Chapter 7
He pushed away the melancholy thoughts, the same as everyone appeared to do once the subdued mood of the funeral breakfast had passed. The castle’s occupants seemed to welcome the excuse of that afternoon’s wedding to lift the atmosphere in a more optimistic direction.
He escaped to the privacy of his rooms while chaos once again reigned as preparations were made for the ceremony and celebratory dinner. He spent the time pacing, pausing now and then to stare out the window.
Fidgety actions he couldn’t get away with in the public rooms were loosed. His fingers drummed against his thigh. He just didn’t know for surewhat to expect. He hated not knowing.
He paced again through his bedchamber. Marriages were consummated. Somethingneeded to occur between two men to that end. “But what?” he whispered. He didn’t know with any certainty what to expect, but he could surmise based on what he knew happened between men and women.
Erich’s familiar presence in the background of his pacing—packing and putting the finishing touches on Marcelo’s long, silk wedding tunic—had a calming effect on his nerves, but did not completely alleviate them.
He stopped at the opening to his dressing room and grimaced, hating to put forth such a…personal inquiry. “Erich?”
“Sir?”
Marcelo sighed. “I don’t even know how to put this to words.”
Ever patient, Erich waited silently with a calm expression that was probably as much training as it was true serenity. Nevertheless, it had the same effect.
“I find myself unduly anxious about…things that will occur later tonight, after the celebration. My anxiety is rooted in not knowing what will happen.”
“I see. I don’t have any personal experience in such matters either, but…”
“But?”
“I know that there’s a lubricating oil involved, and that men who prefer men do repeatedly seek each other out, so the experience must be one that both parties consider pleasurable.”
A lubricating oil. Marcelo pressed his lips together. That likely confirmed his suspicions, but Erich’s observation helped to ease his fears.
“Thank you, Erich. What would I do without you?”
A small smile played at the servant’s lips as he bent over his embroidery. “I don’t know, sir.”
* * * *
When the time came, Erich helped him into the bright blue silk tunic, exquisitely embroidered with chains of white and pink flowers. While cut in a more masculine fashion, it was decorated similarly to the tunics he’d often seen on brides. He fastened Marcelo’s curls at the nape of his neck with a strip of silk with matching embroidery.
Together they walked to the courtyard, where the ceremonial portion of the wedding festivities would take place. Marcelo held up his chin as he stepped through the archway. He, the son no one had thought could contribute anything meaningful to their society, was fulfilling the terms of the peace treaty. He was the first royal son to marry, and the first citizen in all of Sheburat to marry another of the same sex, setting a new standard. His mention in history books would now be more than a mere citation of his name.
Prince Efren waited in the sunshine, under the wide expanse of blue sky, and held out a hand to welcome Marcelo to his side. When they joined hands for the first time, Marcelo’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat.
His earlier fears vanished in that warm touch, replaced by restrained anticipation. Their gazes locked and held as Queen Giselle approached.
She smiled. “I think the answer is clear to all, but I must ask—do each of you enter willingly into this marriage?”
“Yes, I enter into this marriage as a willing participant,” Prince Efren replied in a firm tone.
Marcelo echoed Prince Efren. “Yes, I enter into this marriage as a willing participant.”
“You may proceed.” The queen stepped away.
Marcelo removed a ring—a bejeweled band that had belonged to one of his ancestors—from one of his fingers and placed it in Prince Efren’s palm. The prince pulled a ring off his smallest finger and placed it in Marcelo’s palm. The heat from the ring melted Marcelo as he slipped it onto the fourth finger of his left hand.
The modest ceremony was almost complete. Only one action remained to fulfill the requirements.
Prince Efren ran a finger along Marcelo’s jaw and tipped up his chin. Marcelo held his breath as Prince Efren lowered his head. A small sound escaped him as the prince’s warm breath wafted over his lips right before their mouths came together for a light, brief kiss.
Marcelo’s knees wobbled, but the prince’s other hand at his waist held him in place. With that one mild kiss, the curb on Marcelo’s anticipation slipped away, replaced by unlimited eagerness. Whatever pain might or might not be involved in the act would be worth enduring to be held in this man’s arms and thoroughly kissed.