Daja and Tris, both sporting shawls to keep back unruly locks, were vainly attempting to herd Cythera, Sandy, Alanna, Jon, Gary, Raoul and Briar out of the main doors and through the courtyard. The males, who had been landed with the loaded picnic baskets plus a couple of palace kittens Sandry had decided they should bring along for no particular reason, were lagging behind and groaning; the girls were dancing ahead of them, chuckling at their complaints.
Raoul paused, aching his back theatrically. "Ack!" he cried, setting down the basket and throwing his hands up, "I am undone!"
Cythera watched him, a smile twitching at her lips. "What?" She cried, putting a hand on her heart, "The bravest knight of the realm, undone by this foul fiend of a basket? Alas, Alackady!"
Sandry and Alanna were in fits of laughter. Raoul and Cythera spent their lives bantering with each other. Straightening up, Raoul proclaimed, "My heart and body have been healed by the kind words of my lady fair! Tremble in fear, O basket of Doom, for this is your last hour!" Flexing his muscles theatrically, he bent down and swung the basket over his shoulder. There was a scattering of applause.
"Are you quite finished?" Asked Tris pointedly. She was standing wit her arms folded, but there was amusement in her tome.
"For now." Said Raoul, with a chuckle. Giving him a mock glare, the effect of which was lessened slightly by the grin that graced her face, Tris ordered sternly, "Hurry up, then!"
Shepherded by the long-suffering Tris and Daja, the group did eventually reach their destination. It was a favourite spot for picnics, a clear glade in the light wood next to a stream. The girls set out the things with little exclamations of delight; Lark had sorted out the picnic with the kitchens, and the spread was really most prodigious. It did take a while for the girls to arrange themselves comfortably, since there was dew on the grass and stains were a constant risk, but they got settled in due course. Gary had contrived to be sitting next to Alanna, leaving Cythera with Raoul, a situation everybody seemed pleased enough with.
Alanna, grinning, looked at the feast surrounding her. Reaching out for a roast chicken sandwich, she leant back against a nearby tree, her head on Gary's shoulder. Absentmindedly, he sought out her hand, which she slipped happily into his. Just as he was about to shift to get more comfortable, he realised that his fiancée had fallen asleep. He didn't blame her. He would rather have faced an army of Carthakians then a wedding planner. Deciding to make the best of it, he shut his eyes loosely and let himself drift off into the world of chaotic mindfulness. His last waking thought was of burnished copper hair, and violet eyes.
Raoul and Cythera, however, were still very much awake and joking happily. Reaching out for a strawberry tart, Raoul, with an air of great solemnity, folded it in half and placed it, all at once, into his mouth. Cythera, watching his cheeks bulge out of proportion, was set off into complete hysterics; only frantic patting on the back could do anything to relieve her conditioning. Still gasping for breath, she managed to splutter accusingly, "Shame on you for making me behave so!"
Bowing deeply to her as well as he could from his seat, Raoul begged:
"O woe is me, that I should so offend my Lady! Let me make some atonement, some reparation. My lady, in hope that I might receive your pardon, I humbly offer you the greatest of my treasures."
Picking something off the ground, he offered it to her in cupped hands. Smiling, she took it off him, looked down into her folded hands, and grinned. Raoul smiled disarmingly at her.
"The greatest gift in my possession!" he insisted, swiping back some errant hair from his forehead. Cythera couldn't help noticing how interestingly his muscles moved.
"An acorn?"
"A thousand forests!"
Dimpling at him, Cythera nodded regally. "A courtly gift indeed! But I fear I must prove you wrong, good sir-for all the poets are in agreement when they claim that the greatest gift of all is Love itself!"
"And you have mine, my lady, as any Knight loves his Queen!"
Within their collective mind, Tris, Daja and Sandry exchanged knowing glances. If they had anything to do with it, there were going to be at least two weddings before the year was out.
And still deeper, where no-one could see her thought, Sandry was considering vaguely exactly what colour Jon's eyes were.
