didn't disturb her, Zoë on the other hand, was bothered by how moopy the two of them seemed, and knocked on Morgan's door after lunch.

"Yes?" Morgan said through the door, in a choked voice.

"Mademoiselle?" Zoë asked, surprised that Morgan's staff didn't open the door and admit her. "Are you alone?"

"Yes, I am." she answered.

"Oh." Zoë said. Most irregular. "May I come in, please?"

"It's not locked." which was kind of an implied yes.

Zoë frowned at the answer. She didn't like opening doors herself. Nevertheless, she turned the handle and gently opened the door and closed it behind her. Morgan was lying on the bed. She put her book aside as Zoe came in, smiling weakly. Zoë frowned.

"It's the first sunny day in over a week and you're inside, reading a book. You hardly touched your breakfast and you refused to join us for luncheon, and have advised that you don't intend to join us for dinner either." Zoë chided. "Are you ill?"

"No." Morgan answered.

"Oh." Zoë said. "You're upset for other reasons then... is it Constantine?"

"Don't worry about it, Zoë." Morgan said, giving her a little pat on the shoulder.

"He seemed very upset on our walk." Zoë offered.

"I'm sorry." Morgan said genuinely.

"He was worried he had offended you." Zoë said. "He said that you seemed really miserable ever since you got here... he said he was hoping it was the weather... but obviously it wasn't, since it is sunny today."

"He didn't offend me." Morgan said.

"Mademoiselle..." Zoë said, sitting down on the edge of Morgan's bed. "You can tell me whatever you like... I might... you know, I might have a similar problem..."

"I'll be fine, Zoë. Really." Morgan said with a little smile.

"Oh..." Zoë said, standin and smiling lightly. "Well... I'll leave you then."

"Zoë?"

"Yes, Morgan?" Zoë asked.

"You'll be fine too."

"I..." Zoë started, suddenly looking visibly upset. She just nodded and shook the expression off her face and smiled. "Thanks."


Morgan sighed and looked down. Zoë smiled again, curtsied, and left. Several hours later, before dinner, there was another knock on Morgan's door. Zoë had told Constantine that Morgan seemed upset, but didn't want to talk to her about it. Against his better judgement, which was that Morgan didn't want to see him at all, Constantine was there.

"It's not locked." Morgan said again.

"May I come in?" Constantine asked.

"Yes." she said. "For the sake of propriety, leave the door open. I'm alone."

"Oh... then maybe I should come back..." Constantine said awkwardly.

"If you prefer." Morgan answered.

"For the sake of decency..." Constantine explained.

"When would you come back?" Morgan asked.

"Oh... to hell with it." Constantine muttered, opened the door, and stepped inside. He left the door open as she suggested.

Morgan rose immediately off her bed and stood erect in clear view of the door, putting her book aside.

"I'm sorry..." Constantine started. "I don't want to cause a scandal... but I'm not going to do anything untoward and moreover, I don't think anybody is up here who would see me in here and spread anything libellous... I'm here because you... well frankly, mademoiselle... you seem miserable. Have... have I offended you somehow? Am I less... appealing on the second meeting than I was in Zutern?"

"No, you're not." Morgan said with a weak smile. "You've been nothing but a gentleman even when I've been unpleasant to be around."

"I have?" Constantine asked. He smiled a little, and then frowned again. "Then... then what, mademoiselle?"

"You would be offended if I told you, sir." she evaded.

"I might be but you are clearly upset, and I can do nothing if you don't." Constantine replied.

"It's your family and your country and your court." she answered.

"I see..." Constantine said, a little surprised. "But you've hardly been to my country, and you've not been the court... so... it's my family?"

"I've learned of the court's response." Morgan answered.

"And my family?" Constantine insisted. "Zoë is only trying to be nice, I know she can be a little forward and headstrong..."

"Zoë is a sweetheart." Morgan said.

"Theodora? You don't like Theodora?" Constantine inquired, frowning.

"Don't make me say it..." Morgan pleaded.

"How does Theodora offend you?" Constantine asked, looking upset.

"Theodora doesn't offend me." Morgan protested.

"Well you've hardly met the rest of my family, Morgan." Constantine said, looking a little less defensive knowing it wasn't about his sisters.

"Remember at breakfast, Constantine?" Morgan pointed out.

"You mean the Emperor?" Constantine almost gasped.

Morgan just looked away. Constantine shifted about awkwardly, wanting to approach her but not feeling able to for the sake of propriety.

"I didn't even think you could have meant the Emperor." Constantine said.

Morgan sighed and refrained from saying anything else.

"You get used to the Emperor." Constantine offered.

"I don't want to get used to the Emperor." Morgan finally blurted out.

"I... uh... but... erm... I..." Constantine stammered.

"Constantine, I want you to know that I do appreciate you trying to make this easier. But I don't think you can make it pleasant." Morgan said sadly.

"I can't." Constantine nodded. "I want to... but..."

"But?" she asked.

"Nobody can change the Emperor." Constantine replied.

"Nothing can make me..." Morgan sighed and went quiet before finishing the thought.

"Can make you...?" Constantine prompted.

"Isn't this conversation just going to upset both of us more?" she asked.

"Maybe..." Contantine replied. "I just... I just wanted you to come down to dinner with us. You need to eat, and you shouldn't just stay locked up in your room the whole time you're here."

"What did your father say about it?" Morgan asked.

"About your not coming to luncheon?" Constantine asked.

"Yes."

"I wouldn't worry about it..." Constantine said, recalling what his father said. "He'd like for you to join us for dinner, I'm quite sure."

"What did he say?" she asked again.

"Nothing really." Constantine said nervously.

"Constantine?" she asked a third time.

"He... said you were probably self-conscious after breakfast and didn't want to embarrass yourself again." Constantine answered quickly. "Nothing really, please, join us for dinner."

"Embarrass myself?" she asked angrily.

"His words, I'm sorry." Constantine sighed.

"I'm sure you defended me as valiantly as you did at breakfast." she said harshly.

"I..." Constantine said, drawing a sudden, deep breath as if wounded by the remark.

"My family is falling apart because of this. Mother has refused to see the High King ever since negotiations resumed." Morgan said, spilling everything now that he'd gotten her talking.

"I had no idea..." Constantine said quietly, taking on the aspect of a scolded schoolboy.

"Cabinet Ministers have formally registered their disapproval... more than one..."

"So the idea of you marrying me is so reprehensible to your country that your own mother refuses to talk to His Majesty about it, and members of the cabinet... several of whose ministers I recently met when they visited the Imperial Parliament... have registered formal complaints?" Constantine asked, looking hurt. "I... I'm sorry to be so unworthy a groom..."

"It's not you. It's your father. It's the concessions he got from my brother in the second negotiations and the demands he made in the first." Morgan explained. "It's not you."

"There have been criticisms too in Pantocratoria." Constantine pointed out. "I haven't taken any notice of them."

"Criticisms strong enough to put avowed republicans in the Shadow Cabinet after they got into Parliament by using you as an example of what's wrong with royalty?"

"Criticisms strong enough that when Parliament is recalled, I am sure to lose the deputy leadership." Constantine replied, pulling himself together a little.

"My brother is unable to forgive himself for getting into this situation in the first place. He hardly sleeps." Morgan kept going.

"What concessions were made which were so reprehensible?" Constantine asked, jaw agape.

"I had to give up my religion. I had to give up my children. I had to go live among people who hate me under the rule of a man who casually mocks, teases, and derides me without bothering to notice he does so, without compassion or chivalry. I have to give up any chance at a public life. I had to give up love and happiness and community." Morgan was sobbing openly now, burying her head in her hands.

Constantine couldn't stand by any longer, decency or not. He stepped forward and put his arm around Morgan's shoulder.

"I'm sorry..." Constantine told her. "I... I didn't realise how much I was asking you to give up, I just wanted you and didn't think of anything else..."

She just collapsed into him. "Dignity and respect and hunting and fishing and the right to even be addressed or thought about or considered at court and tradition and memory and honour..." She just kept going on.

"I'll call it off then..." Constantine offered breathlessly. "I'm sorry, I had no idea you hated the idea so much, I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself."

"We can't call it off now." Morgan pointed out, getting a hold of herself. "It would be disastrous diplomatically. We have our duty and I am prepared to do mine. After all, agents of my country are sent off into situations where they give their lives for their country or undergo torture. Compared to that, life at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator is tolerable."

Princess Marie was on her way to court for a regular appointment. The usual crowds lined the sides of the street, some of them recognizing her or snapping pictures. Eventually, however, the princess came across picket signs saying things like "Pantocratorians Go Home." "No Ally is Worth Our National Dignity," "Royal Lady Sold to Barbarian Emperor," and similar slogans.

Marie frowned at the sight of the protestors. She moved a little closer to her security guard, and looked to her embassy staffer.

"C'est quoi, ça?" Marie asked.

"Peut-être le mariage imminent de Monsieur le Prince et Mademoiselle la Grand-Duchesse." the staffer replied with a shrug.

Marie wondered why anybody would want to protest something as wonderful as a wedding, and waved gently at the protestors like she had the rest of the crowd.

The protestors booed her loudly. One of them screamed "Fancy clothes don't make a savage a lady!"

Marie's mouth dropped open in surprise, and she covered it with her left hand.

"Il m'appelle un sauvage!" she gasped in shock to her staffer.

"Ignorez-le, Votre Altesse." the staffer cautioned.

"Non!" Marie frowned, now angry. She looked at the protestor. "How dare you!?!"

The man just flicked her off. "Shut up, bitch. We've heard enough Pantocratorian arrogance for one lifetime."

As he spoke, the other protestors took up a chant. "Hey, hey! Ho, ho! Marie Capet's got to go!"

"Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho! Marie Capet's got to go!"

"Mon Dieu! Stop!" Marie gasped again, and looked to her security guard. "Arrêtez cet homme, immédiatement!"

"Ce n'est pas possible, mademoiselle." the guard replied apologetically. He didn't have the power to arrest Danaan protestors, and wondered why Marie would think he could.

"Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho! Andreus I has got to go!"

"Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho! Marie Capet's got to go!"

"Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho! Pantotrash has got to go!"

Marie crossed her arms in front of her, feeling threatened, and stuck close to her guard as they hurried by. Suddenly, a man rushed out of the crowd and threw something. A rotten egg splattered on Marie's face.

"Go home, whore!" he screamed.

Soon, the whole crowd of several hundred had taken it up. "Go home, whore! Go home, whore!"

More eggs flew at the Pantocratorian, along with tomatoes, cabbage, spinach and other rotten fruits and vegetables and even a dead fish. Marie shrieked at the egg on her face, and then started screaming hysterically as she was pelted with other things. Her guard grabbed her close and ran, dragging her along as fast as he could.

"Go home, whore! Go home, whore!"

It only took a few moments for the Royal Guard to show up, dispersing the crowd with teargas and arresting as many as they could as the people scattered. Marie was sobbing hysterically as her guard got her clear of the crowd as it was being dispersed. She couldn't believe what had just happened, nothing so vile had ever been done to her, she had never so much as been called names like that before let alone pelted with filth. A few women soon ran up to clean Marie off and escort her to a room where she could change into clean clothes. She started to settle down when they had finished cleaning her off, and by the time she was changed into clean clothes she was utterly despondent.

There was a light knock on the room Marie was in.

"Enter." Marie said unenthusiastically.

Morgan walked in and sat down quietly next to her. "How are you doing?"

"I want to throw-up." Marie said miserably, not even thinking of all the usual courtesies she would exchange with Morgan.

"I'm so sorry this happened on my account." Morgan said softly.

"I'm sore and I can still smell the eggs. Do I still smell?" Marie groaned, rubbing some bruises on her arm.

"It's not so bad." Morgan said.

"That's a yes." Marie whimpered. "I can't let the King see me like this."

"I could walk you back to the embassy. You could send your apologies."

"I don't want to walk back to the embassy, everybody hates me, they'll be waiting for me." Marie said, beginning to cry now. "I want to go home..."

Morgan just nodded. "I know you do."

"No... I... I hate it here... I hate my job, and I'm really bad at it... the King hates me... I miss Papa... I miss Mama... I miss Helen and everybody else... at first it seemed great to be the ambassador to the Resurgent Dream... but..." Marie sobbed. "Now I just want to go home!"

"The King doesn't hate you." Morgan said. "No one hates you and you're not bad at your job."

"I'm terrible at it!" Marie insisted. "Don't you remember how badly I messed up negotiating about you and Constantine... erm... I mean... don't you remember, Your Highness?"

"You weren't the one who made all those demands." Morgan pointed out.

"But I messed them up." Marie cried.

"No. You did good." Morgan said.

"Then how come it all almost fell apart? Why was the Emperor unhappy with me if I did well?" Marie asked. "Why do the crowds call me whore and pelt me with rubbish?"

"Mostly about what your Uncle did negotiating with Princess Sarah." Morgan said.

"They hate me." Marie continued. "I hurt all over, I smell all over, and I miss my home and my family... I'm so lonely here, mademoiselle..."

"At least you get to go home eventually." Morgan said suddenly.

"When?" Marie asked. "I can't ask to go home, it would be taken as a diplomatic insult. If I'm withdrawn it will be because I've done something really awful and... I wouldn't want to go home to find everybody hated me there almost as much as they do here. I'm stuck here until they pick whoever they want to marry me off to, and then I still won't be going home... I'll never get to go home."

"Maybe they'll marry you to a Pantocratorian?" Morgan posited.

"I didn't even think of that..." Marie admitted, suddenly cheered up. She smiled at Morgan. "If I didn't still smell like rotten egg, I'd hug you. Your Highness."

Morgan gave her a hug. "And, if they marry you to a Pantocratorian, there's less policy involved so your wishes would get a lot more consideration in deciding which Pantocratorian."

After Morgan had returned to Tarana and the Imperial Family had returned to New Rome, and after he had time to process and mull over what Morgan had said to him, Constantine decided to confront the Emperor. He wasn't entirely sure it was a wise idea, but he felt obliged to do it anyway. He was admitted into the Sun King Room by Monsieur du Plains-Demetrine, and took a seat across a coffee table from his father on the lounges in front of the Emperor's desk, underneath the gaze of Louis XIV.

"Your Majesty, I was wondering if we could speak about Grand Duchess Morgan." Constantine started.

"Yes, what of her?" asked the Emperor, looking through a bundle of correspondence and picking out a letter from Madame de Porte-Demetriople to her cousin at home for closer inspection.

"I don't think you did very much to make her feel welcome at Chantouillet, Sire." Constantine said, fortifying himself.

"I beg your pardon?" the Emperor scoffed, and set Madame de Porte-Demetriople's letter aside.

"I think you made Mademoiselle la Grande-Duchesse feel positively unwelcome, in fact, Sire." Constantine repeated.

"I did nothing of the kind." the Emperor replied.

"You did, and what's more, I believe it was quite deliberate." Constantine insisted.

"Now you're just being insolent." the Emperor scowled.

"That morning when you went hunting, for instance..." Constantine began.

"I don't go hunting with women, it's unseemly." the Emperor replied.

"That's not what I meant. You humiliated her about not knowing that it is not your custom to hunt with women, quite deliberately." Constantine said.

"It is simple enough a matter to discover my customs, they're hardly secret." the Emperor insisted.

"You mocked her, teased her. And that was your tone towards her throughout her entire stay... as if contrived entirely to make her feel unwelcome." Constantine insisted.

"It isn't my job to be welcoming." the Emperor practically snarled at Constantine. "I took her into my favourite retreat, into my family's own apartments, received her at my dinner table!"

"And then you made her feel like some... unwanted... unwelcome... impediment to your comfortable existence, just like you always used to do with Theodora..." Constantine argued right back.

"What?" the Emperor yelled. "Get out!"

"You can't treat..." Constantine began.

"Out, I said!" the Emperor repeated, rising to his feet. Constantine rose to his, and bowed. "I don't know what provoked you into suddenly growing a spine, Constantine, but base insolence doesn't become you. I am your father, you are not mine. I chastise you, you do not chastise me. I am the Emperor - nobody chastises me! I do not answer to you or anybody else, and if it is my will that your bride of convenience not feel comfortable in my presence, then it is only fitting, because she has not earned the right to feel comfortable in my presence!"

"Listen to yourself!" Constantine talked back.

"She made no effort to adapt to our requirements, so I saw no need to adapt to make her feel comfortable, quite the opposite." the Emperor continued, raving. "After what she put me through for the sake of her godless religion, she deserved to be teased, mocked, humiliated... no, she deserved worse than that! How dare she defy me? So yes, Constantine, you are right, I was being quite deliberate in making her feel unwelcome, because she is unwelcome. Unfortunately, we are far too gone to be able to undo that great mistake, aren't we? So now, like a boil left untreated until it starts to fester, we are stuck with her. I see no reason to make her feel comfortable, I see every reason to do exactly the opposite."

"Sire..." Constantine said, his face twisted up distastefully. "The mistake... as you put it... was mutual and wasn't Morgan's fault... to go... out of your way... to humiliate her and make her miserable... to punish her for the mistakes of others is unspeakably unkind, and unjust."

"I told you to get out." the Emperor snorted. This time Constantine did so. The Emperor turned back to his correspondence, and thought seriously about what his son had said...

Only recently after their own wedding and official coronation, the cars of King Hermann and Queen Ygraine of Marlund pulled up before the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. A servant hurried out to open the door for Their Majesties, followed by the Duke and Duchess of Dahrendorf, great patrons of the Lutheran Church; the Count of Einbund, the head of Marlund's royal commission for investigating the misbehavior of allied troops; and the Baron and Baroness of Hartwig, known nationalists.

Under the watchful gaze of the giant statue of Saint Constantine the Great in the courtyard, the troops on the steps gave the royal couple an appropriate salute and pages guided them up the red carpet, through the giant antechamber, whose ceiling was a pantobyzantine icon of Christ Pantocrator, passed the statues and paintings of long dead emperors, through the huge cast bronze doors, into the gargantuan great hall. The courtiers waited in the hall, parted like the Red Sea on either side of the red carpet which lead up to the enthroned Emperor, wearing all black, his jacket encrusted with glittering diamonds. From the balconies high above, a chamber orchestra burst into music and a choir burst into song, and from overhead, rose petals fell down from the ceiling onto the royal couple and their delegation as they approached the throne.

The royal couple walked straight towards the throne. Hermann smiled a good-natured smile while Ygraine's face remained reserved, even stern. The people in their retinue looked around with tiny smirks, wondering if any Pantocratorians recognised them. When they reached the throne, the lesser lords and ladies bowed and curtseyed while Ygraine and her husband nodded. "Thank you for receiving us, Your Majesty."

"Welcome, Your Majesties." replied the Emperor as the choir finished singing exactly on time, and the orchestra's music went softer, more gentle.

Ygraine watched him expectantly, her gaze, if anything, growing sterner. The Emperor inclined his head in the direction of the royal couple, and then indicated to Zoë, who stood next to him on the dias.

"Allow us to introduce our daughter, Princess Zoë." the Emperor said.

Zoë, who was wearing a white court gown finely embroidered with gold thread, curtseyed politely. The courtiers watched the conversation going on in English with varying levels of comprehension. The Marlunders nodded or curtseyed to Zoë as appropriate.

"Your Highness." Ygraine acknowledged her.

"And of course, Your Majesties shall meet our son later today." the Emperor continued.

"Wonderful." Hermann said pleasantly.

"Of course." Ygraine answered coldly.

"Your Majesties must be tired." the Emperor continued. "Perhaps you would care to retire briefly, and then join us for afternoon tea?"

"That would be satisfactory." Ygraine answered.

"Excellent." the Emperor concluded, and turned slightly to Zoë. "Mademoiselle, please escort Their Majesties to their apartments and have the staff escort the rest of their delegation to their rooms."

"Yes, Your Majesty." replied Zoë. She stepped down from the dias and approached the King and Queen, before turning back to the throne and curtseying again. She looked back to Hermann. "If Your Majesties will follow me, I will escort you to your apartments."

Hermann nodded with an amused smile. "Lead on, Your Highness."

"Are these rooms located near those of the Danaan High King?" Ygraine asked as they left the court.

"Yes madame, all six of the apartments for visiting monarchs are located in the same wing." Zoë replied.

"Unfortunate." Ygraine said.

Zoë frowned faintly at the remark, not understanding why Ygraine would find having an apartment near her son to be unfortunate. Ygraine volunteered no further explanation. Zoë led them down the great hall, past the throne to one of the arched exits, and into the surrounding corridors. She looked back to the King.

"Would you like a brief tour first, Your Majesty, or should I take you directly to your apartments?" she enquired.

Hermann frowned slightly. "We will proceed directly to our apartments."

She led them down the corridor, past the entrances to the two main chapels, past the entrance to the French Suite and several other suites, towards the wing for visiting monarchs.

"Most of this part of the palace was built by the Emperor Manuel V..." Zoë offered to make conversation. Her English was very good, with only a slight hint of an accent.

"Interesting." Hermann said off-handedly, giving an uncomfortable smile.

Zoë observed Hermann's uncomfortable smile too, and worried briefly if she had committed some sort of faux pax according to Marlunder etiquette. She had been told to brush up on Marlunder court etiquette, but in truth she had only flicked through the pages on the topic provided to her by her tutor. She bit her lower lip lightly in concern, and led them into the wing for visiting monarchs, past marble busts (in-order) of Augustus, Constantine the Great, Justinian and Theodora, Basil II the Bulgar-Slayer, Constantine XI, Constantine XIII, and Manuel V. They followed to their rooms.

"Those suites opposite have been allocated to His High Majesty..." Zoë mentioned to Ygraine, indicating to Owain and Marissa's apartments. "I will send for a page to escort Their Graces and Lordships to their chambers, if there is nothing else Your Majesties want with me?"

"That will be all, thank you." Hermann said with a gentle smile.

"Thankyou, Your Majesty." Zoë smiled and curtseyed to the King and then the Queen. "By your gracious leave..."

She withdrew respectfully and went to fetch for a page. As the doors closed behind the King and Queen, they began to speak quietly. Zoë might have overheard the phrase "...even worse than I expected..." Zoë blanched. She had unknowingly offended the pair. She bit her lower lip a little harder than usual and hurried away, upset with herself.

Of course, they had actually been speaking of her father, about whom Ygraine continued to speak harshly until the time came for tea. A page arrived to escort Hermann and Ygraine to the French Suite for tea at the appropriate hour. He wore a red velvet jacket embroidered with the letters "A I" and the imperial double-headed eagle.

"Your Majesties," he said in perfect English, bowing deeply. "His Imperial Majesty sends his compliments and bids you join him for afternoon tea."

They rose and nodded slightly, moving to follow the page. The page led them in silence back through the corridors to the French Suite, where they were taken into the faux-medieval Philippe-Auguste Room, where the Emperor and Prince Constantine were waiting for them. The Varangians in this room were dressed in anachronistic suits of armour, rather than their usual dress uniforms, as if they were part of the decoration. The Emperor and the Prince both rose to their feet and the King and Queen entered the room, and eached nodded appropriately, Constantine bowing more deeply than the Emperor.

"Your Majesties, allow me to present my son, Prince Constantine." the Emperor said. Now in private, he could switch to the first person again.

Hermann and Ygraine returned the greetings appropriately, turning their gaze towards Constantine.

"It is good to meet you, Your Highness." Hermann said with a light smile.

Ygraine simply nodded. "Your Highness."

"Your Majesties." replied Constantine. He had expected a frosty reception from Ygraine.

"Please, Your Majesties, be seated." the Emperor said, motioning with his hand.

Hermann and Ygraine sat as invited. Servants served tea, coffee, biscuits, cakes, and anything else the guests might desire.

"Tell me about Marlund, Your Majesty." the Emperor asked Hermann. "I hear reports most days from my cousin, Montmanuel, but formal reports are hardly the same thing as hearing a first hand account, especially from a king."

"Well, the country is still recovering." Hermann said. "There have recently been problems in Beyke as well as at a summer camp for adolescents."

"Yes, of course." the Emperor nodded. "But asides from those incidents, how do you find it, Your Majesty?"

"I am finding married life pleasant." Hermann answered, wondering what the Emperor was looking for.

"I... oh, good." the Emperor nodded, deciding that it was better just to act as if Hermann had answered the question than to make a scene out of it. He looked to Ygraine. "And you, Your Majesty?"

"I am happy with my marriage." she answered, giving a tiny hint of a smile to Hermann.

"Good." the Emperor nodded.

"I hope the Grand Duchess and I are as happy together as Your Majesties." Constantine offered.

Ygraine looked at Constantine for several seconds, letting his words hand in the silence. Finally, Hermann spoke hesitantly. "It is to be hoped."

The Emperor regarded Ygraine coldly for a moment, picking up on her disapproval, and then took another sip of his tea. Ygraine didn't even seem to notice the Emperor's glance, looking past him as though he weren't there. He turned back to Hermann.

"Tell me, sir, will you have the honour of escorting the Grand Duchess down the aisle, or will that singular distinction fall to her brother, His Esteemed Majesty?" the Emperor asked.

"It will fall to her brother." Hermann answered, frowning slightly at the exchange of glances.

"I see." the Emperor replied, nodded as if satisfied, before taking another mouthful of a sultana cake.

The King and Queen began to sample the cakes, silent for the moment.

"Where will you be going on your honeymoon?" Hermann asked Constantine, just to break the silence.

"We're going skiing in southern Lavenrunz, Your Majesty." Constantine replied.

Hermann smiled warmly and gave a good-natured laugh. Constantine smiled back, and sipped his tea. Ygraine sipped her tea, still looking severe and angry.

"Is there something wrong with your tea, madam?" the Emperor asked.

"Not at all." Ygraine answered.

"If you'd prefer coffee, or perhaps a hot chocolate?" the Emperor offered.

"The tea is fine, Sire." Ygraine responded.

"Good." the Emperor nodded.

Constantine looked a bit nervous and glum, at the same time. At least Hermann seemed friendly. Ygraine did not look about to let him relax either.

"I'm glad that you've come for the wedding, Your Majesty." Constantine said to Ygraine.

"I could not miss my own daughter's wedding." Ygraine said. "However, do not take my presence for my blessing."

"I beg your pardon?" the Emperor scowled.

"I wouldn't consider it proper to miss my own daughter's wedding." Ygraine repeated.

"I heard that." the Emperor replied.

"Very well then." she said, taking another bite.

"You said something else." the Emperor said. Constantine was blanching. "Please repeat it."

"I said that this match does not have my blessing." she repeated firmly. "Surely, Your Majesty did not imagine it would?"

"Naturally I did." the Emperor replied.

Ygraine took another sip of tea, not looking remotely apologetic or nervous.

"Explain yourself, madam." the Emperor insisted, having set his tea down now.

"Her Majesty considers the marriage negotiations to have unacceptably favoured Pantocratoria, particularly in the matter of religion." Hermann said hurriedly.

"I see." the Emperor said. "Surely it would've been more fitting for Her Majesty to express those concerns to her son, the High King, than to wait until now to bring them up?"

"I have made His Majesty perfectly aware of my opinion and of the fact that he is neither welcome in my home nor forgiven for what he's done." Ygraine said harshly. "Although my husband's answer skirts the issue."

"Then please, madam, be direct. Skirting the issue doesn't seem to suit you." the Emperor told Ygraine.

"I love my daughter, Your Majesty. I want her to have a happy or at least a tolerable life. I also know how you treated Her Highness when she visited you, the attitudes and intentions of your courtiers, and of your general intention to go out of your way to make her feel unwelcome and despised in her own home. You have been ungentlemanly in how you have pursued this matter in every negotiation as well as every personal interaction. I find the thought of one of my children being subject to your rule on such terms unbearable. I can hardly sleep. I stay up at night praying on the matter. I am no longer able to bear the sight of my own son. I..." she tailed off, sighing slightly and taking another sip. "You prefer me this direct, Sire?"

"It isn't a matter of my preferring you to be anything at all, madam." the Emperor replied.

"You have daughters, Your Majesty." she said.

"How observant." the Emperor replied.

"Then you should understand." she pressed.

"They call nonsense nonsense because it doesn't make any sense, madam, that is to say, that it cannot be understood. Whether or not one has daughters." the Emperor replied. "Your perceptions are baseless and over-exaggerated."

"It's true that Her Highness didn't have a very pleasant trip to Chantouillet..." Constantine interjected. "We've discussed that, Sire."

"We have, and I am confident that Her Highness will get used to Pantocratoria once she is actually married." the Emperor replied. "There was a lot of inflammatory material in thet press around the time of the Grand Duchess' visit, that's all settled down now, and the people are more enthusiastic."

"Every effort will be made to ensure that Her Highness knows that she is welcome, Your Majesty." Constantine reassured Ygraine.

"Despite her religion." the Emperor added.

"Thank you." Ygraine said, still not actually giving her blessing.

"Of course, Your Majesty, if you disapprove of the wedding, there is no reason you need be present for it." the Emperor added coldly.

"Are you forbidding me access to my own daughter's wedding?" Ygraine asked.

"Of course not." the Emperor replied. "As you observed, I have daughters of my own. I can appreciate that you would like to come and support Her Highness at her wedding. I am merely observing that if you disapprove, you needn't have come."

Ygraine and Hermann retired shortly after the rather unpleasant meeting with the Emperor. They kept to themselves for most of the next few days, simply waiting for the wedding itself. After Owain and Marissa arrived, she was as good as her word and did not once speak with her son. Hermann, however, was awkwardly polite with his stepson, soon to be his adopted son.

Owain also kept largely to himself, mostly spending his time with his sisters, his wife, and his brother-in-law. Gwendolyn seemed particularly distressed at the rift between her brother and her mother. Although she kept up polite appearances in public, Peter was able to see that she was increasingly despondent. She spent most of her private time lost in speculation. Morgan, on the other hand, seemed almost cheerful for the first time in forever, trying to enjoy her last few days with her family and ceaselessly proposing games or reminiscing about the past.

Brendan was slightly bothered by the high tensions which seemed to be prevailing. However, he didn't want to interfere in his counsins' affairs. He also didn't want to get in the way of his wife's first visit with her family since the wedding. Correspondingly, he was mostly spending the hours in idle disputes, getting to know the gentleman of court, and trying to stay out of everyone's way.

Prince Peter was definitely not enjoying himself. His previous visits to Pantocratoria had been mixed. While he had enjoyed the celebrations around Joseph and Anna’s wedding, he had felt strangled by the stuffiness of the Pantocratorian court. And, while he had certainly had fun in New Constantinople, he was keenly aware that he had done many shameful things there.

Yet, this visit was by the far the most unpleasant. At least when Joseph had married Anna there had been some sense of celebration. And the two families had seemed to genuinely like each other. This time, however, there was only tension. It seemed to Peter that the Danaan Royal Family could barely stand the sight of the Pantocratorian Imperial Family. And, it was clear that the Danaans were also barely able to stand each other.

The worst part for Peter was that Gwendolyn seemed so depressed and withdrawn. She had taken to her room and seemed lost in thought most of the time. Finally, when Peter felt the weight was about to crush him, he decided he had to do something.

Peter knocked softly on the door, then gently opened it. He smiled spontaneously as he gazed at Gwendolyn. Keeping his smile firmly in place, Peter walked over to Gwendolyn and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. “I know this is difficult for you, Gwendolyn,” he spoke earnestly – sounding to his own ears oddly like his cousin Joseph, “I would do anything to make things better. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Gwendolyn paused a moment to look up at her husband. She smiled faintly, leaning up to give him a tender, but brief, kiss. "Probably. You've always been wonderful at finding something amusing or entertaining to do. You have been ever since you talked me into going to that first baseball game. I honestly have no idea how you manage to put up with a lady so droll and uninteresting as myself."

She stood, gently slipping her hand into his. "I just need something to take my mind off all of my family troubles. Perhaps we could get out of the palace and see New Rome or....I don't know. I am entirely at your disposal, m'lord, do with me as you see fit." She smiled up at his half-teasingly at that.

She paused a moment, seeming thoughtful. "Perhaps we should ask my sister to join us? This is a much more difficult time for her than it is for me. I really don't think this whole arrangement has been fair to her in the least and I don't know when we'll next be able to see her."

The press waited eagerly outside the Opposition party room in the Palais du Parlement. The rumour in the parliamentary press gallery (which had been deliberately leaked) was that inside Prince Constantine was attempting to put an end to gossip about a spill for the deputy leadership by resigning that position and then renominating for it, a tactic which would draw a challenge from Isaac Comnenus if, in fact, one was coming. The meeting had only gone for forty minutes when the doors opened and Jean Gallipolitano, Shadow Minister for Defence, stepped outside to tell the press what had happened in the ballot, as was his job as the party room's returning officer.

"Mesdames et messieurs," he started. "At this morning's meeting, His Imperial Highness Prince Constantine resigned the Deputy Leadership of the parliamentary United Christian Front. A ballot was held for the position, in which there were two nominees, His Imperial Highness and the Honourable Isaac Comnenus. The result of that ballot was ninety three to eighty four in favour of Isaac Comnenus, and as a consequence, the Honourable Isaac Comnenus MP was declared the new deputy leader of the parliamentary United Christian Front, and consequentially, Deputy Leader of the Opposition. In the interests of party unity, neither His Imperial Highness nor the newly elected deputy leader will be speaking to the press at this time, thankyou."

Prince Constantine left the party room shortly after Gallipolitano re-entered it, followed by some of his closest supporters. He bore a brave smile on his face but anybody could see that he was hurt. Despite having been told that neither the victor nor the vanquished would speak to the press, the reporters surged forward anyway as Constantine made his way down the hall to the lobby.

"Your Highness, what do you think of the party's wedding present?" asked a particularly game journalist.

"No comment." Constantine replied after only a brief glance. "Could you please make way?"

"Your Highness..." started another.

"You heard him, make way!" boomed Frederic d'Alpuget, Shadow Treasurer and one of Constantine's close supporters. Now that Comnenus was back as deputy leader, the smart money was on that d'Alpuget would shortly swap portfolios with him, and take the junior Finance portfolio while Isaac Comnenus would take over his job.

The Prince and his supporters pressed on as the reporters parted and allowed him to pass, still attempting to ask questions along the way.

Peter returned Gwendolyn’s kiss and took her hand in his, stroking her cheek with his other hand. “You are hardly uninteresting, my love. But it is true that my greatest calling seems to be finding amusements.” He winked at his wife. “Perhaps I should have been a party planner or cruise director on a luxury liner.”

Peter’s smiled widened. “I can think of a number of things to take your mind off these troubles, my sweet.” He winked again. “But I’m afraid they wouldn’t make suitable viewing for your sister.” With a slight chuckle the Prince quickly added, “So I shall have to think harder.”

After a moment Peter said, “There is a very nice and intimate restaurant in the Old Quarter that features a surprisingly good jazz ensemble – considering how staid New Rome can seem. I’m sure the Embassy could book the upper balcony – the three of us could relax and enjoy the music. We might even persuade them to play something we can dance to. If you want.”

Gwendolyn laughed slightly at Peter's words. "Were you born into a different station in life, you would have done wonderfully at any of those things. However, as things are, I am quite satisfied with you as a prince and even more satisfied with you as a husband."

Gwendolyn stirred slightly at his first suggestion, murring even as she blushed bashfully. "Tonight, my lord. Tonight."

She nodded at his final suggestion. "That sounds wonderful. Could you take care of the arrangements?"

With a huge grin Peter nodded. "Of course," he said, slipping his arms around Gwendolyn's waist, "I'll call the Embassy straight away." Despite his word, he made no motion to let go of his wife. He gave her a squeeze and a passionate kiss, then, slowly and reluctantly, he let go and walked over to his mobile.

The Prince flipped open the tiny phone and whispered, "Embassy." After exchanging a few words with the Embassy's Pantocratorian receptionist, he was connected with the Ambassador's professional secretary.

"This is Prince Peter," the Prince said pleasantly, "I need a favor. Yes, I need to reserve the balcony at La corne de Joie in the Old Quarter. Yes. For this afternoon and evening. The entire balcony; it's small. Yes. Thank you. Yes, and please give my regards to Lady Christina. Thank you."

Peter turned to Gwendolyn. "All done. They'll be ready for us as soon as we care to go. Shall we find Morgan and be on our way?"

Anna and Theodora had been virtually inseparable since their respective arrivals with their husbands at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. The two sisters hadn't really spent much time together in Tarana at Theodora's wedding due to a combination of all the fuss about Theodora and the fact that Anna was extremely pregnant and not particularly mobile or social. Both Joseph and Brendan could be excused for feeling just a little neglected by their wives.

Constantine was happy to see both his sisters again. Anna and Theodora were his closest siblings growing up - his elder brother was six years older than him and Zoë was over six years younger than him, and the three "middle" siblings were the closest. Knowing that Morgan was obviously miserable whenever she was around anybody who wasn't a family member, and at a loss as to how to cheer her up, Constantine asked his sisters whether they could spend some time with Morgan in the days before the wedding and try to cheer her up about the prospect of living with Pantocratorians for the rest of her life.

As Morgan was sitting in the lounge suite by the Danaan royal family's apartments, which overlooked some of the beautiful formal gardens, Anna and Theodora entered unannounced and glided over to the couch nearest to her.

"Your Highness." each Pantocratorian lady said as she curtsied, and then sat down on the couch near her.

"We were hoping to spend some time with you before the wedding." Anna started with a smile.

"We certainly shall." Gwendolyn answered. Grinning, she slipped her arm into his and stepped out into the hallway, heading for Morgan's chambers.
...
Morgan rose as Anna and Theodora entered, courtseying to the Pantocratorian ladies. She then settled back down on her couch and set aside the book she had been reading, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. She smiled faintly at the princesses. "Gladly, Your Highnesses. We are going to be sisters and..." she looked to Theodora "...we are already cousins."

Morgan paused for a moment, folding her hands in her lap and looking out over the garden's before asking "Is there anything in particular your ladies would enjoy?"

Princess Helen was making her way through the hallway between the visiting royalty suites, having just paid a visit on Aurora and Andreus in their suite, when Gwendolyn turned the corner and the two almost ran into each other. As courtesy dictated, Helen stopped and curtsied.

"Your Highness." she said politely, in English.

***

"Mademoiselle, if we are already cousins then your marriage to my brother would be incest." Theodora observed, rather inappropriately. Anna's eyes went wide and she glanced at her little sister in surprise. Anna frowned faintly and Theodora blushed bright scarlet, realising what she just said. She bit her lower lip and looked away awkwardly.

"Uhh... do you play tennis, Your Highness?" Anna enquired.

Gwendolyn started slightly when she almost bumped into Princess Helen. She shook her head slightly before curtseying to Helen. "Your Imperial Highness, I do hope that you're well. His Highness and I were just on our way to visit my sister. Have you, by any chance, seen her of late?"

...

Morgan arched a brow at Theodora. "Your husband is my first cousin, Your Most Esteemed Imperial Highness." she said in a tone indicating that she rather expected Theodora to already be familiar with that fact. She then turned back to Anna. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to learn, Your Highness."

...

Colonel Jafferbhoy smiled slightly as she stepped into High Queen Marissa's room. "I've been studying the question, Your Majesty, and I wanted you to know that I am now relatively certain that nothing like the attempt made on your sister-in-law in Upper Virginia will be repeated here."

"Relatively certain?" asked the Duchess of Candiano, slightly worried as she looked from the colonel to the queen.

Owain, for his part, was sitting quietly at the desk, examining some papers and not giving any sign of hearing his wife's ladies.

"I haven't, madame." Helen replied. "I've only just arrived from New Constantinople."

She glanced at Peter and bit her lower lip faintly.

"Your Highness." she added, acknowledging Peter.

***

"I... I know that, I'm sorry, please pardon me, mademoiselle." Theodora apologised awkwardly.

"We needn't play tennis if you don't want to. Perhaps you'd rather something less athletic?" Anna asked. "Chess perhaps?"

Peter took Gwendolyn's arm in his own and reached across with his free hand to lovingly touch her hand. "Let's go," he said smiling.

On the way to Morgan's suite, Peter saw Helen approaching. He bowed slightly, while still holding Gwendolyn's arm.

"Your Highness," he said to Helen, letting his smile dim ever so slightly. "I trust things are going well in New Constantinople. My Aunt Christiana has encouraged us to visit New Constantinople while we are here to check on the progress being made in Mortville."

Gwendolyn looked thoughtful for a moment, before smiling slightly at Peter. "That sounds rather interesting. We'd need to get a separate flight back, of course, but that would pose no real difficulty."

...

Morgan smiled slightly at Theodora. "It's quite alright, Your Highness." She paused a moment. "You know, you ladies are quite free to call me Morgan. But tennis might be better. One cannot play chess with three."

Peter nodded and smiled. I thought I had already mentioned the trip to New Constantinople, he thought to himself. Then, aloud, he added, "I only received the request from Aunt Christiana late yesterday."

The prince turned to Helen. "Your Highness, perhaps we shall see you in New Constantinople." Then, turning back to Gwendolyn, he said, "With her Highness' permission, perhaps we ought to resume our search for my sister-in-law." Peter gave Gwendolyn a quick wink, then looked back to Helen.

"Ahh..." Helen started, but it seemed obvious that Gwendolyn and Peter were in a rush to get away from her. "Yes, perhaps we shall see each other in New Constantinople, Your Highnesses. Pardon me."

She curtsied again, excused herself, and resumed on her way, letting Peter and Gwendolyn get on with whatever they were doing.

***

"One can't tennis with three either." Anna observed. "But if you'd rather play tennis, then let's play tennis. We can all go change, and meet here in say, three quarters of an hour?"

"Whatever you ladies wish to do is fine." Morgan insisted.

"Tennis." suggested Theodora.

"Chess." Anna said simultaneously.

"Oh, Chess." Theodora changed her mind.

"Tennis." Anna said, changing hers at the same time. The two sisters then started giggling in a most unprincess-like fashion.

Morgan laughed lightly. "Perhaps something else entirely?" she suggested. "Something more suitable for three?"

"Do you have a suggestion in mind, mademoiselle?" asked Anna.

Morgan paused a moment, thinking. "Well...if we could find a fourth we could play Halma."

"What's Halma?" Theodora asked.

"I take it you don't have it then." Morgan guessed.

"I don't know what it is, maybe we could improvise... what is it?" Theodora asked.

"It's a game played on a checkered board of 16 by 16 squares." Morgan answered.

"Couldn't we just put a few chess boards together then?" Anna suggested.

"I guess we could." Morgan said happily. "We still need a fourth though."

"We can find a fourth person easily enough." Anna said.

"We'll need four chess boards and 52 markers evenly divided into four different colors then." Morgan said with a grin.

"Umm..." Theodora bit her lower-lip gently. The game didn't sound very fun. "OK, that shouldn't be very difficult... but you'll need to teach us the rules."

Morgan nodded. "Let's get our fourth first so that she can hear."

"Fetch us four chess boards, and fifty two markers of four different colours, in equal numbers." Anna instructed a servant, who listened attentively, and then bowed and rushed off.

"I wonder who we should get as our fourth?" Theodora wondered.

"We could ask the Duchess of Cadwallon." Morgan suggested, as neither of them seemed to have any particular preference.

"Yes, let's." Anna nodded. "Why don't you ask her, Your Highness?"

"Gladly." Morgan said, getting up and heading into the hall to fetch her friend.

"Halma?" Theodora asked Anna quietly, when Morgan was gone.

"I don't know." Anna shrugged.

"We should've played tennis. If she's getting a fourth person we could just play tennis anyway..." Theodora said.

"She wants to play this halma game." Anna shrugged again. She then made a joke. "She's your cousin."

"Yes..." Theodora shrugged herself this time. "...but I don't actually know her. And I don't know what halma is. I wonder what Connie sees in her..."

"She's very pretty." Anna suggested.

"Yes, but... it's Connie, Anna." Theodora replied. The two exchanged a knowing glance. "There must be something else..."

After about five or six minutes, Morgan returned with Cadwallon. The other woman was grinning broadly. "I barely know how to play, Morgan. It's been months."

"Her Highness has us all at a disadvantage then, it would seem." said Anna from the couch.

"Oh, it's very simple." Morgan said, explaining the rules quickly as she waited for the servant to arrive.

The servant arrived with the chessboards and the markers, and set them up on a low table between the couches. The ladies began to play.

Morgan smiled lightly at Theodora. "You know, your husband used to love this game when we were children."

"Oh." Theodora nodded. "He's never mentioned it."

"My grandfather taught us all." she said, moving a piece. "I trust things are going well in Holista."

"Yes, very well." Theodora replied. "It's a lovely country. Erm... can I move this there?"

"You can." Morgan said. "You are closing in on me, Your Highness."

"I've never been to Holista." Anna observed. "I hardly even saw anything of Tarana when I was there..."

"You saw the Marble City, though?" Morgan asked, jumping two of Theodora's pieces to move ever closer to the princess's corner.

"Oh..." Theodora frowned.

"Hardly, mademoiselle, I was extremely pregnant..." Anna replied, biting her lower lip slightly as she tentatively moved a piece.

"I still find it amazing even to be within it." Cadwallon commented with a broad grin, jumping over a few of Morgan's pieces as she moved towards Anna's corner.

Anna frowned, looking rather disappointed in herself. She was an excellent chess player and wasn't used to losing games of this sort (unless she did so intentionally).

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Theodora smiled and nodded in agreement.

"What do you think of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator?" Anna enquired.

"It is very beautiful." Morgan answered. "Especially the gardens. I cannot recall having ever seen prettier gardens."

"Uhhh..." Theodora said, examining the board as she thought out of her move. "So what happens when you get to my corner, mademoiselle?"

"The first person to get all of their pieces in someone else's corner wins." she explained.

"OK..." Theodora said, relieved a little, and moved her piece.

"Your pieces are making good progress, Your Highness." Cadwallon said, making a move.

"Is it good to be home, Your Highness?" Morgan asked Theodora.

"It's good to be home, and it's even better that Anna is home with me." Theodora smiled, looking to Anna, who smiled back. The sisters had missed spending time with each other.

"How is Excalbia?" Morgan asked Anna.

"A bit cold." Anna replied. "But I've grown to be very fond of it. His Highness and I spend most of our time in Langeais, just on the west of the Excalbian coast."

"It is technically an independent state, is it not?" Cadwallon confirmed.

"Yes, it is, Your Grace." Anna replied.

"Can you tell me about what Brendan was like as a child, mademoiselle?" Theodora asked Morgan with a grin.

"Well...he was a very adventurous child. He and Owain were always trying to escape the watchful eyes of the staff and explore the area around Tasat for themselves. Actually, there is a rather amusing story about young Brendan..."

"Go on..." Theodora nodded eagerly.

"Well, Brendan, our other cousin James, Gwendolyn, and I were all going on a walk near Tasat with James' father, when we came upon a dried up creek bed which the boys wanted to explore. It was just the five of us as Uncle Gartnait wanted to spend time with us himself. In any event, Gwendolyn and I sat for a few minutes while the boys amused themselves but our boredom must have been rather evident. There was nothing in it to amuse even such young ladies as we were at the time..." Morgan said. "Sensing our boredom, he insisted that Owain and Brendan promise not to leave the creek bed before walking us back to the manorhouse. He returned, in short order, to find that the boys had wandered off. A search was immediately called and, some time later, Brendan and James were discovered nearly a mile down the same creek bed..."

Theodora nodded along eagerly and listened intently.

"Brendan's father was, of course, furious. He scolded his son at great length and asked him why he hadn't kept his promise. Brendan, apparently baffled as to why he was in trouble, simply mentioned innocently that he, in fact, had not left the bed." Morgan concluded.

"So he was brave even as a little boy!" Theodora declared as she grinned at the story.

Morgan laughed a little. "He couldn't have been more than seven."

"Thankyou, mademoiselle, that was a wonderful story." Theodora replied.

"He'd probably be embarassed if he knew I told it." Morgan commented smilingly. "Have you met Prince James, Your Highness?"

"No, I don't believe I have." Theodora admitted.

"I'm sure you'll meet him."

"There..." Anna said, making a move for Morgan's corner.

Morgan frowned faintly, making a move of her own. "And how is your baby?"

"She's very well." Anna smiled. "Worth every minute of the twenty hours I spent in labour. She has Joseph's eyes."

"I'm happy for you."

"Thankyou, mademoiselle." Anna said. "I'm sure you and Constantine will have plenty of your own..."

"I certainly hope so." Morgan answered.

"...and you and Brendan too, Theodora." Anna continued.

"Yes... I'm sure." Theodora forced a smile and replied quietly. She changed the topic quickly. "I don't think Constantine explored many creek beds as a child."

"The grounds at Tasat are much less landscaped than the ones here." Cadwallon ventured.

"Or other things for that matter." Theodora added.

"Madame?"

"I mean he didn't do much exploring of all, landscaping or not." Theodora replied.

"I am under the impression we were more closely supervised as children..." Anna explained.

"Probably." Morgan allowed. "Although Gwendolyn and I were more closely supervised than the boys were."

"Naturally." Anna observed.

Cadwallon frowned ever so slightly at the conversation, making a move. Anna made another move, another piece moving towards Morgan's corner. Morgan took a long look at Cadwallon, making another move. The Danaans were silent for now. So were the Pantocratorians, for a moment. Anna made her next move, and then broke the silence.

"It's a shame, Constantine losing the deputy leadership..." she observed in a voice of quiet disappointment. Morgan bit her lower lip and looked away.

"It is certainly very petty of the party." Cadwallon commented.

"It's politics." Anna replied, shrugging lightly. She moved another piece into Morgan's corner.

"Arguably." Cadwallon responded, moving for Theodora's corner.

"Arguably?" Anna asked as Theodora thought about her next move.

"Your Grace..." Morgan pleaded.

Anna frowned and looked between Cadwallon and Morgan, wondering what the Duchess was about to say that the Grand Duchess clearly didn't want her to say.

Morgan looked to Theodora. "So, Your Highness, I've shared a childhood story about Prince Brendan...."

"And now you'd like me to share a childhood story about Constantine?" Theodora asked.

"Quite."

"What sort of a story?" Theodora grinned, biting her lower lip mischeviously as she made a fairly mediocre move.

"An amusing one." she asked.

"Well, I remember when we were staying at Chantouillet one summer when I was about eight..." Theodora began. "So Connie would've been... hmmm... twelve I guess. Our eldest brother, the Despot, Andreus, had written this... was it a play?"

"It was a musical comedy... are you sure that this is a..." Anna replied in concern. Theodora waved off her attempts at a warning. Morgan just listened, not giving a sign of noting Anna's apparent worry.

"It was some silly thing about these two ladies... it was a bit... risqué..." Theodora grinned. "André's company performed it in the opera house there in the palace, you know, for the court. He would have been... seventeen or eighteen I think. He hadn't taken to acting yet, anyway, he was just the writer and director. It was such a stupid play..."

"Musical." Anna corrected.

"Right." Theodora nodded. "But because of its... content I suppose, the Emperor stopped the performance after the first act. André and Father had this terrible fight in front of all the courtiers in the audience, and the actors and the musicians and us, and in the end André threw his script on the floor and stormed out. The Emperor left in another direction, and we were all just standing there... Mother gathered us up and we left to our apartments, but Constantine picked up the script on the way."

"Go on." Morgan said curiously.

"Constantine always used to try to copy whatever André did..." Theodora said. "You know how little brothers are. He got this idea that he would finish the play... obviously not in the opera house. He and Marie..."

"Princess Marie, our cousin." Anna said.

"Yes, they know who she is, she's the ambassador to Tarana." Theodora said. "Marie was the most enthusiastic about the idea..."

"She was the only one enthusiastic about the idea." Anna corrected Theodora again. "Helen and I didn't want anything to do with it."

"And Zoë and I were too young..." Theodora nodded. "So that left Constantine with only one leading lady in a play which starred two!"

Anna blushed for her brother and bit her lower lip faintly as Theodora went on. Morgan's mouth opened slightly as she began to guess what would happen next.

"Marie and Constantine are about the same age, and so back then they were about the same size, because Marie had her growth spurt earlier." Theodora explained. "So anyway, Constantine was determined... how does the saying go... the show must go on!"

"At Chantouillet we weren't quite so closely supervised as in New Rome..." Anna explained quietly.

"No, certainly not." Theodora grinned. "Anyway, Mother, Aunt Jacqueline, Anna and I were coming back to our apartments after a walk in the gardens, and we walked into the middle of the third act of this play, with Marie and Constantine wearing matching dresses from Marie's wardrobe, playing the roles of the leading ladies."

Morgan laughed lightly. "However did your aunt react, Your Highness?"

"Aunt Jacqueline?" Theodora asked with a smile. "She wanted to know how Constantine liked wearing a corset."

"And a wig." Anna added quietly.

"Oh, and a wig." Theodora nodded.

Morgan blushed slightly and laughed a little more. "He actually put the corset on too?"

"I think Marie helped him with that." Theodora said.

"I think Marie's dresser helped him with that, actually." Anna said.

Cadwallon laughed slightly, making another move. "My brother did something like that once."

"I bet he didn't look as good as Constantine did." Theodora grinned.

"Go on, Your Grace?" Anna enquired.

"Well, he just pulled the dress over his head. He didn't wear all the proper undergarments." she commented.

"Constantine even wore the stockings." Theodora said. "Even though you couldn't see them underneath the dress."

"If something's worth doing, I suppose it's worth doing right." Anna added nervously.

"I suppose." Morgan said, a little awkwardly.

Anna quietly moved another piece into Morgan's corner.

"I don't think I would enjoy wearing my brother's full armor though." Morgan said.

"Does His Majesty even enjoy wearing it?" Theodora enquired.

"He doesn't. Does Brendan like it?"

"I think he likes how he looks in it." Theodora answered, as she contemplated her next move.

"Better than his uniform?" Cadwallon asked.

"He looks very smart in his uniform." Anna smiled.

"I'm not sure, Your Grace." Theodora replied. "I think I like him better out of both."

"Theodora!" Anna gasped, biting her lower lip. Theodora blushed and covered her mouth.

"Oh, no, I don't mean that..." she stammered.

"You don't like him in military clothing?" Morgan clarified.

"No, even though I first saw him wearing it..." Theodora answered, relieved that Morgan hadn't interpretted it the same way Anna did.

"I rather like uniforms." Morgan said.

"So do I." Anna agreed. "I think they look very smart."

Morgan moved the last of her pieces into Theodora's corner. "Good game, ladies."

Gwendolyn continued along with Peter, knocking lightly before slipping in. She was a little taken aback to see the room so full but nonetheless gave a graceful curtsey. "My ladies, it is a pleasant surprise to find you all here." She looked to Peter.

Morgan rose and curtsied to her sister and her brother-in-law. "Your Highnesses, we were just playing Halma. I was showing Their Highnesses how the game is played. It is apparently not very common in Pantocratoria."

Theodora and Anna rose and curtsied to Peter and Gwendolyn.

"It's a pleasure to see Your Highnesses again." Theodora offered.

"Indeed it is. I was just about to leave for the nursery..." Anna started. "With your pardon, Highnesses."

Peter followed Gwendolyn into the room. His eyes widened slightly in mild surprise; he had expected Morgan to be alone, not surrounded by her future in-laws. Nevertheless, the prince recovered quickly and bowed gracefully. “Your Highnesses,” he said pleasantly, “it is indeed an expected pleasure to find all of you together.”

Peter bowed again as Anna made her way out of the room. “Of course, your Highness.”

"You should come see your new second cousin sometime, Your Highness." Anna said to Peter with a smile as she made her way out of the room. "She might make you and Her Highness want one of your own. And Theodora, you should bring Brendan next time you pay her a visit, the only uncle she's met so far has been Constantine!"

"I'll bring him." Theodora promised.

Anna nodded with a satisfied grin, and left the room. Theodora looked down at the Halma board thoughtfully for a few moments, and then looked back up to Morgan.

"You'll be an aunt when you get married, mademoiselle." she remarked with a grin as she sat back down.

"I suppose I will." Morgan said with a slight smile before she turned to Peter, confused at what Princess Anna had said. "I thought that you and Prince Joseph were first cousins?"

Gwendolyn shrugged slightly, looking down in thought.

((OOC: Excalbia, tgs))

Peter smiled. "You're quite right, your Highness," he said with a nod to Anna. "Gwendolyn and I would be delighted to drop by for a visit. A little later, perhaps?"

He turned and saw Gwendolyn's shrug at the mention of children. He arched his right eyebrow, then took her hand and gave it a slight squeeze, wondering what she was thinking.

Morgan's question caused Peter's head to swivel back towards her. "Uh," he murmured, caught in mid thought, "yes, we are first cousins…"

Prince Constantine sat alone in his TakagiLevyAlabar sports coupé in his garage with his eyes closed listening to an old recording of Casta Diva on the car's CD player. He almost looked asleep, asides from the fact that his hands held the wheel. He was exactly where Theodora had told Brendan he would be, relaxing alone in his garage-come-refuge, collecting his thoughts.

Brendan wore a light smile as he strolled into the garage and towards his brother-in-law. While the Prince of Holista had certainly been bored so far, he seemed largely immune to the gloom settling over everyone else. He didn't rush but he moved at a fairly good pace. "Good evening, Your Highness."

Constantine opened his eyes and stirred suddenly from his reverie. He blinked a few times, took his hands off the wheel, and turned off the music. He looked surprised by Brendan's presence.

"Uhh... good evening, Your Highness." Constantine replied.

"Were you going somewhere?"

"Wh... oh, no, I was just sitting." Constantine replied, shifting slightly in the sports car's leather seat.

"Her Most Esteemed Highness said you liked to sit out here sometimes." Brendan mentioned.

"Erm... who?" Constantine asked.

"My wife." Brendan pointed out.

"Oh... I've never heard her styled like that, I'm sorry." Constantine replied.

"It's the proper style for the Princess of Holista." Brendan informed him with a light smile.

"Not one already styled Imperial Highness, surely?" Constantine clarified.

"Her Most Esteemed Imperial Highness, if you prefer it."

"Let's just call her Theodora. She's never been particularly fussed with styles or titles anyway." Constantine shrugged.

Brendan shrugged as well. "You seem rather distracted."

"I am actually..." Constantine smiled faintly. "Wedding nerves I suppose."

"That is understandable. Of course, usually it's just the bride and groom who have them but it seems almost prevalent at this event."

"I've made a huge mess of this..." Constantine sighed quietly, leaning his forehead on the steering wheel.

"I wouldn't say that." Brendan said, his smile fading slightly. "All this scandal will blow over in a year or two at the most, but the benefits will last for decades."

"I don't want there to be a scandal at all..." Constantine complained. "It's not fair on Morgan, especially..."

"Morgan has never withdrawn her consent." Brendan answered. "His Majesty isn't making her do this. She chooses to."

"That doesn't mean that all this..." Constantine said, gesturing in the air with his left hand. "...is fair on her, or that she doesn't mind it."

"And how do you feel about it?' Brendan asked.

"I don't know..." Constantine said. "I wasn't expecting half of it."

"Neither was she."

"I know that." Constantine replied.

"I'm not sure exactly what happened."

"What do you mean?" Constantine asked.

"I mean I'm not sure exactly how things wound up like this." Brendan said.

"I didn't think things through far enough..." Constantine replied. "I didn't foresee things I should've..."

"Do you wish you'd acted differently?" Brendan inquired.

"I don't know..." Constantine replied. "There's not really much point in dwelling on what could have been done differently, it can't be changed now anyway."

"Not without creating a great many problems." Brendan conceded.

"So I try not to torture myself about I could have done differently." Constantine said, taking a deep breath in and sitting up straight again.

"And yet you're out here alone?" Brendan pressed.

"I don't torture myself about the past..." Constantine said, smiling. "That still leaves the future."

"Do you think more could go wrong then?" Brendan asked.

"Of course." Constantine replied grimly.

"What do you expect?" Brendan asked.

"I don't know if I expect anything... but there are so many... dark clouds on the horizon." Constantine said.

"I think things might take on a brighter light if you took a more positive attitude." Brendan said.

"You've met my future mother-in-law..." Constantine replied.

"Her Majesty is...sensitive..." Brendan said carefully.

"It seems like everybody is sensitive." Constantine snorted.

"Her Majesty has no problem with you." Brendan explained.

"She has a funny way of showing it." Constantine replied.

"What happened?" Brendan asked.

"She basically told the Emperor that she thought Morgan would be profoundly miserable marrying me, that her life would be unlivable..." Constantine told Brendan, looking vaguely bitter.

"Well, she'll be your wife. You can protect her from anything that might make her miserable with practice." Brendan said hopefully.

"It's absurd, she won't be miserable at all." Constantine frowned.

"Then why are you worried?" Brendan asked.

"I'm worried about my mother-in-law, not about Morgan being unhappy with me!" Constantine exclaimed, bothered a little that Brendan had missed his point. "If she's so utterly opposed to this marriage, she might do or say all sorts of things to upset Morgan. She's refusing to speak to the King, I understand, who knows what she might eventually do."

"The High King?" Brendan clarified.

"Yes. She won't talk to him." Constantine nodded.

"Well, Aunt Ygraine does love her daughters." Brendan said with a small frown.

"More than her son?" Constantine asked. "How easy would it be for her to do the same thing to Morgan as she is doing now to the High King if, in six months or a year, Morgan does or says something which upsets her? So Her Majesty is a dark cloud on the horizon. I don't know if she'll do anything else, but she certainly good. She seems intent on making things worse, anyway."

"I don't see what Morgan could do to make her that upset." Brendan said jokingly. He paused and frowned when he realized how it had come out though.

"She's self-righteous enough that I don't think Morgan would need to do very much at all, in fact." Constantine replied, looking a little annoyed by Brendan's unintentional implication.

"You are talking about my aunt." Brendan said annoyedly.

"You asked, monsieur." Constantine replied.

Brendan just frowned and shook his head a little. "As you wish."

"Besides, if one can't complain about one's mother-in-law..." Constantine grinned.

Brendan laughed lightly. "Touché. I would not, however, suggest complaining about your mother-in-law to Morgan."

"Naturally." Constantine replied. "There are more things besides Queen Ygraine I'm concerned about anyway... I didn't mean to dwell on her like that. I was just in here... collecting my thoughts, really."

"I was a little nervous when I married Theodora, too." Brendan said.

"You were?" Constantine asked. "She was all sorts of things, nervous one second, ecstatic the next, practically weeping the next moment... you seemed remarkably collected and in control."

"Well, she is a lady..." Brendan pointed out. "They are often more...expressive."

"Morgan hasn't been very expressive..." Constantine observed. "Anyway monsieur, I'm sorry to have burdened you with my problems... you came here for a reason, so how can I help you?"

"I came to find you because my wife is engrossed with her sister, my cousins are all withdrawn and sullen, and I don't particularly know anyone else." Brendan said.

"Oh." Constantine said. "In that case, I'm sorry I've not been more cheerful..."

Morgan nodded slightly. She was silent for a few moments before she tentatively tried to break the awkward silence. "So how have you been finding New Rome, Your Highnesses?"

“Pleasant enough,” Peter said uncomfortably. “However, we, Her Highness and I, were thinking it might be nice to do something a little different. I’ve booked the balcony at a little place in the old quarter that features a very nice jazz ensemble.” He looked at Gwendolyn. “We were hoping you would join us, your Highness.” He looked around the room and smiled. “There is room enough for all of us…”

"Oh... I should have to ask my husband, monsieur." Theodora replied. She wasn't really sure she liked jazz - so much jazz music having been proscribed by the Ministry of Cultural Development until recently, it wasn't something which had a wide following in Pantocratoria, just an exclusive niche. "He may have other plans... but I should like to go, if he would like to, thankyou very much for the invitation."

Peter nodded politely. He turned and looked at Gwendolyn. He hoped he had not just spoiled her chance to spend some time with her sister, but extending the invitation seemed to be the only polite thing to do. It also occurred to him that, with Anna and Theodora obviously making an attempt to bond with their sister-in-law-to-be, it might help things along to include them. It certainly won't hurt, he thought, to get everyone out of this dull, oppressive atmosphere and into a lighter, friendlier venue.

Gwendolyn smiled at Theodora. "We can wait here while you go ask him, if you'd like."

"Oh..." Theodora started, looking between Gwendolyn and Morgan. She hadn't intended to leave in a hurry, but figured that Gwendolyn was hinting politely that she'd like some time alone with her sister. "Excellent idea, Your Highness. I shall go ask him at once. By your pardon, Highnesses."

Theodora rose and curtsied briefly to each person in the room, before heading out into the hallway to ask a page for her husband's whereabouts. When she was informed that he was in Prince Constantine's garage, she sighed - for it was a twenty minute walk from the royal visitor's wing - and set out on her way.

Gwendolyn graciously returned Theodora's curtsey before going to sit next to Morgan, taking her hands and kissing her on each cheek, a gesture which Morgan returned. "Are you holding up alright, Morgan?"

Morgan sighed deeply, rising from her seat and pacing briefly about the room, her elegant gown seeming to float about her. "Gwen, it's all making me feel so much worse. Constantine, Anna, Theodora...they're all trying to make me feel welcome but I know that I'm not, I know how most of the people here feel and I know how the people back home feel. I feel like I'm failing to appreciate people's kindness because I just...I really wish I wasn't doing this, Gwendolyn. I wish Constantine had just never come to that ball. It's turned out to be the most disasterous day of my life."

Gwendolyn sighed as she rose from her seat. "I'm...I'm sorry, Morgan. I wish....I really wish there was something I could do to undo all this but...it's fairly set now. You do have the legal right to..."

"No. I have a duty." Morgan explained curtly.

...

Meanwhile, Brendan was walking back from the garage after his conversation with Prince Constantine. He was wearing the same good natured smile he had earlier. He still had concerns, abiding ones, but the young man had impressed him rather favorably and he had hopes that everything would work out for the best.

It was after about fifteen minutes of such pondering that he saw his wife heading towards him, or rather towards where he had been. He raised his hand and smiled warmly to her. "Hello, Your Highness. Does this mean I get to borrow you from your sisters for a few hours?"

"I've been with your cousins as well, you know." Theodora replied, grinning to see him and hugging him in the corridor. She walked alongside him, manoeuvring his arm around her shoulders as she did so. "You must be the only smiling Danaan whose smile is actually convincing. Prince Peter invited the two of us to go to dinner with him and his wife, and with Grand Duchess Morgan. For some reason the idea has possessed him that we should go to some restaurant in the city with a jazz... erm... a jazz band I suppose it would be called. Or ensemble? Are they called ensembles? Anyway, we've been invited. Would you like to go, or would you prefer not to? We could make some excuse, after all, for all I know Peter invited us just to be polite, he and the King's other sister may just have wanted to spend some time with Mor... erm... the Grand Duchess."

She eyed a servant passing by suspiciously, who seemed to be taking an undue interest in what she had to say to her husband. Apparently speaking in English wasn't enough to deter eavesdroppers in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator anymore. The servant hurried along, pretending that he hadn't noticed the Princess noticing him noticing her conversation. In his rush he didn't notice another eavesdropper, this one a baroness moving between suites, who likewise didn't notice him, and neither of them noticed the other until they collided into each other. The Varangian standing by against the wall, statuesque, pretended not to notice...

"Well, I married a Pantocratorian and it turned out alright." Brendan said in response to Theodora's comment on his smile. "So I figure the situation can't be as gloomy as everyone thinks."

Brendan happily put his arm around Theodora's shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. His smile couldn't help widening as she spoke, remaining silent for a little while, just looking at her. At length, he said "I don't see any reason not to go. It will be something different and interesting and a chance to get out of the Imperial Court for a few hours. Unless you'd rather not?"

Brendan followed his wife's gaze to the eavesdropping servant but pretended not to notice. "I have noticed, Your Highness, that the Excalbian Imperial family tends to share much more in the popular culture of their nation than the families of many other sovereigns. It isn't just a matter of music, either. I am given to understand that things like baseball and skiing, which one wouldn't expect a noble to be interested in back home, are commonplace among the highest ranks of Excalbian society. I suppose different cultures see the world in different ways."

Peter shifted uncomfortably. He had never dealt well with tension or conflict and had even less ability in dealing with tears, which he assumed were well on their way. He bowed slightly and said, barely above a whisper, "Pardon me, your Highnesses, but I should check on the arrangements and give you a moment to talk."

The prince bowed again and stepped out of the room as quickly as decency would allow. Sometimes, he thought, I wish I hadn't given up drinking for Gwen.

"Uh..." Theodora said, turning her gaze back from the eavesdropper collision to Brendan. "No, no, I'd quite like to go. That's... erm... an astute observation, although skiing is popular with most well-to-do people, including the aristocracy. Your cousin, for instance. She and Constantine are going skiing for their honeymoon. I've only been skiing a few times; there aren't many places where it snows in Pantocratoria, at least not in large enough quantities for ski slopes, but I understand the skiing in the southern parts of Lavenrunz is excellent, which is all the more interesting because it's actually summer down there. Apparently in winter it's too cold even for skiing... it must be romantic, you know, all alone in the wilderness, with only each other to keep warm... well, each other and the busy, centrally heated ski-lodge..."

The two made their way back towards the visiting royal suites to find Peter waiting in the corridor outside, looking fairly uncomfortable.

"He looks like he could use a drink..." Theodora observed quietly to Brendan while they were still out of earshot.

Peter turned at the sound of people approaching. Recognizing Theodora and Brendan, the prince smiled and nodded. "Your Highnesses," he said, sounding like his old self, "I do hope you will be able to join us this evening. It should be quite… refreshing."

Brendan also responded while they were still out of earshot of Peter, laughing boisterously. "That poor girl...I can imagine how absolutely crestfallen she must have felt. Skiining like a fat Knootian merchant. I suppose she shall bare it well enough but I still don't think it's completely meet of His Majesty to punish the young couple for all the political fighting around the marriage."

Theodora frowned and looked at Brendan oddly before looking back to Peter to acknowledge him. She smiled at the Excalbian prince.

"Yes, we're looking forward to it, it should be a most welcome change in atmosphere." Theodora said. "Say, Your Highness, you're a man, I was wondering if you could judge something for me that my husband just said... do you think Her Highness the Grand Duchess Morgan is fat? He seems to think that she is..."

Owain sat quietly on a large and comfortable chair in the royal couple's quarters in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. He had been rather grumpy this entire time and had not spoken much since he and Marissa had flown in. At the moment, he was flipping through the pages of a biography of George Brown, frowning thoughtfully.

Marissa entered the room, frowning as she looked at her husband. It did not take a genius to know that he had a lot on his mind. Since this whole situation with Grand Duchess Morgan had come up, he had been very out of sorts. Walking up to where he sat, she lightly perched on the arm of the chair.

"Owain," she used his name, finding it more intimate than his title. She looked down at the book he was reading. "You know that I am here for you, and if you would like to talk about this, I am always willing to listen." She gave him a little smile as she looked at his face.

Owain looked up, pulling Marissa to him and giving her a light peck on the lips. "Well, George Brown was a founder of the Anti-Slavery Society of Canada, founded what later became the Liberal Party, helped develop the idea of Confederation, led the Great Coalition..." he began, pretending to think she was talking about the book.

Smiling, Marissa placed her hand on the top of his book and carefully closed it. "As fascinating as that may be, Your Majesty, you know that was not what I was referring to." She pried the book out of his hands and placed it on his lap. "I know that there is a lot on your mind at the moment, what with Morgan's forthcoming wedding." She paused for a moment. "I want to share your concerns with you. I'm your wife and I love you, and seeing you like is very hard for me."

Owain nodded. "Very well. I really....if I had it to do over again, I would never consent to this match. The more time I spent at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, the less pleasant becomes the thought of life here."

"I know that the final decision was yours, Owain, but Morgan herself seemed very interested in Prince Constantine." She lowered her hand and took hold of his. "And the Imperial Court is so different to what you are used to, it is not surprising that it feels unpleasant to you."

"Does Morgan seem interested to you now, Issi?" Owain answered curtly. He set his book aside on a table and rose. "It's not just different...it's...It's like being required to hold High Court all day every day."

Marissa watched as Owain rose from the chair, a little taken back by his remark but not really that surprised. She remained perched on the arm of the chair and once more met his eyes. "Owain, I know that she is going through an unpleasant time at the moment. Being away from her home and everyone she knows is very difficult, I know, I've been there. But these troubles will all go away once she settles into married life."

Owain walked over to Marissa and gently brought her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "You look beautiful today, Issi."

Frowning briefly, Marissa rose to her feet then smiled, her eyes never leaving Owain's. "Thank you." She paused for a moment, unsure of how to go on. "Have you spoken to Morgan?"

"Yes. She has not formally withdrawn her acquiescence in the affair." Owain commented. "I cannot withdraw mine either. Duty forbids it."

"Duty." Marissa sighed, a little louder than she had planned. "There is so much that you have to do for duty, Owain, but marrying off your sister." She shook her head sadly. "It seems so strange to think about marrying someone to add in politics. I'm so pleased that when we met there was none of this kind of thing attached." She squeezed her husband's hand lightly. "I wish I could tell you to stop it all, but I know you won't."

"His Imperial Majesty is simply being so vindictive about everything. The way he's making his distaste so widely no known. The way he's sending them on a miniature exile to a frozen wasteland. If he wanted to withdraw his consent, he should have just done it. It couldn't have been worse for relations than all this."

Marissa watched Owain for a moment, wishing more than anything that she could help him. "If relations are strained already, calling the wedding off would not be that disastrous." She turned away and took a few steps as she thought over the situation. "You don't want Morgan to be unhappy, and I certainly do not want you to be unhappy. In your shoes, Owain, I would be seriously considering standing up for myself and telling him Imperial Majesty what he could do with his wedding." She once more met his eyes. "But that is just me." She frowned. "I know that you could not bring yourself to do something that could cause The Resurgent Dream any problems."

"It would cause all sorts of problems." Owain said, forcing down the temptation to do exactly what Marissa was suggesting. "Moreover, Morgan hasn't asked me to do so. I believe she would feel rather guilty if I were to do something of that sort on her behalf."

"I think you really need to talk to her Owain." Marissa took a step towards her husband. "I would hate to see her unhappy, and I know that it would pain you even more."

"I don't think Prince Constantine would take that very well and he's hardly to blame in any of this." Owain said.

Nodding, Marissa once more sighed, knowing that there was really little she could do to help Owain. "Do you know that he is not to blame?" She looked questioningly. "How do you know that he hasn't had a change of heart and his father is doing all this to make you back out? Stranger things have happened behind closed doors."

Owain waved the possibility aside. "That doesn't seem likely, Issi. Just....the situation is not going to change."

"Then there is nothing you can do." She smiled sadly as she closed the gap between them, once more taking his hand in hers, as she pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "All we can hope is that once removed from the Emperor's gaze, the two of them will be happy and share a good life together." She frowned, her eyes revealing she really did not believe that would happen.

"They'll be here most of the time." Owain commented, even as he returned the kiss. "The Imperial family does not have nearly so many residences as our family does."

Marissa smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, being as Prince Constantine is not the heir to the Empire, and his brother is married with the likelihood of children, why do you not approach his Imperial Majesty with an offer of residence in The Resurgent Dream, even if it is only on a part yearly basis. It would allow Morgan time to be with those that care about her." Her eyes sparkled, as she thought of how much Morgan would benefit from being with her family.

"I already gave them residential rights in the Resurgent Dream in the negotiations. That does not mean they will use them." Owain grimaced a little. Seeing the look in Marissa's eyes, he hated more than anything to disappoint it.

"I don't know what to suggest." Marissa once more felt the frown furrowing her forehead. "I wish I could make it all go away and I could see you more relaxed." She gaze a wry smile, knowing that he never really relaxed that much. "I just want them to be happy. If that means you having to break your agreement with the Pantocratorians, then I think you should. But if that would make Morgan unhappy, I think you should just smile and let her marry Prince Constantine and just offer her your support where you can."

Owain smiled slightly and walked over to have a seat on the bed. "I know that. I just need to get my mind off the whole affair for an hour or so." He smiled wryly, patting the space next to him on the bed. There was, after all, one time he was really relaxed.

Brendan laughed lightly and placed his hand on Theodora's back. "What my wife means is merely that I am not entirely sure this plan to go skiing in Lavenrunz is fully befitting for the dignity of a royal lady. It simply isn't something done by high born persons from my country...or any persons from my country, really, I suppose." Brendan commented. "Also, southern Lavenrunz is hardly a vacation spot. In any event, I am given to understand that we are to be going to a jazz club. Shall we rejoin the other ladies?"

Peter blinked at Theodora’s question. “Fat?” The prince repeated. Before he could say anything else, Brendan interrupted. Peter looked rather blankly at the Danaan as he spoke.

“I rather enjoy skiing,” Peter said flatly. “There are a few nice resorts in Excalbia; Gwendolyn and I would be thrilled to have you and Theodora join us for a holiday on the slopes sometime…”

Peter glanced that the door. He hoped Gwendolyn and Morgan were finished and that tears had been avoided. “Yes, the club. We should be on our way.” Peter knocked once on the door, then slowly opened it. “Your Highnesses? Are your ready?”

"Gwendolyn likes skiing?" Brendan asked blankly.

As he spoke, Gwendolyn and Morgan slipped out of the room. Gwendolyn blinked once at overhearing the question before she took her husbands arm with a polite smile. "If His Highness wants me to, I will have to learn. We would have to go to Excalbia or Pantocratoria though. There aren't places for such things in the Resurgent Dream."

Brendan smiled weakly and looked at Theodora. "I suppose I could take to it for you as well, if you really want to go." He wasn't nearly as convincing as Gwendolyn at pretending to like the idea.

"No thankyou, I don't want to be the subject of unflattering comparisons to Knootian businessmen." Theodora replied to Brendan, a touch mischeviously. She looked back to Peter and the Grand Duchesses. "If Your Highnesses are ready, I'll have a car prepared to take us."

Theodora excused herself and walked over to one of the pages standing against the corridor walls, like statues, waiting to come to life when spoken to. She ordered that a car be prepared to take the party to a restaurant in the city. The page nodded and rushed off to pass on the instruction.

"Well, I am certain you would be the loveliest businessman in all of Knootoss." Brendan joked, grinning playfully at his wife.

As she returned, he joked again "If you're interested, I could always arrange for a tutor in Dutch and economics. As long as you promise not to join any cults."

Theodora shot Brendan a silent glance which clearly indicated that she wanted him to drop the topic, and then looked to Peter and the others with an expectant smile.

"Shall we?"

Peter smiled, relieved that the time for serious talk seemed to have passed. He turned to Gwendolyn and extended his hand. “Yes,” he said. Then, looking to Gwendolyn and Morgan he added, “Shall we, your Highnesses?”

"We shall." Gwendolyn answered. "Should we take the Duchess of Cadwallon and the Duchess of Charles with us? We do have an entire balcony, do we not?"

"I think that would be nice." Morgan answered with a smile. She didn't look like she'd been crying. She squeezed Gwendolyn's hand briefly before going to hurriedly invite the other two ladies.

Brendan turned back to Peter and Gwendolyn with his usual smile. "I'm afraid we must decline your offer. Her Most Esteemed Imperial Highness is still settling in back in Holista." Brendan said, even though they had all heard the conversation between Brendan and Theodora.

"We can still go, if you'd like." Gwendolyn said to Peter with an outward smile. "And why don't you get something to drink when we go to the club?"

OOC: Pardon me for moving things on a little! Feel free to attend to any loose ends before responding to me doing so.

IC:

A large limousine drove Morgan, the two couples and the duchesses to La corne de Joie in the Old Quarter. It was of no surprise to Theodora, but may have been to the other occupants of the car, to find Varangians stationed outside the entrance of the little restaurant, standing to salute in expectation of their arrival. The restauranteur rushed out to open the car door for its high-born occupants, looking slightly frantic, but then, that was to be expected. After all, he had received only a little notice that two princes, a princess, two grand duchesses, and two duchesses would be dining at his establishment this evening, and even then, nobody had warned him beforehand about the squad of Varangians which arrived just a few minutes before the car from the palace, and which had proceeded to promptly evict his other customers, and secure the premises. They had given him the impression that he would be compensated for the lost business, but he had difficulty understanding their French through their thick accents. Inside the now empty restaurant were another four Varangians, one in the kitchen, one in the main dining area, and two out on the balcony, waiting for the guests, satisfied that the restaurant was safe and secure.

Brendan stepped through the door first, frowning deeply as he looked about the club. "Where is everyone?" he asked in French, looking about the unpleasantly empty entrance.

"You have the whole restaurant to yourselves, Your Highness." replied the restauranteur.

"Oh..." Brendan said, frowning. "We only reserved a balcony."

The restauranteur smiled and nodded, his motion exhibiting a frantic quality as he fussed about the delegation. His staff saw to coats and the like.

"May I show Your Highnesses and Your Graces to the balcony?" the restauranteur enquired.

"So why did you reserve the entire restaurant?" Brendan asked, getting a little angry. He'd been moody every since the conversation near Morgan's chambers and this wasn't helping much.

"I'm sorry, monsieur?" the restauranteur asked, clearly confused.

"He wouldn't have, dear, let's just go and see the balcony." Theodora said quietly to Brendan, taking his hand and looking up at him hopefully.

"Why are there no people here?" Brendan asked again, letting Theodora take his hand.

"So that you could have the restaurant to yourselves, Your Highness. I'm sorry, is something not to your satisfaction?" the restauranteur asked, beginning to panic.

"No, no, it's lovely monsieur. We'd love to see the balcony." Theodora offered, squeezing Brendan's hand and giving him another hopeful glance.

"If we'd wanted the restaurant to ourselves, we would have asked for it that way." Morgan said in abject misery, but also in English, sighing heavily as, in her mind at least, her last chance to have a pleasant outing before having to enter a miserable marriage and go off on an even more pleasant honeymoon was ruined.

Brendan shook his head. "You may show us to our seats, but immediately begin readmitting people to the lower area."

The restauranteur looked completely confused, but led the party on to their seats on the balcony, an ideal distance from the band. The two Varangians on the balcony stood well back from the guests, staying out of their way whilst remaining close by if needed. The restauranteur held Morgan's seat out for her, while the other staff saw to the rest of the party.

Morgan sat miserably. Gwendolyn smiled weakly at her, squeezing her hand slightly. "Don't worry. Brendan took care of it."

"I hope so." she said. Although she was speaking in English, her tone was audibly agitated.

"What's wrong, my love?" Theodora asked Brendan in English.

"If it pleases Your Highnesses, and Your Graces," said the restauranteur, in French, as the staff distributed menus and wine lists. "This is our humble menu, but if there's anything at all we could prepare for you this evening, on that menu or not, please, you need only to say the word."

"He accidentally reserved the whole restaurant instead of the balcony." Brendan said, then, realizing that he'd only said what she already knew, he added "The primary purpose of places like this, even when viewed from the balcony, is the atmosphere, moreso than the food or even the music. The pleasure of the outing, at least for someone who grew up closer to the cultural orbit of the Americas than Pantocratoria and imbibed with her mother's milk the culture of such musical traditions, is really predicated upon their being a crowded room below."

"Have you never been to a jazz club before?" Gwendolyn asked with a smile, even as she inwardly wondered why even the petty details of this trip and not just the overall visit had to be so miserable and contentious at every turn.

"No, I haven't, madame." Theodora replied, blushing as Gwendolyn's question, following on from Brendan's lecture, made her feel inadequate for not already knowing all these things about jazz clubs. "I don't think he made a mistake though..."

The restauranteur and his staff stepped back as the conversation in English carried on, to give the guests some privacy.

"What do you think happened then?" Brendan asked Theodora.

"I think the Varangians arrived and asked him to... erm... kick out the other guests, for security arrangements." Theodora replied quietly, looking over the wine list. "What about a Merlot?"

"Oh. Well, that's unacceptable." Brendan said, beckoning the restauranteur back over.

"Oui, monsieur?" asked the restauranteur as he stepped back forward.

Of course, the Danaans, among whom Peter and Theodora were now officially included, had their own protection officers who were rather offended to find the Varangians there. Nonetheless, they quickly took up their positions in the restaurant, two at the door, another two on the balcony, and a few more were scattered throughout. None of them openly complained to the Varangians without orders from Gwendolyn or Brendan.

Peter shrugged slightly when Brendan declined his invitation to ski. “Too bad, your Highness,” he said softly. He raised an eyebrow at Gwendolyn’s suggestion of a drink and wondered whether people were intentionally trying to confuse him today.

Feeling oddly pensive, the prince sat quietly beside his wife as the couples made their way into the Old Quarter. He gave a small sigh of relief as they arrived at La corne de Joie; at least the restaurant seemed to be as joyful as he remembered it.

That pleasant thought, however, was quickly squashed as he helped Gwendolyn out of the car and noticed that the restaurant was fairly surrounded by Varangians. Great, Peter thought to himself, if you try to take the grand duchess out of the palace, let’s just send the whole palace with her!

As Peter led Gwendolyn into the restaurant he heard first Brendan and then Morgan rant about the restaurant being emptied of its regular patrons. While it certainly was not what he had expected, the prince would not have made a scene about it. Security is just doing its job, he could hear his Uncle saying in his memories. Then, just as he was starting to regret suggesting a trip to the club, he spotted Danaan security arriving to double the security cordon already thrown up by the Pantocratorians.

Peter squinted his eyes. He closed them tight, suddenly fearing that the Imperial Guard or perhaps his Uncle himself might show up to throw even more cold water on what should have been a pleasant diversion.

Peter reached out for Gwendolyn’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Well,” the prince said with as much false enthusiasm as he could muster, “while we sort out the question of the other patrons, perhaps we should order a bottle of wine and let the music begin!”

Gwendolyn ordered Peter's favorite wine (from before he stopped drinking) for him and water for herself. She squeezed his hand back, smiling weakly. She was actually a little embarassed. She thought that Peter must be thinking her family awfully petty after such a fuss was being made about every little thing but...she wasn't sure how to explain the situation to him. "Are you going to ask me to dance, darling?" she said with a hopeful grin, trying to give him a chance to talk to her alone for a moment.

Brendan stood up, not in any better humor than he had been a moment before. He had been the last of the Danaans to seem genuinely happy on this trip, although Gwendolyn was putting up an effort at pretending. "I'm going to go speak to these Varangians." he said, heading off to find the commanding officer of the Varangians at the restaurant.

The Duchess of Cadwallon smiled somewhat sardonically at the Duchess of Charles, Morgan, and Theodora, as the table seemed to clear. "Isn't it wonderful to have a night of relaxation away from all the petty concerns of court?"

((Excalbia, tgs))

Peter smiled with relief when Gwendolyn ordered the wine. He had generally given up alcohol out of respect for his wife’s preferences, but he felt that this gathering could benefit from a good wine. And having Gwendolyn order it made it much easier for him to drink it.

When the music began, Gwendolyn turned to him and said, “Are you going to ask me to dance, darling?"

Peter smiled. “Why certainly, my love.” Peter extended his hand and led Gwendolyn down to the main floor where there was a small dance floor. He began dancing to the jazz beat, relieved to be alone with his wife.

Gwendolyn smiled slightly, letting Peter lead her. She wasn't used to dancing to this kind of music, even though Peter's Excalbians bands had become relatively common at her court. Still, she managed to improvise well enough, relying a little more on his lead than a lady would ordinarily be expected to. For a few minutes, she simply danced before venturing concernedly "You must think my family awfully petty at this point."

Blushing slightly, Gwendolyn let her gaze drift back up to the table where Theodora, Morgan, and the two duchesses were sitting alone. "It's just...when every minor detail keeps going wrong, every minor detail starts being a frustration. Brendan was just hoping that one thing might go perfectly in this whole affair."

The Duchess of Charles shook her head slightly at the Duchess of Cadwallon's words. "Our hosts are trying to make things pleasant. Just...be patient."

In a rare flash of anger born from the frustration of having to deal with the evening's unfolding melodrama, Theodora opened her mouth to chide the Duchess of Cadwallon for her inappropriate sarcasm. She caught herself before she said anything, however, when she realised that it was exactly the sort of thing that her Aunt Irene would've done. Instead she just looked away to Brendan as he approached the giant Varangian sergeant and wondered why he couldn't just leave things be.

The Varangian sergeant was a truly massive human being, standing just a shade under seven feet and with strong, broad shoulders. His light brown hair was cut short to regulation length, with only small hints of it visible from underneath his helmet. His cold blue eyes regarded Brendan as the prince approached him, and he clicked his heels and stood to attention, waiting to be addressed.

Brendan approached the man casually, not showing his anger. "It is unacceptable to our party that the lower floor remain empty. Please allow people to begin entering the restaurant after they've been searched by the Royal Guard."

~ ~ ~

Back at the palace, Owain was just waking up, shifting a little in his bed. "What time is, Your Majesty? I didn't actually plan to fall asleep immediately afterwards."

~ ~ ~

Ygraine, meanwhile, had still not come out of her chambers since her luncheon with the Emperor, although she had instructed her private secretary to draft and send a polite missive to the Cardinal that Morgan's marriage was taking place over the strong and formal objection of her mother and her stepfather.

To:
Her Majesty Ygraine ni Cunedda, Queen of Marlund
From:
His Eminence Jacques Cardinal Conomos, By Divine Providence Archbishop of New Rome, President of the Conference of Pantocratorian Bishops

Your Majesty,

I was distressed to receive your letter on the matter of the upcoming marriage of your daughter, Her Highness Grand Duchess Morgan, to His Imperial Highness Prince Constantine Porphyrogenitus. It is a grave matter indeed when a mother cannot join in the joy of her daughter on what should be the most joyous day of her young life, the occasion of her holy union in conjugal love and in the love of the Church with another person. My prayers will be with Your Majesty just as they will be with your daughter and the young prince who will soon become your son.

I refer Your Majesty to catechism 2230, which says that "When they become adults, children have the right and duty to choose their profession and state of life... Parents should be careful not to exert pressure on their children either in the choice of a profession or in that of a spouse. This necessary restraint does not prevent them - quite the contrary - from giving their children judicious advice, particularly when they are planning to start a family."

Your daughter needs Your Majesty's wise counsel, your "judicious advice". A daughter needs her mother's love and support, especially as she comes of age and embarks upon the road to becoming a mother herself, as Her Highness is now doing by entering into the holy, indivisible union of marriage. If you are concerned by your daughter's decision, then you are right to offer her advice which illustrates your concerns, but to object to it formally as Your Majesty has, with such force as destroys families, God's building blocks of Christian civilisation, denies your daughter the rights and duties which are now, as an adult, hers and hers alone.

The love which the Father has for the Church is total and unconditional - just as His love for His children is a perfect love, so should we all aspire to that same perfect love in our family lives. To do otherwise would be to make ourselves unworthy of calling ourselves God's family, "for whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother, and sister, and mother." (Matthew 12:49)

God's blessings be upon Your Majesty,

Jacques Cardinal Conomos
+ Archbishop of New Rome

The Varangian frowned at Brendan's request. He looked at the Varangian next to him, who looked similar displeased, before looking back at Brendan.

"Security, Your Highness. Are you sure you want people?" the sergeant asked in heavily accented French.

When Brendan nodded, he sighed and turned away to talk into his radio in Norwegian to his officer back at the Palace. He then gave some orders in the same language to the other Varangian, who went downstairs to inform the rest of the squad that they were to allow people back into the club.

Brendan nodded to the Varangian. "Thank you." he said and headed back over to the table, having a seat. Theodora smiled at Brendan when he sat down next to her, but it was only a polite smile, and she looked back to the menu. Brendan smiled back, lightly resting a hand on Theodora's.

"I've never really listened to jazz music before." Theodora offered by way of conversation to the guests still sitting around the table.

"We'll have to visit Naoley sometime." Brendan commented.

"Naoley?" Theodora enquired.

"The capital of Wintermore." the Duchess of Charles informed her.

"I know that!" frowned Theodora, not appreciating the Duchess of Charles assuming that she didn't know where the capital of the most important Danaan principality was. "I mean why will we have to visit it? Is jazz popular there?"

"Oh, extremely." the Duchess of Cadwallon answered. "It's the jazz capital of the Resurgent Dream."

"Oh." Theodora said. "I don't think I like jazz very much, to be honest."

"Hmmm....Well, we might go to Naoley for some other reason." Brendan commented. "It is a fairly important capital."

"I think... I will have a Cesare salad..." Theodora said, returning to the menu.

Brendan shrugged slightly, glancing to his own menu. Theodora sat in awkward silence for a moment or two, and looked over the table to Morgan.

"Did Zoë show you her PeacockPod?" she asked.

"She did." Morgan said with a slight smile. "It is a fascinating device."

"What sort of music did she have on it? Did she have any jazz?" Theodora asked.

"No. She mostly had rock and roll and things of that sort." Morgan answered.

Theodora grinned, and gave an apologetic glance to Brendan, as if non-verbally apologising for being terse just before.

Brendan smiled slightly. "Would you like to dance, Your Most Esteemed Imperial Highness?"

"That depends..." Theodora said quietly, looking at Gwendolyn and Peter dancing. "...on whether I'll look as silly as Madame de Kuldiga..."

The Duchess of Charles laughed slightly and the Duchess of Cadwallon gave a bemused shake of her head. Brendan just smiled. "If you do, then I shall at least make sure to look silly with you."

Theodora grinned and offered Brendan her hand. Brendan took it, escorting her to the dance floor.

Peter smiled at Gwendolyn’s blush and let his hand drift up to his wife’s head. “Don’t worry, my love; these things happen. Frankly, I can understand everyone’s frustration. I just hope that tonight’s entertainment will bring a little bit of relief.” Two stubborn families, a planned marriage and a stuffy court - a certain recipe for tension, Peter thought to himself.

Peter brushed Gwendolyn’s hair, then let his hand drift back down her spine and began dancing in earnest.

Seeing Brendan and Theodora approaching the dance floor, the prince leaned closer to Gwendolyn and whispered, “It looks like Brendan and Theodora are trying to get into the spirit. Follow my lead and we’ll try a few new moves and show them what we can do…”

"Peter..." Gwendolyn started. "The reason I...I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything because of me. Just being yourself and being with me is enough, more than enough." She smiled faintly.

Brendan led Theodora out to the dance floor and took her carefully in his arms, guiding her into a dance. He led a little more strongly than usual as his wife was not familiar with the music and likely not familiar with the dances style which went along with it either. "I don't care so much for visiting Naoley anyway." he commented. "It's even harder to get a drink than it is in Shieldcrest, even a simple cup of coffee."

Morgan sat with the two duchesses, quietly watching the other two couples on the dance floor. Morgan frowned slightly at the other ladies. "You know, making an ordeal out of every little thing doesn't make this easier on me."

"I am truly sorry." the Duchess of Charles said, even though the remark wasn't really aimed at her.

Peter pulled Gwendolyn closer as they danced. "Being with you makes me want to… be better than I am… to be the best… man I can possibly be. No one has ever made me feel that way before." He leaned close to her face and added in a whisper, "Thank you."

Gwendolyn was speechless for a long moment, her feet stopping their dancing as she stared at her husband. After a long moment, she said quietly "I love you, Peter," clinging to him tightly as she resumed her dance.

"Would you still like to go skiing, even without Brendan and Theodora?" Gwendolyn asked. "We could go to Knootoss or Midlonia, if you wanted."

Morgan folded her arms in her lap and glanced towards the door, where the Varangians had now been instructed to let people in after they'd been searched by the Royal Guard. "I hope these people are worth all that fuss."

"People are a relaxing presence." Cadwallon said. "Large, empty spaces make me a little unformforable."

"Pantobyzantine architecture is going to be hard for you to get used to then." Morgan said. "I think it's rather lovely though."

"It certainly has a certain...air to it." Charles responded.

Peter smiled as he and Gwendolyn resumed their dance. “That would be wonderful. I’m not familiar with the resorts in Midlonia; I’ll have someone look into them for us.” He danced quietly for a few moments. “I have to admit that I didn’t realize there were… cultural issues with skiing. Is it just that there aren’t many ski slopes in the High Kingdom or is there some other… issue that I’m missing?”

After giving Gwendolyn time to respond, Peter glanced up and spotted Morgan. “Do you think it would help if I asked Morgan to dance?”

"Well..." Gwendolyn said. "It's not anything official or moral. It's just that growing up, there's some athletic activities everyone is expected to do, some which everyone respects but only a few serious athletes do, some which are alright but not particularly common, and some that everyone just doesn't like. And, in our country, skiing is in the last category. Ice hockey and bobsledding are also fairly unpopular. Winter sports don't seem to mesh well with our cultural aesthetic of the athlete, I suppose. While it has changed a lot over the years as our society became more multicultural and more aware of the world around it, our sport culture is still largely based on Hellenistic...I'm not an expert on this. If you're really curious, I'm sure we could ask Miss Sacker or look at something in the library back home. I've never really given sport much thought, beyond supporting your interest. But, the way it's presented to Danaans, winter sports seem uncomfortable and cold and skiing in particular is often asssociated with the most negative stereotypes about Europeans." Gwendolyn smiled slightly mischievously. "I guess you'll just have to keep me warm."

She considered Peter's next question for a moment. "Yes, I think it would be nice. I'm sure Morgan would appreciate it."

http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/The_Resurgent_Dream#Sports

"Ummm," Peter glanced down for a moment, "I don't think we need to trouble the librarians; your explanation makes perfect sense, my Sweet." Peter's smile returned and took on a decidely mischevious aspect. "And I'm sure I will find a way to keep you warm, your Highness."

Peter looked back up to the balcony. "Once we finish this dance, I'll ask Morgan if she'd like to dance."

After the dance was over, Peter took Gwendolyn's hand and escorted her back to the table. He held her chair for her, then turned to Morgan. "Your Highness, may I have this dance?"

Gwendolyn giggled lightly. "His Most Esteemed High Majesty's Minister of State for Culture is hardly a librarian, Your Highness." she teased. "Alright. That will be the end of it then."

Morgan smiled as Peter approached, rising. "You certainly may, Your Highness."

Peter smiled as Gwendolyn teased him. “Well, I’m sure the Minister started out as a librarian…”

Later, Peter bowed graciously to his sister-in-law. Rising, he took Morgan’s hand and led her to the dance floor. “I hope you enjoy the music, your Highness. This is the best place for good music that I have found in all of Pantocratoria.”

Theodora was an enthusiastic dancer but seemed unsure on her feet how one should actually dance to jazz. When Gwendolyn sat down and Peter started dancing with Morgan instead, Theodora and Brendan kept on dancing for a few more minutes, before Theodora leaned her head against Brendan's chest.

"Let's sit down." she said. "We can dance more later."

"Alright. We can certainly sit down for awhile." Brendan said, starting to walk Theodora back to the table. "Have you enjoyed being home thus far, Your Highness?"

Morgan smiled a little wryly. "I was unaware music was the purpose of going to a musical club, Your Imperial Highness." After smiling slightly at her own joke, she answered more seriously. "It is quite enjoyable. Have you been to many clubs in Pantocratoria?"

"Yes, very much." Theodora grinned. "I can't believe Anna is a mother... and I'm an aunt! It's so good to see her again, and to see Elizabeth. And it's been good to see Zoë and Connie, I haven't got to see much of André though. I've never even really met Empress Aurora except to say hello when she was first presented at court... it's... kind of strange, her being younger than me and being an empress and André's wife... How have you enjoyed New Rome, monsieur?"

"Well, I am rather fond of Pantocratorian princesses." Brendan said, giving Theodora a half playful squeeze. "More seriously, it is certainly a beautiful city, even when you've seen it before. I suppose I should make a point of seeing Princess Elizabeth though. She is my niece through our marriage, after all."

They returned to the table and he pulled Theodora's seat out for her before resuming his own.

Peter returned Morgan’s smile with a grin. “Music is one of the purposes of going to clubs, your Highness, but not, as you observed, the only one.”

The prince danced to the music as Morgan again spoke. “There are not, unfortunately, many clubs in Pantocratoria worth a visit.” Regretting the negativity of the statement, he quickly added, “However, those that are worth a visit are generally quite good. This place, when I first discovered it, was something of an underground club. Of course, that was in the bad-old days of the Ministry for Cultural Oppression, or whatever they called it.”

Peter smiled and looked at the crowd slowly trickling back into the club. “Progress may seem slow in Pantocratoria, but it is there. This club is but one example of that, your Highness.”

Morgan laughed a little. "You know, Your Highness, the Ministry of Cultural Development is still a Government Ministry in Pantocratoria."

Peter laughed. “I suppose it is, your Highness, but it is mostly harmless these days.” Peter feigned a nervous look over his shoulder. “At least I hope it is…”

Morgan laughed lightly. "It is just a Culture Ministry these days. Does not Excalbia have one?" Morgan turned her eyes to the door, smiling as more people were allowed in.

The Duchess of Charles smiled as Brendan and Theodora returned to their seats. "I hope that Your Highnesses enjoyed your dance. Hopefully, the food should be arriving soon."

"I must admit to being rather hungry." Brendan commented with a slight smile. The two duchesses and the grand duchess just returned his smile. They were famished as well but it would hardly be lady-like to mention it.

"Prince Peter says that the food is excellent." commented the Duchess of Cadwallon.

"I am sure it is." Brendan said. Realizing that no one had yet done so, he asked "Would you care to dance, Your Grace?"

"I believe I would." Cadwallon answered.

Brendan rose and helped the other woman up, smiling to Gwendolyn and Theodora. "I suppose you ladies might gossip about your husbands while Peter and I are on the floor." And, with that, he escorted Cadwallon to dance.