Fate | Baldwin IV

wedding dress

Months passed, taking the cold with it­­—which had been only granted for the briefest time when winter was at its peak. Even then it was really the wind, nothing like what I had been used to back in the north, my now long forgotten home, Constantinople, where the cold sea breeze would sweep across the city and linger for the whole season.

Days had begun to warm long ago, perhaps too much for my liking. Hot, humid air returned once again, the clear skies home to the scorching sun high above. Orange trees were in full bloom, their citrusy scent mixed with jasmine spread around the palace. Outside, life had slowed down with the unbearable heat, but inside the citadel, it had never been more alive.

Servants say this same kind of sweet, frenetic rush was also present around this time last year during Princess Sibylla's second wedding, and 6 years before that when Baldwin was crowned king, though I doubt the rush was as sweet then.

And now, our wedding was next in line. Mere weeks away, the very last preparations for it were being finalized. My lessons, once heavily focused on politics and history, had shifted toward the upcoming ceremony and how I was to act in front of the people. I was no longer being schooled in strategy, but in grace—how to stand, how to move, how to let the weight of expectation rest on my shoulders without buckling beneath it.

At last it dawned on me that this was, in fact, really happening. In the blink of an eye, we were about to become one.

"...Lady Stephanie of Milly is in charge of Baldwin's step sister Isabella in Kerak," the king's mother Agnes' voice echoed through the chamber as she moved with deliberate grace, her chin lifted high while she paced slowly behind me. "Isabella turns nine this year," she continued, her tone cool and clipped, while I sat on her desk, skimming through the list of the names of the nobles to be attended to the wedding. "Poor girl was heavily brainwashed by her mother Maria Komnene," she said before adding pointedly, "just your kind..."

I lifted my head, turning to her. "Pardon?"

"Must be your thing as the women of Constantinople," she laughed it off, though there was no amusement in her voice, only the sharp bite of disdain. "Perverting those in power. Always cunning, always an eye on the throne..." she trailed off, her fingertips grazing the edge of the desk as she moved slowly. "Or is it just a Greek thing, I wonder..."

I bit my cheek, my brows furrowed. "I will not address these accusations on my behalf, your highness." I said, forcing my gaze down. "And I'd much appreciate it if you acknowledged the Latin population among Romans of the East, which I believe my presence proves its existence..."

"Yes, yes, whatever..." she waved her hand dismissively as though the matter was of little consequence. Straightening her posture once again, she continued as if her cutting remarks had never been spoken. "Consider Raynald of Chatillon and Stephanie of Milly doing us a favor. That girl Isabella would grow up to turn against us if it weren't for them." She reached the opposite side of the desk, her pace coming to a halt in front of me. She leaned in, placing her hands on the desk firmly as she spoke with a low voice, "Thus, you shall receive them with great respect when they make an appearance."

A sudden knock at the door followed her words upon finishing her speech. Turning towards it, we watched as a young girl stepped in hesitantly. She didn't even look old enough to be a servant, she was perhaps thirteen at most. As the wedding approached, new faces in the palace started appearing, all recruited for the flurry of preparations. I hoped she was just a daughter of one of those faces.

"My ladies, forgive me for my intrusion but," she began, stammering a little. "Lady Y/n's wedding dress has arrived. I was told to inform you that it will be brought to your bedchamber..."