24 December 1960
"Stop pacing," Matthew grumbled, leaning heavily on his cane. "You're making me dizzy."
"Sorry," Lucien answered with a wry grin, but though he tried he could not seem to hold himself still for one full minute. He resumed his aimless wandering, skirting the perimeter of the cloisters, feeling a sense of anxiety that reminded him sharply of the last time he'd stood here, on the day of his coronation. The coronation had taken place on Christmas Eve, as well; two years had passed since that fateful day, and in that time everything had changed. The man he'd been then, bitter and lonesome and railing against his circumstances, was no more than a memory now. He had grown accustomed to the burden of power, had grown comfortable in his role, had rediscovered his child and his own beating heart, had found love enough to banish all the darkness that had come before, and he was happy now in a way he could not recall having ever been before.
"It's not as if she's going to change her mind," Matthew pointed out. "If she was going to run she would have done it a year ago."
Of course he was right; there had been plenty of opportunities for Jean to turn her back on him, to decide that this life wasn't what she wanted, but she was with him, still, and he knew she always would be.
And today, this beautiful bright day when the sun was shining and snow lay crisp and white upon the ground, she was going to marry him. The wedding itself had been a masterful feat of organization; the list of traditions to be observed, nobles to please, the feast, the cathedral, the carriages, the dresses, the attendants, the guest list, the television cameras, all of it had consumed the castle for every day of the last year, all of it building up to this, to now, to the moment when Lucien would stand at the altar and turn to see his bride walking down the aisle toward him. Every second of the day had been planned; Lucien and Matthew arrived first, riding in a horse-drawn carriage with Li and Lin and Charlie. The streets were lined with well-wishers, waving little flags, those with means throwing flower petals, those without cheering loud as they could. Every face he saw as they passed down the wide avenue leading to this place had been bright and smiling and full of joy, and it warmed his heart, to see how his people seemed to love him, seemed to be happy for him.
The ladies had been whisked off to another little room off the main sanctuary so that they might make their own preparations, and Lucien was left alone with Matthew, to wait while the guests filed in. After a time they would make their way into the sanctuary, and there they would wait, in full view of all the assembled notables, until Jean's own carriage arrived, until her son escorted her into the Cathedral, and the service could begin in earnest. While the thought of the ceremony itself was daunting - the thought of the many photographs and the party after more daunting still - Lucien could not wait for it to begin, for the sooner it began the sooner it would finish, and the sooner Jean would be his wife.
Everything about this moment of waiting, this deliciously tense sense of anticipation, seemed bright and full of possibility. The cathedral was a grand old building, a massive stone behemoth capped in a fine white marble dome; the floor was white marble, as well, and every inch of it was intricately carved, every niche and crevice, every joint and every arch. The sanctuary itself, where Lucien would stand and watch his beloved walking towards him, was a cavernous, soaring feat of engineering, stained glass windows in a rainbow of hues set high in the walls to send shafts of winter sunlight sparkling down upon the congregation like a benediction sent from heaven itself. There were gilded sculptures and rich antique tapestries everywhere he turned, and Lucien himself had been morphed into his own work of art, dressed in the heavy fur robes of state with his crown gleaming upon his head. Such grandiosity held little appeal for him, however, for he knew that Jean would outshine them all, would be resplendent no matter how she outfitted herself, for she always was, this woman he loved.
"It's time," Matthew said softly, glancing at his watch, and so he and Lucien turned, and stepped out from that place together.
"Are you all right?" Jean asked Christopher anxiously. They were sitting together in a horse-drawn carriage, open to the sky though the air was crisp and chill. The pale white horses plodded along at a stately pace, and the carriage trundled along while around them the voices of her countrymen rose in a roar of approval, a great thunderous sound the likes of which she'd never heard before.
"What a picture we make, eh?" he answered, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.
What a picture indeed; the carriage they rode in was painted white, trimmed in scarlet, and inlaid with a gilded pattern of creeping vines. The harnesses the white horses wore were crimson and gold, and the soldiers sitting straight-backed and smart behind them were dressed in crisp navy uniforms. Jean's wedding dress, a massive creation of pure white tulle and satin and lace, billowed all around her, and she had been given a white fur cape to wrap herself in for the ride in the cold air, clasped about her throat with a golden brooch inlaid with rubies. Young Christopher wore his own navy uniform, and looked so very dashing in it, tall and proud and every inch his mother's son. When the people who lined this street looked at them they did not see a farm wife and her reticent son, but their queen-to-be attended by a stony-faced soldier; they did not see the long months of silence Jean had endured between Christopher's letters, the bitter disagreements that had filled their past, the hunger and the grief of his youth, her own tireless work to keep her family together. They expect to see a performance, Lucien had told her once, and those words came back to her now. We will give them one, and then we will take off the crowns, and be ourselves once more, in private.
"They see one thing, and the truth is something else. And we know the truth, don't we, sweetheart?"
"I suppose so." Christopher gazed out at the crowd, his expression troubled. "You're sure this is what you want, mum? He is a good man, and I like him, but all of this..." he gestured vaguely towards the carriage as he turned to look at her, and in the movement of his hand he indicated not just the opulence of their current surroundings, but all the trappings of the life of royalty which waited for Jean when this day was through.
"I want him," she answered simply. "And to have him, I have to put up with all the rest of this. I know it makes you uncomfortable, sweetheart-" that was putting it mildly, for Christopher had insisted that his young family be kept out of the spotlight, that he maintain as much distance from his mother's new life as he could - "but the castle is my home. And as long as the king is there, that's where I'll be, too."
She had worried, as she spoke, that she had overstepped, had perhaps shared more than young Christopher was willing to hear, coming from his own mother. He was such a painfully reserved young man, this boy she'd raised; he had learned from her how to keep his lips closed and his heart hidden from view, and she worried, sometimes, that he had learned those lessons too well. And yet in the next moment he surprised her, her darling boy, for he reached for her hand, and held it tight in his own.
"When I first started seeing Ruby, I tried to warn her off me," he said. "I told her I couldn't promise her a perfect life. I told her I'd have to go wherever the army sends me, and we would have to move whenever they said, even if we didn't want to go, and sometimes I would have to leave her alone. And she told me that it didn't matter where we lived, or what we didn't have, so long as we had each other. That's when I knew she was the one for me." He grinned, a bit wryly. "We're lucky sods, the king and I."
"Ruby and I are lucky, too," Jean told him, her voice thick with unshed tears. And then she kissed her son's cheek and settled back against the seat, her heart full of joy for she had Christopher by her side, and Lucien was waiting for her, and she could not ask for more.
"It will be all right," Charlie was saying as Li knelt and straightened Lin's little dress for the third time. The other ladies had already begun their stately march down the aisle; no woman could wed a king unattended, and no woman could be queen without aid, and so over the last year a little coven of women had grown up around Jean, and Li as well. They were nobles, all of them, but they were mostly of an age with Jean, or older still, the unwed second daughters of once-mighty houses, the widowed mothers of barons whose sons no longer needed them underfoot and whose hands itched for occupation. The ladies were lovely, really, and had always treated Li kindly, but now that they were gone the moment had almost come for Li and Lin to make their appearance, and she fretted, as she always did when the time came for her to make a public appearance.
"I just hope she can stay still," Li answered, pulling herself upright. Lin had been given quite an important task; she would walk down the aisle holding her mother's hand, and strewing rose petals to herald Jean's arrival. Every eye would be on them, Li and Lin in their matching pale blue dresses, and though Charlie reminded her often that all those people bore her no ill will Li could not help but wonder if they would all be waiting in gleeful anticipation for her to make a mistake.
"If she doesn't, that will be all right, too. We'll look after her." Charlie flashed her one of his dear smiles, and she could not help but return it. From the night she arrived in this place Charlie had been by her side, his steady, somber presence a comfort to her. He was always there, to help her when she stumbled, always knew the way when she found herself lost and adrift, always made her feel seen, and understood, in a way that no one else ever did. Even when they could not speak the same language they had found their own way to communicate, and now that English came more easily to her she found her fondness for him only growing by the day.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," she told him then, while Li twirled in her little blue dress and she clutched her own bouquet close.
"I'm sure someone else could have told you where to go," Charlie answered, humble as always.
"That isn't what I meant." She stepped up close to him, and pressed her lips to his cheek briefly. "I would have been so lost in this place, without you."
The music changed, and that was her cue to go. She knew she needed to leave, but Charlie was still smiling at her, and she could not quite find the strength to pull away from him just yet.
"You never have to be without me, Your Highness," Charlie answered her seriously. "And when this wedding is done, maybe we can plan our own."
Li's mouth dropped open in surprise; yes, they cared for one another, yes, they had danced together many times now, yes, she had kissed him, pulled him laughing into her bed, but she had not realized, before now, that he might wish to marry her, that such a thing might be possible. But he seemed so sure, so certain, and as she looked at him she could not help but think there was nothing she wanted more.
"Charlie," she breathed, but he just smiled, and gave her a little nudge.
"It's showtime, Princess," he told her gently. "We can talk about it later."
He was right, of course, this was no time to dawdle. And so Li took her daughter's hand, and lifted up the little basket of rose petals, and made her way out to the sanctuary, grinning fit to burst.
The music changed, and Lucien turned, watched as Li stepped into view, the smile on her face so brilliant and wide that he was thrown off balance for a moment, thinking how he was not sure he had ever seen her look quite so happy. Lin toddled along at her side, holding her mother's hand and staring around her, dark eyes wide in wonder. They wore matching pale blue dresses like all the other ladies, lace sleeves running down their arms, their long, dark hair spilling elegantly around their shoulders. Well, Li looked elegant. Lin was a charming little thing, all chubby cheeks and waddling knees, but elegance was a few years off for her yet. As they walked along Li bent and whispered something to her daughter, and Lin reached into the basket her mother carried, sprinkling red rose petals on the floor as they went. The effect was a bit haphazard, but the result was nothing short of adorable; she laughed gleefully as the petals hit the floor, and he could see the guests smiling at her indulgently, smitten with her already.
Though it was not part of the plan for the day Lucien stepped forward as his daughter neared him; he reached for her, and drew her into his arms, kissed her cheek and whispered to her softly in Mandarin, "I love you." He did love her, had always loved her, would always love her, and he took every opportunity to tell her so, even here, where such personal affection was often frowned upon.
"I love you, too, Papa," she answered as he pulled away. "Be happy."
"Apa! Apa!" Lin cried from somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, holding her chubby little arms to her grandfather. Lucien fancied he heard several indulgent chuckles from the crowd as he swept her off her feet, gathered her in close for a little cuddle. Christ, but he loved that little girl, the way she giggled when his beard tickled her cheek, the way her mother smiled at him, the way they had all come together, and made their family whole. But he could not stand there holding Lin forever; at the far end of the sanctuary the wide doors swung closed, and he knew that Jean was approaching, that the moment had come.
"Let's give you back to mummy, eh?" he said to Lin, passing her over to Li at once. The whole ceremony had been rehearsed countless times and so Li knew just where to go, where she was expected to stand, and as Lucien watched her depart he saw Charlie come sidling in from the side to take his post at a respectful distance, his eyes never leaving the Princesses who were in his care.
A great fanfare sounded and the priest gestured to the crowd, and as one they rose to their feet, turned to stare down the aisle towards the imposing doors that separated Lucien from his beloved. He took his place at the altar, caught his hands behind his back, and held his breath as the great organ swelled into life, music flowing in and over him, as the doors slowly swung open once more, and Jean stepped into a shaft sunlight just inside them.
There were not words for the beauty of her. The dress was huge, white and beautiful, the train extending far out behind it, minded by a horde of young noble children. The sleeves were lace, soft and sheer, the neckline demure but showing the sharp notch of her collarbones. Her dark hair had been carefully curled, and she wore a long white veil, though that had been thrown back to cascade down the slope of her spine, to reveal her angel's face, her brilliant smile, her sparkling eyes. She stood arm-in-arm with young Christopher, and after a moment's pause to allow their guests to take in the radiance of her they began to march together down the aisle, drawing ever closer to Lucien.
The last year had been full of tumult, for all of them. Lin had taken ill in the summer and given them all a terrible scare before she recovered, and there had been some grumbling about Jean's son Jack - who had refused to answer any of his mother's letters, and seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth, so complete was his absence. There had been moments when Jean struggled to cope with the bindings of her new life, when all the people constantly underfoot and the never-ending restraints on Lucien's time made them both chafe at their lack of freedom. They had argued about Lucien's recklessness and laughed about nothing, had danced and kissed and lingered on the stairs, each of them knowing they could not go to bed together, each of them wanting to stave off the moment of their inevitable parting. There had been forms to sign and funerals to attend, fundraisers and state functions, unfavorable news articles and mutinous rumblings from Lucien's detestable cousins. But through it all they had been slowly winding their way to this moment, this marriage, this love, and Lucien did not begrudge a second of their engagement, now that they were each at last about to claim their reward.
As Jean drew nearer the details of her features came more sharply into focus. A silver coronet held her lace veil in place, inlaid with rubies that sparkled when the light hit them. There were pearls on her dress, and her nails were painted red, but oh, it was her face that held him in thrall, the little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes as she smiled at him, the full red of her lips, the single tear that slipped down one of her pale cheeks. She was so beautiful, and happy, as Lucien was happy, and that happiness shown from her as if the sun itself was carried within her heart.
Protocol called for him to stand and wait for Christopher to step aside, but once again he disregarded it. As they drew near he stepped towards them, no longer content to wait, and reached to shake Christopher's hand. That was not part of the arrangement, but the lad was to be his stepson, and Lucien wanted to treat him kindly now. Christopher shook his hand once, firmly, kissed Jean on the cheek, and then slipped away.
"Oh, my darling," Lucien said, holding out his hand to Jean. She took it, another tear slipping out as she looked at him, her eyes full of the same wonder he felt within his own heart. Gently he lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed it. "I have waited for you, for such a long time."
"No more waiting now, Lucien," she told him as their fingers slid into place, and so they turned to face the priest and begin their life in earnest together.