The Contingency Plan by Addison Albright-4
629 Words
When the time came, Erich helped him into the bright blue silk tunic, exquisitely embroidered with chains of white and pink flowers. While cut in a more masculine fashion, it was decorated similarly to the tunics he’d often seen on brides. He fastened Marcelo’s curls at the nape of his neck with a strip of silk with matching embroidery.
Together they walked to the courtyard, where the ceremonial portion of the wedding festivities would take place. Marcelo held up his chin as he stepped through the archway. He, the son no one had thought could contribute anything meaningful to their society, was fulfilling the terms of the peace treaty. He was the first royal son to marry, and the first citizen in all of Sheburat to marry another of the same s*x, setting a new standard. His mention in history books would now be more than a mere citation of his name.
Prince Efren waited in the sunshine, under the wide expanse of blue sky, and held out a hand to welcome Marcelo to his side. When they joined hands for the first time, Marcelo’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat.
His earlier fears vanished in that warm touch, replaced by restrained anticipation. Their gazes locked and held as Queen Giselle approached.
She smiled. “I think the answer is clear to all, but I must ask—do each of you enter willingly into this marriage?”
“Yes, I enter into this marriage as a willing participant,” Prince Efren replied in a firm tone.
Marcelo echoed Prince Efren. “Yes, I enter into this marriage as a willing participant.”
“You may proceed.” The queen stepped away.
Marcelo removed a ring—a bejeweled band that had belonged to one of his ancestors—from one of his fingers and placed it in Prince Efren’s palm. The prince pulled a ring off his smallest finger and placed it in Marcelo’s palm. The heat from the ring melted Marcelo as he slipped it onto the fourth finger of his left hand.
The modest ceremony was almost complete. Only one action remained to fulfill the requirements.
Prince Efren ran a finger along Marcelo’s jaw and tipped up his chin. Marcelo held his breath as Prince Efren lowered his head. A small sound escaped him as the prince’s warm breath wafted over his lips right before their mouths came together for a light, brief kiss.
Marcelo’s knees wobbled, but the prince’s other hand at his waist held him in place. With that one mild kiss, the curb on Marcelo’s anticipation slipped away, replaced by unlimited eagerness. Whatever pain might or might not be involved in the act would be worth enduring to be held in this man’s arms and thoroughly kissed.
With that, the ceremony ended. They were officially married. People milled about congratulating them before filtering into the castle’s great hall for the celebration dinner.
Minstrels played zinks, flutes, crumhorns, and lutes. The music was lively, and the food plentiful—course after course of it. Greens, warm breads, soups, and venison, all washed down with the best wines Sheburat had to offer.
Prince Efren—his husband—fascinated him with stories and descriptions of the lands of Zioneven. “Each summer during my formative years,” he explained, “Father journeyed with me to all corners of our kingdom. The majestic mountains in the northeast, the thick green forests in the northwest, lush rolling hills and charming meadows throughout the central and southern regions dotted with rich farmlands.”
“It sounds beautiful,” Marcelo said.
“It is. On each and every excursion, Father always made sure I knew to stop and talk, and most importantly, listen to what our people had to say. Hear their concerns and their suggestions. It’s the only way to effectively serve them.”
Marcelo blinked at Efren’s choice of word. Serve them, not rule them. It was no small wonder Erich had liked the idea of emigrating.
“I look forward to seeing it,” Marcelo said. “And to meeting your wise father.”
“And I look forward to being your guide,” Prince Efren replied with a smile.
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