As evening draws near and the chimes of the ship's clock strike the dinner hour, Gruffydd eyes his image in one of the many hanging mirrors of the captain's bed-quarters. He extends his arms as he stares at the picture he and his companion make. The young man, a lieutenant of The Wyvern slips the jacket, a common suit blazer, over the arms of his commodore.
     Gruffydd turns his head to glance back over his shoulder, breaking his voyeuristic repose. He says nothing to the other man. Whatever passes between them is silent, conveyed best in the downsweep of lashes and the turning of his form. The lieutenant lifts his hands once more, in them a periwinkle silk scarf. He places it around the prince's neck, and winds one end of it around his wrist. Gruffydd smiles. "Later," he says.
     He is dressed in the habit of his own father, in clothes befitting Twenty-first Century London. His trousers are charcoal, as is the shirt (though somewhat lighter) and the suit jacket (and shoes). The burst of color in the periwinkle scarf is startling - as startling as his eyes...
     He left his companion to return to his ship and his duty, disembarking from The Draigamor with little fanfare. Hands in his pockets, Gruffydd walks along the pier toward the castle, the periwinkle scarf lifting in his graceful stride and in the cool breeze of a late spring night...

     The dinner is to be a formal one - but small. Your grandmother, the Princess Maria, the three royal princes, Queen Anna and her husband, the queen's sister and her two daughters. See? Small. Not all have arrived yet; the Queen is there, as is Fiona, in the smaller reception hall. Fiona smiles at you placidly, eyes bright with mischievous knowledge. "Good evening, dear. My, don't you look handsome."
     I hope you got it out of your system. Remember about the apples.
     Anna's sister is there, muttering something to Anna's husband. They appear to be in a discussion about some proposed taxes. Her daughters are dressed gaily, all of them with a sort of chocolate box prettiness - wide blue eyes, vapid expressions to hide cunning, artfully dressed hair with ribbons and in bows. All of them look at you as if you are on the menu.
     The princes have yet to trickle in. Anna remarks, "My sons are always late. I do wonder what's keeping Maria, though."
     "Would you like me to go look for her, Aunt?" one of her nieces offers, giving you an entirely too sweet smile. "I can't IMAGINE where she is, but then, she NEVER is on time for these things..."

     Gruffydd is remarkably free from blushing just now. The tall prince bends to kiss the Queen Mother on each cheek. "Grandmother," and to the others, a general bow of his head, "Good evening...Queen Anna..." There is a special nod to the King. "Your grace." And for the Vapid Vestal Virgins a smirk, "... ladies. Evening."
     As the girls start to volunteer to go "find" Maria -- likely one or two know exactly where they are, as they most likely trapped her there, Gruffydd turns back to his grandmother, his gaze glancing against his attire. "Thank you. I was getting tired of velvet."
     I had a grand afternoon. Once my brain stopped leaking from my ears. Your point was taken. So was the lieutenant's.
     He is a graceful thing, easy in his regality, serene in his skin and surroundings. For the first time since his arrival -- at least to himself -- he seems the crown prince that he is. I will remember. It will be interesting to note if she blossoms sweet orchards in her breath and from her skin, or whether such could be contained in a bottle of perfume.

     Now the princes arrive - the oldest nineteen, the youngest twelve, and the fourteen year old in the middle. Bryan is the eldest - he has Maria's dark hair, but his eyes are dark, and he has the reddened skin of someone who spends most of his time out of doors. He glances at Gruffydd without very much interest, moving instead to his mother. "Mum, the south forty's going to need weeding. You won't let us use the serfs, how do you expect us to do it all?" He looks all set to launch into a longer litany of complaints, but he's interrupted by the twelve year old, who looks embarrassed. "It's not that bad, mum. Bryan's just whinging because he's the tallest, so his back hurts more from all the bending." The eldest looks murderous. The middle one quietly takes a book out from under his surcoat and begins reading.
     "Imagine how much the backs of the fellows without nice soft beds to sleep on would be hurting," Maria tells her eldest lightly. "Stop being rude to the Queen Mother and the Crown Prince, Bryan, or you can enjoy the rest of the festival week cleaning privies. James, that's exactly right, and very clever of you, too. You may have extra cake tonight. Bryan, if you argue with me, you can miss dinner, too."
     Bryan looks furious, and turns to stomp out sulkily. One of the cousins latches onto him in the door, whispering hurriedly in his ear and then trailing after him like a silk hankie. James brightens, looking very pleased, and Edwin, the middle one, goes to take a seat and goes on reading. James turns to you, bowing a bit awkwardly. "It's very nice to meet you, your highness. They say you might marry my sister. Is that true?" This makes one of the remaining cousins titter loudly, and he blushes.
     Fiona watches, for the moment, then leans in to murmur to Anna, "I'll go see if I can find the princess, I think." She smiles, turning to go. Right now, I suspect she is miserable and unloved in her own mind, and has had something unpleasant happen - such as skunkwater dumped on her, to keep her from attending. I'll go have a look.

     There is no reaction to the eldest prince -- casual glance was returned but that is all. There is a smile, however, for the Prince of Books, Edwin and also for James. Turning to the young man, Gruffydd also bows. "It is nice to meet you, your grace," he smiles, glancing up to the direction of the tittering only briefly. "And how would that situation sit with you, your highness?" he wonders, engaging the youngest in honest conversation.
     Why would she be feeling miserable and unloved? Though his attention is on the youngest prince, his thoughts sidle alongside your own. Skunkwater? He wonders, his eyes following as you go, how you are coming to these conclusions. Is there something you already know?
     He wouldn't put it past you.
     "She is your sister, after all. I should expect you might have an opinion on the matter."

     Anna seems pleased that you and James are talking - and resigned to her eldest son's attitude. For some, adolescence will be a lifelong thing. James looks at you thoughtfully. "It depends," he answers you candidly. "If you do marry her, will she stop climbing trees? Bryan thinks she shouldn't climb trees, but I like climbing trees, you know. It's a useful sort of skill to have. I mean, what if something you need, an important letter or something, blows up there? It's easier to climb the tree than it is to cut it down, and less wasteful."
     Edwin agrees without looking up from his book. "Though I'd still go get a ladder if I were you, James. Easier, less risk of breaking a leg." James considers this. "Edwin broke his leg when he was my age," he tells you. "So he's not very keen on doing things like that. Mother doesn't make him weed the fields half so much as me and Bryan. I don't know; I suppose if Maria wants to marry you, it's all right by me, but I might have to challenge you to a sword fight first, you know. Bryan won't bother, and mum's forbidden dad to; Edwin can't, so that leaves me. Someone's got to make sure you're good enough for Mari."
     Your grandmother has sailed out quickly, but her thoughts can find you anywhere. Girls, comes her terse answer. Skunkwater - water onions've been sitting in, or skunk pelt, or anything foul-smelling and hard to get out of nice clean hair and pretty clothes. She'll be trying to look pretty for you, after all, and if you've got three cousins who'd like nothing better than to scoop you... you watch, one of them will be sidling up to you any moment, now. Probably drew straws to pick which.
     Sure enough, there is a demure blonde with very nicely packaged cleavage trying to slip around James. She ruffles his hair, to which he looks greatly offended. "Oh, do ignore James," she coos at you. "He's such a silly little boy. I'm sure you wouldn't need to fight over Maria. Tell me, your highness, how long are you here for...?" Her eyes suggest however long or short, you might have company. Limpet-like in attachment, just through gaze alone.

     "I have no intention on discouraging her from climbing trees," the crown prince assures the younger one. "Nor from doing anything else that she loves." Gruffydd smiles, looking between the princes. "Though, I will take Edwin's suggestion to mind about the ladders. His is the voice of experience."
     When the youngest prince mentions swords, the crown prince does not laugh. In fact, he treats the young man's need for honor very seriously. "I can only hope that I prove myself worthy, Prince James. I shall certainly endeavor to do so. If you must put the royal metal to test, then I will meet you on the field at your appointed preference. I will leave that to your discretion, of course." And thus the young prince is given the courtesy of challenging him at his leisure, should he decide to do so. But he is not obligated to do so.
     There is a gnat buzzing in my ear...oh, no, my mistake. It is a girl...
     The crown prince stands tall and straight, his hands unfolding from behind his back as the young woman comes forward and speaks. "I shall do nothing of the sort, my lady. Besides, Prince James seems quite the sensible leader to me. He honors his sister as she should be honored." In other words: as you yourself do not. "I am not certain, princess cousin, how long. The tide will take me when and where I please. That's the beauty of a casual tour. I suspect we will be leaving in the next few days." Yes, he said We, but that doesn't include her.
     Do you know of anyone who makes a leech repellant? I may have need of one. Have you found her?

     I've found her. Not all I've found. I'll be right there - just hold your horses. Fiona's tone is humored but with an undercurrent of intent, as if distracted. If she's leeching onto you, look to Anna for help - I'm sure she's all too used to peeling those girls off eligible young men. Pity she's not done a better job with her eldest son, maybe he'd be more tolerable, then. Ah - I've got it. The perfect solution.
     Doesn't that just make shivers go up and down your spine? If you knew your granny better, it would.
     James gives you a grateful look and his cousin a look of Yeah! so there! and reaches for a water glass. "If it's necessary, I'll send my seconds, your highness," he tells you seriously. "But I don't want to make too fast a judgment. Mother's always taught us to get the facts, first."
     Edwin turns a few pages, and without looking up, he tells the blonde, "Translating for your hearing loss, Lizzy, since you only hear what you want to hear, his highness remains interested in Maria, prefers her company, and has no interest in you. He's probably wishing you'd either talk sense or go away, but he's too polite to say so. I'm not." He continues reading.
     'Liz' goes absolutely scarlet, glaring daggers at the back of Edwin's head. Before she can say anything, though, the door bumps open; Fiona returns, shepherding Bryan and Maria both. She is carrying a cage in either hand. Maria looks as if she's washed her face after some tears, and now looks rather happier than tears might suggest. She's wearing a gown of a deep rose shade, trimmed with white lace; the scooped neckline is delicate and entirely appropriate. Something has been done to her hair to tame it a trifle; it hangs in waves to mid-back, rose-colored ribbons woven through it. Bryan looks mostly startled and uncomfortable.
     "Right, then," Fiona announces cheerily. "You, hold these." She presses the cages into Liz's hands. One has a snake curled up in it. The other has a hedgehog looking cranky. "Mind you behave, there's room for a frog in the ensemble. If I were you," she looks sharply between Liz and Bryan both, "I should put your heads together and go get to work. They won't turn themselves back, you know, and I think it'll do you a load of good, both of you, to think about someone else for a change other than yourselves. It's no good appealing to me; I'm not turning them back, so chop-chop, get to it."

     He knows his granny well enough, but whatever might be buzzing in his ears and brain isn't shared with the general audience of assorted royals. He simply files it away and returns to the matter at hand, namely James and the rebuffing of a cousin...
     "I defer to your decision, Prince," he warmly speaks. He gives him courtesy and respect -- the same as he would give a man twice his age, if not a bit more. Eyebrows were in the middle of lifting at Edwin's ...succinct summary, and politenesses -- however undeserved -- were preparing themselves upon his tongue for Liz when the hurly-burly of his nainie's return sets the hall in a whirl.
     "I suppose this is the remainder of the royal menagerie?" Gruffydd asks the Queen Mother. He glances to the eldest prince and looks lastly to Maria. If Liz were uncertain of her loss of his interest at Edwin's nudging, certainly Maria's entrance casts aside all doubts. Gruffydd smiles to her, turning his figure and his attention squarely upon her.
     Such a figure he cuts in is black attire, strangely anachronistic compared to how the rest of you are clothed. The periwinkle scarf sets off his eyes, making them appear all the more spectacular amid so much charcoal.
     "Your highness," he says to her, formal in this formal setting, "...you look very lovely." You have been crying, but he does not call attention to it now. His hands unlace from behind his back and he gestures to the spectacle. "I'm not going to have to choose between a snake and a hedgehog, I hope," Gruffydd responds, his smile spreading at the sight. "Who do you think these are," he wonders to young Prince James, including Edwin in on the game.

     Maria lifts her eyes to yours with frank honesty - yes, she has been crying, but she is not going to hide her face. Anything else, briefly, is unimportant to her as she gives you her smile. There are no apple perfumes upon her; there are only the apples of her breasts, the scent of skin that's been scrubbed squeaky clean. Whether you smell more or not, no one else can fault her in the slightest. "Prince Gruffydd." Your name has a music on her tongue, backed by the very real affection she feels already. Grey eyes as clear as crystal look to you, and she turns to remain at your side. It is all she says; for now.
     Liz looks horrified; Anna looks resigned, and surprisingly, her sister looks grimly satisfied. Her daughter takes the cages, looking ready to burst into tears herself. Bryan looks inclined to protest, but instead puts a protective arm around Liz, and the two rush out, with cages.
     James looks thoughtful. "I hope Bryan doesn't take one of the enchanted swords. He does bully a bit." Edwin smiles, actually putting down his book. "Father won't let him," he predicts confidently. "He'll have to do this one without, I'm guessing." He looks to Fiona. "They'll probably come back married - the three of them, I mean. Hopefully none of them to Bryan."
     "Oh, it won't work if Bryan tries," Fiona answers placidly. "But it won't be impossible for them to break. Still, it will take them a fair bit of work, and they'll do a bit of growing up along the way. I imagine Bryan will learn that outside the cities, a traveling noble or prince is someone who pays five crowns for a lager and twenty for a roof over his head. His title won't mean much if he flashes it about too much. And the girls - well, he'll keep them from being roughed about too much, but they'll get a bit of an eye-opener."
     Anna's sister nods. "Better they learn it this way," she agrees, voice quiet but harsh. "Sooner, too, rather than later." Anna's husband sighs a little, turning to go from the room. "I'll go lock down the armory," he calls gruffly to Anna, who smiles ruefully and nods to him.
     "Well," Anna says brightly. "Now that's all been settled, shall we see about some dinner?"

     Gruffydd hasn't the slightest idea what's taken place -- oh, he's certain there's a story in it, but he is equally certain that he doesn't care to hear it. Lessons are being dispensed, cousins are dealt with, leeches are vanquished and dinner is at hand. All is well that ends well.
     I wonder if they are going to seat us as far apart from one another as possible? It is a thought he ruminates on as he waits for the queens to take their places first. In the meantime, he stands beside the host queen's lovely daughter, nodding to the king as he heads out for the moment.
     There is still the faint scent of the orchards about her, but it could well just be a memory. No trance overtakes him or takes him by the shoulders and shakes him. It's just as well, really. He has need of a focused mind.
     Holding his arm out to Maria, Gruffydd gestures for her to go ahead of him. He follows, along with James and Edwin. "The surest way to find yourself absent of cash is to call yourself a prince with too much liberty and regularity." He looks to his nainie and smiles. "I pay ten crowns for a stout and I believe the going rate for rooms is something along the lines of forty in the capitol. I've taken to sending my lieutenant after my beer. He only pays three. I call it the Inflation of Fortune."
     He is the last to sit, though he is the future high king. Deference is first given to the women, lastly to the host princes.

     You are smiled upon by the women, who take their seats. Maria takes your arm, a fervor lending her grip some strength. Not so much that it would hurt, of course, but it is a firm grip, to be sure. You are seated next to her, and nobody appears to offer any complaint. Apparently dinner is 'safe'.
     Edwin keeps sneaking peeks at his book; James is racing through the food when not eavesdropping unsubtly upon his mother and your grandmother. The queens are quietly discussing the fate of Maria's cousins, agreeing upon safeguards and serenely settling the universe with one hand while eating their dinners with the other...
     Maria eats with a healthy appetite, neat quick little bites. Between the soup (a creamy leek and potato bisque) and the fish (salmon roasted whole until the blackened skin splits open, drizzled with melted butter), her hand rests lightly on your knee under the table. No movement is made to travel; it is a touch, nothing more.

     It is there in her touch. When her hand lands upon the solid leg of the prince, there tickles in his nose the first blossoms of an apple grove. Little white flowers, as white as her skin, come to mind. Gruffydd looks to her and smiles quietly between the lifting and lowering of his fork. He doesn't plow through the food; the rhythm is steady, unhurried.
     When his hand lowers to lift the napkin on his lap to his mouth, his hand brushes Maria's, coming to cover it briefly. Each motion is a study in subtlety and grace. Any touches seem incidental and accidental. Dark hair and rich colored skin - they are as much a banquet as the food laid out on the table. The charcoal trousers are soft as velvet to the touch, though they are a linen-wool blend. The fabric easily gives way to reveal the strength of the leg beneath her hand.
     His hands are visible nearly at all times -- one lowering to his lap only briefly now and again to bring the napkin to his lips. But there is a constant touch of periwinkle silk where the scarf drapes from around his neck and brushes against her arm.
     "Have you given any thought to what you shall bring upon your journey?" he quietly asks Maria. "You will need plenty of books, I imagine, and journals. My men are preparing the captain's quarters of The Draigamor for you. I think you will find it a great way to greet the sea. You and the Queen Mother should be quite comfortable there. If there is anything in particular you would like me to provision on your behalf, just send me a list. Do you know how long it will take you to get ready?"

     She is listening to you talk, and it takes her a moment to make sense of your words. She is enjoying just - hearing you speak. Her smile is there, with the bloom of apple blossoms in it, and it is meant for you. Only for you. How quickly she has become so smitten! Her pulse skips a bit, and she blushes slightly, reaching for her glass. "I am bringing simple clothing; Her Majesty has said she will help me pack. She tells me I will not need so many clothes as my nurses say, and that we will undoubtedly buy things along the way, so it's best to pack light."
     Your nainie has made a convert, it seems. Maria looks to you with grey eyes devoid of thunderheads in the moment, clear and smiling at you so that you may see yourself reflected there. "I am bringing books. Not too many; those we can buy in ports too, can't we? Your grandmother is being very kind to me. She has already helped me so much." Gone are traces of tears. Now she is focused on you, on the enthusiasm of the trip. "I did not expect you to give up your quarters, though. Are you sure?"

     "I am quite sure," he murmurs, looking to her as he finishes the salmon. "There are other quarters on the middle deck, quite comfortable. Do not worry for my comfort. Often enough, I sleep in crow's nest suspended in nets." Gruffydd softly laughs, and there is a smile that glimmers in his eyes. It stops short at a wink but it is there in sentiment.
     He nods to your preparations. "The Queen is one of the brightest, most resourceful women I have ever met. I'm sure you could not be in better hands. If there is anything you need, however, do not hesitate to ask. I'm sure there will be ample time for shopping in the ports of call." He grins at that. "Fortunately for you, The Draigamor has plenty of storage space."
     Yes, it is in the smile too. You fall from the apple tree all over again whenever he sees it. And beneath those blossoms, he could dally all day. The quiet conversation between prince and princess can surely be overheard by all. But it is the unspoken conversation that likely garners the most attention. When Gruffydd speaks to her, he leans in slightly. When he speaks, his gaze is attentive to her face, to her hands, to her hair. His intentions, however subtle, can be read by any woman or man in the know.
     "We will be following the coastline for the most part, with several diversions along the larger, interior rivers," he quietly explains. "We will avoid the open sea as much as possible. It is buccaneer season in the south. And while I have over one-hundred cannons, I would rather use them to shoot fireworks for your enjoyment."

     Where your intentions rest, hers answer in kind; in the dip of her chin when she looks down, when she looks up again to meet your eyes. That her hand stays so often on your knee, it is a connected thing. She wishes to be connected - to you. And with that connection, she is warmed...
     "I would rather like to see a pirate fight," Maria retorts to you quietly. "I am bringing my sword, you know. But I suppose that you shouldn't, for the sake of your grandmother, if nothing else." She grins at you, with just a hint of the mischievous spirit you know she possesses. "I am looking forward to it, your highness." Her little hand for a moment tightens on your knee. It is enthusiasm rather than wanton intent, but the effect is the same. "I hope that I shall prove myself a good guest."
     From the head of the table, there are knowing female smiles. Maria's brothers may be ignorant or ignoring, but Anna and Fiona know precisely what is going on. They do not mind; they even approve. But do you notice? Grey eyes are looking up to you...
     And are there apples, Gruffy? Or do there need be no apples? Fiona's question is nonetheless laced with mischief of her own. She is not content to leave you in peace. Now you know how your father must have felt.

     There is a grand smile to the mention of pirates. It is warm and spreading, that smile, and filled with interest and affection. "I should think your mother would be relieved." Gruffydd leans close to whisper: "But maybe I can arrange something for the return home. Shhh, our secret."
     Her chin dips, her eyes look up and down -- it is the demure flirtations of a young woman. He answers in kind with a quiet, warm tone to his voice, easy forming smiles, and the gravitational tug of his attention, his eyes always returning to her.
     As Gruffydd lowers his napkin back to his lap, his salmon done, his hand comes to cover yours, squeezing it where it squeezes him. His leg shifts beneath your hand, solid muscle pressing to your palm. In that moment, nothing is said -- and it says it in volumes.
     She has entire orchards in her smile. The voice airily sounds within your ears. It is light, like blossoms, whenever she touches me. If I had not commanded my lieutenant to me earlier, I should not be able to sit still through this. You ask your question -- perhaps you have too much of an answer. But in this family, could you ever expect otherwise?
     The prince and the princess are no longer talking, but their silence is crammed full. Both of the prince's hands are visible above the table, one resting upon the surface, his other lifting his drink to his lips. But beneath the table, a leg relaxes, a trousered knee brushing against the roseate gown.

     Then I believe we have our answer. Fiona handles the excess of information easily, lips puckering with poorly suppressed amusement. There is a little consternation, there. Fate; one may fight love, or politics. Magic, and Fate - those are harder. I will handle it as best I can. And, of course, her education. If I arrange for the two of you to go for a walk in the garden, will you be able to control yourself?
     She is generous, your grandmother. Fiona may be a martinet in her own way, but there is no better ally in love.
     Maria does not rush to fill the silence. Her plate is cleaned; she has had sufficient of everything except you. Her gaze is lowered, and she sighs quietly, the sound more contented than anything. Your knee touches her gown, and she blushes, lifting her smile again to you...

     He wants to make her blush and giggle, smile and turn, laugh and sigh. He wants to hold her on his lap beneath a shade tree and sing softly in her ear. He wants to be there when she opens her eyes to love and enjoyment, and to be the cause of it.
     Fork and knife are set aside, and the napkin is lifted from his lap to rest upon the tabletop. Of course, nainie. Besides, I would not wish Prince James to seek me in vengeance for sullying his sister's reputation. I shall be the gentleman I was raised to be. Would you be able to keep the children inside?
     He would just as soon not have to worry about the peeping curiosity of those under sixteen.
     Gruffydd smiles to Maria, leaning in to whisper something to her. The boys will miss it; the mothers, while they may not be able to hear it, could no doubt take a wild guess. "I think we are soon to have a moment to ourselves," he whispers. "I have been waiting for that all day."

     I will do my part. Just keep to yours, my child. Her amusement is sharp and foxlike, something clever, picked up from Rhodri. Fiona turns to address Edwin, some question asked of him to make him lift from his book - to draw James into the discussion as well. The adults watch you with knowing, amused eyes.
     Maria? She is thrilling to your whisper, blushing like the roses she wears. She slips her chair back carefully, making an effort of will not to be hasty. And the smile you receive is yours, all yours, as solidly aimed at your heart as a kiss might be to your lips, or a punch to the solar plexus.
     "Perhaps you might like to see the gardens by moonlight, your highness," Maria offers to you, demurely. Her eyes are not demure. They are bright, hopeful. The future is a wide open thing, and the better for you, or so her eyes seem to tell you. "They are very beautiful, you know." And she offers her hand.

     "I'd love to," he offers quietly. He rises after her, unhurried, and he takes the offered hand. There is a glance to the two queens, but no farewell is given. He doesn't want to raise the curiosity of the two princes -- not that Edwin much cares.
     Her father on the other hand...
     The hands interlace easily, and with a growing familiarity. "We will have to see if the comets are out tonight. My navigator tells me there are several arching in this hemisphere." He will look to the sky, no doubt, but it will not be what's truly on his mind.
     I will keep my word, and she will keep her honor. He is not offended or defensive at your amusement. In fact, he seems to share it. Besides, her father is wandering the grounds and he has an entire armory. I am many things, but I'm not a fool.
     "I understand there is a reflecting pool and fountain in the garden," Gruffydd continues quietly to the princess as he walks out with her...

Posted by rowan at July 08, 2008 03:32 PM