[b]A fortnight ago[/b]

When his uncle, Lucian, invited him into his office for brunch, Azariah didn’t think it out of the usual. The acting marquess did have a habit to nag and lecture, but more often, they’d go over their territory’s businesses, finances, and various other issues. Even if he refused to wear the façade of a lord in public, he remained the heir apparent. He [i]had[/i] suggested to his uncle that the marquess could appoint his own son as his heir, yet the man was too traditional to do so.

Ah, well…

Azar scratched his head, and knocked on the solid mahogany door. At Lucian’s muffled invitation, he entered.

The acting marquess’s office was a neat and ordered space, even when filled with bookshelves, filing cabinets, papers, scrolls, maps, and numerous other documents. It was a contrast of light beige, warm brown, and somber gray with little in the way of décor. The exceptions were his personal collection of wine, one family portrait, and a solitary potted plant on the windowsill aunt Brighid insisted on. Aside from those, all items within the room were purely functional. His uncle was as prim and proper as always, blonde hair and beard neatly trimmed, not a hair out of place. The man was so utterly practical and dreary, Azariah to wonder if half his soul had been consumed by paperwork.

To say that Azar did not fit into his uncle’s office was an understatement. His hair was a riotous mess, his clothes were rumpled, and his boots bore streaks of dried mud. [color=c83f49]“Hello, there, uncle,”[/color] he gave a casual wave and plopped into a leather chair.

The marquess grunted, and pointed to a stack of letters awaiting him on the low table next to his chosen seat. “Take a look through those.”

Azar acquiesced with a hum. As he read through the pile, his expression darkened. He barely contained his outburst until he finished reading. [color=c83f49]“What the hell is this?”[/color] The chair screeched as he rose, turning on his uncle with fury blazing in his eyes.

Lucian finally graced him with his full attention, raising his gaze from where it’d been affixed on his own work. “Is it the act of reading which is giving you trouble, or comprehension?”

Azariah snarled. He gathered the papers, marched over to his uncle, and slammed them onto his desk, scattering the pile in the process. That earned him a frown, but fuck if he cared. [color=c83f49]“You know [i]damn well[/i] what I mean, [i]uncle.[/i]”[/color] His fingers itched, but he suppressed the urge to set the letters afire. [color=c83f49]“You [i]married me off[/i] without my fucking say-so!”[/color]

Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so surprised? Arranged marriages are not uncommon amongst nobility, and you [i]are[/i] nearing 30.”

Azar slammed his fist on the innocent desk, wishing it was his uncle’s face instead. [color=c83f49]“You could have at least asked [i]before[/i] this was a done deal.”[/color]

“And risk having you run off?”

The younger man ground his teeth. His uncle knew him too well, damn it. [color=c83f49]“Why?”[/color]

Lucian gathered the papers, organizing them chronologically. “Oh, come now, Azariah. This will be to your benefit, as well.”

[color=c83f49][i]“Oh–!”[/i][/color] He was so incredulous, words escaped him. [i]“Do tell,”[/i] he hissed. [color=c83f49]“Because all I fucking saw in there,”[/color] his pointer finger stabbed at the re-organized stack, [color=c83f49]“were benefits for [i]you[/i]. And what benefits you, benefits [i]her[/i], you goddess-forsaken [i]bootlicker.[/i]”[/color]

“Enough!” Finally, his uncle snapped. He stood up with sudden force, holding onto the edge of his bureau with a white-knuckled grip. “I do not do this because I enjoy it!” he barked. “Do not think for a moment that I do.”

[color=c83f49]“Then why?”[/color] Azar half-demanded, half-pleaded.

“Do you still not understand, you foolish boy?” Lucian’s nostrils flared. “I thought you were cleverer than this…” With a shake of his head, he sat down again, subtle anger shining in his eyes. “[i]I listened to you[/i]. Alliances, remember? [i]This[/i] is the start,” he set his hand atop the letters. “We join with Lunevere – together, we will be stronger. [i]Together[/i], we can grow, and…one day, we may be able to [i]win[/i].” Those last words were a feeble hope breathed into the air, so quiet Azariah had to strain to hear them.

Unwilling to fully let go of his of his outrage, suspicion coloured his countenance. [color=c83f49]“The letters didn’t mention any of that,”[/color] he pointed out.

“Whelp,” Lucian snorted. “Of course, they didn’t. Don’t you know how often official correspondence is scanned?” He sniffed. “Our respective agents met. Our houses remain loyal to our goddesses, and neither wish to see them suppressed forever.”

[color=c83f49]“Not much to go on,”[/color] Azariah scoffed, having taken to pacing around the room. He was still too restless to stay put. 

“That is where you come in,” his uncle offered. “Secure the alliance, and their full support.”

[color=c83f49]“You could have explained all of this [i]before[/i] springing up on me a marriage with a stranger,”[/color] he shot the marquess another accusatory look.

“I believed you would come around to it.” In other words, the man hadn’t wanted to deal with his opposition or debate alternatives, Azar was sure.

The heir rolled his eyes. [color=c83f49]“[i]Fine.[/i] But you better mean what you said, because I [i]will[/i] turn that ‘may be’ into a certainty. With or without you.”[/color]

“Azariah–”

But the young man was already storming out of the office. The lingering irritation was like fire in his veins; he needed to clear his head in the outdoors. 
 
[b]Now[/b]

The gold and glitter of Solencia could not hide the rot festering beneath. It turned Azariah’s stomach, but he ignored it by focusing on the immediate.

Unfortunately, the immediate entailed being fussed over by his servants and family alike. A seamster was putting the final touches on his wedding suit on one side, a servant was powdering his freshly shaved face on the other, while aunt Brighid had taken it upon herself to inspect his hands.

“Not a speck on dirt on you!” She smacked her lips in satisfaction after she’d stared at each finger with eagle-eyed focus.

Azariah groaned. [color=c83f49]“I was forced to wear [i]gloves[/i] until yesterday night. When and where would I have got the chance to get dirt on me?”[/color]

The marchioness clicked her tongue. “You never know with you boys.”

His tie was straightened, the rose on his chest misted with water, his overly-brushed hair wrangled into a tie, a cloak set over his shoulders. [color=c83f49]“Do I really need this?”[/color] He swished the mantle with a hand.

His sister’s laughter was as light and airy as wind-chimes. “Oh, Zay, you look very dashing today.”

[color=c83f49]“What do you mean, [i]today?[/i]”[/color] he shot back, mock-offended. [color=c83f49]“I always look dashing.”[/color]

His sister hid a grin behind a hand, and glided over to him. “Trust in the goddesses, and all will be well.” She stood on her toes, and pecked his cheek. “I have to leave to make preparations for the ceremony. See you there.” She walked out at a sedate pace, and gave a light wave to the room at large.

“Ready, lad?” Came a bark from his grandfather. The one-eyed, eye-patch wearing man was his last remaining grandparent. Despite a missing arm making one of his sleeves hang empty, and a cane supporting his back, he was a dignified, gruff, and even intimidating man.

But Azariah knew no fear, and chose to be cheeky. [color=c83f49]“Ready to make my wife [i]all mine[/i]?”[/color] he waggled his eyebrows, sly smirk in place.

Already one of his cousins had to restrain his grandfather from unleashing his fury on him with a cane, while another was pacifying him with whispers in his ear. “You will not! Don’t you dare dishonor a maiden with your whorish ways!” His cane clacked against the floor, but red-faced as he was, he looked rather silly, if you asked Azar.

[color=c83f49]“What do we know if she’s a maiden,”[/color] he grumbled. It would be just fine by him if she wasn’t, mind.

“Azariah,” his uncle chided. More than one set of chilling eyes set on him.

[color=c83f49]“Alright, alright, can we go now, please?”[/color]

He knew he was being a brat, but truth be told, he was nervous. Now, he would finally see his wedded-to-be for the first time. Who knew what she was like, how much she knew?

His closest family members and select servants exited their embassy suite, and were accompanied by a pair of guards as they headed to where the Lunevere resided. Azariah was the sole person dressed in white and gold. To make him stand out even more, all others wore shades of black, gray, or brown.

The door to the Lunevere embassy suit opened, and Azariah was surprised by a sight he had not expected.

[color=c83f49][i]Oh.[/i][/color] He took her in, a satisfied smirk spreading across his lips. [color=c83f49][i]Not bad…Not bad at all.[/i][/color] He’d told himself to expect the worst, because that way, nothing could disappoint him. But this? She was beauty personified.

He could work with this.

Azariah strolled up to the Lunevere heir, stopping an inch shy of her personal space, far enough to remain respectful, but close enough to invite companionship. [color=c83f49]“Why, hello there,”[/color] he performed a gallant bow. For the first time ever, he was glad to have learned the habits of nobility. [color=c83f49]“Where have they been hiding a treasure like you?”[/color] He murmured as he straightened up, meeting her gaze with a smile. Carefully, he disentangled the rose pinned to his chest, and held it out to her. [color=c83f49]“This will suit you more than me,”[/color] he winked. [color=c83f49]“Will you give me something green in exchange? We’d match then,”[/color] he whispered as if relaying a secret to her.