rix_scaedu

I wrote this in response to aldersprig's prompt "The night after the wedding."  It follows on from Scenes On A Wedding Day 4.

“So, where are we going?”  Archduke Dionysus was holding hands with his wife in the back of the official car while the chief bridesmaid, the senior groomsman and an interpreter sat opposite them.  There were a driver and a security man in the front of the car.  The interpreter was along because the chief bridesmaid had only a few words of Terrencian and the rest of them in the back of the car spoke about that much of the local language.  In fact, the best language the four of them had in common was Russkiy but none of them spoke it fluently, unless the senior groomsman was holding out on them.

“To propitiate the lesser gods on behalf of the bride and groom.”  The chief bridesmaid spoke directly to Dionysus, a fact which impressed him.  He had no idea what she did for a living but the bride’s friend with a conjunction for a given name handled the etiquette of needing to rely on a translator with an ease too many people he dealt with lacked.  “It’s one of the duties of the best man and the chief bridesmaid in our culture.”

“What are the lesser gods and how are you going to propitiate them?”  That was the Archduke’s wife, Countess Francesca.

“The lesser gods are what’s left of the religion we had before the Church arrived up here,” explained the chief bridesmaid, And.  “They’re the little gods who look after roads and rivers, that sort of thing.  We propitiate them by giving them wedding cake,” she indicated the napkin wrapped parcels in the flat basket on her lap.

“I thought the Church would have put a stop to that sort of thing,” went on Countess Francesca with a puzzled expression.

“They tried to, of course,” agreed And, “but the second bishop, Bishop Ioannes, tried to tell King Ragnar that his only heir was the son of his marriage, which would have disinherited his six older, acknowledged sons.  Then the bishop made the mistake of saying the boy would automatically be the next king which angered all the other Ruhtigs because the King was elected in those days, not inherited.  The Church had to concede ground or get kicked out of the country in a vicious fashion.  That incident is why we do church differently to other people.”

“It sounds very political,” commented Archduke Dionysus.

“Oh, it was,” agreed And, “and it has been every time it’s come up since.”  She looked out the window as the car came to a stop.  “Ah, we’re here.”  She waited for the security man to open the door and then she led the other four out of the car.

They found themselves on a street corner.  There were trees planted down the street on their right but not the one on their left.  The amount of street lighting said that the neighbourhood didn’t see much night time pedestrian traffic.  The street names were marked on a sign post at the corner and the buildings around the intersection were dark.

“Why here?”  That was the senior groomsman who’d taken a quick look around and didn’t seem to like what he saw.

“Rune let me pick where to do this because she doesn’t have a place that’s particularly significant to her and this is where I was found.  This is where I come from,” And pointed at the sign post, “and that’s where I get my fancy-sounding, double-barrelled surname from.”

“You were abandoned?”  Countess Francesca was horrified.

“Yes,” agreed And, “before I was found.  Let’s do this.  One piece for the little gods.”  She walked to the corner of the building and set down a wrapped piece of cake up against the brick.  “The rest…”  She turned and walked, heedlessly and carelessly in the opinion of at least two of the men in the group, towards two homeless men camped at opposite ends of a loading dock door.

“I should go with her,” said the senior groomsman and he broke into a lope to catch up with her.

Archduke Dionysus asked the translator, “What’s she saying?”

“Excuse me sir, one of my friends got married today.  Would you like a piece of wedding cake?”  The translator’s expression didn’t change.

“But why?”  Countess Francesca asked as And moved on to the second man.

“It came out of feeding the beggars at the kitchen door on the trenchers and other remains of the wedding feast,” the translator was smiling now.  “These days it’s traditional to hand out twelve pieces of cake that have a token wrapped up with them.  In this case the token can be redeemed at any bank, but usually it’s for a meal at a café or a night in a hotel.”

“So this is charity?”  Archduke Dionysus seemed more comfortable with that.

“It’s part of gaining the little gods’ grace and favour for the bride and groom, yes,” agreed the translator.  Down the street And had moved on to an alley mouth, shadowed by the senior groomsman.  She handed out three more pieces of cake, listened to something one of the men said and then walked over to a parked car to knock on the window.  Four pieces of cake went in through the window.  And looked around, saw three men heading towards her from another alley across the road and met them halfway.  Having handed out all the cake, she started back to the car and the archducal couple.  The senior groomsman fell into step beside her and started talking.

When they returned to the others it became clear that he had resorted to Russkiy to express his feelings on the subject of her behaviour.  Archduke Dionysus thought they both had better accents and vocabulary than they had been able to demonstrate earlier when they’d been worried about being correct and polite.  And sounded like a proletary from the northern soviets while the senior groomsman had the soviet soldier’s accent.

“You could have at least told us what you were doing,” he was saying.

“So you could stop me?  That would have defeated the purpose of this trip, wouldn’t it?”  And was swinging the empty basket vigorously.

“So we could keep you and the Countess safe,” he said firmly back.

“I don’t need keeping safe,” she snapped back.  “I know what I’m doing, and here I was thinking I might have walked you back to your hotel after the car drops us off.”

“I’m not the one who needs protection.  It would make more sense for me to walk you home.”  That reply was stiff.

“But I’m the one who knows where your hotel is compared to everything else,” she retorted.  “I’m sure that with your three guns and whatever it is down the back of your neck, we’d be perfectly safe, even on the streets of the Terrencian capital.”

“My three guns?”  He looked at her sharply.

“We grew up in an orphanage three blocks in that direction,” And pointed.  “I could pick when someone was carrying a weapon by the time I was thirteen.  If you behave and you’re nice to me, I might show you where I carry my knife.”

The official negotiations were done and the political deal had been struck.  Now the two people who were going to have to make the public, symbolic front- end of those agreements work were meeting in a conference room.  Archduke Franz had one of his uncle’s negotiators at his side while Vordamma Princesza Rune sat opposite him with a man who seemed like a family solicitor beside her.

His Imperial and Royal Highness had a list both of issues and of things that simply needed to be decided.  The first one was, “Where will we live?  I had expected we would get a larger apartment in the Schloss Leopoldsberg but the treaty specifies that we will live in this country.”

“Yes.”  Rune acknowledged the treaty’s provisions.  “That’s a requirement from my father’s family.  Unless something surprising happens, I will be the Sjeldnjar Ruhtig and our child will follow me into the position.  It’s unacceptable for the future Ruhtig to be raised as a foreigner.”  A slight hesitation then, “Might I ask why the Leopoldsberg and not one of the palaces in the capital?  Do you prefer the countryside?”

“It’s less occupied by family and retainers and everything else that revolves around the Emperor.”  He shrugged.  “There are days when I can imagine that the whole place is mine.  I like it that there are very few people around to question my comings and goings.”  He smiled at her and added, “I like your hair, by the way.  That cut’s very fetching.  You shouldn’t cover it up.”  The other two men looked at Princess Rune’s bare short, dark hair and the solicitor raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” she smiled back and added, “I don’t yet have an opinion on beards.  My Uncle Algernon has offered us the wing of the Sjeldnjar townhouse with the nurseries.  As I’m the only member of my generation in the direct line, the implication seems to be that we should fill them.  If you don’t want to live in the city, I’m sure we have other options.”

“I would like to see the townhouse before I make a decision.”

“That’s probably wise.”  She nodded in agreement while the solicitor made a note.  “What’s next on your list?”

“Occupation.  Now-.”

She cut him off with a gesture and started talking.  “I’m glad you brought that up.  I’m resigning my position and I expect you to resign from any and all military and/or intelligence positions you now occupy.”

“Archduke Franz holds no military positions,” inserted the diplomat seated at the Archduke’s side smoothly.  “Your Highness’ request is unnecessary.”

“Indeed?”  Rune opened the folder in front of her, picked up the black and white photograph that sat on top of the papers inside and placed it right way up in front of Franz.  “Just so neither of us can put the other in an uncomfortable or difficult position if we talk in our sleep.”

The diplomat looked at the six Imperial Nachtjäger soldiers in the picture.  He’d seen it before in an article on Imperial assistance to one of the remaining satrapies.  “I don’t see what-.”

“Thank you Hermann, I’ll take this.”  The Archduke put his finger on the photo and pushed it back towards the Princess.  “Where did you get this?”

“The picture?  It was published in an international current affairs magazine two years ago.  The connection?  It came up during the security assessment of my foreign husband-to-be.”  Rune pushed the picture back towards him.  “I’ve pencilled your squad mates into the guest list, not that I have names, as I assume you’ll either be inviting them or they’ll be among your groomsmen.  Would a partner and an average of three children each be about right?  If you want to invite them personally, I can arrange for you to receive the requisite number of blank invitations after you firm the numbers up for me.”

“Your Highness?”  The diplomat was getting a little worried that this was about to be undiplomatic.

“This,” the Archduke told him tersely, “is that ‘there are no friendly foreign intelligence services, just the intelligence services of friendly countries’ thing they tell you about.”

“Yes,” the Princess agreed with him, “it is.  The other thing I’m trying to say, Franz, is that I don’t see why you should lose your friends on top of leaving your home and losing your job.  I don’t see why your friends,” she indicated the photo again, “shouldn’t come to the wedding.  There are quite enough unrelated people on the guest list that I’m sure neither of us know,” she finished tartly.

Franz sat back and folded his arms.  “What do you think I’m going to do with myself?”

“I have no idea,” Rune admitted, “but I’m out of a job too.  I thought we might be able to work it out togther.”

Archduke Franz was exploring the back streets of a foreign capital on foot, alone and at night because he was bored.  He had spent two weeks shuttling between the Embassy and the palace to be trotted out when his Imperial Uncle’s negotiators wanted to point out that the ninth in line to the Terrencian Imperial Diadem was really quite a good deal.

Quite a good deal if you discounted his penchant for slipping off without security and his taste for a bit of rough, both of which he’d probably gotten from his secondary education at a military academy that had been not much more than an expensive reform school.  Not that this princess they were offering up didn’t have her secrets, no-one had heard of her a year ago and then she’d just been inserted into the succession, the peerage and the order of precedence by a small notice in the Royal News column of the better newspapers.  These Northerners were known to be a bit strange, of course.  There was no record of her parent’s marriage but then, as the Archbishop back home had commented to his Imperial Uncle and his parents, the concepts of legitimacy and illegitimacy of children didn’t translate into their language.  To top things off, all he’d seen of his proposed potential bride was an official portrait in formal gown and coronet.  Interesting that no-one he knew had been able to lay hands on any other pictures of her.

Tonight’s wanderings had a point.  He’d heard something he wanted to check out.  If the street map he’d looked at was right then what he was looking for was about here, he looked at the narrow streetscape with interest, but first, “You’ve been following me for at least three blocks, why?”  He’d spoken to a piece of shadow above an awning.

The shadow straightened, swung round to drop over the edge and hung by its fingertips for a moment, then dropped neatly to the ground.  The dark clothing might have been unisex but the wearer was female.

“You might be marrying one of our princesses.  When you go wandering alone at night we have a chance to found out more about you.”  She was shorter than him, athletic in a practical way, with fair northern skin and a dark, knitted cap covering her hair.

“I want to find out more about the princess no-one’s ever heard of.”  He smiled, a conversational move rather than a real pleasantry.  “I understand the Lovvey Street orphanage might be worth my attention.  It’s just around here, isn’t it?”

She looked at him with interest.  “It was.  It burned down about eight years ago.  Arson.  Everyone got out.  I hear the fire alarm went off sooner that it should have if the fire had set it off.”

“Interesting.”  He was looking at the office building that now occupied what was probably the old orphanage site.

“What I find interesting is that you’re a Terrencian Archduke who’s never seen in military uniform.  Not once, not ever.”  She had been careful, he noted, not to get within his arms’ reach.  Her body language said she would either fight or run if she had to.  The street lights showed a strong but elegant nose in proportion to her face, one his maternal grandmother would have described as ‘a nose of character.’

“I’m a Terrencian Archduke who’s about to return to the Terrencian Embassy.  Might I escort you home on my way?”  He crooked an elbow as an invitation to her to take his arm.

“Thank you, but no.”  She kept her distance with a polite smile.  “Your Imperial and Royal Highness could be hiding all sorts of aliases behind that fine and unfashionable beard – so short, tidy, easy to take off and quick to grow again.  I don’t think I want you to know where I live, and you are known to carry to a knife,” his eyes narrowed as she spoke, “three recorded uses - two to free accident victims from entanglement but in the third, Archduke Sigismund’s attacker didn’t get to draw another breath.”

“That was rather the point.”  He let himself shift his stance and look like someone who had the musculature he did, a thing he normally avoided.  “He did try to kill my father in front of me.”

“I know,” she nodded in acknowledgement, “but I still don’t want you to know where I live.”

I wrote this to kelkyag's second prompt.

“So, why ‘Rune’?”  Constantine asked that over coffee between just the three of them.  It was something that parents would normally know but because of their abnormal circumstances neither he nor Dagmar knew why their daughter had the names she did.

“Lovvey Street Orphanage used to name the unnamed babies who came in from a copy of the Limned Book,” Rune replied then drank from her coffee cup.  “When I was left there, the next unused word on the page was ‘rune’ so ‘Rune’ I became.”

“I was told,” commented Dagmar, “and my mother was told, that you were going to a foster family.  I was even told I couldn’t have you back because you were so settled with them.”

Rune and Constantine exchanged a look.  “Rune’s not so bad,” that young lady went on, “I refused to change it when you gave me the chance to, after all.  My childhood best friend’s name is a conjunction and one of the bigger boys’ name was a third person neutral pronoun.”  She drank more coffee.  “He isn’t by the way, neutral I mean.”

Her mother was diverted for a moment.  “How do you know that?”

“Observation.”  Rune shook her head.  “Don’t get me wrong, I like him but I’ve never felt sufficient desire to fight my way past the current lovely so I could paddle in those waters.”

“So,” her father sipped on his coffee, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

“No.”  She held the cup with both hands.  “Apparently now I’m too scary or something.  In some ways it was less complicated when I didn’t have a family.”

“You’re going to be the Sjeldnjar Ruhtig,” pointed out Constantine.  “That’s a big deal.”

“Too big a deal apparently.”  Rune looked pensive and her mother looked thoughtful.

“Anyway,” Constantine judged it an opportune moment to change the subject, “Rune, we were wondering if you would object if we, your mother and I, began to live together.”

“Why would my opinion be of any relevance?”  She looked at them both.

“Children often have views on their parents’ personal and sex lives,” pointed out Constantine while Dagmar took refuge behind her coffee cup.

“I don’t think it’s any of my business,” said Rune in a practical tone.  “I mean, obviously, I’m grateful that you had a sex life at the time I was conceived, but aside from that it’s nothing to do with me.  If you want to live together and you’ll both be happier, better and better off  together than apart, then go for it.”

Lara Knutsson whose locker was next to Rune’s was the first one to say anything about her rings.  After some consideration Rune had taken her gloves off almost as soon as she entered the building.  It was a normal thing to do so she didn’t think it could be considered flaunting her newly acknowledged status whereas keeping the gloves on until she reached the locker room could be considered hiding her new silver rings from comment.  Agents were supposed to be observant so she hoped that Lara wasn’t the first one to actually notice them.

“Those are new,” was the older, blonde woman’s comment.  “Are we allowed to ask or is it too fraught and sensitive?”

“My father tracked me down.”  Rune looked down at the rings that Constantine had first tried to give her without explanation at Solstice.  “I think he might have made these himself.”

“You’ve got notable relatives then?”  Solnje came from a noble family and she was used to people knowing it.  She had found ways of making that background useful in her work.  Her little black book of contacts was becoming well known around the headquarters.  “Will you be changing your name?”

“We’ve decided that I’ll just be adding my father’s family name onto the end of what I’ve already got.”  Rune divested herself of coat, hat and scarves.  “My mother thinks that’s a good idea and it means people who know me shouldn’t get totally confused.”

“Both your parents have come out of the woodwork then?”  Lara’s tone showed her approval of that.

“Apparently putting me aside wasn’t their idea at all.  Someone with a lot of influence in my mother’s family was pushing an agenda.”  Rune started swapping her street clothes for PT gear.  “I’ve been told some of the details but I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” Lara nodded, “The reasons people do things can be passing strange.  Strange enough that over twenty years later it seems incredible that they did them.”

“So will you be trying to get an invitation to the Spring Presentation Ball?”  That supercilious question came from Agent Vordamma Carolinia Vorstayka, a member of the latest intake of agents who hadn’t quite realized that no-one was as impressed by her family background as she was.  She insisted on the title and hadn’t yet realized that she wasn’t the only one in the room who had one.

“No,” Rune allowed while she tied up the laces on her running shoes, “I won’t be trying to get an invitation.”  Not, she thought to herself, when Grandmother has already told me that I’m going, whether I want to or not.  “I’ll see you all in the gym.”

At the end of the PT session they came back to find a member of the maintenance staff finishing some work on the door of Rune’s locker.  “I timed that well,” he acknowledged the sweaty women cheerfully, “I’ll just finish packing up and get out of your way.”

“I thought you were just adding on the surname.”  Rune was looking at her locker door, equally appalled, frightened and excited.

“I was told to do it the old fashioned way,” the overall-clad man told her happily, “which means all the old version had to come off.  I’ll come back when you ladies have gone to your desks and redo the lettering.”

“Thank you.”  Rune was subdued.

Lara watched him leave, then looked Rune, looked at the locker door and then looked back at Rune.  “He’s ruled up for three lines,” she commented.  “I can see two to cover your name, especially with a surname tacked on the end of what you’ve already got, but three suggests you’ve come into a title and it’s going on there.”

“Well, yes,” Rune admitted quietly, “I don’t want to make too much of a fuss about it.  I’m a bit worried about what he means by ‘the old fashioned way’, though.  I really only wanted to put the surname on.”

The ‘old fashioned way’ turned out to be black-outlined gold lettering that read ‘Vordamma Princesza Rune Greymalk Sjeldnjar.’  Written over a copy of the crest her grandmother had granted her.  It was beautiful work.

Rune wanted to go back to her desk and hide in her file cabinet where no-one would find her.

Skeld was waiting for her out the front of the Headquarters building when she arrived.  He looked...awkward.  Looking at him, standing there in his winter coat with his duffle bag over his shoulder, made her feel awkward too.

"Hi." He spoke first, taller than her and standing on the step above her.

"Good morning."  She had, perforce to look up at him.  She wore a knitted cap over her dark hair while he had a fur hat with ear flaps over his lighter brown crop.

"I hear we're cousins.  I mean, I, we all got letters from the Royal Household this morning."  Skeld paused and went on apologetically, "The phones are running hot all over the family."

"Boris and Mikhail Sjeldnjar got letters about it from Uncle Algernon yesterday," Rune offered apologetically.  "Apparently there's a protocol to the timing of all of this."

"Of course there is," Skeld nodded.  "The throne and crown are surrounded by protocol to keep them in their place and doing their job properly.  To keep our portion of the world running smoothly.  Royalty is constrained and harnessed to the service of the state, then rewarded by privileges for behaving.  It's when royalty forget that those are privileges and not rights that we get in a mess.  You and I, Cousin Rune, are mostly well out of that."

"Skeld," Rune looked at him in surprise, "What did you say that 'very ordinary degree' of yours was in?"

"I haven't."  He smiled at her.  "But it was political science, theory and history."

"Just how ordinary a degree was it?"  Rune looked up at him with interest.

"You'll have to get into the family gossip net and talk to my mother to find out that."  He laughed.  "She'd love to tell you."  Suddenly he sobered.  "Rune, I said we're mostly out of the protocol and stuff.  You're an unencumbered Princess; your mother was offered up as a match to the Terrencians, twice; and there are talks with them due again...shortly.  Don't be too free with your heart just yet."

"I can't live outside the country," Rune walked up the steps until their faces were level.  "Would an Archduke live here?"

"Not Rudolph, Ferdinand or Josef,"  Skeld said thoughtfully, "the ones after them in the succession might.  Speaking of which," he grinned, "Svensson always reads the paper before PT.  I want to see his reaction and Rostov's when they find out.  See you later."  He turned and went up the rest of the steps two at a time.

Rune looked bemused for a moment and followed him into the building, wondering what the reaction was going to be in the female locker room.

“It’s from Algernon.”  Boris Sjeldnjar looked at the envelope in his hand with concern.  At least his mother, who lived with them, hadn’t tried to open it.

“So,” that was his mother, Ludmilla, “what does it say?  Has he invited us to live in the house in Thingborden?  Or is he finally going to make you a suitable allowance?”

Boris sighed.  “You’re the only one who wants to live in the capital, Mum.  Svetlana and I have our jobs here and the children are well settled in school.  I’ve told you before, there’s enough in your trust for you to live in a good location if you want to move there.”

“In a pokey little flat,” Ludmilla snapped back.  “That is not the place for the mother of a Ruhtig to live!”

“There’s no guarantee that I’m going to be Ruhtig.”  Boris would have preferred not to rehash this old ground, but if he didn’t rebut her assumptions his mother would carry on about it all night.  “It wouldn’t surprise me if Sebastian gets married after he retires in the next year or two.  It’ll probably be someone’s widow, the secretary he hires to dictate his memoirs to or,” a new though occurred to him, “his ghost writer.”  He smiled at his mother.  “Any children of his would cut me out of the succession.”

“Ptah!”  Ludmilla pulled a face as she made a disgusted noise, “What woman young enough to have children would marry him?  He’s my age!”

“He’s an Admiral and would have an Admiral’s pension, even if he has no other income.  He’s likely to be Ruhtig after Algernon and Constantine.”  Boris the accountant was counting off points against his fingers, using the envelope he held in his other hand.  “His eldest child would be Ruhtig after him.  He’s fit, healthy and active for his age and he has an agreeable personality.”  Boris smiled again.  “I imagine he would at least appear to be sound husband material to many women.”

“Have it your own way,” Ludmilla made a dismissive gesture, “but what is in the letter?”

Boris turned his attention back to the envelope and carefully opened it.  Algernon used the latest in electronic seals and he had to press his thumb firmly against the wafer on the back for the waterproof membrane that covered the envelope to withdraw.  He inserted the tip of his index finger into the opening under the fold of the flap and carefully tore open the top of the envelope, then removed the two folded sheets of paper inside.  He read the top one silently, then the second one, then the top one again.

An enormous grin spread across his face and for a moment his resemblance to Algernon and Sebastian was quite marked.  “Svetlana!”  He roared his wife’s name out at the top of his voice.  “Svetlana!  Come here, you have to see this!”  His voice echoed through the house, reaching his wife where she was supervising their children’s homework while doing some work of her own.

Svetlana ran down the stairs.  Her husband rarely sounded so boisterous and enthusiastic, so what ever he was calling about must be important.  She met him on the second storey landing.  “What is-,” she tried to ask the obvious question.

“Sveta!  We’re free!  Here,” he shoved the papers at her, “read these!”

An accountant like him, she read them twice and began to smile, “Constantine has an acknowledged daughter, verified by the Assembly of Nobles?  We could make a push for those partnerships.”

“Put Irina’s name down for the Lyceum,” Boris said in agreement, “Now we know we won’t have to move.”

“What’s this about Constantine having a daughter?”  Ludmilla was stumping up the stairs from below to join them.  “I suppose her mother’s from among the soviets?  He was there long enough.”  She took in the surprised expressions on the faces of her son and daughter-in-law.  “No-one told me, of course, but I’m not stupid you know.”

“Not from the soviets, Mum,” said Boris while Svetlana handed her the papers to read.  “She’s a shade too old for that.  Algernon’s sent me advance copies of tomorrow’s announcements by the Assembly of Nobles and the Royal Household.”

His mother, who hadn’t had a chance to read anything, looked at him sharply.  “Royal Household?”

“The Assembly’s inserting her into the Sjeldnjar Order of Succession and the Noble Order of Precedence.  The Royal Household is inserting her into the Royal Orders of Precedence and the Royal Succession.”

“So who did he-?”  Ludmilla examined the amended Royal Succession then uttered a long drawn out, “Constantine!”  Her voice was full of admiration.

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.”

“This involves all of you,” Queen Galina surveyed her nieces and their surviving husbands seated on the other side of your desk, “so thank you for coming.”  She sighed and fiddled for a moment with her reading glasses.  “Citrine was not always the person she is now.  I’m sure that she was,” another pause, “more flexible and not convinced that only she knew what to do when we were younger.  I don’t know when or how she changed.”  Another sigh.  “You were right to be concerned about your father’s death.”  The sisters held hands, reaching across their husbands to do so.  “She didn’t so much kill him as wilfully deny him treatment.  He had his heart attack in another woman’s bed.”

The eldest sister, Princess Gudron, exchanged a glance with her husband.  “That was kept very quiet,” she commented.  “What about the other woman?”  Followed by a hard swallow.

“Intimidated but unharmed,” the Queen assured her.  “I am trying to come up with a suitable form of apology for the intimidation and threats.”

“Were they together long,” Princess Birgitta glanced left and right at her sisters.  “Do we have half-siblings?”

“She has children,” Galina told her, “but from well before she met your father.  Actually,” she picked up a pen and made a note, “scholarships for her grandchildren is a thought.  Thank you.”

“And what about Jaime?”  Princess Alexandrina’s question wasn’t tremulous but she sounded as if she was expecting a particular answer.

“Yes,” Galina nodded in confirmation.  “He was murdered.  It wasn’t just an antique airship accident.”  A feral grin crossed her face.  “He must have made a good account of himself because he took the entire team of pet thugs she sent to do the job with him.  He was a great loss to us all, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Alexandrina was verging on tears.

“Citrine,” Galina went on grimly, “had files on each of you, gentlemen.  Any threats she made to your wives were not empty.  Henryk,” she spoke directly to Birgitta’s husband, “your problems last June were poison, not bad seafood.”

“Indeed.”  Henryk Heimfjord’s eyes narrowed.  “So what didn’t she want me to see in Helgograd?”