The Danish prince groaned to the blinding light of the sun, curling under the blankets in protest. Mathias was never an early riser and he hated how the curtains were already drawn before he even woke up. He was just about ready to whine for the butler when the opening of his bedroom door stopped him from doing so. From the corner of his eye, he could see the butler – no, his butler – who was a blonde haired and blue-eyed man, named Lukas Bondevik, and also the man responsible for stirring the prince from his slumber. Despite the fact that the prince hated the action, his butler was loyal and exceedingly well-mannered. However, it was also noted by the prince that he was too quiet, too cold and too serious; and because of this the prince has always been intrigued by his butler's mysterious personality.
Lukas bowed in respect as he stood at the entrance of the prince's bedroom. "Your breakfast is ready... Sir?" the butler raised an eyebrow at the large lump on the bed, which shifted uneasily at the sound of his voice. Sighing, he lifted the blankets, drawing out a high-pitched wince underneath. Funny, he expected more of a growl as he did on other days, like taking a bone away from a hungry dog.
"She's here, isn't she?" Mathias bitterly asked, looking up from beneath the pile of pillows stacked on his head.
Lukas took a moment to think, nodding as he replied, "Yes, sir." He then placed the tray with the prince's breakfast on the desk next to the bed - slices of rye and white bread stacked on top of another on a warmed plate, and around it lined a wide selection of cheeses and jams. Since the prince was horribly indecisive on such trivial matters, Lukas took the time to master the "perfect" breakfast. He knew each bread slice had to be exactly 10cm by 10cm and 1cm thick, that there should only be 2 types of bread to choose from, and in contrast, many cheeses and jams to indulge in, all done to avoid the possibility that the prince may dislike the solitary meal provided, lose his appetite, and stave himself to death.
"Great." Mathias forced a smile. He then picked up a slice of bread from the tray and proceeded to evenly lavish it with thick strawberry jam, the one concealed in a medium sized pot to the far right of the tray. As he was eating, he thought about the plans for the day. Today he was going to meet his "fiancée" – or more like forced bride-to-be since it was all his parents' idea to get an arranged marriage with the Icelandic royal family's daughter – 'the jewel to their crown' – Princess Erika. From his parents' vague description of 'pretty' and 'nice', Mathias had come to a quick negative conclusion that Erika was an aloof girl and never wavering in her parents' requests, which was probably one of the reasons why she agreed to this nuptial. He took the last bite of his bread and smirked. Now that Mathias thought about it, looking up at his butler's dull face, Erika sounded just like a female version of Lukas.
"They arrived an hour ago, actually."
After finishing the bread, Mathias prepared to make another, this time topping the white bread with a slice of sheep's milk cheese and a black cherry confit. He warily bit on it, slightly unsure of the combination, but minutes later, smiled and made a sign of approval. At the same time he continued to nonchalantly nod at his butler's words.
Lukas gave a small sigh, mentally shaking his head at the prince's short attention span. "The guests are currently waiting in the–"
"–wait, what?!" Mathias jerked from his bed. The pillows fell on the floor at the sudden movement. He glanced at the rustic grandfather clock from across the room, narrowing his eyes as he checked the time and finding out that he was indeed an hour late. "I'm late!" he finally yelped.
Upon crossing his arms, Lukas let out an exasperated sigh.
Swiftly getting off the bed, he grabbed his clothes for the day, which were already ironed and folded by his butler, quickly changed and made his way to the door. "Ah, Bondevik?"
Lukas quickly unfolded his arms and laid them on his side. "Yes, sir?" he inquired.
Flashing an affectionate smile, he slipped out a small 'thanks' before heading to the living room where his guests were waiting patiently, leaving a slightly confused, pink-faced butler alone in the room.
The large hall was filled with many guests, all from different kingdoms of the world. Groups formed between relatives, friends and acquaintances, and could either be seen speaking enthusiastically or quietly amongst each other. Some of the older guests reclined on the sofa and spoke languidly with dull faces. Whilst a group in the far corner spoke earnestly in their fine business suits (probably the King's associates). Honestly, Mathias didn't recognise any of them, and he was pretty sure many of the guests didn't recognise that he was the groom-to-be.
The Danish prince stood on his tiptoes and peered over the crowd, where he saw a large, white door at the end of the room that enclosed a seperate but private room belonging to his father. There was even a shakey looking guard in front of the door that stood as straight as a trembling pillar, who stopped anyone that tried to pass through. After he swam across the sea of individuals and reached the end of the room, Mathias ordered the guard to let him through (which was obediently followed), and entered the secret chamber.
"–and with this marriage I hope our countries will continue to support each other in the future!" a voice roared jubilantly.
"Yes, I could not agree more," replied another voice, but with half the enthusiasm as the other.
The sound of the doors opening promptly stopped the conversation between the two men. "Ah, the prince, and our future king has arrived!" the first man rejoiced.
Mathias watched as a giant got up from his seat and steadily approached him. The man was exceptionally loud and stout; his voice bellowed like thunder and his heavy footsteps shook the palace floors as if it had the ability to create earthquakes. He also wore a triumphant grin which, to Mathias, looked absolutely sickening.
Mathias knew the man all too well. He knew that the man was only happy because, in due time, he will finally be able to take a share of the Danish Kingdom's land and riches. Mathias clenched his fists at the thought. Oh, how foolish father was...
Mathias shared a brief handshake with the man, and then seated himself a little stiffly as if not altogether comfortable, as across from him was his father and the stranger, who introduced himself as the King of Iceland. Now that brought back memories. A smile danced on his face as remembered how the man would always bring him presents when he was younger. He mentally chuckled when he remembered the time when he received his own gun at the age of 10, as "Mathias was the prince of Denmark, and he should have everything a boy could wish for!" And so, from that moment, Mathias concluded that no man could ever win his trust solely on giving him toys – just because he was a prince it doesn't make him a materialistic person!
"Mathias."
The Dane woke from his reminiscing phase, blinking in confusion. "Y-Yes?"
"I need to have a private conversation with the king, could you excuse us for a while?"
"Um, yes, of course," Mathias stood up and left the room without question.
"Mathias, sorry," the said man's father called, and when Mathias returned he continued, "but Princess Erika will be here shortly so don't stay out there for too long."
"Yes, father."
Then, the doors closed, leaving the two kings, their straight faces slowly turning into a state of sweaty agitation.