A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 39

Charlotte watched as a familiar carriage pulled up to the parliament hall. Marriages in York were more often than not officiated and recognized by the state rather than church authorities. An interesting concept, it would make it easier for a ruler to seek an annulment without having to afford political favors to the Holy See as well as allow marriages like Guts and Griffith’s to take place without interference. Although in her own kingdom, devotion to the church would make it difficult for the monarchy to fully secularize itself, the move made a great deal of political sense. Now that she thought of it, it was possible that the war had shaken the belief of many of Midland’s citizens, perhaps now that the country would be entering a period of relative stability in the wake of their victory in the war against Tudor… It was something to consider, she supposed, though she would likely have a difficult time just getting the court on board with her rule, let alone with making any major policy changes. The legal scholarship here in York suggested the easiest way to change the minds of the nobility when it came to similar policy changes was to call a meeting of the court and then burst in carrying the head of a monster, but she didn’t see herself being able to pull that off any time soon. Charlotte was allowing herself to become distracted. She gripped Farnese’s hand as she forced herself to watch and pay attention as a servant opened the door to her father’s coach.

The king of Midland looked absolutely terrible. It was as if he had aged twenty years over the course of a few months. His hair had gone completely grey and the wrinkles that had begun to set in when Griffith suddenly abandoned his service had only become deeper. He also seemed to walk with more of a stoop, as if his head could no longer support the weight of his crown. Her step mother supported him, having escaped whatever curse had so rapidly aged the king. Charlotte stood stock still beside Farnese, sweating beneath the heavy surcoat she wore and the cloth binding down her breasts. Casca had shown her how to do it. It seemed that she had attempted to disguise herself by doing so on the battlefield in years past, but found it impractical to fight with her breathing so restricted. For Charlotte’s purposes, pretending to be but a simple page in service of the commander of the Holy Iron Chain Knights during a social engagement, it worked just fine. It was still fairly uncomfortable however, and she could not be sure it would even be worth it until this very moment.

Her father’s gaze lingered upon Farnese for a moment, then it briefly landed upon her before sliding away as it did whenever he recognized someone as beneath his notice. Relief shot through Charlotte like ice water. Almost painful in its intensity. The queen scrutinized Charlotte out of the corner of her eye. A smirk spread across her face and an amused puff of air escaped her nose but she said nothing. She only laughed quietly to herself as she led the king away. The relief immediately drained from her body. The queen didn’t seem to want to expose her yet, but Charlotte recognized that look. Her step mother was hatching a scheme.

Griffith had found since his knighthood almost two years ago, that he had a taste for fine textiles. Velvet was a personal favorite. He loved its softness and the shine of the silk threads that comprised it, the way it draped heavily from his body, contours under heavy fabric hinting at the strength that hid behind his delicate smile and slight frame. He’d chosen a deeper blue than usual for his wedding attire, close to the color of his eyes than his usual powder blue. The softness and depth of color cutting a pleasing contrast against the striking paleness of his face and the harsh metal of his body. He had also chosen to wear a cape for the first time in months. However, rather than his usual white he’d chosen black velvet, the edges embroidered with roses in golden thread. Guts had always worn his colors, he even still used his winged sword cloak pin, despite the finer options offered to him, Griffith felt it was about time he reciprocated. It wasn’t like it looked bad on him either, the darkness complemented his cascading silver hair far better than white ever did. His wings underneath masqueraded as a satin lining, the veins that threaded through the living fabric looking to the casual eye like red threads deftly woven through the material. It wasn’t that he was self conscious, he was still quite pleased with how he looked. Instead, he believed he was perhaps a little too striking. Aside from the fact that he risked upstaging Guts (it was his wedding too), he didn’t wish anyone to become, let’s say, distracted from their purpose here today.

It was likely known, even by foreign dignitaries, that he had been injured, but had experienced a miraculous recovery. It would be best to leave it at that. If someone were to become “distracted” by his appearance their hand might just slip, dropping something into his drink during the reception, or they might slip, accidentally planting a dagger in the center of his back, not that a mere dagger could kill him. He would still prefer to avoid one of their politically mandated guests embarrassing themselves with a distracted slip up. He would have to take care of such incidents himself after all while he searched for a new assassin to keep on retainer. He was skilled at playing off “accidents” as well, but there was a limit to how many he could stage before it became suspicious. Only so many people could tragically fall from a castle’s ramparts while taking a late night stroll before it became obvious someone was dropping them. Although if worse came to worst, a few of them might also be found mauled by bears during a hunt, their entrails ripped from their still living bodies and tossed into the tree line. Such a tragedy. It would also be an absolute mess for the “bear”, so he’d prefer that such a tragedy would not have to occur. Aside from the cape, he’d practiced walking a little stiffly, as if his limbs didn’t quite move the way he wanted them too after his injury. He focused especially on the finer motions of his hands, moving his fingers clumsily, as if they were completely unfeeling and he had not quite yet gotten used to it. Deceptions like that were second nature to him, he had different postures, different methods of speech, and different mannerisms for every situation. His only defense as a commoner at court was that he was too valuable and too well liked to be worth killing. It was a good thing that he had learned to make himself likable. It was also quite a good thing those skills were transferable to his current situation.

He slipped on a pair of black leather gloves as well. Another affectation he’d adopted to more closely approximate humanity. He struggled for a moment, trying his best to pull them on with practiced stiffness, before Guts took his hand. Griffith hadn't noticed him come in until he began carefully pulling his gloves to his wrist. For a man so large, he could be dead quiet when he wanted to be.

“You don’t have to pretend you know. I’ve told you before, if anybody has a problem with you, they can take it up with me. If it makes you feel safer don’t let me stop you, but you don’t have to anymore if you don’t want to.” Griffith hadn’t discussed any of his plans for the deception with Guts, yet once again he had seen through him immediately. This time though, Griffith did not feel the urge to run away.

“I may put you at risk of harm if anyone in attendance decides I’m too dangerous to be kept alive.” He curled his hand protectively around Guts’s wrist. He snorted.

“Come on, we’re in this together aren’t we? I’m already bringing my sword with me to the ceremony.” Griffith raised an eyebrow. “It’s a dumb idea until something happens, and with me, it’s always better to assume something will happen. How about this, if I promise to back you up if any cloak and dagger shit happens, will you back me up when some sort of horrible catastrophe inevitably tries to take my head off?”

“Yes I think I can agree to that.” Griffith let himself ease out of his practiced stiffness. All that work had gone down the drain, but yet he felt comforted. He relaxed back into his natural posture, predatory grace on full display and his eyes practically glowing with intensity.

“Do you feel better now?” Guts didn’t flinch away from his true face, Griffith knew he would never flinch away.

“I do.” Guts gave him one of those small smiles of his, one that made him feel like Guts saw him as the only bright spot in a world of darkness.

“Then let’s go. We wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.”