Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
From his seat at the Palazzo balcony, Alarik watched as the Duchessa was slowly lowered into the lake, a sudden gust of wind blowing past the hem of her skirts, just as the tips of her toes broke through the water’s surface. All around, the sound of the crowd cheering was deafening as their beloved Duchessa once more secured a year of prosperity and blessing for her people through her fourth ever Marriage with the Sea.
As the Duchessa was lifted from the waters, Alarik saw her shivering from the freezing waters of the lagoon. His view of the Duchessa was quickly hidden by her ladies-in-waiting as they instantly began fluttering around her, covering her with towels and leading her toward the carriage that would take her back to the Palazzo.
Standing up, Alarik began excusing himself from the company of Talian nobles seated at the Balcony, all of whom had made the journey for Carnivale later. The carriage ride from the docks to the Palazzo was a short one, and he was meant to be part of the group that greeted the Duchessa as she was escorted back into the Palazzo.
Just as he had descended the steps from the main hall,he could already see a small crowd of people waiting at the Palazzo entrance. At the very front was the Duchessa’s younger sister and her family, the former was already bouncing on the balls of her feet. A towel was tucked into her arm as she squealed incessantly into her husband’s ear, who was balancing their young daughter on his shoulders. Just as he reached the small welcoming party, the Duchessa’s sister turned her head and caught sight of him, instantly prompting her to wave him forward. Before he could politely decline, she had already walked over, taken hold of his wrist and pulled him forward to stand between her and her husband.
“What are you thinking standing way back there? Of course you’re supposed to stand here with us!”
Alarik grinned offhandedly and offered a bow to the Principessa and her husband. “I didn’t want to impose Principessa,” he said, and if the tone of his voice was a little too teasing to be considered proper, the ladies-in-waiting and fellow courtiers standing behind them knew well enough not to admonish him for it. After all, “Principessa” was but Kristoff’s nickname for her, as Bellezza was not one that chose its leader through lineage, but through the votes of the people. But she was beloved by the Bellezzians, mthe lively younger sister of their great Duchessa, and the nickname had caught on.
At that, the Principessa made a very un-ladylike snort, waving dismissively at him with her wrist, “Alarik, I’ve told you many times! When we’re not surrounded by the other city-state leaders you can just call me Anna. Say it with me now, Anna.” Getting her daughter’s attention, Anna began exaggeratedly pointing to herself, “What’s my name Neta? Tell Alarik what my name is!”
The little girl’s expression went blank for a beat, as if unsure why her mother was asking such a strange question, then she opened her mouth and said with all the confidence of a two year-old, “Mamma.”
Anna’s husband, Kristoff, burst laughing at that, an act he quickly tried to hide once his wife began glaring at him. “You walked right into that one Anna,” he simply said, patting his daughter’s thigh as if in congratulations.
Anna opened her mouth to make another retort when the gesture was cut short by Neta bouncing eagerly on her father’s shoulders and pointing.
“It’s the carrozza!”
Everyone’s heads turned to the direction of the gates as the royal carriage came rolling in, stopping exactly at the Palazzo entrance where two footmen were waiting, one to open the carriage door and another to assist the Duchessa in her descent.
En route from the docks, the Duchessa had already been toweled-off and dressed in an elegant deep blue robe lined with silver flowers, the effect making it seem as if she had the night sky draped over her entire body. The mask on her face, a Bellezzan custom for unmarried women above the age of sixteen, was made to compliment the robe, seeing as how it was fashioned out of deep blue silk with an overlay of silver lace. Her ever present elbow-length gloves were deep blue as well, with silver stitching along the hems.
The outfit and mask were only temporary of course, until she could be properly dressed into an even more elegant gown and mask for the evening’s festivities.
Once she had reached the welcoming party, the Duchessa was instantly engulfed in a hug by her younger sister, one she returned with a slight chuckle and an awkward pat on Anna’s shoulders. The moment she managed to gently extricate herself from her sister, the rest of the welcoming party bowed before her, murmurs of “welcome back your Majesty” and “congratulations Duchessa” filled the air.
She nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes sweeping over all of them before stopping and meeting Alarik’s, the deep blue and silver of her mask only serving to highlight the bright blue of her eyes. He felt his heart patter out a quick staccato against his ribs.
Elsa Arenvellata. Duchessa of Bellezza.
***
As the sun dipped past the silhouette of the nearby island of Torrone in the horizon, the entire lake looked as if it was ablaze with fire, all reds and golds mixed with the blues and greens of the actual water. The effect, however, was lost on the people gathered in the streets.
Along all the streets mismatched tables and chairs had been brought out for the peoples’ feast. The air was alive with the smell of food and the discordant sounds of music, laughter, and singing. No space was left uncovered and a staple on every table were bottles and bottles of Bellezzan wine, flowing into goblets or mouths or just sloshing unto tablecloths and laps.
Everywhere, the people were enjoying themselves, basking in the knowledge that another year of fortune was granted to them by their beloved Duchessa. Streets that weren’t covered with tables and chairs were left for dancing, where young men could court young ladies in varying mask colors. The children who weren’t sent to bed early by their mothers were ducking under tables and running around street corners, sticks wrapped with multicolored ribbons in their hands as their high squeals of laughter echoed through the night.
While the citizens waited for the fireworks display that would be the finale for the evening, they would celebrate, as only true Bellezzans knew how.
***
The feast inside the palazzo was a much more refined affair, and for all it’s lacking in raucous merriment, lacking in everything else was it not.
Along the long table, laden with the feast that Elsa herself had barely touched, lay several Murano wine glasses, the finest from the neighboring island. Each glass was quickly filled with the rich Bellezzan red wine, although she herself sipped sparingly. Her companion seated at her right ordered yet another glass.
“To another year of prosperity for your fine city!” said Hans, perhaps a tad louder than he had intended. He raised his glass at her, and the look of greed that came across his face as he got a better look at the crystal did not escape Elsa’s notice. Regardless, Elsa raised her glass. She would have to keep him happy a little while longer, before the wine could finally subdue him and his silver tongue, at least for the night. The end of the feast could not come soon enough.
When he turned towards his other companion, Elsa was finally free to look to her left, pleased that Alarik had a look of mild distaste towards the youngest Di Meridione brother, surely mirroring her own. One of the few good things about her mask was that the concealment of her face also hid her real thoughts, especially helpful with regards to courtly matters. Hans was oblivious every time her brows constantly furrowed at his words, as were most others. The mask not only declared the Duchessa unwed, but untouchable, unconquerable.
Very few have seen the face behind her mask, since she had turned sixteen. She had been wearing the mask for nearly a decade now, though her election as Duchessa was only four years prior, and the Bellezzan’s memories were short. Because of her reclusiveness, the people had long accepted that their beloved Duchessa was married to the city, and the city alone. If the citizens remembered what she looked like without her mask, nearly a decade ago, then the memory was quickly forgotten, images of her in silk finery and intricate masks replacing it.
And even fewer truly knew what went on in the head that held the mask. Only her sister, and one other.
“Coin for your thoughts?” Alarik murmured, leaning towards her ear. She knew full well he never needed to ask, and judging by his grin, he knew it as well.
She raised an eyebrow at him, supposedly hidden behind the silk of her mask, but his smile widened all the same. “Another year, another Marriage.”
“And the city’s welfare has been assured for another year.” He said, sounding like a schoolboy reciting his times tables. Her senator was never one for the superstitions that surrounded the Marriage with the Sea, he was a man of science, through and through, though like her, he understood the need to keep to the ancient traditions of Bellezza. It kept the people happy and secure, and that was enough. He grinned, “the last marriage, your fifth, was it?”
“Belleza is celebrating my fourth Marriage to the Sea,” she said, rubbing her temples, her mask nearly slipping off as she did. She grew weary of the farce that the city insisted on year after year, yet another fortune of the treasury used on finery that would only be used once, as the Duchessa was dipped into the water, then the garments and the mask would be preserved, sent to the museum, and then never used again. Simply yet another pretty thing to look at, something that the Duchessa herself hoped to never be.
Alarik stilled her hand before she could accidentally knock her mask off, the Duchessa’s face being revealed to all the guests would be a scandal, and the warmth of his touch made her forget her aching head. “Perhaps the favorite part of the night will ease your mind.” He said, looking towards the large balcony.
“I can assure you, the fireworks are far from my favorite part of the night.”
He put his hand to his chest good naturedly, “You wound me, Your Grace!” he said at the jab to the display he had worked so hard in the lab for.
“It all depends on you.” Elsa murmured, before Anna came bounding back to the table.
“Come on, come on, come on!” Anna said, taking Elsa’s hand and bouncing around at the thought of the Bellezzan sky becoming bright with color and light. “Do your thing, Alarik!” Anna pointed towards the balcony, where Neta and Kristoff were already seated, and where Elsa would join them. The best view in the city, overlooking the town square and the sea, for the Duchessa and her family.
Alarik chuckled, “Oh, I learned more than a thing or two during university in Padavia.” Of course, it wouldn’t do well for him to use all that he learned on a single fireworks display, especially when it happened year after year.
“I dearly hope so.” Elsa said. “Or I may regret not letting you become a mandolier instead!” She laughed when his nose wrinkled at the thought. He was tall enough to steer the mandolas across the waters, but lanky as maypole. The university suited him far better, as she had told him during her first year as Duchessa. He had returned from his studies to a laboratory commissioned by the Duchessa herself, for him to conduct his experiments in. His first project was to be the grand finale of the Duchessa’s fourth Marriage with the Sea.
He pushed his chair back, “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you two, or Bellezza, waiting. Principessa.” He said, bowing towards Anna, who giggled at his insistence on formality. “Your Grace.” His bow to her was even lower, curls flopping over and nearly masking his eyes.
When he left, Anna dragged her towards the balcony. Though many of the citizens regarded the Duchessa as untouchable, one step below goddess, Anna always treated her as sister, which she fully appreciated. “Come on!” Anna said, pulling her outside, just as the music accompanying the fireworks began, an entire orchestra of Bellezza’s finest.
The moment the first firework was fired up into the night sky, the whole city fell into a hush. The peoples’ laughter and singing fell silent as all eyes followed the path of the projectile, up and up and up it went until it exploded into a bright ball of scarlet and gold. The silence then gave way to the boom, crackle, and hiss of the fireworks, mixed with the intermittent gasps of surprise and screams of delight from the crowd.
The rest of the display followed very smoothly then, from the first burst of scarlet and gold the night sky was suddenly filled with color. Purple wheels of light that gradually turned to silver the faster they spun. Emerald bursts that faded momentarily before suddenly exploding again in a brilliant flash of cerulean. Bright blue stars that exploded in the sky before turning into silver sparkles that trickled down into the streets, prompting the crowds to try and jump up to catch them.
As the city was at its brightest, lit up with fire and color, Anna looked to her, eyes brighter than even the sky and said, “The sky’s awake!”
“So we’re awake!” Elsa chimed in, softer than Anna, but no less fondly.
“So we have to play!” They both said, giggling at their little yearly tradition. When they lived on the islands, the fireworks were always a fair distance away, although that never stopped Anna from waking her and bringing her to the window of their little cottage by the sea. When Elsa was eight and Anna was five, their parents finally brought them to Bellezza, to experience the city for themselves. Elsa had been bothered by the Marriage with the Sea, the former Duchessa had looked much younger than she should have been, always looking as young as ever when she was lowered into the water. Those thoughts were quickly forgotten by the city’s festivities, and Anna’s enthusiasm at their first time seeing the fireworks up close was infectious. It was then that Elsa fell in love with the city, promising to return to it one day. Little did her young self know that her eventual return to Bellezza would mean the beginning of her rise as its Duchessa.
The privacy of the balcony was one of the few places she could act like this, forget her duties as Duchessa for a while, and just let herself pretend she was a little girl watching the fireworks once more.
When the last of the fireworks ended, the city erupted in raucous applause and cheers, a promise of another year of good things to come.
Elsa excused herself, kissing both her sister and brother in law on both cheeks, and accepting the same, as was Talian custom. The second the fireworks had ended, Neta had fallen fast asleep, so Elsa simply brushed a kiss to the little girl’s forehead.
The halls of the palazzo were all but empty, everyone was either attempting to extract themselves from the crowds that watched the display, people not Bellezzan born were quickly making their way to the boats, and the servants were cleaning up the remains of the feast. Regardless, old habits were hard to break, so she walked, not ran, to her chambers. Always head held high, spine straight, no lifting of skirts in order to run, and always, always the Duchessa.
At least, until she finally reached the security of her room, and quietly shut the door behind her, to see her bookshelf already swung open at its hinges. She smiled at the sight of the lamp lit passageway, lifting her hands, intending to finally remove her wretched mask, when she felt someone behind her, warm hands joining hers as they untied the silk ribbon.
“You really do look lovely without the mask, you know.” Alarik said, cupping her cheek when she turned to smile at him, his finger running down the slight indentation on her skin, caused by wearing the mask all evening.
Elsa leaned into his touch, letting herself get a good look at him. His smile was ever present, gentle green eyes never leaving hers as he got his first good look at her since the feast. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable, but in that moment, it was a wonderful thing to feel. She wondered if that was a good thing, him seeing her this way. “Maybe I should order the masks banned,” she murmured.
“The scandal would rock all of Talia!” he grinned, and Elsa loved how it always reached his eyes. Even if there were a law forcing eligible men to wear masks, even those would never hide the way his face always lit up, especially around her.
The fireworks were long over, although she knew he was not the one who had actually lit them, as there was not a trace of the scent of gunpowder on him. When he leaned his face towards her own, she could smell Cittanuovan coffee and Padavian ink, the faintest trace always seeming to cling to him.
Her mask fell to the floor, silk ribbon fluttering. Tonight, she was no Duchessa. Just Elsa.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer as he brought his lips against hers. A slow smile turned up the corners of her mouth, steady heat already spreading from her neck to the rest of her. She luxuriated in the feel of him beneath her fingers and against her mouth, from the soft curls of his hair that brushed against her cheek as they kissed, to the smooth, strong lines of his body pressed against hers. Her grip on the collar of his cape tightened as he kissed a line from her jaw to just behind her ear. His lips closed around her earlobe before whispering into it, him walking them backward. She felt the edge of the bed hit the back of her knees as he cupped her cheek and pulled her mouth back to his.
“This is definitely my favorite part of the evening,” she whispered against his lips.
***
The morning after the Marriage with the Sea normally meant different things to different people.
The city’s citizens spent the day continuing in the merriment, the energy from the previous evening’s celebrations lasting well into the next morning. Like true Bellezzan, there was always something to celebrate.
For those who had gone to witness it, but were not Bellezzan born, it meant they had better not be in the city, for it was the Giornata Vietata, the Forbidden Day, the one day in the city where the inhabitants must be pure Bellezzan, and Bellezzan alone. The punishment for disobedience was death, though never carried out in living memory, as no one had even dared try.
It was an ancient, barbaric custom, started by a more purist Duchessa, but a tradition so deeply ingrained in the culture of the city that it would take years before the current Duchessa could ever hope to sway it. Like the Marriage with the Sea, or the practice of only allowing male mandoliers to steer the elegant black vessels across the canals, or the custom of unmarried women donning masks once she reached the age of sixteen. Much as Alarik knew the Duchessa wanted to change these, and more, there was only so much that she could do in the few years of her rule. Besides, there were more pressing things to worry about than breaking tradition, such as the people needing to be fed and cared for, so much more important than things like superstitions to “ensure the city’s beauty and prosperity.”
“Bellezza è Moneta,” was the Bellezzan motto. “Beauty is cash.” The moneta part, Alarik knew he could live without. And there was only one beauty in the city that ever mattered to him.
Alarik yawned as the morning sunlight streamed in through the windows. He turned to seek the woman in his arms, still asleep. He could hardly believe the sight, he had woken up thinking the last night had been but a wonderful dream. Her face was unlined, eyes unopened, and she was unmasked.
“And speaking of beauty…” he thought, leaning to stroke a stray lock of pale blonde hair from her forehead. He only now knew that she looked so much more relaxed asleep, for even when she wore her mask, it could never hide the furrow of her brow, or the widening of her eyes. At least, not to him.
She had been nervous yesterday, rightly so, and so had he. They had discussed the arrangement at length, for days on end, until finally deciding that, yes, this was what they both wanted. But that didn’t stop her from feeling anxious about the entire thing, and he had gently assured her multiple times that they did not have to push through with it. He would wait his entire life if he had to.
He had thought that there could be no sight in all of Talia that was more beautiful than how she looked in this moment, her hair splayed out on the pillows, brighter and infinitely more beautiful than the silver that the city so prized. Her eyes, the deep blues of the lagoon, were huge and achingly vulnerable, but they were blessedly dry when she gazed up at him, before giving him a shaky nod. The most breathtaking thing he ever had the privilege to see, the look of absolute trust and love in her eyes.
Of course, as much as the memory of it still made him feel a little catch in his chest, the sight of her in dawn’s pale light, still fast asleep in the circle of his arms, made him feel the same way. The sunbeams illuminated the bare skin of her shoulder, giving her an almost ethereal glow. Though Elsa was loathe to ever be likened to the goddess that the city so revered, Alarik thought that even the goddess herself could never compare.
When he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyelids fluttered open, bleary eyes blinking up at him, before she began to smile slowly. Before the smile could be fully formed, however, he brushed his own lips against hers, before deepening the kiss, at her behest.
She pulled away, smiling as softly as she had during the earlier part of the previous evening. Bashful once more, something that few people had ever seen, for in this moment, she was not the ruler of the prosperous Talian city.
“Good morning, my Darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her earlobe.
She burrowed closer to him, her cool skin meeting the warmth of his own, as it had last night. Her hair tickled his nose, though he far from minded. “I think I quite like not being called Duchessa.” she said, sighing when he drew her even closer.
Last night, before she drifted off, he had whispered “Darling,” and he took the sleepy smile that she gave him as permission, before her breathing slowed, and eventually evened. His beautiful, darling Elsa.
Elsa rubbed the sleep from her eyes, looking towards the window. “What time is it?” she asked, although she did not pull away.
“Few hours past dawn,” he said, after looking at the position of the sun. They had both slept in, although the holiday had kept them from any pressing matters to attend to very early in the morning. Regardless, the staff would soon be looking for her, as the Duchessa was almost always up with the sunrise. Besides, he needed to tidy up his lab anyway, after all the fireworks, it was a mess. He hated to have to leave her though, and judging by the frown she gave at the time, she did as well. “How long are we going to keep this a secret?” he asked, helping her into her robe.
She looked straight at him, biting her lip. Of course, it was not exactly unheard of, the Duchessa and the palace scholar. Certainly a more unorthodox relationship, but not forbidden. But Elsa, ever observant, was aware of the rumors of plots against her. She had once told him that the last thing she wanted was yet another person she loved to be used as leverage against her.
Alarik had almost not heard the rest, for that was the first time she had ever admitted returning his feelings for her.
Now, her feelings of apprehension at the revelation appeared to be the same as before, and he found himself to be strangely okay with it. He knew, and she knew, and that was more than enough for him. So he was more than a little surprised when she nodded, saying “a month, perhaps.”
He felt his smile widen so much that he was sure he looked foolish, but he didn’t care. “Really?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.
Her smile rivalled even his, as she tiptoed to give him a peck on the cheek. She accepted the mask, letting him be the one to tie the ribbon, her beautiful face covered once more. Her eyes were bright behind it, and they crinkled when she laughed. “A month of just us.” The mask didn’t cover the flush that came across her cheeks and neck, when he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, before Alarik set out through the passageway by the bookshelf.
“As you wish, ‘Just Elsa’ ” he murmured, taking a torch that hung from the stone walls.
The last thing he saw when he closed the door behind him, before returning to the dimly lit path towards his lab, was her face lighting up. The memory of the sight, as he made his way through the dark passageway, was more than enough for him.