FIVE
The people of Chryso made Joran proud. The city looked amazing decorated in sky blue and white, the colors of Zigag. Orrin’s utter surprise was priceless. Children wore narwhal and orca costumes and ran along the convoy cheering and giggling or waved from men’s shoulders. Women had made flowers for their hair with blue fabrics since real blue flowers were not easily available. Although, Doriar’s alchemists had brought the end of spring to one of the greenhouses, producing thousands of myosotis for the wedding day.
Orrin waved at the people, drinking in their welcoming joy, and they waved back with bright smiles. White petals fell from balconies as they moved across the streets toward the palace. Everywhere the flags of Zigag and Doriar flew together.
Joran was happy. He let himself forget about the sexual exploits preceding the arrival of his husband-to-be. He simply wanted to soak in the sweetness of the man beside him. Being so focused on the things Orrin had done before coming to Doriar would not help him to start the trusting relationship he hadn’t know he wanted until they were on the road to Chryso.
Orrin resting his head on Joran’s shoulder had been an unexpected surprise. He hadn’t acted like the pervert Joran had imagined; perhaps he was too overwhelmed by the change of scenery for his more licentious traits to emerge.
Perhaps Joran should stop thinking that kind of nonsense while he waved to his people on his way to the palace.
It’s hard to give him a chance when even his father has attested to his rampant lechery.
Luckily, salpinges called as they approached the palace entrance, yanking him away from those gloomy, displeasing thoughts. Soon they stopped and alighted to climb the twenty-seven marble steps to the palace doors, opened wide and with the Court filing out of them to receive Orrin; Advisers, Ministers, Ambassadors of the other kingdoms, and Joran’s daughters, accompanied by Yndyre and their nurses, gathered amid the swirling columns of the front portico.
His three girls looked pristine in their white little chitons and sandals. Their hairs were up, held by crisscrossing sky blue ribbons in a very mature style Joran had rarely seen them in. Each had a bouquet of myosotis in their hands. They had probably pestered Yndyre since Joran left so they could get those from the accelerated greenhouse. They occupied the frontal place amongst those waiting to greet the Prince of Zigag.
As soon as Orrin and Joran stood side by side before the girls, they pushed the bouquets forward. “Welcome, Prince Orrin!”
Joran chuckled a little. “Orrin, Rider of narwhals, Sun of Zigag, Golden Prince,” he waved his hand to encompass his children, “these are my daughters. The Obsidian Princess, Eione. She’s ten. The Sapphire Princess, Cymo, is eight. And the Coral Princess, Actaea, is six.”
Orrin took the flowers with a bright “Thank you!” He turned to Joran and (not totally under his breath) said, “I thought only the heir or heiress apparent had a gemstone added to their name.”
“Each member of the royal family receives one of the twelve gemstones as part of their legacy, according to the signs and oracles of their birth,” Joran explained proudly.
“What a lovely tradition.”
Actaea had her brow furrowed; she was displeased with something. Joran knew that sulking style very well.
Orrin crouched in front of the Cranky Coral Princess. “You’re not smiling like your sisters. I hope we could be friends,” he said softly. His smile could have disarmed the most jaded warrior, but apparently not Joran’s youngest.
“I wanted an orca costume,” Actaea poutily summarized.
Orrin looked up at Joran. “We need to get her an orca costume.”
In return, Joran gave Yndyre a stern look, and his Right Hand quickly explained, “We thought it more appropriate to have them dressed like princesses and not city children.”
“If she gets an orca costume, I want a narwhal one!” Cymo rarely asked for anything, so deny her a silly costume would be just cruel.
“You’ll get your costumes. Let’s just finish the Prince’s reception in the proper way,” Joran offered conciliatorily. “Agreed?”
Cymo and Actaea nodded with huge grins, and some of the Court members around them applauded.
Orrin moved to his feet and turned to Eione. “Do you want a costume too?”
Eione tilted his head.
Joran caught Orrin’s almost imperceptible flinch. He knew everybody said she was a miniature version of him, and Orrin’s reaction spoke of him noticing the similarity.
“I do not want a costume, Prince Orrin. What I want is to ride an orca.”
A collective gasp surged around them. But before Joran could say anything, Orrin asked, “Why ride an orca and not a narwhal? I think narwhals are more interesting.”
“I know the narwhal horn is the symbol of Zigag,” she turned her eyes to the standard with the crossed horns beside the doors, “but they don’t have dorsal fins. It has to be harder to ride them. It makes sense to start with the less complicated, and then ease into the other.”
Orrin nodded and said, “Wise words. I see you’re on the right path to queenhood.”
Eione smiled graciously and put her hand out for him. He took it, and she said, “Let’s give you the welcoming my father’s husband-to-be deserves, Prince Orrin.” She walked forward, and those blocking the doors moved aside to let them pass.
That’s my girl.
She was not going to be riding sea creatures, though.
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