Chapter Text
The Great Hall was filled with music and talking, the high ceilings creating an echo chamber of sorts, everything amplified. King Christopher sat at the Head of the Table, in discussion with the Ambassador Lord Admetus next to him at his left. Even the King was wearing something more festive to match the atmosphere. It was the first time Max had seen the man in any sort of lighter shade, despite having been in Beawynn for nearly four months. He wore a white, sleeveless doublet with silver and purple embroidery, subtly creating the image of snow falling. His shirt was a light grey, just a few shades off from the white of his doublet, tighter at the wrist, with the rest of the sleeve loose and puffy. His overcloak, secured around his shoulders by a silver willow branch at his collar, was a deep burgundy, made of thick and warm wool.
Next to the King, at Max’s left, was Princess Vanessa. Her hair was in elaborate braids, some thinner ones looping at the front and disappearing into her hair again, everything held in a high swan’s neck style at the top. He had learned recently that what is referred to as a “pony’s tail” at home, in Bennegrove, is a “high swan’s neck” here. Her Royal Circlet seemed to have been altered just the slightest for the festivities. Where orange and red gems had rested in the branches of the silver willow just a few scant days ago, blue and black gems were now in their place. The hairpin sticking out from the base of the swan’s neck had ornaments dangling from it to match.
Her overcloak was a heavy wool as well—though hers was a deep blue, nearly black, colour instead—and trimmed in the dark brown bearskin fur that had been a gift to her from his sister. It was held closed by simple ties that started at her throat and ended at her hips. Underneath, her Opening Feast gown was a burgundy velvet with uncomplicated swirls of silver at the hems.
Max didn’t know how he felt at seeing her in such blues and reds. She normally stayed in purples or more earthy colours. He himself wore an outfit that was basic in colour, dark grey and green with silver accents in line with the favoured metal of Beawynn. While he did have his clothes from Bennegrove, they were not cut nor fashioned in the Beawynn styles. Apparently, while that didn’t matter in the everyday, big events like this meant he had an entirely new outfit made for him—another thing he was unsure about how to feel. Ever since he had sealed the peace treaty with the wedding, ever since Princess Vanessa let him go their wedding night to another’s bed, he has felt nothing clearly. His emotions were not usually things he had a hard time with figuring out, yet here he was, a vague needing to move or run or do anything other than sit here at this grand table singing through his veins.
Max took a subtle breath in and held it for several heartbeats. This is one of the most important holiday celebrations in this Kingdom. He cannot, he will not, make a scene and embarrass his new Wife. Instead, he stared at the edges of his sleeve, suddenly realising the small embroidery of thistles in burgundy thread were there, barely noticeable among the dark grey of the wool he wore. He knew that his doublet matched, to an extent, the gown of Princess Vanessa’s. He hadn’t realised that whichever seamstress who made his outfit had deemed it significant enough to put a small token of his home there, on his sleeve where he would be able to see it.
“Is the food not to your liking, Prince Consort?” Princess Vanessa asked him quietly, the tines of her fork pausing, barely pressing into the roasted carrots on her plate.
Max mentally shook himself out of his daze, setting his fork down and taking a sip of the sweet wine in his goblet before answering. “No, no,” he assured her, picking his fork back up and pressing the tines into the roasted beef. “I was just thinking about how our Winter Solstice celebrations are different.”
Princess Vanessa seemed to lose tension in her shoulders he hadn’t even realised was there. “Oh, please do elaborate! Your sister’s letters were not all that descriptive regarding Bennegrove’s traditions.”
Max huffed out a breath of a laugh. “That, Princess, is because we do not have many regarding the Winter Solstice,” he paused, rethinking his words. “Or, rather, we do not celebrate it with as much fervour as you do here.”
“What did you do then, Prince Consort?” King Christopher asked suddenly, joining the conversation. The members of Court who were sitting in the vicinity all dropped their conversations in favour of listening to Max.
“Well,” he started, a little uneasy with the sudden attention on him. He had got used to the Court ignoring him while he was escorted around during his lessons on the history of the Kingdom. “We do not have this great of a feast, for starters. Of course, we do have one. But it is contained more to family, and is celebrated in individual homes. There is a ceremony at the Temple of Ystiera, the Goddess of the Dark Months, beforehand. Every member of the royal family burns one item of our summer clothes, an acknowledgement that the harvest has passed, and the weather is beginning to get colder.”
“Oh my,” a young woman said, her fingers covering her bottom lip in shock. If Max was remembering his lessons correctly, she was the eldest daughter of Duke Elwynn, Lady Liwynn. She was also rather new to Court, which explained her unfurnished reaction. Duke Elwynn, he understood, came from a merchant background. While the rest of the Court undoubtedly understood the sacrifice in burning the royal clothes, the de Tiens were unique in that they knew what it meant.
“What else do you do, then, if your celebrations are more to individual homes rather than the Capital?” The Duke asked, holding his goblet in front of him, curiosity glinting in his eyes—as much as would be shown openly, at least.
“I do not know what the peasantry does,” Max allowed, “but my family gathers around the Great Hearth, and we share stories of Dark Months past. Some of them are the stories we grow up with as children that have more grounding in the fae realm, some of them are actual things that we have done in the past. I have a large family, so these stories can go on for several nights.”
“That sounds rather lovely,” Lady Liwynn said, picking up her spoon to sip at the creamy yellow-orange soup that was being set down before them. “I think I would quite enjoy that. What say you, Father?”
“Hn,” Duke Elwynn hummed, but the way Lady Liwynn settled into her seat.
The rest of the conversations around the table picked up again, interest in this seemingly settled.
“When are you travelling to Bennegrove for your marriage ceremony, Your Highness?” Asked a courtier a few seats down from Max at the table to the Princess. He appeared to be roughly the same age as Hugh. Max wasn’t quite sure the man’s name, but he must be high ranking enough to be sitting in the upper half of the table. If only he was across from Max rather than on his side of the table; he could examine the man’s clothing more easily and make a somewhat informed guess as to who he was.
“I,” she paused, setting down her drink, “Hm. I am not sure. My lord husband should know, surely.”
Max blinked. “Why would we have a ceremony in Bennegrove? Only Crown Princes and First Princesses get that honour.” He took a sip from his drink, and figured that was the end of it.
“Are you not the Crown Prince?” Blurted Lady Liwynn, confusion evident in the lax way she held her spoon.
“Well, I, er, no,” Max stumbled out, trying to find his bearings. The rest of the table quieted down once more, whether in horror at the lack of manners or genuine curiosity, Max wasn't sure. “My Uncle abdicated the throne before I was born, but he'd already had a few children by then. My Father stepped into the role, and then I was born. I believe I'm what you would call a Fourth Prince?” His fingers twitched around his napkin, but no one was any the wiser at his uncertainty. “Regardless, I am fourth in line for the throne after my elder cousins Hugh, Algernon, and Marcus.”
“Ah, I understand,” the original courtier said, blushing as he realised the extent of his misstep. “Thank you for explaining so graciously, Your Highness.”
Max nodded, picking up his sweet wine again just to have something to do that isn’t dealing with any of this. The talks with the Court were getting easier, yes, but gods did he still hate them.