REMDAY GNOME-DECAN 41, ND2021
"I just want to know how this could possibly make sense to anybody. Do they really think this is a good idea? It's a terrible idea."
He nods, idly watching the curls of her hair getting tugged this way and that by the wind. He knows better than to interrupt her by now. Not after she's already worked herself up into such a tizzy.
"Do they even realize how easy it'd be to kill the whole lot of us? We'll just be sitting there, crammed into a tiny room like sitting ducks for five whole days. If that's not a big old plea for bad guys to come and do as they please to everybody who's anybody, I don't know what is."
He nods again, now watching the water lap the edges of the cliff down below. He's timing her sentences with the tide, and she'd be furious if she knew. Unless she was doing it herself? The cadence of her sentences seemed to be matching the soft crash of the waves against the rock down below.
"Guy! Are you even listening? If you really want to be a successful and well-respected duke, you're going to have to pay attention to important people. Like me."
He remembers reading somewhere that "even" and "really" are excellent indicators of passive aggressive verbal abuse. Does it count if the speaker is a princess, who by definition (by this princess' definition, anyway) needs to be able to strike fear into the hearts of those around her? He grins and turns to her.
"Sorry, Princess Natalia. I guess I'm just kind of hungry. I skipped breakfast to practice my speech."
Natalia isn't charmed by his smile AT ALL, regardless of what her pulse would like to indicate, and she huffs. "You didn't have to come out here with me, you know. I just wanted some fresh air. Fresh, non-sweaty, old-man-free air."
He looks back out over the cliff again, the same cliff that she always returns to whenever she thinks about the past or the future or the broken promises that he knows she still hasn't forgotten. He doesn't know exactly why this place is so special to her, but he has a feeling it has something to do with the horizon. Her eyes glaze over whenever she looks out at it, as if remembering something incredibly painful.
"I know," he says, "I didn't have to come out here."
There's a peculiar emphasis on some of his words, and she looks back at him quizzically. She forces herself to turn away quickly though, before her gaze can get the chance to linger on the lines of his neck and the slope of his nose. If she could she'd try to yell at her gaze, since the stupid thing never seems to want to do anything sensible anymore. Now that she has processed that thought, though, she knows she's being absolutely absurd. And it's all Guy's fault. It's always his fault whenever her train of thought gets derailed and leads her to a point not frequented by anybody sane.
"Then again," he continues, snapping her out of her (insane) thoughts, "If I didn't accompany you, someone else undoubtedly would have, and you know I'm probably the most charming bodyguard you've ever had."
Alright, so maybe her thoughts get derailed again as soon as the word "bodyguard" passes through his lips. When did she completely and totally lose her mind? Her self-control has taken a massive beating recently, and it's all she can do to keep her thoughts from further exploring the interesting pathways created by the words "body" and "guard".
"We should probably be getting back now anyway," she says, after a brief pause, "back to being sitting ducks, waiting for an act of terrorism. Waiting for the leaders of Malkuth and Kimlasca and Daath to just get killed all at once. We'll just sit there and wait to-"
"Alright," he interrupts gently, "let's go see if the Emperor has managed to aggravate your father into declaring war yet."
He holds out his hand to help her up in a subconscious act of chivalry, before remembering himself and snatching it away just as she reaches for it. It's just so bizarre, he reflects ruefully, how he can be so acutely aware that she's female all the time, but then conveniently forget once they're on the verge of touching.
Slipping and landing on the grass with both her palms and knees so that she looks like she's begging him for mercy (really, this is not a position a princess should ever find herself in!), her face quickly contorts and she's on her feet in no time flat.
"Guy Cecil! You get back here!"
"Sorry, Princess!" he pants over his shoulder. "So sorry!"
She chases him anyway, refusing his apology, because she's intent on catching him and... no, not embracing him, and definitely not running her hands up and down his back-
Well, when she catches him, she's going to do something else that's very physical and very alarming (for him) and totally, totally platonic (for her). Yes. That's what she'll do.
They're late. Natalia doesn't mind so much, but she's maybe the fourth-most important person in the whole room so it isn't so bad for her.
Guy, on the other hand, nervously scratches the back of his neck as they introduce themselves to the servant at the door. Natalia had told him that they'd tried to minimize the number of servants present in the castle for the next few days, since it was never a good idea to have this many important people around a large number of servants they had no right to boss around. He hadn't really understood her logic then (plus, he sort of likes bossing around servants now that he's all important and doesn't have to be the one running around anymore) but now he wishes they'd gotten rid of the man pulling double duty as the footman and herald.
As the doors open, the man clears his throat and announces, "Her Royal Highness, Princess of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear, Princess Natalia Luzu Kimlasca-Lanvaldear."
The entire room, save three people, reluctantly stands up. They watch her progress through the room, heads nodding downwards as she passes and weaves her way towards the empty chair next to the king.
The herald continues, "And His Grace, The Duke of Gardios, Gailardia Galan Gardios."
As soon as Natalia's behind touches the seat of her chair, everyone else sits down. There are only one or two people left standing, but everyone's gaze still follows Guy as he crabwalks his way to an empty chair.
Natalia resists the urge to giggle. Guy's face is so red. Maybe she'll try to walk in late again next time she's with him, if only to see him this flustered again. With so many impressively important people in the room, nobody cares about deferring to the newly appointed Duke, except for maybe one or two stray Earls in the room.
He rubs his ears, trying to get the blood circulating again. It's been three hours since he'd last stretched his legs, and probably three hours since any blood had flowed to his head. Maybe two and a half, since his ears and cheeks had been burning like mad after he nearly tripped over someone on his way in. Probably the Grand Maestro. He hadn't wanted to turn around and see whose robes he'd trodden on.
Stifling a yawn, Guy is starting to see why Natalia had been so resistant to the idea of this conference. How did anyone ever get anything done when they were dealing with important people who demanded ceremony? The sentences coming out of people's mouths were so flowery he was almost surprised the room smelled as bad as it did.
Then the marquess next to him leans ever so subtly toward him again. Guy sighs, then holds his breath. He's given up counting the number of times he'd noticed people shifting their weight onto one buttock so they could pass gas silently.
His gaze flicks enviously over to Natalia, sitting near the front of the room. Nobody's hanging over her as they let out stinkbombs. Nobody's scratching his bald head vigorously and covering her in dandruff. She gets to sit next to her father and Emperor Peony, who always smells nice (although not like peonies).
Her eyes meet his, and the deadened look in her eyes falls away as she grins mischieviously at him. He blinks. Her hand comes up and brushes her brow twice, casually.
Bewildered, his eyebrows furrow. With an imperceptible tilt of her head and a flick of her eyes, she draws his gaze to a round, white-haired gentleman with heavy tufts for eyebrows and equally heavy tufts of nostril hair poking out of his nose. Guy squints, noticing that the man's eyebrows are completely hiding his eyes. After a few seconds, he sees the telltale tremble of the lips as a gentle snore escapes the man's mouth.
Incredulous, he looks back at Natalia. She positively quivers with mirth, before looking around quickly and then pulling her face into a facsimile of the sleeping man's. He watches her try to droop her eyebrows down low to hide her closed eyes, and can't prevent a snort from escaping.
Mistake. The room had been deathly silent, aside from the mild droning of the speaker, who pauses now. Everyone starts to look around for the source of the interruption.
Natalia's face is completely back to normal in the blink of an eye, but Guy can feel his face beginning to flood with colour again. He wills himself not to blush, but as usual, mind over matter is a foreign concept to his body. He glares at Natalia, since it's all her fault.
Second mistake. She's positively trembling now, holding in her laughter and trying to maintain a poker face. For a deranged split second his - mind... takes off with the sight of her vibrating in place, before he blushes doubly hard and feels beads of sweat popping across his brow.
Most everyone knows that he was the one who interrupted the speaker, who is staring at him quizzically, but refusing to verbally acknowledge him. Guy sweats, wondering what the correct etiquette is. Should he say he swallowed his spit wrong and it came back up? Or maybe he could just pray that the ground will open up and swallow him whole.
He's saved (well, saved isn't the right word, but he doesn't know that yet) by Emperor Peony, who clears his throat. All eyes turn towards him instead of Guy, and Guy starts breathing again.
"Yes, Duke Gardios?"
Guy's breathing stutters to a stop.
All eyes are back on him, including Natalia's. Her eyes are enormously wide now. Like huge pools of green. His eyes dart back and forth from hers, taking in Emperor Peony's satisfied little smirk and the expectant expressions on everyone else's faces.
"Er... I object?"
There's a collective gasp.
Guy hadn't been paying attention at all. What had he just objected to?
The speaker is taken aback too, but starting to get mad. The corners of his mouth are wrinkling downwards, even as he replies, "And how, pray tell, might you suggest we eradicate poverty? Surely you can't imagine we could entrust the kingdom's - no, the world's - funds to anyone with less education or status as a viscount."
Guy thinks fast.
"Sure," he says. "That'll feed a family of hungry kids. Their appetites will be completely whetted by the thought of a viscount somewhere, plumping up his coffers."
The room, previously as dead and silent as a morgue, is now positively crackling with tension. Nobody had expected a fight on the very first day.
Guy hadn't expected to be in a fight at all.
The speaker's face is nearing purple. Guy wonders if his own is doing the same. "I've yet to hear your solution, Duke Gardios."
Guy shrugged. "I don't have a solution."
The speaker - whose name Guy has been trying to remember but just can't - smirks. "I see."
The room's tension has virtually disappeared. The round tufty-eyebrowed gentleman settles back in to return to his nap.
"But it's clear to me that anything claiming to be a solution is not a solution at all."
Silence. Then, "You're not making very much sense, Duke Gardios." The smarminess in the speaker's voice is palpable.
"What I'm saying is... you can't possibly hope to eradicate poverty all at once. There is no end-all solution. You can't just give one man free rein over large sums of money and hope he'll be able to solve the world's problems just like that."
The stirrings of interest are back in full force now, and another man joins in the discussion.
"Are you saying we ought to just give up, then?"
And another voice. "He's saying it's hopeless."
Guy frowns. "I said no such thing." But his voice can't be heard over the din.
Natalia leans forward in her chair and raps on the table. Twice. Sharply. As effective as a gavel. Perhaps more so, because the hard knock of a princess' flesh and bone against wood cuts through the noise like a foghorn. She waits until the room is completely silent again. She doesn't have to wait long.
"I believe what Duke Gardios was attempting to convey," she says calmly, "is that a more sustainable strategy for the future might be one where the future of those suffering in poverty might be determined by those who are actually in that position."
The rumble starts up again. She hadn't expressed herself clearly enough, but roughly half the room got her message anyway. The other half just wants to start a fight.
The general consensus is to take a break and reconvene tomorrow. Nobody expected such heavy topics to be brought up on the first day; they figured they'd wait until the last day, or the penultimate, at the earliest.
Natalia waits for the room to clear, assuring her father that she will join him during dinner, after the herald has been sent away. He's displeased, but nods and allows himself to be swept out by Duke Fabre.
Luke catches her eye and smiles. For a split second, she's caught up in memories of another red-haired boy smiling tentatively at her. The moment passes, and she nods back to him, briskly, quickly averting her gaze and pretending to be absorbed in watching the nobles file out of the doors.
After an appropriate amount of time has passed, she looks back at where Luke had been standing, relieved to see him gone. Guy is now standing in his place. He's got a rueful smile on his face as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck.
"Well," she says. "You certainly know how to make a statement or two."
A flash of playful annoyance crosses his face. "Hrng," he grunts, looking at her balefully. He reaches towards her and places his hand on a portion of air several inches away from the small of her back, as if to create the semblance of escorting her out of the room.
She shrugs and allows herself to be guided out. "Before you say it was all my fault - "
"It was all your fault."
" - can I just remind you that I wasn't the one who insisted on sarcastic jabs and glib remarks?"
Guy opens his mouth to reply, then thinks better of it and pauses to regroup his thoughts. "I suppose I may need some practice in dealing with... hoity-toity old farts."
She grins at his choice of words. "Regardless, it was quite a debut. You can bet everyone is going to be even more interested as to why you were granted dukedom. Without a duchy, to boot."
"I have no doubt the Emperor will be more than happy to spread bizarre rumours regarding my appointment."
"What makes you say that?"
"For one thing, it's the Emperor."
Natalia nods. Everyone loves a good yarn, Emperor Peony more so than most.
"For another," Guy continues, "he's already begun spreading bizarre rumours."
She feigns ignorance. "Like what?"
There's a slight pause as his face reddens. "Never mind. Will you be heading to dinner?"
Natalia stops walking, forcing Guy to turn to her. He avoids her eyes, nervously shuffling his feet. She grins openly at him, goading him. "Maybe. What sorts of rumours, Guy?"
He hems and haws, scratching the back of his neck, trying to buy time. "Well... maybe he's been spreading some gossip. About, well, me."
"That much is a given," she says drily.
"And, er, you," he adds.
She's amused. She knows, of course, all the rumours Emperor Peony has been whispering into various nobles' ears, swearing them to secrecy and fully expecting them to swear others to secrecy as they pass on the delightfully scandalous information. Guy doesn't know she knows, and obviously he doesn't think it's suitable for this princess' ears. That, or he's embarrassed. Or maybe both. It doesn't matter to her anyway. She's always enjoyed watching him squirm.
So she nods at him patiently, but crosses her arms and gives him a look. She intends for her look to say stop wasting time, but from the way he gulps and loosens his collar, she might as well have said promise me your firstborn son.
which is something she should file away for future use, perhaps. There's no underestimating the usefulness of potential shock value.
"There are... rumours about us. You know, when we were travelling together. All of us, I mean, when all of us were travelling together, but in particular the rumours are mostly just about us. As in, you, and me. Us."
He's positively dancing on the spot with nervous energy, trying so hard to buy time to rephrase the vulgar notions he's about to voice. She takes pity on him and starts walking again, redirecting their path and giving him an outlet for his agitation. The clicking of their heels seems to soothe him, as if giving him a rhythm to follow.
"Um, the rumours are, you know. Rumours. They're definitely not true, but others seem to think so, and... well, they're just not true. But we know that. Well, I know that, since you don't know what the rumours are. Yet."
She nods, reassuringly. Every now and then she sneaks a glance at him, delighted to see how increasingly red his face is getting.
"And basically they just think that we... er, that I've, well, taken responsibility for you. And, um, you've accepted wholeheartedly, and so in order to make it a feasible, you know, option, you had to... strong-arm Emperor Peony into appointing me a Duke. Because that makes us, well," he gestures with his hand. "Socially compatible?"
Natalia can't hold back her giggles anymore. It's not ladylike in the slightest, and a snort or two escapes, but she can't help it. She would lean against him - she almost tries to - but instead she supports herself against the wall and just keeps laughing.
He's staring at her, bewildered, and utterly embarrassed. Why does she find the idea so laughable?
When she's able to catch her breath, she immediately guesses his thoughts and waves her hand feebly. "No, no, I'm not laughing at the idea of us being socially compatible. Or, you know, compatible in any other way." She snickers a little at that. "I just didn't think it would be possible to be able to put it so tactfully! The version I heard involved a lot more bawdy details. Made-up details, of course, but cruder nonetheless."
His mouth opens, but only a strangled gasping noise comes out.
She struggles back to her feet and begins walking again, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Behind her, he finally finds his voice. "How did you - When? From who?"
She slows her pace to let him catch up to her. "Hmm, it must have been before you even became a Duke. My handmaidens and I are quite close, you know. And they have a lot of friends down by the docks, where all the good gossip is. People were speculating about your fate ever since they stopped seeing you around in Baticul."
He doesn't say a word, still shocked.
"There were all these fake testimonies from friends of friends of cousins of friends of theirs, about how we were always gazing soulfully into one another's eyes, or how you'd sworn to protect me with your sword and your life. And then there were the people who claimed to be guests at the inns we stayed at, talking about... how thin the walls were."
She looks over her shoulder at him. He avoids her gaze, face unreadable.
"Are you mad at me?"
He's still silent.
Natalia turns and stands directly in front of him, as if demanding a response.
His head is turned stubbornly to the side, but he steals a glance out of the corners of his eyes. "No."
"You aremad."
He refuses to reply, but his bottom lip juts out ever so slightly. She'd been unsure, before, but now she knows he's mostly just being petulant over having been so embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," she says.
His head slowly turns to face her.
She does her best to look repentant. It'd be best not to mention how much fun she was having, toying with him.
Guy exhales. She can feel his breath wash over her, and she steps back automatically.
"It's alright," he says reluctantly. "Thank you for apologizing."
She smiles up at him. For a second she thinks his breathing may have hitched, but then she remembers having moved back away from him.
For the first time, he looks around, confused. "Where are we?"
She turns around again and giggles. "The corridor to the kitchens."
"What? What about dinner?"
"Where do you think our food comes from?"
She can hear the exasperation and worry in his voice before he talks. "I mean, aren't we going to join everyone else?"
"What, you think they're gossiping about us right now?"
"...I didn't say that."
"No, but you're thinking it," she laughs. "I told my father to retire the herald, but I have a feeling he was persuaded not to by everyone else. They, unlike us, enjoy feeling pompous and important."
"Ah," Guy says. "So we're eating dinner in the kitchens like servants."
Natalia pauses. "Is that alright?"
He looks at her for a second, dressed in her finest, freshly washed and well rested. He can't picture her sitting on a humble wooden stool, eating scraps or leftovers while surrounded by servants and spices and fires, but he has a feeling she's done this many times before.
"I used to eat in the kitchens all the time," he says, half to himself.
"Great," she beams. "Come on, I thought you were hungry? Stop dragging your heels." She pushes open the doors and disappears inside.
He's scratching the back of his neck again. It's odd, he thinks. I don't get this worked up over anyone else.