Betrayal [Bones x Firm]

[destati]

• • 
    “I will not be sold as a piece of meat to the empire.”
    
    The journey from Jalehar to Pirely had been most unpleasant, if not an utter burden to those on the royal airship. For two days the corridors had echoed with tantrums and fits of anger, and though they were nearing their wit’s end with all the cacophony no one could feign innocence — from the moment they stepped on the Idris, they knew how the princess would react to the news of her soon-to-be marriage.
    
    They made the mistake of spilling the beans ten minutes before their ship landed on foreign territory.
    
    Situated in her personal chamber, the young princess raged and paced in front of her bodyguard, a tall man of thirty who stood patiently but dejectedly as the youth’s outburst increased in volume. She stopped long enough to glare at him, an obsidian gaze to her otherwise kind expression. “You knew all this time?” she asked, her voice seething with anger. “And you wait until now to tell me?”
    
    “My apologies, Your Royal Highness,” the man interjected with a tone of sincerity and a bow of his head. “His Majesty asked that I not even tell you.”
    
    Her long fingers curled into tiny fists at the thought of her father. She loved her father, of course, but she could not help but to feel betrayed by the man. Did that man really expect her to marry the Emperor of Pirely? The man who was so content on seizing their homeland? There had to be some mistake. There had to be some logical reason behind her father’s madness, though the blonde-haired female was at a loss for how her father could justify this act of treason.
    
    “His Majesty has lost his mind.”
    
    “His Majesty is securing your future,” the bodyguard corrected her.
    
    To Casiphia?
    
    They had just signed her death warrant.
    
    “You can word it however you please, Gauthus, but that does not pardon my father from being the coward that he is.”
    
    The room grew quiet as Casiphia continued her pace, her slender eyebrows knitted together in thought. Gauthus waited a mere moment before he placed a hand on her delicate shoulder, putting a cease to her pace. At first she tensed, and she was quite tempted to pull away and continue on with her pointless march, but no such thing occurred. Instead, she looked up at him with a newfound sadness in her brown eyes. “He cannot be serious.”
    
    
    His Majesty, King Calamus of Jalehar, was more than serious.
    
    It was an odd request, even he could admit that, but it was a reasonable request. It was the solution they had been yearning for — a permanent cease to the ongoing war between their nations. In exchange for his daughter’s cooperation, they would be graced with a political allegiance that would put a stopper to their quarrels. So easy. So simple. Not even the king held suspicions regarding foul play.
    
    “You will do what is expected of you,” the king chided, giving one final stern warning to his daughter before they descended from the airship. “You will do your family proud, my child.”
    
    Casiphia had no choice but to follow her mother and father, and with her bodyguard hot on her trail there was no opportunity for her to flee. She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to suppress a shiver as it traveled down her spine. Pirely was far colder than her kingdom — she could see tiny flecks of snow descend to the ground — and she had not dressed for such bitter temperatures; upon seeing the princess shiver, Gauthus removed his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders. It was the first time in many months she did not tense from his touch.
    
    When they reached the grounds, the group was escorted into the emperor’s private quarters and told to make themselves at home.
    
    “Lord Setchel will be with you shortly,” the guard reassured them, and once the group settled in the guard set off to find the emperor.
    
    Casiphia felt her heart sink.

 

[Firm Master]

He was being careful. He had to be careful. By bringing her here, now, to marry him was cementing the bond he needed to keep the kingdom of Jalehar under political control. Yet here he was, feeling so discernibly uncertain about so many factors. He didn't even hide the fact that even his own blood he didn't trust, and how could he? That damned fool of a father lay in his bed even now, probably savoring the fact that he had caused such turbulence for him. It disgusted the young man. Even knowing that he had stitched together an uneasy agreement that strongly favored his own country, it was going to take lots of work just to prevent any unrest by this action. At least his distaste for his father was not public. That would only serve to raise factions to provide resistance both inside his own borders and in Jalehar. It was one of the few favors his father did for him, or perhaps didn't think of.

Setchel rolled his glass in his hand, watching the dark fluid flow about, lazily rolling over itself. It reminded him of the sea. A sea that gave no time to allow anyone to think about it. A sea that refused to stop itself for anyone: Man, beast, even nature itself couldn't stop it's own flow. And with this last measure his father placed before him, it likely would make sure that blood flowed just as frivolously as a wave crashing on the shore.

Rising to his feet, the glass placed down on his desk, he stepped toward his chamber's door, opening it and allowing a servant to quickly fuss with putting his coat on him. It was something he scarcely noticed as he let all the political ramifications run through his mind again. He was about to put his royal blood onto the bargaining table, taking the Jalehar princess as a bride. He would be expected to keep her more so as a trade for stopping the foolish invasion that his father has started (and which Setchel was more interested in finishing than not). In return for dealing with this trifling brat and being expected to tarnish his bloodline with a political refugee, he had the pleasure of getting his own people back under control and loyal. Something else he blamed his father for losing in the first place.

"Are they here?" He asked, an envoy of his country coming beside him as he walked now.

"Yes m'lord." The man replied. Nearly twice his age. Setchel felt himself mildly amused that even living twice as long, the damned fool was half as bright.

"Good, bring the contract. I won't have this take any longer than needed." His voice was level, professional, demanding.

"And the marri-"

Setchel stopped dead in his tracks, quickly turning toward the older man and raising his voice. "We'll complete the damned wedding! Don't ask me again! I need something to give those peasants something to drool over." He turned back again, ignoring the man any further. His ears catching the envoy's footsteps fading into the other direction. A quiet "m'lord" being tossed his way in the process.

It was a minute later before he stood at the guest quarters, taking a moment to compose himself. It was going to be a little awkward to have to be so amicable to these people. At this point, it was the best option to take up. Running his hands down his coat and vest underneath, taking a breath, and then he motioned the guards to open the doors for him.

Once fully opened, he took several steps in. Purposeful, strong, mostly rigid. He was going to make himself appear as firm and controlling as his position held. Perhaps more so if he could muster it. They were here in his terms and he wasn't about to allow them to forget who the master of this show was. Putting on a smile, he turned to his small crowd, who were milling about or seated, all of which had gone silent and turned to him.

"A warm welcome to you all." He started, a smile plastered on his face. "I understand it wasn't the most comfortable trip and it's not the warmest day of the year for us, but I hope you can find yourself comfortable in my home." He was careful in how he addressed them. Mindful of the way he may well be viewed. "I would just like to see about getting these matters put down in ink and get these formalities out of the way so we can join together as two nations bound to peace. The sooner, the better." His eyes turned toward the princess. Casandra was it? Caspina? He'd have to double check with an envoy very soon. "And princess, I hope we have a chance to talk privately and get to know one another. I'm sure your trip was the least comfortable for anyone here and I personally want to make sure you're comfortable." He gave a small bow toward her before motioning toward her father, the king.

"If it pleases you, we should enter into the dining room where we can sign this peace and seek to lay down these arms which have spilled so much foolish blood. Please, come join me." He made a gesture toward the old man, motioning he come behind Setchel and proceeded to lead the way. That son of a bitch better have those papers laid out or so help me I'm gonna' make sure he's chained to a rock and dumped in a lake.