Chapter Text
“You needn’t look so worried,” Grantaire murmured, looking to his bride, who was perched on the bed they would share from then on. “I won’t touch you.”
The blonde on the bed opened her mouth to argue, as if she expected defiance, but faltered when her new husband acquiesced to her request. She looked down, hid her face behind blonde curls. “Good. I would hate for our first night to be nothing but arguing.”
Grantaire waved his hand towards the candelabra above them, and all but two of the flames went out. “You say that, yet you looked ready. Did you have points to make against me if I requested you?”
She pursed her lips a little, a dark bow of disdain on her tanned face. Grantaire knew that his new bride was Northern Elusian, darker skin, lighter hair, fiery temper, fiery magic, but had not expected her to be nearly the spokesperson for the stereotype of her country. Their country, almost. Grantaire’s mother was quickly working with the King and Queen of Elus to combine their neighboring countries into one solid force that could protect their people and their allies from growing threats in the West. This marriage, certainly not decided upon by neither bride nor groom, had been the biggest step yet. They had both gone through with it, as duty said they would, but now…
“I did, in fact,” said the new crown princess of Ketor, the previous crown princess of Elus. The future queen of whatever new name could be decided upon for the result of their uniting countries. “I had points, counterpoints, and a solid basis as to why we needn’t spend this night, nor any, rutting like fools.”
That made Grantaire laugh, a rough sharp thing that echoed around their chambers. “You have no need to worry. I mean no offense to you, princess, but - “
“I take more offense to being called ‘princess’ than to your disillusioned idea that I was heartbroken over you not wanting to mount me like a prized breeding dog.” She swung her legs off of the bed and grabbed not her own nightdress but Grantaire’s, draping it over her arms and having to wrap the sash around her waist twice to secure it. “I will request that you use my last name or nothing at all. My PREVIOUS last name. My middle name, now, I suppose.”
“But you are a princess,” he said. She was flustered, clearly, and Grantaire could not figure out why. “Surely you’re used to it by now.”
“No. I am not. Now if you please, I am going to take a bath before bed.” She reached out and pulled the tassel that would call for the baths to be filled. “If you fall asleep before I return, I will see you in the morning. Goodnight, Prince Hercule.”
“Goodnight, Princess Aurore,” Grantaire - Hercule Grantaire - said, already forgetting what she had said. But at her icy glare, he bowed his head. As she swept out of the room, Grantaire chuckled.
“Forgive me. Goodnight, Enjolras.”