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I wrote this to aldersprig's sixth numbered prompt, "Someone else in the royal family. "  It follows straight on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 3 and is followed by Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.

As the bride came down the aisle her cousin, the Princess Isadora stood at her seat in the pews to watch.  She was flanked by her consorts, Hass and Weld, who were known officially as the Princes Isadora.  Isadora’s hands rested comfortably on her baby bump and she was smiling contentedly as she looked on.  “Are you sure you didn’t want this for yourself?”  That was Weld whispering from behind her.

“Marriage to a Terrencian Archduke?  Isadora was whispering back.  “No, thank you.”

“I meant the big ceremony with you at the centre of attention,” he whispered back.

“No, I’d rather have the two of you,” she answered, still whispering.  “Besides, all of this is more for the Terrencians than it is for us.  If you want a big ceremony, we can go all out on the namings for this one,” she rubbed the side of her bump.

Princess Alexandrina, the first cousin once removed of both the bride and Princess Isadora was surrounded by her three sons as she watched her two copper skinned daughters make their way down the aisle among the flower girls preceding the bride.  The elder, Princess Arabella, had shaved her hair a few months earlier and the short, black, fuzzy result let a wreath of flowers sit neatly around her head like a halo so that she looked like a solemn, twelve year old angel.  Her ten year old sister, Princess Ingeborg, had much longer fuzzy hair and a wreath wouldn’t have stayed on her head so flowers had been braided into her hair and the effect made her look like a vibrant flower fairy.  Their mother beamed with maternal pride.

Princess Citrine, former First Counsellor of the Realm and Princess Alexandrina’s mother, was watching the wedding on the television from the manor house of her estate near Kobolgrad.  Her only companion in the minor sitting room was one her ladies-in-waiting cum wardens and constant companions.  She was beginning to appreciate how much the living conditions her actions had imposed on Princess Dagmar must have irked.  “I would never have let Constantine’s daughter anywhere near a Terrencian match,” she said sourly to the room because she knew the other woman would not respond to her, “but he’s a younger nephew and, given his lack of military instincts, the Imperial family probably think this is far enough away to stash him.”

The lady-in-waiting continued to knit and watch the television.

Citrine pursed her lips judgementally, “And I would never have let Arabella do that to her hair but,” she added with a touch of malice, “Alexandrina’s daughters do make some of the others look positively insipid, don’t they?”

Isadora felt warm and safe and loved, snuggled in between the two men.  She had a horrible feeling that the question she had to ask was going to ruin everything.  Deep breath.

“So, did you two think about what I said?”  She was tentative because she was nervous, scared of the damage this might do.

“You’re not talking marriage.”  That was Hass, the older of the two.

“That’s right,” she agreed quietly, “You two were a couple before I came along, then I hooked up with you.  If I get married, I can only have one husband.”

“Surely, you can only have one official consort,” that was still Hass while behind her Weld was doing something comforting on her hip with his free upper hand.

“That’s one of the beauties of being part of the royal family,” she gave a shy smile, “everything talks about official and acknowledged consorts but nothing actually limits how many you can have at once.  I think it’s a hold over from when kings and war leaders used to have more than one wife.  My grandmother’s cousin, Prince Nils, had two official consorts – they still live in the Bjorgen Palace in Gorodische.  My great great uncle, Prince Eirik, had six.”

“That seems a touch extreme,” commented Hass gravely.

“Apparently they crewed his airship.  Anyway,” she returned to the subject in hand, “would you two like to stay with me?  Be my official consorts?”  Deep breath.  “Father and help me raise my children?  Till death do us all part?”

“Official consorts would make us part of the Royal Family,” Weldon said warningly from behind her, his head just above and behind hers on the pillow, “with all the attention that entails.”

“I know,” she ducked her head into Hass’ chest, “but my parents like you, Uncle Bill likes you, Aunty Dagmar thinks you’re wonderful-,”

“She’s biased,” cut in Hass, “but what are you afraid of?  You’re trembling, you know.”

“You might say no.”  She tilted her head to look at Hass and then turned her head to look at Weld, as much as she could.  “You might not want to go through life as the Princes Isadora.

Hass chuckled.  Weld dropped a kiss on the top of her head.  Both of them held her tighter.

“Iz.”

“Love.”

“Of course the answer’s yes.”