The morning was grim and overcast. But that, rather than dulling spirits, hoisted them - for it meant for the cityfolk of Rivate that, after a long dry spell, there was finally a chance of drizzle.

If any sprites or ghosts of old were wandering the city streets, they were feeling particularly festive to lend everybody such a springy mood. In Charmat - outside the Inner Terdam but within the dry moat lining the city borders - the poor smiled: there were as many royals as harlots in the brothels this eve. And inside the Inner Terdam, in the pristine Pardel, rose petals decorated each pavement. All domes were scrubbed, most work on hold.

Innkeepers bustled with astounding efficiency, handing customers ale of the finest (and most expensive) sort. Mugs were being raised either in disdain or in pride or in an excuse to celebrate.

Further deep into the city - at the nucleus of the Hadekin Palace - pageants and jugglers and foxtrot dancers were putting on shows. Bards and fools and acrobats, too. Odes were sung everywhere, signifying the opposite of laconic in the air. In the arena, jousters jousted happily, foolishly and bravely. Tourneys were likely ongoing throughout the five tethered kingdoms which fell under the Khad Dynasty.

King Alain Khad himself was seated on a temporarily erected platform in the palace plaza in front of four rising tiers of joined benches. These benches were all occupied. Directorates of the wedding scurried between them not much unlike innkeepers of Pardel.

Alain had not to ignore the jeering and cheering, for it was all stopped at the moment for a musical contest. The lyrist played first a heartbreak of strings. Then a harpist. Few lords and ladies sobbed into their kerchiefs. Then the contest was over, and the jeering and cheering picked up from where it had been stubbed.

Ser Jotin Halore lifted the lyrist's arm. A smattering of applause for him. When Ser Jotin lifted the harpist's arm, there was an explosion of claps and hoots from lordlings and ladies alike. They had an undisputed winner.

The instrumentalists were led off the plaza by the knight, the former with a wry smile and the latter with a smug one. Their smiles were wiped off when Ser Jotin left them to be escorted by an impassive Ardaunt.

In Alain's thought, the lyre was much harder to play than the harp due to the obtruding crossbar, but he was only a kid become king, so what did his opinion matter?

The garland of orchids around his neck suddenly felt heavy. As did his crown of spun gold and silver, and the gold-embroidered cape clipped to the neck of his doublet. It had long, tight cuffs, and an unneeded brooch around the collar to wrest it down. Clothing of his mother's choice.

Underneath it all, he wore a slim shirt of ring mail. For his feet Alain had black-dyed uggs on, to make him seem taller when he was standing.

He didn't feel like a king, let alone the King. He felt nervous, which was a feeling that did not strike right with him.

Alain looked to his side, where the Lady - Queen - Sterya sat smiling like a storehouse of beauty and fragrance. She had soft, olive skin. Her auburn hair was in a plait, with one adjusted chignon. A wreath of leaves decorated it also. She was sporting lambskin gloves and glass bangles, and indeed she sport them well. He could have looked at her for ever - not her satin weave, but her. His wife. Not Sterya Sanghon; Sterya Khad.

She caught his eye and smiled. It was a stunning smile. Her lips moved, but although they were only four feet apart, Alain could barely hear her. Then she pointed at the garland around her own neck, and he understood. Hoping what he gave her bore some resemblance to a smile, he looked away.

Holder bless, thought Alain. I knew I loved her since when she was Vaarin's, but I hadn't realized I was in love. I hope Saint Eladeen read us our vows right. If this marriage brings me misery, I shall have the ner'ang priests and Ardaunts all break his beads.

Suddenly there was silence. The wooden platform quavered as someone climbed it.

Highlord Aleth Sanghon was a sturdy, pockmarked man with an Ardaunt's build. He was known by titles too many: Canton of Ras Demin, Third Claim to the Southern Crown, Seat of Clavice, Slaver of Death, amongst others. He was an old man who looked nothing like an old man except for a dazzle in his eye which could only have been acquired by age and experience.

General Alrej 'Steelballs' strode towards him. He had insisted he be on the stage, for auxiliary protection. His topknot looked exceptionally red, almost as though it were dyed. "My Lord," said the General to the Highlord, "if you please - "

"I do not," said Aleth Sanghon flatly.

Alrej gave him a stare that would break any ordinary man. But Highlord Aleth was no ordinary man. Each scar on his face spoke ghastly stories. The pockmarks were an exception, a birth gift from Nherse.

"You will have to rid your sword," said Alrej. "Leave it with me. I shall hand it pious to you when you dismount the stage."

"I am a Sanghon. I hand my sword to nobody."

"You will have to, to me, if you wish to see the King and Queen."

The Highlord snorted. "The Queen has been a queen for not a chime. I have been her grandfather and guardian since she was born. Stand aside."

"I cannot. My Lord."

"Listen, General. I have a great deal of respect for people like you. But there is a time and place, and persons to be, dutiful to."

Alrej looked at the silent spectators, jaw set in place. They would not be able to hear what was happening, but seeing was enough to tell.

"Be of good bearing this nonce, Whasu!" Alain said when he saw his wife's forecasting expression. "Let the Highlord be."

The General subsided, looking highly affronted and shooting daggers into Aleth Sanghon's back from his eyes. The latter did not seem to feel those daggers as he walked over to the King . . . and past him, flourishing his silver-bordered cape.

The Ardaunts aligned their maces, but the Highlord just sketched Eoli Khad a curt bow. "My lady," said he, "I failed to see you personally after the late king's passing, despite being in the palace many a time. He was a decisive ruler. May he give Gvother Carl a rough time."

Eoli seemed to think, as did Alain, whether by this Aleth meant that Aryan Khad should've gone to Inira and not Vaven. At last she said "Thank you."

Now Aleth Sanghon went to his knee before Alain. Alrej edged closer. "Your Majesty."

"Get up, my Lord, up, up." Alain could find no way to diffuse this tension. "How do you fare?"

"Quite well," said Aleth Sanghon, smiling a smile which fit him like a dwarf's clothes would a giant. "How does the King do?"

"He does quite well, as well," said Alain. Then added: "Although his teeth hurt."

Sterya laughed a wonderful laugh at this, as did Undersecretary Omelka and Lord Norab Tremletti sitting beside a grim Eoli. Sterya then covered her face with her gloved hands. "Forgive me, but was that intentional?"

"What was?" asked Aleth, frowning a frown that fit him to perfection.

"They call you Teeth Breaker around here," Alain explained, "because of what you did to Sven. Of course, they don't want you to know since they're afraid you might break theirs."
Sterya gave a stifled giggle. Alain felt a little less nervous.

Aleth looked unsurprised and least interested. "Your Majesty, about what Biseri has done . . . it was foolish, even for him. If you favor for Tilva Sanghon to ride west, we shall."

Alain's ears perked up. "So it is true, then? He evicted people to Fehnia?"

"The entire princedom."

"Commander Maurya - I believe you know him from the First Division - must be there already. I hope only that his journey was sound."

"If the easterners are in Dassan, we need to go there and squash them out. It's what your father would have done."

Alain felt anger momentarily replace his nervousness. Sterya must have read that on his face, because next beat his wife said, "Grandfather. Don't you have a brides-gift for me? Save your boring talk of warfare for the feast."

From our earlier conversations, Alain thought, I wouldn't say you find warfare boring. You may not carry a sword, my love, but you know how to cross them well enough.

Highlord Aleth waved his hand. An attendant, after being patted down thoroughly by the General, came over and handed Sterya her present.

She held it up admiringly: an alabaster statue of the sigil of Tilva Sanghon, a crane, assorted with the javelin sigil of Tilva Khad. "It's beautiful," Sterya said at last.

Aleth nodded. To Alain he said: "Your Majesty, I should like to discuss the matter of Ptirre with you in more detail at the feast. If you are not averse to that talk in your wedding day, that is."

The Highlord walked off the stage briskly. Alrej resumed his original position by the corner, and the clamor renewed itself. Lutes and flutes played their fanfare, while placated Skillers from the Holy Ations House made knives fly in the shape of an enormous javelin and pyromancers with skin as oiled as cogs juggled fire rabbits.

Brides-gifts flooded in after that point. Queen Sterya received many congrats, and pins, and hides of bulldreg, and buckskin, and wine bottles and signet gold-crystal rings. Lord Tremletti and his daughter, the lovely Lady Vieira, endowed upon the Queen a notebook whose pages had formerly been a tree from the Ytranar Era.

This must've enraged Sterya, for Alain knew she thought the remnants of olden nature must be preserved at all costs (as the scriptures dictated), but if so, she did not let her anger show. She replied to every question affably.

I need to take diplomatic lessons from my wife, Alain thought. His chest ached dimly. Alrej had been right. He had barely been able to heal three arrows; if he had taken four, it could have proven fatal.

Highlord Avish Danir of Tilva Sati - once an esteemed House, whose keep had been carted over to Charmat after the brutal assassination of Highlord Thonwak (supposedly by the protestors when he had tried shutting down an infamous local brothel) - brought the Queen a necklace with a teardrop-shaped gem at its center.

Highlady Saphira Orlocke of Tilva Reilyes made a rather unusual proposal. "I have no presents on me which her Majesty will not be able to afford for herself," she said. "I do bring my personage and fidelity to you, and to your husband the King, and perhaps some relief for when things grow . . . tiring."

"What relief do you offer her, my Lady?" asked Alain, unable to contain himself. "I should hope you are not planning to turn the Queen into a gambler as well."

Highlady Saphira simpered. "A game of Penva never harmed anyone, your Grace. We do not involve money, in scinti or in squalls."

"Cards are cards," said Alain. "And gambling is gambling. But I believe the Queen can make the call for herself."

"Undoubtedly she can," said Sterya. "Send for me when you play in any morrow after the next. Perhaps I shall join you."

"You do know," Alain said to his wife after Saphira had left the platform, "that Penva is a highly addictive game. Better queens than you have lost their position to it."

"I know, my love," Sterya said in her enchanting voice. Then Lady Beigall was there carrying what was doubtlessly a pretty, elven-crafted bracelet.

After the brides-gifts ceremony - because, like as not, that was what it had become - all royals proceeded indoors. Chants of "Power to the King, heigh! Power to the Queen, heigh!" must have reached all the way to the moat.

The banquet hall was festooned with multicolored streamers and tulip ropes. Crystal baubles hung over their heads by doddery cords. Long, walnut tables panned the mullioned hall. Soon the clink, chink and clunk of tableware and utensils filled the world. Dishes were filled, emptied, re-filled. Silver-argonz bowls were passed around. Gold-rimmed plates, with hollowed-out melons and blood oranges, were attacked like they were foe.

One would think we were the Seohrah celebrating the Irefins' defeat, Alain thought. He would welcome Aleth Sanghon's war talk any day over this intoxicating smell of spinach and sweetcorn salad, and creamy tomato soup with whipped cream, and whisked lamb capsicum stew. A normal lunch would do for him, thank you very much.

Minstrels started singing 'Before whom all fall like autumn leaves'. They had to sing especially loud over the rattle of Ramkan liquor inside large cups and larger goblets, which was not the correct way to sing that strain at all. Flutists joined in on the tune.

This had been the late Aryan Khad's favorite ditty. Alain searched for his mother, and sure enough, Eoli was drowning in tears. Lady Resmi was patting the back of her spine condolingly.

Alain looked at Sterya sipping delicately from a golden chalice. She had removed her gloves. Her fingers were long and alluring. Alain almost called for Roste to bring him some liquor too - the squire's ears would be equipped to the noise - then opined that the last thing he wanted to do right then was throw up. Ramkan booze was black as the heart of man, and just as sour.

Roundels of processed yellow cheese. Boiled brown eggs. Omelet with onions. Hardbread and butter. Lemon custard. Prune cake with resins and cashews, topped with white icing sugar. Meat pie lollipops. Buffalo-chicken marinated in red wine and spiced with Kanchan garlic. Mushroom dipped in fried flour-starch gravy . . .

There was something for everybody.

A small voice coughed behind Alain.
When he turned, the King thought he was looking at Roste. But this boy, while clad in a similar jerkin, was not quite as beefy as the squire. And unlike Roste, his jittering was not born of servile excitement.

"Yes?"

"W-would his Grace like some tea?"

"Who are you, lad?" asked Alain.

"Edradhor, but most people just call me Ed." He gulped. "Y-your Grace."

"I am benumbed they don't call you a whore, considering how your name ends."

"Some do."

Alain smiled. "I am going to behead you if you act like I am going to behead you any second, Ed, because I am not that kind of a ruler."

Ed blinked. Alain could hear his brain churning. "Would you like some tea?" he said daftly.

"Yes. I suppose I would at that. Where's Traster gone to?"

"He was busy supervising the feast, your Grace. I w-will make your tea."

"Know then," started Alain, "that I want goat milk, cinnamon, two scoops of sugar - "

"Much water, less leaves," said Ed. "Traster told me, your Grace."

Alain stared at the boy vacantly.

"I'm s-sorry, your Grace, I shouldn't have spoken out of turn - "

"You will not do well here at the Hadekin Palace," said Alain, "if you act like you're scared of your own shadow. Learn to live a little." He smiled at the lad. "Although I will guillotine you if my tea isn't like Traster makes it."

"It will be, your Grace," said Ed. In this he sounded confident, and his chest flattened up.

"Just saying."

"Stop messing with him, Alain," said a sweet voice. Alain turned to see Lady Vieira Tremletti standing besides his highchair. "Go, lad, set the King's kettle before he screws you in the ass."

Ed looked unnerved at hearing someone call the King by his name and scuttled away like a spider on ten extra legs.

"Vieira dear," Alain said to her as she took a seat, "you might be my childhood friend, but I can't allow you to go on around ruining a king's gratification."

"You think I need your permit?" She crossed her legs; her floral divided skirt was pulled up several inches enticingly. "After you sent that squire of yours worming around me all day?"

"I thought you were fond of having younger men's eyes on you."

"I am," Vieira said bluntly. "But there have been more eyes on me than I should like ever since our engagement broke. Men think they're so smart and suave, that I don't see their lustful intent. Alas, being a beauty oftentimes means you're underestimated."

"Underestimate you? Why, I pity those who make that mistake."

"Me too, Alain. Now I think us marrying wouldn't have been that abysmal. I would have you and Vaarin would have Sanghon. You got her now, of course, but whom shall I beget?"

"Only the very best, I hope." Alain's pale eyes flitted over to Sterya, biting down on a crisp winesap apple.

"Lately I've been feeling wanton," Vieira said. "Perhaps I should give in to my father's suggestions and get wed to the heir apparent of Tilva Buron."

Alain raised a brow. "I earnestly never thought I'd hear those words from you."

"Things change as time does." Lady Vieira sighed a sigh that could topple knights. "How quickly too. I wish we went back to the time when you were the second heir and not a king."

"Are you not delighted I have such power now?"

"Not really, no. I just wish . . . oh, well. I am no longer a prince's betrothed and no longer do my wishes seem attainable. But I do stand by you on every step of the way."

Her hand found his on the tabletop. Alain jerked it away as he saw Sterya's eyes furtively flick in their direction for a beat.

"I - I didn't . . ." Vieira stood up, face crimson as the winesap. "I congratulate you on the marriage, Alain. May the Holder be with you."

She gathered up her skirt and left.

The lords were singing the Thea Gorgetta hymn along with the minstrels and bards, praising the anointed goddess of food and grain. The ladies nibbled on their sweets and discarded the rest.

All seemed to be having a good time.

His tea arrived. Just from the aroma of it, Alain decided to give Edradhor an approval grin. Sipping on it - and indeed it tasted wonderful, like it were liquid mageic - the newlywed thought: I would be loath to say no to a good meal, but this is excessive, and that with war at hand.

He still decided he would later arrange for a smaller feast in Charmat, to the orphans and the decent god-fearing folk in those parts after the revolts were dealt with.

If there are enough resources left to throw a feast then. If we are all not scorched by the fury of the Holder, of the Hand that holds the Trident.

His stomach was supremely pleasured, but as Alain watched Sterya smile at the singing, dancing, chomping lords and ladies, he felt more anxious than ever before.

The King of the Khad Dynasty was coming around to realize that these really were monumental times: after all, he was beginning to fear the gods.

"Was I okay?"

Sterya kissed him. "You were splendid."

Did she say that to my brother too? Alain wondered. Then she laid her head on his bare chest and the weight of it expelled all his questions.

"Your mother . . . she cried."

Alain was unsurprised by this sudden change in topic. He didn't know much about women, but he was certain talking of lovemaking with the King to the King's face would not be a favored subject for discussion amongst any.

"Yes. It was the song that did it. Reminded her of father."

"No, I mean when the ner'ang read our vows," Sterya said. Her voice was pure brilliance; he wished he knew how to trap it in his heart. "Does she not think I'll make a good queen?"

Alain laughed, holding her face. "Mother wouldn't have let me marry you if she thought that. You'll make a great queen."

"Let you?" Sterya retreated from his chest and started caressing it with her hand instead. "I was under the impression that the King had liberty to marry whoever and however many brides he wanted."

"It's not like that." Alain closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her skin, her nails, travelling gradually downwards. "Mother generally knows best. She chose you, didn't she?"

"For power reasons. And not for you - for your brother."

"But you are my wife now, and will be evermore."

"Yes. I will."

Silence fell like a ball of lead. After which, Alain said: "I am not in favor of polygamy. Have never been. You will be my one spouse and only queen."

Aryan Khad had had two wives, Eoli Fregina and Casteless Chandolini. Come of duty and of love. From those two wives he had two sons, one from each: Alain and Vaarin Khad, respectively. Chandolini Khad had no lineage, no power. She had been the daughter of a sheepherder, but Aryan Khad had taken a fancy to her and she had borne his child. The general public was apathetic to this, but the nobility had been furious. In the end, the legend Aryan Khad had been subjugated to marry a noble as well - Eoli of House Fregina - with whom he had another kid, Alain himself.

Alain had never liked when people acted as though Vaarin was not a rightful heir. He was older, wiser and stronger than Alain - why should he not be the one to occupy the throne? They had been closer than most who shared the same womb. Alain had cried on his brother's shoulder on too many occasions to count, when Vieira teased him about his stunted height, when his orrock's saddle went askew and he broke his ankle, when he first discovered that he was a mage by accidentally healing a raven . . .

When Aryan Khad was killed, and it was abundantly clear that Vaarin had done the deed, the nobility - who were not given to told-you-sos - had gotten a good chance at screaming "We told you so!" Chandolini Khad died mere months after her son was banished - not executed, because the mantle of King had been passed to Alain, and Alain hadn't been able to believe his elder brother could have done what they were charging him of, hadn't been able to bring himself to command his death . . .

"That's very kind of you, your Grace," Sterya said presently.

"Don't call me that," Alain grumbled, overly aware of her hand inching down his stomach.

"Why not?"

"Being a king . . ." Alain thought about how to frame this. "Everyone wants to keep things spick and span for you. To never expose you to the ugly side of things, to coddle you. You never really get an honest answer out of anybody as long as they keep you on a pedestal. I don't know."

"No, no. Keep going."

"Well, then they expect you to face those things. And make decisions and . . . sometimes I wish I could play a truant. Like the kings in the stories who pretend to be farmers and find a nice docile girl and make love to her while it rains outside."

Sterya's hand halted. "You want to find a nice docile girl and make love to her?"

"No! No, my love, not - that - I just wish to hang my crown and cape on a rack and not bloody . . . I get how childish this sounds."

"It really doesn't."

"And I have no desire to make love to anyone but you for the rest of my life. Tonight was lovely."

"Don't thank me." Her hand started creeping down south again. "You're the best I've ever had."

Before Alain could ask whom else she had slept with, Sterya began to speak in a more serious tone: "About the whole malingering . . . I get it. Really, I do. Can I bore you with a little something?"

"By all means, go ahead."

"My mother died giving birth to me. I don't miss her, because how can you miss someone you've never known, but . . . anyway, that's not the point. My father died when I was four summers old, and I do dream about him sometimes. But my grandfather was the one who raised me. He's been quite doting."

The image of pockmarked Aleth Sanghon kissing a young Sterya seemed stranger than the prospect of Rys Ami walking again, at least to Alain. Now, making Sven the Mouser devour his own teeth . . . that sounded like a profession for the Canton of Ras Demin.

"Harsh, but loving."

There it is.

"He used to call me his little princess," Sterya continued. "Now, to poor girls with no money or house, that might seem sweet. Bed of roses. Not unlike this one."

She patted the mattress. Alain grinned looking at the petals strewn on it and around it.

"But to me," Sterya said, "it was always this daunting foreshadow. It represented this . . . responsibility that I knew I would have to carry in my future. Do you know what I mean?"

Alain kissed her deeply on the lips. "I know exactly what you mean. Which is why," he went on when he saw her mouth open, "I must ask you to find something other than 'your Grace' to address me by."

"How about 'my King'?"

"You've a demon's sense of humor, you know that, right? You should."

Sterya supported herself using her elbow as her arms augmented down below under the sheets. "How about Budpicker?"

He frowned. "Sounds an awful lot like nosepicker."

"I can call you that if you want me to."

"I'll command to your death, my love."

Sterya laughed. She didn't hide it, or stifle it, like she had on the platform. She let it show, let it fill his self.

His heart bowed. I could never command her to death, Alain mused. We are one in matrimony and one in flesh now.

It did not matter to him that she had had other men in her life before, including his own brother. Beautiful woman like herself - far more beautiful than Vieira, to his watchful white eyes - of course she had many a lover in her life.

She was his first. Alain had refused to bed Vieira even after she had been betrothed to him, no matter how provocative her attempts eventually became. He now wondered how their marriage would ever have functioned, since he would always see her as his childhood friend, the one he had played blind man's buff and Broider's Bank with, not a bewitching courtly lady. He had also always refused to prostitutes. "Have at it while you can, son," Aryan Khad had told him on his completion of sixteenth summer. "Being a prince only reduces your appetite for sex. They don't tell you that in the books - "

Sterya's hand had reached its destination.

"Why . . . why Budpicker?" Alain asked, closing his eyes. His nails grew hot.

"Because of the thing you did to my - "

"Oh, I get it - "

"You know, with your mouth."

"By that . . . ah, by that . . . logic . . . I should call you a constructor, since you . . . oh, Shadneer!"

Sterya was smirking looking at his reddened face while her hand did its job. "Not very appropriate names to use in public, are they?"

"Well . . . we have, oh, a lifetime to come up with names for one another."

"Vaarin was good with names," Sterya said abruptly.

Alain opened his eyes. "Yes, he was."

"Do you miss him?" she asked.

"Tremendously," he replied.

"I still can't believe he . . ." Her hand was moving faster than ever on his member now. Alain was on the verge of explosion. "I suppose these are dangerous times, Budpicker. Anyone can betray anyone."

A hundred beats later, Queen Sterya gave a very unladylike yawn and went immediately to sleep in her drenched smallclothes.

Unconsciousness came swift to the King as well, with little roust. He was understandably tired. He fell asleep smirking and feeling like he was afloat.

Anyone can betray anyone, brother, Vaarin said to him in his dreams. His eyes were two caves, and neither their usual blue: one was filled with black ice, the other with green flame.

I'll be editing this chapter a lot. Still, how was it?

The King and the Queen. Their story will continue . . .

Meanwhile, we'll be returning to Addie for a while and seeing what in Heim is up with her.