You Take Me Over, You're the Magic in My Veins

chapter 1

Louis hates ceremonies.

No, that is an unfair statement. He doesn't hate ceremonies as a rule, just when they involve him being forced to do things he absolutely does not want to do. He's currently standing in his bed chambers, lacing up his breeches while his attendant paces at the foot of his bed. Louis is due in the dining hall in a quarter of an hour, but he won't rush, not even for this. He stares at his reflection in the mirror his mum had commissioned for his twentieth birthday, long and narrow, and impressively clear, and brushes his fingers over the buttons lining the front of his tunic. The buttons are another thing his mum had made, small and wooden, with an imprint of an anchor for their seafaring kingdom. A kingdom he can only claim with a bride at his side, someone to give him heirs and win the hearts of the citizens while Louis rules. A bride who has been promised to him since before he was born.

Louis scowls at his reflection. A wife is the last thing he wants, has never had any interest in the fairer sex, but his mum won't hear it. She found him a wife long ago - an ally, Louis should say, the daughter of a childhood friend. A princess from a kingdom in northern England, where the weather is cooler, the crops hardier, and the trade with Scandinavia rich and promising. She arrived this morning with her consort, and Louis is to attend a feast in her honor before being formally introduced. He doesn't particularly mind playing host, not when it means opportunity for the kingdom, but not under these conditions.

Louis sighs and pinches a wayward lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger, and tucks it carefully back into his disheveled fringe. It won't do to make his mum angry and Stan is wearing a track in the carpet by his bed, so Louis turns away from the mirror and heads for the door, a sense of foreboding dragging at the pit of his stomach. Every step toward the dining hall on the ground floor feels like a march toward his doom.

The entranceway to the castle and dining hall are teeming with people, familiar and not. The princess had arrived on a ship full of staff and belongings, and after a brief rest, has now gathered her staff for a welcome feast with the Queen and her family and advisors. An informal introduction for a formal engagement - well, pre-engagement. Louis will be expected to propose to her officially within the coming weeks.

Louis weaves through the throngs of milling people and makes his way into the dining hall, Stan close on his heels. He's not prone to nerves, but this is a special occasion, and he finds his hands trembling a bit as he approaches his mother where she's standing beside the head table, fussing with one of his sisters' hair.

"Alicia braided your hair just this morning, Felicite, I don't understand how you've already managed to mess it up." She tugs the fastenings out so that Fizzy's hair tumbles down around her shoulders. "We don't have time to redo it, you'll just have to wear it down. Go take your seat, we are getting ready to begin."

She catches sight of Louis as she turns to face the room and her shoulders slump with relief for a fraction of a second before she's straightening back up. Her eyes track Louis as he approaches the table.

"Lovely of you to join us, Louis."

Louis shrugs. He's being insolent, but the low hum of guilt in the back of his mind isn't enough to override the anger at his mum for making him go through with this. He takes his seat anyway, the dutiful son, and sits through an awkward speech and a raucous dinner without looking up from his plate once. He's partway through a plate of roasted quail, a special request from the Queen as a welcome for their guests when a prickle of awareness ripples down Louis' spine.

Louis sets his fork down carefully and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief before looking up. He scans over dozens of familiar faces - family members and lords and ladies of the kingdom, servants carrying out dishes laden with food and taking away empty ones - and several unfamiliar ones, until his gaze lands on a pair of eyes, wide and dark and intent on his face. It takes the stranger a moment to realize that Louis has caught him staring, and in that minute, Louis takes in curls that tumble around a cherubic face, wide, lush lips, broad shoulders, and long, slender fingers that are busy shredding a bread roll to tiny pieces.