The Anniversary

The weather was invited to the festivities for the wedding anniversary of the young king Marcus; so great was that day. He and his queen, Rebecca, had joined both their hands and domains in royal marriage, formalising the union of their nations after centuries of treaty-signing and collaboration. The annexation could not have gone any smoother, though it hadn’t been perfect. Nevertheless, the sum of the two nations had been greater than their parts, and people from all across the country were celebrating for the prosperity they were given, and for the judgement of their king. Many a leader would have shied away from such radical reforms, but he displayed wisdom beyond his years. “Long live the Stallion!” the crowd cheered, as their king paraded in the streets on horseback. Some even threw flowers at him. Banners featuring a galloping horse were visible in almost every balcony or waved triumphantly by people. At least one of his arms was constantly in the air, saluting in some direction or another. He wasn’t incredibly fond of the borderline deifying adoration he was given, but he didn’t actively detest it either. He had about a million better things to do than trace the streets all morning, but the people needed their spectacle and they deserved to be spoiled once in a while. They called him the Stallion, after the royal family’s banner, a title he’d shared with all his predecessors for marginally mythological reasons. His father had resigned from the throne a couple of years ago and was busy living the rest of his days off somewhere secretive, protected by the veiling powers of state spies. He didn’t know whether he’d see him again, but he knew he’d be well regardless. Although today was the anniversary of his marriage, his wife wouldn’t be joining them, as she was having her own festivities in her country’s capital. She wasn’t the prettiest woman in the world, but there were other ways to ensure the good lineage of the offspring, so it didn’t matter much. Nevertheless, he could use some company for the night, but the union of the two nations was still young, and it had to be properly nurtured, even at the expense of marital closeness. She made up for her absence as best she could the night before her departure. Besides, everybody knew that tonight was more about finding a proper suitor for his sister, the little princess Emilia. She still had a few years before she reached a typically marriageable age, but she was growing up beautiful, which attracted more eyeballs than even one of her social status took for granted—perhaps a disturbing amount. There wasn’t all that much Marcus wanted to achieve through this; world conquest wasn’t on the line. His main interest was his sister being paired up with someone decent for her own good, rather than political gain. He didn’t fancy crushing a little girl’s heart with the iron grip of courtroom politics. The reality of being royalty was far from romantic, but he’d achieved more than any king would hope to in a lifetime, having almost doubled his territory overnight. He should be able to at least spare his own sister. What was the point of all that power if he couldn’t? Besides, if worst came to worst, he could send her off to live in idyllic peace with her taboo stable boy love affair or whatever under the same protective espionage that cloaked their father. It wasn’t as if he was starved for options. Admittedly, it would be better if the stables didn’t have to be involved. By afternoon, his arms were decidedly sore. He dismounted his mare and handed the loins to his second-in-command. “Anything else for today, Richard?” he asked his general. “You still have a ball to attend to, my lord, but you won’t be suffering any longer in my hands, at least.” Marcus chuckled, but that was about all the humour he could muster. He did not look forward to the vapid jibber-jabber of guild masters or low-ranking aristocrats trying to climb the ladder by kissing his arse tonight. He’d have to actively resist not getting shitfaced, losing all inhibitions, and having them be headed to the last. He’d do it right this moment if it wouldn’t inspire a revolution. “Wipe that grin off your face,” Marcus said. “You’ll be attending, too. Perhaps you won’t have the farm lords to smooth talk to, but—” “Oh, yes, absolutely, I will be attending,” Richard said. However, his smirk betrayed a plot twist. “It just so happens that some minor incident will require my personal attention after not too long. Alas, I will have to depart and miss the rest of the night. Woe is me.” “You are conspiring with your troops!” Marcus exclaimed in mock outrage. “Scandalous!” “Truly, I am the worst. One of these days my vile machinations will cost me my head, but at least I won’t have the merchants’ guild singing my last rites.” He shoved Marcus forward. “Off you go, now. Ask your alchemists if they have anything to take the edge off.” “Maybe I will.” After all, the only way to laugh at their jokes was to have a head full of opioids. Instead of resting, Marcus spent the next few hours making final preparations for the ball and dealing with the drama that spontaneously generated in fractal detail. Eventually, he had to trust those responsible not to f**k things up too horribly, raise his hands, and let the matter rest in the gentle embrace of fate. His departure was interrupted by Anna, who was Emilia’s head maid and, for all intents and purposes, her caretaker, at least since their parents left the imperial palace. “Your highness,” she said and bowed deeply. “If you have some time…” Honestly, all Marcus wanted was some peace and quiet, but it wasn’t Anna’s fault that he felt annoyed, and he shouldn’t take it out on her. “Speak your mind.” “My lord, given the nature of today’s event, I was wondering, if you have the time, whether you could pay her highness Emilia a visit to ensure her attire tonight is… proper.” Anna had significant difficulty dancing around the topic, her speech and mannerisms feeling awkward. “Oh. I see. I, uh… Honestly, I’m curious why you thought of me.” “It’s no secret her highness is more affectionate towards your highness, and… She’s rather strong-minded, so I want to be sure the formality of the event is properly understood. I feel she might be too dismissive of me.” She had a point, as difficult as it was for her to get it across. The woman felt like she was walking on eggshells. However, she wasn’t wrong: Emilia could be very stubborn and rebellious. “You’re right. I’ll see to it, then.” “Thank you, your highness,” Anna said, bowing deeply again. With that said, Marcus changed direction and headed towards his sister’s chambers instead. Knowing her, she was planning on spending the entire day in her room, wasting time, avoiding boring officials, killjoys, or intrusive suitors. If there was any person in the building who hated these things more than he did, it was probably her. It was a curious thing since royal balls and the whole princess gimmick was supposed to be every young girl’s dream. He wondered whether this trait was inherited. There wasn’t much going on around Emilia’s room, except for a couple of guards standing by. He walked past them, paying them little mind, and entered resolutely in talking some sense into his sister. The last thing he wanted was for her to show up tonight in her nightgown and a head of hair more dishevelled than a wild bush after a storm. Like, for example, in precisely the same manner as she currently was. She was lying on her bed, reading a book. He couldn’t make out the title, and it didn’t look familiar. Emilia had acquired an interest in books lately, though he wasn’t sure why. Neither he nor Anna had been responsible for that, so either she’d managed to wade through the hideously complicated library to find what she needed, or she’d asked someone else for suggestions. “Good evening, brother,” Emilia said, hidden behind the tome. “Good evening,” he replied. Given the state she was in, she’d likely spent the whole day in her room, reading or napping or… whatever. Also, though the day had been hotter than most, he didn’t understand why so much of her skin had to be exposed. Seeing his sister lying comfortably reminded him of how long he’d gone without rest. He had an irresistible urge to sit beside her, or anywhere for that matter as if his body would shut down and make him collapse to the floor if he didn’t. Furthermore, if her face was the closest thing to him, perhaps he’d stop focusing as much on her bare legs, which were begging for his attention. He circled around the bed and sat on her right. The moment his backside touched the mattress, it was as if a thousand pounds were lifted off him. “Ah,” he exhaled in length, a wave of relief hitting him. Emilia closed her book and turned slightly sideways to face him. “How did you like your day of adoration? Did the people pay enough tribute to their God-King?” “I hope they did. If I had to go out there for more, I’d probably faint on my horse.” “Yeah, we wouldn’t want your perfect façade to crumble, would we?” she jested. “Oh, you,” he said, playfully rubbing the blond mess on her head. “You should enjoy it while it lasts. Their enthusiasm will subside sooner than you think.” “I’ve got better things to do.” An impish smile decorated her face. “Oh, really? What sort of forbidden sorcery are you reading about this time?” Emilia sat on the book before it could be snatched away from her. “It’s a secret.” The way she’d turned towards him made one of her gown’s straps slip, and thus one of her n*****s was visible. There was no development to be seen there, although she had been growing in other areas. Good grief. She was only 10, but even so, she was far too defenceless. “Listen, today’s an important day. I know it’s not your style, but…” “I should dress up all nice and proper and nubile, right?” “Well, um…” He wouldn’t phrase it like that, but it was one way to look at it, Marcus supposed. “Don’t worry, I won’t make too much of a mess out of your plans.” That didn’t reassure him, but he’d make do with what he had. “But I must admit,” she continued, “I didn’t think you had it in you. Pimping out your little sister, that is.” To accentuate her point, she raised a long, slender leg, tracing her thigh with her hand, trying to entice a non-existent party. “I didn’t—I mean… It’s just a formality. You don’t have to—” Emilia giggled. “You’re so easy to tease, big brother. All work and no play is making you a dull king.” She was more correct than she realised. He hadn’t had a release for weeks now, and it had obviously got to the point where he was having inappropriate thoughts about his own sister. His feelings were a jumbled mess. “You should go relax before the big event starts. You’re the king now, so it’ll look theatric if you’re a little bit late,” she suggested. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound bad. I’ll think on it,” he said, getting up from the bed. “What would you do without me?” “Try to worry a bit about yourself, too, you hear?” he said before leaving her room. He eyed her meaningfully, reminding her not to show up looking like a hobo. If he knew what she had in store, he’d rather she show up a hobo thousand times over.