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“I can not apologise enough for your cousins absences, nor can I emphasise enough how much they wished to attend.” Kit heard his aunt say, and he swivelled about to meet her sharp eyes, tearing his glance away from his newly proclaimed wife.
“I’m sure they did, Alexander could never miss such extravagances unless it was absolutely necessary, and Edwin has never been much for family reunions.” The aunt and nephew’s thoughts briefly flickered across the ballroom to Kit’s uncle, his aunt’s elder brother, drunkenly picking a fight with the King of Corona, and sighed together.
“Indeed, but you shall always have your other cousins if you are so starved of company.” Kit didn’t very much care for his sickly and dull cousin, Princess Adrienna, or her twin, the scheming Frederico. He shouldn’t blame them for their natures, Kit knew it, as their father had raised them and conditioned them to have such unflattering dispositions, and while they could not recommend themselves to his good opinion, the newly crowned king regularly told himself that it did not mean they were entirely lacking in virtues. “I don’t expect you will feel the need to address anyone save your new wife for quite sometime, however.” At that, Kit frowned, not for his aunts word but for the smile in her voice and on her face.
Marguerite Catarina of Regovia, Queen Consort of Marinyll and defect heir to her husbands throne (as King Alexey had failed to declare either of his sons Crown Prince as of yet), was a formidable and serious woman with all the markings of an empress. Having been born the youngest of six siblings, three of which were to die before they reached adulthood, she had never known true power until she wed, and swiftly grew to be a great influence over state and court, seizing the reigns as her conveniently obliging husband shirked his duties. Her success and sheer wilfulness had not left her humourless, but it had meant that she rarely expressed how she felt, whether she was amused, grieved, enraged or content. To have her bless anyone with her smile, a remarkably beautiful smile that reminded Kit of his mother, was something unspeakably wonderful.
“You know, you are the only guest in attendance that has not blessed my marriage.” Kit commented, his tone reflective and also slightly mocking. “I do hope you approve.” He continued, and it was only half a joke.
“If my blessing means very much then you need not fear, I’ve seen the way you like at her.” Marguerite nodded in Ella’s direction, where she was being awkwardly led about by Phillip amid the dancers, the pair bursting into hysterics at his clumsiness and her attempts to save their steps. “You look at her like she is the world and more.” She left it unsaid that Kit looked to Ella in the same manner Edwin looked to his brothers wife.
Kit’s laughter drew Marguerite away from her dark thoughts, those of now estranged brothers, three broken hearts and a girl that was wasting away well before her time.
“I suppose I must do so.” Kit chuckled, grinning like a fool as he looked to his feet. “She truly is, aunt, I could never hope to, pure chance that it is mutual, although she insists differently.” His aunt followed his trail of thought as best she could, wondering if her beloved nephew even knew he was not speaking in full sentences. “There are all these characters in books and plays and legends and songs, two people who you think could never actually care for someone so deeply, could never develop such strong affection within a matter of hours or days, but I swear… maybe an hour before I knew it, was convinced of it.” Such ramblings from a usually intelligent young man could only voice louder what he insisted. Marguerite did not even need him to continue speaking testimony of his feelings, but he thought him somewhat adorable in his love filled ramblings.
“Father liked her, he met her for all of a minute, exchanged a sentence or two about me, but he must have cared for her so, the forgetful one he called her, and I followed and she left and I know I would never stop until I found her. Never, nor would I give up the only item that might lead me to her. Made of magic.” Marguerite raised an eyebrow at the word ‘magic’, but aside from that she found the information her mind struggled to decipher sufficient. “Would Mother have liked her, if she were here?”
Marguerite was completely thrown off by the question, no one having even alluded to her dear sister in her presence for years. At first, seeing Kit caused her heart injury, for his being her only surviving child just as much as him looking so much like her, but gradually she saw only him and a horrid dose of guilt washed over her as she realised she had not paused to think of Abrianna. But then she considered the query for a moment, harsh eyes soaking in every detail of Ella across the room and Kit by her side.
“Your mother was even more practical and analytical than I was.” Having seen her nephews questioning glance, she added “Well, initially.” for good measure. “Ella would have been a little to dreamy and altruistic for her to stomach, as you would be.” If Kit was hurt by her words, he did not show it, possibly because he had spent his life being scolded in possessing such traits. “Nay, she would simply settle to love her as a daughter, she would need only look into your eyes to see how much she means to you.”
The world and more, Kit thought to himself, a smile broad on his face as he caught his love’s eye.