conscriptedhero | (no subject)

[Decades of tension, just on the edge of something worse, has finally broken. Not with war, as some might have predicted, but with a wedding.

In a sea of tents and pavilions set up on the border between the two countries, two kings stuck a deal, forged an alliance between them. Negotiations only took a handful of days, impossibly quick for an event of this caliber, spurred on by political news from the west delivered by spies on both sides. News of the vast kingdom to the west slowly amassing troops made these two smaller nations nervous; without the alliance each smaller country would have an enemy to the west and to the north or south of them.

One country comes to the table with those necessary resources for life, and wealth, the other with military might and good steel. It makes a sort of practical sense. To put the stamp on the deal, each ruler offers a son.

The wedding is a rushed, but elaborate ceremony, organized on the fly among the tents and hastily erected structures and carried out within days of the treaty's signing. It passes in a blur to Crown Prince Rainer, who was whisked to the site just a few days before the wedding and away from training maneuvers with his troops. He wasn't even present for the negotiations, was given no say in the matter. Neither prince was.

Laced into too-tight finery, he spends most of the celebratory feast afterward seated next to his new husband in stony silence, drinking more than anything. His father knows him well, and the servants don't offer enough liquor to have any effect on his broad, towering body, even though he figures it would pass easier if he were drunk. Rainer is not granted that mercy.

Later, each is led separately away from the table, to come together in the marital tent, set painstakingly on the border between north and south to signify equality in the coming union. Rainer enters first, casting a gloomy glare at his valet to dismiss him, reaching up to loosen the circlet of silver and moonstones from his pale hair. He tosses it to the carpet-covered ground carelessly, and, loosening the laces on his too-small finery, Rainer waits for his new husband.

It'll be the first time they meet, alone, away from the watchful eyes of their combined courts.]

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[ Decades of tension, culminating on the note of a romance. Surely, that is how this moment will be remembered when their countries have lived another century of bliss and prosperity, the joyous moment that had acted as a catalyst of such blessed luxury and well-being.

It's with such wry thoughts that Lucien sits, straight and proper, but somehow still impudent in his boredom. Watching the proceedings of a rushed and political marriage that should have taken no longer than a few seconds of signing their names deserved no less. But to yawn now would be akin to spitting on their new peace treaty, so he endures as a prince should, polite and distant as they're served mountains of food, presented rows upon rows of presents. Nothing about that particularly interests him, born into privilege as Lucien had been, but the wine, he will accept.

Very much unlike his new husband, it seemed, stoic and unchanging in it as the festivities die down. As they're directed to their tent, given enough space around them to provide some semblance of privacy for what must happen to make the marriage a proper one.

Lucien is a study in contrasts when compared to his broad-shouldered husband, smaller-built and pampered by the courts' admiration. Black hair where his husband's was pale, skin unmarred where his husband -- was a warrior, supposedly. A commander of troops rather than a ruler of people and wealth. A sigh is probably not the best way to begin their night, but a sigh is what echoes out of Lucien's chest as he ducks past the flaps of their tent, raising an amused brow as he scrapes his eyes up and down the length of Crown Prince Rainer.

Well, at least he was nice on the eyes. ]

I suppose it'd be be polite to ask how you are feeling. [ His clothes remain relatively undisturbed as Lucien watches Rainer toss aside embroidered jewelry and decorations, the marks of his station. Interesting. ] How are you feeling, Prince Rainer?

[ Be polite. Watch. A few key rules in dealing with the unknown. And so Lucien watches, eyes half-lidded and lazy, predatory in his own right. One didn't need to know how to fight to go to battle, after all. ]

[Here in the privacy of his- their- tent, away from the prying eyes of two combined courts and the lavish finery of the wedding and feast, Rainer wants to relax, at least a fraction. It's hard when his new husband Lucien is staring at him like that. He only shoots him an unimpressed look, biting his tongue on any sharper remarks. Be nice, his father had hissed in his ear at the feast when he could finally take his son aside. Our country depends on you making this work.

Rainer has always done his duty, to his father, to his people, to his men, and this will be no different, but does he have to pretend as if he likes this? Whisked away into a marriage of convenience with no time to even prepare himself or get to know his intended? It isn't what he expected out of life, certainly.

He undresses casually, and there is nothing sexual or seductive about his movements. Pale skin is bared in the firelight, marred with a fair bit of scarring from blades and burns, from arrowheads and scraping falls. A survivor's marks.] Not drunk enough for this. [Comes his mumbled reply, barely audible, before he straightens, toeing off his boots, left in his trousers.]

Fine, thank you for asking, Prince Lucien.

[ No, there's nothing sexual or seductive about that particular strip show, but the fact that Rainer was nice to look at doesn't change. Lucien only goes as far as to slip off his footwear and shedding a number of hair ornaments that he leaves in a careful pile of his own, some steps away from the bedding that he takes to approaching, putting himself directly in line with where Rainer is standing. Lucien wears privilege well -- that is, with purposeful extravagance, more of a taunt than anything else.

(People tended to be true to themselves when they were more annoyed. Seeing how Rainer was a prince, Lucien expected ticking him off to be slightly more difficult than the usual nobleman. Or so he hoped.)

Directly, which means he's close enough to have caught parts of Rainer's mumble. The most important part, anyway, which draws an amused smile that Lucien angles up once he's within reach. ]

No, I suppose not.

[ Drunk enough, he means. That Rainer was 'fine' was a throwaway comment, just as much as Lucien's inquiries about how Rainer was feeling had been. ]

Can I interest you in some wine?