a/n: no copyright infringement intended, all recognisable characters belong to S. Meyer.
2
That brief moment in the square is the last she sees of Jake.
Before she knows it, Bella is swept up in procedure. Bella and her father, along with a whole contingent of security, board a space-hopper that takes them to the newly appointed neutral space station. Bella tries not to think about the fact that a mere year ago this was the Xepheryan top-of-the-line drone-launcher.
She should be paying more attention. She should be making sure everything goes according to plan. That the table the final documents will be signed on is the correct round shape – there had been much contestation about the shape of the table, to ensure there would not be a 'head' of the table – and that the flowers in the hall are the correct ones, most definitely not the shield flower of Xepherya that had originally been placed in vases by a naïve assistant. She needs to make sure to keep her father away from a particular family she knows was responsible for carrying out the order of killing her mother, she needs to make sure the Xepheryan head diplomat will not be replaced and that the Mongrovian diplomat lay off the drink—
So naturally, being escorted into the heavily armed, heavily monitored enclave in which the peace treaty will be signed, hundreds of holo-cameras pointed at her face, all she can think of is her own skin colour.
Most Mongrovians have a slight tint to their skin, ranging from olive to light molasses, due to the lighter atmosphere. But Bella, as a member of the royal family, comes from careful breeding, and her light skin signifies her status. Odd, then, that Xepheryans, with their cloudier skies and thicker atmosphere are naturally as pale as Bella. For once, she is not the palest in the room, and it unsettles her. As if she is somehow betraying her own people by being too alike.
Jake's skin is always a warm, rich colour.
It is wholly illogical. A silly thought, but one that stays with her.
When Bella and her father finally enter the room proper, Bella lays eyes on King Edward II for the first time.
Bella has to quell the initial instinct to recoil. She has never met the man in person, yet he is wholly familiar. Greying short-cut hair, pale, ice-cold eyes sat on a high forehead with broad shoulders. He is taller than she expected him to be. Facing him in the crowded room it is difficult not to remember the countless of promotional videos she has seen in her life, holo-vids spinning truth, others justifying violence that left her moon torn. How many lives is King Edward personally responsible for taking?
How many lives is her own father responsible for?
It is a sickening thought, but one that reminds her that peace is the only option. The King might be a monster, and she might have to live in the same palace as him, but not everyone on Xepherya is evil. She refuses to believe it.
Her attention is stolen as a slim young man appears behind the King.
His son.
Like his father, Bella recognises his face. Prince Edward III. Her betrothed husband.
He is handsome, for a Xepheryan, even Bella has to admit this. Tall, chiselled features, a composed air and a strong build accentuated by his military uniform. Yet, all she can think is that he is all wrong. His skin is too pale. His eyes too green. His hair too red – almost the colour of the stones on her crown. In fact, he is almost Jake's exact opposite. Willowy instead of built. Cold instead of warm.
Maybe it is easier this way. If there are similarities her heart will struggle.
Just for one moment, she closes her eyes. One moment, to remember the feeling of Jake's arms around her, to remember that this is not betrayal. That he knows. The marriage is a necessity. A business-arrangement. She has no illusions that this will turn into love. Recoils from the mere idea. Her heart is taken. Maybe the Prince's is too and he is having similar thoughts. Duty over desire. The idea calms her. As long as they are both cordial, as long as they can overcome the base hatred their races have for one another – that in itself will be a miracle.
When she opens her eyes she is collected. But she has been spotted.
None other than Prince Edward is staring right at her, muted green eyes assessing with cold indifference. They are not yet seated. There are dozens of feet and multiple people between them, and yet she is very aware that a large portion of the negotiation is happening right now. His stare is nearly enough to cause a chink in her armour, nearly enough to penetrate her calm, but finding his appraisal to be more calculating than threatening she looks away.
Ultimately, his opinion means nothing.
She is escorted to the round table by her father, and with six seated, four royals and two mediators, nearly three dozen crowding the walls and countless holo-lenses pointed at them, the signing begins.
There are speeches. By the mediators. By her father. By King Edward. It is all platitudes. The real work is already done.
A century of deep-rooted hatred and fear will not be erased by the signing of a document. Bella knows this. Deep in her heart, she fears they are not doing enough.
After what seems like hours, it is her turn. Her father, King Edward II and Prince Edward have already signed, and now it is her turn. She looks at the document that has appeared in front of her, the holo-pad large enough to account for the multiple biometric readings.
A drone-camera floats to capture her face and she gazes calmly into the lens.
"I, Isabella Marie of the House of Mongrovia hereby ratify this treaty and swear to uphold all that lay within. I pledge to honestly and with all future intention protect and serve both peoples of the moons of Olympia and to never show preference. I swear to never again take sides or take violent action again either peoples."
With several dozen devices recording her voice, she finally turns her gaze downward, placing her hand onto the screen to sear a biometric signature onto the document, sealing her commitment.
Flashes are going, holo-videos and pictures taken non-stop as Bella and Prince Edward stand up.
This part is rehearsed. Not with all principle actors at the same time, but practiced none the less.
Prince Edward mirrors Bella as they both walk around the table, meeting on one side where two high-priests stand – one from each moon. The religion is the same, same traditions with small variations. Yet, they need separate priests.
As previously decided, Bella rests her left hand in the outstretched palm of her own priest. His grasp is warm and calloused; his face holding an expression that lacks the normal joy he usually has when performing weddings.
Without looking up, she places her right into the other outstretched hand in her periphery, linking the four of them together in a circle. Prince Edward's skin is smooth. Cold. A shiver runs down her spine. Is his hold light because he feels equally misplaced? Or because he cannot stand to touch her?
The sleeve of his uniform rubs against her wrist. Bella struggles not to throw up.
No going back now.
a/n: Interesting fact of the day, the two minor hiccups described in this chapter's signing process (the shape of the table and the flowers placed in the hall) are actual true events that occurred in two separate real-life peace processes. The shape of the table being a consideration in the recent Colombian peace process and the flowers pertaining to the peace process in Northern Ireland, where a type of lily was placed in the halls to the building unthinkingly that was heavily connected to one side and thus had to be changed.
