4. Over a Cup of Tea

Gilthunder fidgeted nervously in his seat. Before him a small table was decorated with a very beautiful and very expensive tea set, delicate white china hand painted with the symbols of Liones on the side. He reached out to adjust his own cup, sitting prettily on its saucer, moving the teaspoon next to it over just a bit to realign. Clearing his throat, he swallowed as he tapped his fingers on his knee, glancing at the door.

He knew he was early… but damn. His pulse was thudding under his skin, and he took a deep breath, letting it go shakily. Looking around, he took in the familiar plush curtains, the patterned rug, the lace tablecloth. It was all familiar, as he had been to tea a hundred times before in the royal palace. Yet he had never been so positively terrified.

The door opened and he was on his feet in a flash, nearly knocking over his chair in his clumsiness. Gilthunder sucked in a deep breath and took a step away from the table, crossing one arm over his chest and giving the king a bow as he entered. "Your Majesty," he said stiffly, cringing at the formality, at his uncertainty.

"Gilthunder!" Baltra said in his rich voice. The knight stood up straight, his eyes on the monarch for a moment before they slid to the beauty that followed him. His heart gave a little flip-will it ever stop doing that? he wondered-as the brown eyes landed on him. Instantly he felt warm, and he prayed that he was not blushing as the princess smiled at him.

The shape of her body, the way her dress accentuated her curves and the glow of her skin, the slope of her neck, the pink lips that curved at the sight of him… he hoped it never would stop, because that would probably mean he was dead.

The king was going on about how wonderful it was to see him, thanking him for coming, but Gilthunder's attention was solely on Margaret. Quickly he pulled out her chair, pushing it in as he had been trained as a gentleman and a knight for years and years. He longed to pause and drag his fingertips over the back of her neck, which was exposed by the sweeping updo of lavender hair, only a few wayward wisps laying gently on her white skin. But he resisted, not wanting to give anything away. This was too important to give in to his foolish desires.

The king sat next to his daughter, so Gilthunder took the chair opposite. Margaret smiled at him from across the table, her eyes bright. "Thank you for having me," Gilthunder said, his gaze remaining on the princess. Her chest rose slightly as she breathed in, and he started sinking as he watched her lips part slightly.

"Of course, of course," was the king's gruff reply, and the sound of his voice snapped them both out of the moment. Margaret ducked her head and stifled a giggle, even as Gilthunder cleared his throat and looked away. "Will you do the honors, my dear?"

"Yes, Father," Margaret said, and the knight sighed. Get a grip, he chastised himself. He was an adult, but acting as if he was twelve instead of twenty-one. As if he hadn't sat with Margaret a thousand times before! As if he had never seen a girl smile at him before. As if he had never noticed the color of her lips before.

His skin felt too tight as he watched her pour the tea, thinking of those lips, and how they had felt under his the night of the celebration. They had stood under the fireworks, and he had held her the way he had been dreaming of for years, before he even knew what love was. And they had kissed, a perfect moment with his perfect princess, her lips soft as they slid against his, opening slightly with her little breath…

"Sugar, Sir Gilthunder?" Again he was snapped out of his daydream, and quickly nodded in answer to her question. The princess gave him a curious look before dropping two lumps into his cup.

To cover his nerves, Gilthunder took up his spoon and stirred his drink, the utensil making a loud clinking noise that seemed to echo in the room and shake his very bones. He cleared his throat and grasped the cup, taking a hasty sip that left him wincing as the too-hot tea slid down his tongue and throat.

When he returned the cup to his saucer, he found the king's heavy gaze on him. "Everything all right there, my boy?" he asked with a frown.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Sire," Gilthunder answered.

"Good." The king took his own sip of tea, nodding as he replaced the cup. "That is good, because we have a matter to discuss."

Baltra's sharp eyes had him feeling a bit pinned, and he rubbed his palms on his thighs. "Y-yes Sir," he stammered.

"Well, let's not drag this out any more," said the king in a serious tone. "You want to marry my daughter."

There, it was said aloud. Heat flared up the back of Gilthunder's neck, but he forced himself to nod, clearing his throat again as he glanced over at Margaret. Her own cheeks were dusted a light pink, but her small smile gave him strength. "Yes, I wish to ask for Margaret's hand."

Her smile turned into a grin, her entire face lighting up instantly, and Gilthunder sat amazed at the change. He would never get tired of seeing those smiles, he decided; not after the years of the stoic and cold princess. He would make sure she looked like that all the time. It was the least he could do for failing to protect her for so long.

Turning back to Baltra, Gilthunder said firmly. "I want to marry Princess Margaret. I love her."

The request official now, the knight could only wait. He had asked Margaret to marry him two days previously, and she had wept and laughed with happiness, launching into his embrace and covering his face with soft kisses. He had kissed her back until they were both breathless, holding her close against him, his heart thudding loudly as they shared a perfect moment. It was still so odd to him at times to feel so much happiness; to feel so much of anything at times.

But the happiness was short-lived as Margaret had filled him in on what marrying a princess would mean; the formal announcements, the ceremonies, the transfer of titles, the responsibilities. Gilthunder felt that he could tackle it all, as long as he got through this first task: getting the permission of the king.

"Hmmm." The king took another sip of his tea, then reached out to take one of the little cakes from the tray in the center of the table. One solid minute ticked by, one that felt like a thousand, as both of them watched the king nibble on his treat. Baltra let out a little hum of approval as he finished, grabbing his napkin and dabbing his mouth before laying it back on his lap.

As he reached for another, Margret said, "Father? You haven't answered Gilthunder."

The king still did not reply, only plucking a cookie up next. Gilthunder looked at the princess briefly, noting the little change in her face as her lips pressed together and her eyes hardened just a bit.

"Marrying the princess means you cannot be Grand Master," Baltra said without looking over.

Gilthunder nodded, ready for that question. "I do not want the position. Even if you are to deny the marriage, I still would not want to be Great Holy Knight. Howzer is doing a fine job, and I don't want to disrupt the work he is doing."

"Hmmm." Another minute, another cake, and he sat waiting. What else could he want to know? Wasn't he good enough to have the princess? His heart began to sink as Baltra continued ignoring him. Maybe the king already had a husband in mind for his eldest daughter? She had never mentioned it, but that didn't mean there wasn't an arrangement long decided.

Or, perhaps he was unworthy. He had done a great many evils as a Holy Knight, serving under Hendrickson. Although he had been trying to make things right, the king could hold it against him. As well he should, Gil thought sadly.

"Do you know what marriage means, Gil?" the king asked unexpectedly, popping the sandwich in his mouth.

The knight frowned in confusion. "I-yes, I think so. I mean, I want to spend my life with Margaret." He swallowed nervously. "I want to make her happy."

"Yes, yes, that's what everyone says." Baltra waved his hand dismissively before taking another sip of tea. "But do you know what marriage really is?"

The two exchange another bewildered look. "Would you be so kind as to enlighten me, Your Grace?" Gilthunder asked.

Baltra refilled his cup as he said, "It's seeing her sick, seeing her upset. It's being in trouble most of the time, and angry the rest. It's putting up with her messiness and her moods and the very unpleasant way she snores."

"Father!" Margaret exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table. "What on earth-?!"

"Oh Margaret, I'm only teasing," he said, and Baltra leaned over towards him a bit and looked at the knight through narrowed eyes. "You did know I was teasing, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes Sir, yes." Gilthunder let out a breath in a laugh. His chest had felt tighter and tighter as the king had spoke, and was glad that Margaret's fury had cut through the very thick tension.

"Good. Because my daughter does not snore."

The king went back to selecting from the tray of cakes, and Gilthunder looked up at Margaret. Her blush had deepened a bit, her face still fuming, but he could not help but laugh to himself when she looked back at him. "I love you," he mouthed silently at her, and to his delight, she stifled her own giggle and smiled. "I love you," she mouthed back.

"Speaking of snoring," the king said as he helped himself to two more cakes, "how many children are you planning?"

Gilthunder's eyes went wide as another flash of heat shot straight up his neck, and felt frozen as Margaret laughed and gave her father a playful swat. "Would you please behave!" she laughed, and Baltra simply chuckled, popping another cake into his mouth.