Chapter 4 #2
Francis detected a rich, sweet, moist scent on the air, circulating in wafts like it was being fanned in. He also heard a commotion of noise; several voices, mostly male, all talking at once, and in a variety of languages.
This was to he expected for an international gathering, he supposed.
A group of attendants showed them through to a large reception room, lit with more hanging lanterns which created a canopy of sparkling stars against the domed, blue-tiled roof.
The room was already filled with people in the throes of chatting and socialising. In the centre of the space was an unexpected sight: an exquisite white marble fountain, three tiers tall, flowing with clear water. At its large base, the water pooled into numerous basins filled with fresh blossoms.
That explained the floral scent in the room, and why the air felt fresh; this fountain circulated the air and kept the room cool. A clever design, Francis thought.
“Mind where you stand, sir,” Gustav advised. “The water runs in canals.”
“Oh?” Francis looked down to see a map of shallow gutters sunk into the stone floor for the water to run off into.
In one of these narrow canals, a lone pink flower floated past his foot.
Francis watched the flower’s journey as it travelled across the floor, between legs of patrons, before reaching a wall gutter along the far edge of the room and disappearing out of sight.
Francis was more interested in the architecture than he was in having to be social. But as he began to look around, noticing the male patrons, he realised he knew one or two of them already.
He spotted Wilhelm von Haugwitz, Duke of Saxony—a distant relation—talking to Giuseppe di Rivara, Marquis of Prié.
And there was Augie; Augustus Wittensbach, Duke of Bavaria—ex-fling, much to Francis’s eternal regret—chatting up the Count of Bellamarre, with Lord Francesco Visconti lurking beside them.
A veritable who’s who of queer nobles and royals from the European courts, and Francis’s worst nightmare.
Some of the other noble guests with darker skin tones and more exotic wardrobes, Francis had no idea who they were. Perhaps Gustav would know.
When Archie, Maddie, and Christian finally caught up, they too were in awe of the room for different reasons.
Maddie gasped. “That’s the Duke of Saxony! Francis, isn’t he your cousin?”
“Yes,” Francis replied.
Christian had a keen eye, too, and immediately spotted Wittensbach. He nudged Francis. “Isn’t that…?”
“Yes,” Francis said.
“Didn’t you two…?”
Francis sighed. “Yes. Don’t remind me.”
“Who spilled their damn drink?” Archie complained, shaking his wet shoe after stepping in a gutter.
A few of the guests had noticed their arrival and were staring in their direction.
Francis felt awkward and out of place. He wasn’t used to a social engagement where he wasn’t certain of the rules. They’d had no announcement upon entry, and apart from the faces he recognised—and wished he didn’t—Francis had no idea who anyone else was.
Was the king in attendance? Were they awaiting his arrival? What was the protocol?
Before Francis could spiral too much, a trio of pretty attendants appeared, bearing golden trays with little bowls of warm water and rose petals floating on top.
More tea, Francis supposed.
They each took a bowl. Francis was about to raise his to his lips to take a sip. The only thing that saved him was Archie beating him to it and smacking his lips loudly.
“A touch too sweet for my taste,” he complained.
“Archie!” Gustav hissed at him. “This is rose perfumed water to wash your hands with.”
Archie stared at him, his one eye large. “Oh,” he said, while Christian and Maddie stifled their chuckles.
Francis, too, was smiling. That was until someone with broad shoulders brushed past him most rudely, causing him to almost drop his bowl.
Francis managed to catch the dish before it fell, but in doing so spilled the rose water all over his clothes.
When he looked to see who had knocked him, Francis saw the offending gentleman glance back at him and smirk unkindly.
Dimitri.
The Marquis of Montferrat, and an almost-fling four and a half years ago.
“Sir, are you all right?” Gustav asked.
“That scoundrel,” Maddie hissed. “He did that on purpose.”
“Who?” Archie demanded, having missed the incident.
“Montferrat, isn’t it?” Christian said, nodding to the retreating Marquis. “That was a clear slight, sir, if I may say so.”
“He’s a suitor?” Francis asked Gustav, his heart sinking when Gustav nodded. “He’s always been competitive.”
“You’re all wet!” Archie noticed Francis was soaked. “Montferrat did that? Right.” He frowned and faced the crowd with determination. “I’ll demand satisfaction this instant.”
“Archie, no,” Francis said, planting himself in Archie’s path.
“Absolutely not,” Gustav said. “This is not Stormburg, Archie. We are guests in a foreign court.”
“But he slighted Francis!” Archie declared, ruffled and annoyed.
“This is not the time nor the place for satisfaction,” Christian said calmly.
“Precisely,” Maddie hissed, looping her arm through Archie’s free one to secure him in place. “People are watching, Archie. Have some decorum,” she said under her breath, while putting on a smile for any bystanders observing them.
Archie stood down. “All right,” he relented. “But next time it’ll be a bowl of…whatever this is, in his smug face.”
“Well, Francis can get his own back in the competition,” Christian pointed out. “Right, Francis?”
Francis looked from his friends to the other patrons in the room, feeling the walls close in around him.
“Yes,” he heard himself agreeing, voice sounding very far away.
Thankfully they were somewhat saved by a portly official wearing fine green silks and matching turban, sporting a long, greying beard, and brandishing a gold-plated scroll. He bowed his head as he approached, and began speaking in another language, presumably Turkish, very fast.
Gustav answered, gesturing at Francis and their party. A quick exchange and more head bowing, then Gustav explained to Francis that soon there would be a supper tonight for the guests presided over by King Omar, and there was only room for Francis and a plus one.
“There will be a separate supper for everyone else,” Gustav hastily added.
“Well, good, I’m hungry,” Archie declared.
Francis would’ve liked to take one of his friends to dinner as his plus one, but since none of them spoke Turkish nor knew the customs, he knew he should take Gustav.
He turned to his friends and said, “Why don’t the three of you dine and relax tonight? I’ll take Gustav with me and hopefully get a bit more information about what is expected.”
Archie frowned. “Are you quite sure, sir?”
“Yes, positive.” Francis mustered a smile. “I’m quite sure dinner will be peaceful.”
“I’m quite sure you’re wrong about that, sir,” Christian said wryly, “but good luck anyway.”