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——
It was never meant to be possible. The improbability of it was too great. The chances were too slim. A joining that defied all the odds. The two of them, standing side by side in front of their people, their nations — no, their country.
Yet, there Damen stood, bolt straight and awkward, forcing himself to gaze into the gilded mirror on this sun-streaked afternoon. His reflection stared back blankly, flecks of light across his face from the rays that broke through the gauzy white curtains that bloomed in the lazy wind.
Startling him, a bronzed hand reached up over his shoulder and brushed an imaginary wrinkle out of the embroidered twilled silk. “I still don’t know why they wear such gaudy things,” Nikandros wrinkled his nose as he surveyed Damen in his reflection, lightly fingering the lacework. “This is an opportunity to show off your muscles, your power, not be diminished within layers of cloth.”
Damen grinned back toothily in the mirror to his closest friend. “Come now. It’s not so bad once you try it.” He spun round in an exaggerated flourish, allowing the flowy sleeves to whirl.
“Hm,” Nikandros muttered, completely unconvinced with the faint edge of a judging scowl on his pressed lips. “I even brought you a bolt of that Thracian cloth that you like but no doubt, you’ve discarded it for something more Veretian.”
“It’s around here somewhere. I told you I love it and I promise it will be used for something beautiful,” Damen reassured, gesturing around the room laden with gifts and various outfits flung about. He couldn’t study the room too closely. The slew of fabrics and other items out of place from the last few days that he casually rested his eyes on were already adding to his building anxiety.
He took a long calming breath and turned back to Nikandros, adding, “And moreover, you know that I never looked good in that shade. Anyhow, it’s too late. I’m wearing this. It’s for him and I know he’ll like it.”
Nikandros’ face involuntarily softened at the glowing look on Damen’s face. It had been a slow and reluctant process, like coaxing honey from a bee, but his kyros was steadily warming to the thought of Vere. Slowly but surely, the tide was turning and trust was building between the Akielons and the Veretians. If there was going to be any truer sign of a partnership —one to display to the world— it would be this day. And for Damen personally, this was his triumph. He had envisioned this from the start. It was he who had convinced Laurent.
Turning once more to the mirror to adjust his curls for the millionth time, Damen’s golden cuff perfectly caught a beam, bathing the room in a speckled rainbow filter. “Are you still wearing that thing? It’s unseemly.” This time, a tinge of bitterness cut through Nikandro’s words.
Sighing, Damen made a final adjustment to the laces on the front of the soft blouse. “I give up on you,” Damen retorted with mock annoyance. He knew that Nikandros would follow him to the ends of the earth but his critiques were nothing else but exhausting and Damen was tired of having to explain himself.
“I told you already why we’ve kept these and I won’t explain it again.” Sighing, he peeled his eyes away from his reflection. There was nothing more he could do at this point. “Well? While you’re in this mood, go on, anything else you want to criticize before we go?”
Damen smirked at him as he strutted toward the middle of the room. Nikandros’ mouth was a thin line but it remained firmly shut. Damen landed in front of his friend and firmly grasped both his shoulders, meeting his eye. “My friend, come on, smile. It’s a happy day. You’ll love it, I promise. And you know, Jord will be there,” he teased, mischievously.
The stoic governor kept his face passive and smooth but his oldest friend recognized the ever so slight twitch in the right corner of his mouth. Who said all love was lost between Akielos and Vere? Grinning broadly, Damen swung his arm around his friend’s shoulder and led him out of the room.
——
The day was extraordinarily beautiful, and that was even with Damen’s happily biased filter. In the waning afternoon, the light softened all the sharp edges and there was a hazy diffused quality to the air. The servants did a perfect job of setting up. The main atrium courtyard where it was taking place was completely adorned. All the bougainvillea vines were trimmed back, though their reds and fuchsias were still a violent blanket of in-focus color. Additional white wisteria, Laurent’s favorite, were quietly woven through the rows of chairs and leading up to the front centerpiece. Like him, it was soft and understated, adding a calming presence to the scene but never taking the spotlight.
The large central dais stood at the front with both the Akielon lion and Veretian star raised high on prominent flags. More white wisteria creeped up the oaken pergola and gently draped over the tops, their ends softly swinging. Damen strode up to the front, the nerves starting to build more fervently as the hour grew near. Seeing the large crowd beyond waving an equal mix of both flags made him fully realize the impact and gravity of this day.
Damen paused, standing at his mark at the front, Nikandros by his side. Jord, resplendent and barely recognizable with a new shave and haircut, stood in a crisp Veretian blue tunic. Their eyes met and Jord nodded to him as he took his place next to one of the twin chairs. There was nothing to do but wait, which wasn’t a strong suit to begin with. Damen fidgeted, his hands wrung dry, except that they were slick with his sweat.
And then, there he was. Finally.
To a massive wave of cheers from the citizens of both sides, Damen and the others looked up to catch Laurent appearing at the top of the aisle. There were no words for his majestic entrance as his golden head appeared from around the arched hallway. As if surrendering to his unparalleled beauty, even the sky seemed to relinquish: in a quick gust of wind, a storm of colored petals rained down on them through the perfumed air.
Damen’s stomach flipped and lodged itself in his throat as his heart began racing wildly. Pausing at the start of the silk-lined aisle for the servant to remove his cloak, Laurent stepped forward, revealing a traditional Akelion chiton. The pale mauve cloth that Nikandros had brought with him seemed to dance in the summer wind as it clung to his pale frame. This simple outfit that made Damen’s legs go weak far more than any other showy Veretian garb. The din rose from the crowd as Laurent appeared to float down the aisle, his hand waving regally. Ever the composed monarch, the faintest of slants upturned the corner of his mouth when he met Damen’s eye.
At long last, at what seemed to be an eternity to Damen, Laurent reached the front and Damen extended a shaking hand to take the paler delicate one as he climbed the three small steps to reach the platform.
“Hi,” Damen breathed, so faintly he could barely comprehend if it was real or within his mind. All he could do was stare, taking in the ethereal vision in front of him. All he could do was try to capture every detail, memorize the exactness of how utterly flawless Laurent looked in that moment. To match the plain minimalistic chiton, he was completely bare save for the matching cuff on his wrist. His buttercup hair flashed just as golden as the jewelry, his usual perfect coif that sat so completely effortless.
“You’re staring,” Laurent mused wryly as he caught Damen’s gaze. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly back and forth against Damen’s hand that he held, interwoven with his own. The repetitive movement was reassuring and it kept Damen grounded.
“Come on, it’s time.”
He pulled Damen forward and they knelt onto the second step. Guion stepped forward from his seat in the front row with the other dignitaries. As the Councilmember connecting the two countries, it was logical that he would preside over the ceremony. He silenced the crowd with nothing but a gesture and moved to stand in front of the two. Laurent squeezed his hand tightly again and Damen managed to flash him a wan smile. It was all happening now.
Guion started on the prepared, preapproved speech. Damen had read it already: it was all showy pomp and circumstance. An official statement of their intentions. So it didn’t matter that he heard none of it now. Nor the crescendoing spectators for that matter. All he could hear was his own heart thumping wildly as he kneeled, shoulders touching with Laurent, their hands still clasped.
Shaking his curls and taking a breath, Damen returned to the reality of this important moment. He didn’t know why his nerves were so jarred. Maybe it was that he had worked so hard for this moment and now that it was here, his goals manifested, he didn’t know what his future would hold. It was still blank, waiting to be written.
“And now, the crowns,” Guion proclaimed, his speech coming to a close. At this, Jord and Nikandros stepped forward, as previously rehearsed, and simultaneously placed the matching delicate filigree diadems on their heads. Damen leaned forward, feeling the weight of the cold metal as it fit onto his skull.
The silence that had swept through the onlookers during the speech was replaced by jubilant clapping and cheering that commenced all at once like a tide crashing forward on the sand.
“May I present the newly crowned kings of the combined territory of Akielos and Vere!” Guion bellowed as Nikandros and Jord swept their hands toward the pair, presenting them to the people anew. Laurent grinned at him and pulled him up, their hands still knotted. They turned toward the crowd, Laurent waving, effervescent as ever as Damen glanced around demurely.
Finally he turned to Damen, the cold azure eyes meeting his gaze. They were mirthful but a seriousness had overcome them suddenly, darkening them to twin sapphires. Damen swallowed thickly, expectantly. Laurent’s crown was almost completely blended with his gilded locks as he bowed his head slightly.
“My king.”
Damen beamed radiantly, flashing a stunning smile. For the first time that day, he felt completely at ease. He may not know what his future might hold but he knew who would be in it, standing by his side.