Chapter Text
Princess Nile arrives at Nicolò’s chambers two hours after the botched inspection.
Quỳnh seems genuinely surprised by her presence, but she’s quick to hide it, bowing her head as the princess walks in followed by her handmaids. Nicolò mimics Quỳnh’s gesture the best he can, trying to not ruin his hair in the process. Quỳnh just managed to arrange it in a way she thought was both practical and elegant and Nicolò would prefer to not undo all her hard work.
“We were not expecting you until later, Your Highness,” Quỳnh says, her tone apologetic but cautious.
Her Highness makes an impatient sound with her tongue, and though she does not quite roll her eyes, she scrunches her nose in a way that renders Nicolò instantly fond of her. Princess Nile must have only a few years on him, and Nicolò quickly takes notice of the sombre clothes covering her whole body, including her head. Also, despite her rank, there’s a distinct lack of any jewellery in the way of a widow, and Nicolò is abruptly reminded that Princess Nile was also married off to a stranger because of this cursed war.
And he cannot help but think about the day his brother Antonio stormed into the infirmary, bragging about allegedly shooting the bolt that killed Crown Prince Ashraf.
“Your Highness,” he starts before he can mull over his words. “I am so–”
At the time, Nicolò did not give the news much attention, for he was too busy stitching soldiers back together. For some of them, that meant they could return to the fight, but most men were just given back to their families so they could be buried with some dignity. The news of the passing of a person Nicolò had never met before, no matter how high-ranking they were, simply could not compare with the helplessness he felt as he was unable to save the ones under his care.
But now, staring at Princess Nile, he takes notice of the smile that does not quite reach her eyes. He recognises the nails bitten almost to the core, and he can imagine her eyes red with tears. Now, Nicolò looks at that young woman and sees someone who had stayed awake too many nights, waiting for terrible news to arrive until the day it finally did and has not got much sleep ever since.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Nicolò says finally, bowing his head even lower. He feels Quỳnh’s fingers on his forearm, the pressure over the fabric of his robe strong and grounding.
Nicolò’s words are followed by a long silence, and he is suddenly too afraid he might have overstepped. If Princess Nile suddenly decides to strike him, here and now, he would do nothing to stop her. Nicolò knows he can never fault a widow for resenting a person who belongs to the family responsible for her grief.
“You are very kind,” the princess says softly. She speaks in Sabir, and when Nicolò looks up, she’s close enough for him to stare into her eyes. “And very young.”
Nicolò feels his face warm. His elder brother had to sign a special permission for him to be allowed to marry, yes, but Nicolò will be of age in a couple of months. Honestly, he does not think of himself as ‘too young’. He has not thought of that for years now. In the monastery, he had to work as hard as any other brother, to wake up as early. In the infirmary, no one tried to shield him from all the gore and the carnage, and he had been covered with as much blood and guts as the other healers.
If Nicolò had been too young at some point, he does not remember it very well. Maybe he should. It will not be useful for him though, not here.
Definitely not today.
“Yes, I was made aware that you have seen what violence can do,” Princess Nile says, staring at him and stepping even closer into Nicolò’s personal space. “But that’s not what I meant.”
Nicolò frowns at her words but remains very still. He does not know what the protocol is here honestly. He feels it’s improper for a Princess, windowed or not, to be so close to a man she’s not related to, yet, but of course, no one will see him as a threat to her reputation.
“Your Highness, we need–” Quỳnh starts, and Nicolò feels her hand tighten against his arm.
“I wish a word with my brother’s betrothed,” Princess Nile says, and Quỳnh releases Nicolò at once. The Princess nods, before speaking over her shoulder to her handmaids. “Jay, I will have everything in place when I return. We will not be long.”
As soon as Princess Nile closes her mouth, her handmaids start to move about, fast and efficiently. Nicolò did not notice it when they arrived a few minutes ago, but two of the women are carrying a large chest between them. He does not get to see what’s inside, for Princess Nile takes Nicolò’s arm.
“The balcony here must have a beautiful view,” she says, all but dragging Nicolò towards the large windows overlooking the harbour.
The doors were opened after midday to let in some air from the sea and have not been closed since, so they easily slip past them and onto the balcony. It’s almost as big as the room itself, and there are a pair of wooden benches and a few beautiful carved chairs and a table, but Princess Nile ignores all. Instead, she leads Nicolò to the balustrade, and only when they are out of earshot from the people in the room does she let go of his arm and turn her head to stare at him.
“I heard about the inspection,” she starts in a lower but clear voice.
Nicolò cannot help but flinch. If he closes his eyes, he thinks he can still feel the phantom touch of two pairs of strong hands on the back of his legs, forcing them apart. He tries to school his features in a neutral expression, but he knows he has failed as Princess Nile touches his elbow a little too gently.
“Does everyone know about it?” he asks in a small voice before he can stop himself. He does not know a soul in this place other than Quỳnh and now the princess, and yet, he can feel his heart start to beat faster at the notion that there are complete strangers whispering about what happened to him in that room.
“There are no secrets in a place like this,” the princess says, and though she does not sound pleased about it, her demeanour is almost stoic. Nicolò envies her.
“I was inspected before I married Ashraf,” she says then in a conversational tone, and Nicolò feels his empty stomach drop, his mouth going dry. “It’s not a pleasant experience, but I had known for years that would happen someday. And I had my mother by my side at the time, so I cannot imagine being just thrown into–”
“Your Highness, I–”
The princess raises her hand. “We are to be family in a few hours, please call me Nile.”
Nicolò nods, suddenly tongue-tied. He has no sisters, but he heard about these inspections when he was a boy, for his brother’s wives had to undergo similar procedures. He had been already promised for the Church then and did not give the idea much thought. Of course, he never could have guessed something like that would happen to him. He feels a little foolish now, to remember the Monastery and to think he thought he was safe.
“I should have been here,” Nile says, pulling Nicolò from his memories. “I am of the family of the groom, we have a role as well... And yes, I knew an inspection would happen, but I had no idea you would be on your own. Please, if you can find in your heart to forgive me–”
“Your High-Nile,” Nicolò corrects himself just in time. “Please, there’s nothing to forgive. And I was not alone, I had Lady Quỳnh with me. She was very kind.”
Nile does not seem very convinced, but she does not try to argue. Despite the warm sun, out on the balcony is windy, and Nicolò feels a chill down in his robes, his legs bare of any clothing or hair. He feels suddenly too exposed again and would like to go back inside, but he does not dare to voice his wishes. He can tell Nile is not done yet, her expression guarded, her lips parted.
“Lady Quỳnh looks like a very fine person,” Nile concedes gracefully. “And I am pleased to know she was there for you, but I am afraid they will not allow her to stay during the bedding ceremony.”
Nicolò lets out a strangled noise. “B-bedding?” he falters, trying to wrap his mind around Nile’s words.
She bites her lower lip, staring at him as if searching for something hidden in plain sight. “Oh dear,” Nile says after a long pause. “No one told you.”
It is not a question, and Nicolò feels his bones turn to liquid. He hastily places one of his hands on the balustrade, looking down and wondering how far up they are, certain that the fall would end him but knowing he would never attempt it. Still, it feels good when Nile takes a step closer to him and puts her hand over his in a grounding and caring gesture.
“My brother by law... your soon-to-be-husband is–” Nile says, her voice both fond and exasperated. “Yusuf is a romantic. He likes doing grand gestures, and... he was not informed beforehand about the inspection, so there he went. By interrupting it, though, I am afraid he put both of you in a very tough position.”
Feeling dizzy still, Nicolò just listens as Nile explains how the prince’s hand was forced. How he had to concede to a public bedding in order to spare Nicolò a second inspection in the morrow. Thus, after the wedding feast, a select group of treaty signatories will follow the bride and groom into a private chamber and bear witness to the consummation of their marriage. And apparently, they expected a bloody sheet as proof.
Nicolò’s empty stomach churns.
“But I, I am not–” he stammers. “I have never done anything, but I am not–”
I am not what they expect me to be, he wants to scream. Instead, he sighs.
“Are you afraid you will not bleed?” Nile asks, her voice just above a whisper. She seems rather confused. Nicolò knows one man can bleed from sleeping with another. During the war, Nicolò remembers treating some who were bedded by a fellow soldier and hurt themselves in the process. Usually, a certain use of force was involved. He feels himself blushing furiously as he explains it to Nile.
“Yusuf will never force you,” she sounds baffled but also tired. “God, this is all my fault.”
Nicolò frowns as Nile starts explaining how Prince Yusuf was never meant to be king. How he had the option to choose an easier path but in the end accepted to marry a stranger, an enemy really, in order to guarantee peace. She tells him how Yusuf agreed to rule as Regent so her son, Ahmed, could have a peaceful childhood. The kind none of them got to have because of their fathers’ war.
“He sacrificed himself for my boy, and so I am in debt to him but also to you.” Nile’s voice is thick with emotion, and when she looks up, her face is determined. “I will find blood for those sheets.”
Nicolò wonders how Nile plans to achieve that feat unless she barges into the bedding ceremony to spread the blood herself, but he also does not dare to voice his disbelief. Instead, Nicolò decides to focus on the rest of the information she offered him.
He cannot say he’s surprised to know that Prince Yusuf did not wish to marry him. That was to be expected. Nicolò supposes that at least there will be two reluctant people at that ceremony rather than one, and that thought does bring him some comfort. He smiles at Nile.
Nile smiles in return and this time, it almost reflects in her eyes. Then, without a warning, she leans forward and pulls Nicolò into a hug. It’s strong, but also careful, and soon Nicolò feels himself embracing her back. Her body is solid and warm, and somehow he knows they will be friends. Suddenly, the prospect of his marriage does not feel so lonely.
“So, you have a little boy,” he says when they part, eager to change the subject. “Is he here... for the wedding?”
Nile chuckles. “He’s having a blast with all the other highborn boys, swimming and playing... though by now I do hope he has started getting ready for the feast.”
At that mention, Nicolò’s stomach makes a noise. He’s very aware he has not eaten in hours, and since he knows he will not eat again soon, he tries to ignore it.
“He’s very curious about his uncle’s intended... he even made you a gift!” she says, seemingly unaware of Nicolò’s inner turmoil.
“I am sure it will be wonderful,” he says sincerely.
“I also have a gift for you,” Nile says, her smile brighter now than it had been since she arrived. She sounds almost excited as she takes Nicolò’s arm and starts to walk them back inside. “Come, they surely must be done by now–”
Nicolò is about to ask what Nile meant by that when they cross the balcony’s entrance and step back into the room. He spots Quỳnh and Nile’s handmaids all gathered around something large and colourful, and it takes Nicolò several seconds to understand what exactly he’s staring at.
“Is this–” he begins, gently extracting his arm from Nile’s and taking one step forward, his fingers itching, his eyes wide.
It’s a gown. It’s quite clearly his wedding gown. And it’s something so grand and fine that Nicolò almost cannot believe it should exist here, in this post-war-ridden world.
The very base seems to be formed by several layers of silk, with a white undershirt topped by a rich blue tunic. The tunic looks like it’s made of velvet, embroidered with gold thread and inlaid with the smallest of gems. The fabric is a blue darker than the waters out in Melita’s harbour, a colour that Nicolò would usually associate with what sacred figures would wear in holy paintings, something to be admired from afar. He cannot believe he will be allowed to touch it, let alone wear it.
“What do you think?” Nile asks after a few minutes of silence, and he notices the anticipation in her tone. Nicolò is at loss, the emotions in his heart too conflicting for him to voice.
On one hand, he cannot help but lament the idea that such resources and hard work had been put into something that will be only worn for a few hours and for a ceremony that he did not want to be part of. All that labour and fabric would have been better spent on clothes for war widows and orphans in the coming winter. And yet, he cannot help but stare in complete awe at the beauty of all that work. For what feels like several minutes, Nicolò just stands there as people move and talk around him.
“It’s beautiful,” he ends up saying. After all, it’s the truth. Then Nile smiles, before she gives Quỳnh a quick nod, which is enough to put her into motion.
Nicolò is instructed to go to the bath chamber and to relieve his bladder one last time before they begin dressing him, and he does it without question, certain that once he is wearing that gown, he will be lucky to be able to walk without any help.
Once he’s done, Nile’s handmaids make quick work of helping Nicolò to step on a little wooden stool in the middle of the room. They efficiently strip him from his robe, offering a silky shift for him to put on instead. It’s very light, with carefully stitched silver lace. The shift covers up to Nicolò’s knees and the fabric feels soft yet unfamiliar against his bare skin. He was used to the scratchy feel of the monk’s robe or the practical garb he wore at the infirmary. Nicolò never got used to wearing anything that fine.
As the handmaids move about, Nile starts walking around the room, inspecting Nicolò and the gown itself. She looks critical of everything but also impressed, and Nicolò feels a little dizzy again, praying that he will manage to keep standing as the women start bringing pieces of the dress for him to put on.
He’s grateful then when Nile begins commenting on the dress-making process, and he manages to focus on her voice, using it almost as a tether.
Apparently, a group of seven seamstresses had been working day and night since the treaty was signed to finish the dress on time. And because they did not have Nicolò’s measurements, Nile made the choice of having the gown built in layers, so it could be pulled apart and wrapped around his body – as the handmaids soon demonstrated it – by securing the fabric with clasps, adjusting the dress and the tunic to Nicolò’s frame.
As the women work, Nicolò feels himself growing warmer and heavier. The fabric smells like new and though it feels soft against his body, he does feel its growing weight. He nods, hums and replies with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to their questions about too-tight or too-loose fits, and Nicolò tries to not sound too eager when he accepts a small sip of water Quỳnh offers him sometime later, just enough for him not to pass out on his way to the feast.
Soon, Nicolò notices the room is being bathed in warm tones of orange, pink and purple. That’s when he realises it’s sundown already, and he is to be married within the hour.
He feels grateful for the weight of the dress then, which makes it almost impossible for him to visibly shake. He holds himself still until Quỳnh helps him down from the stool and one of the handmaids can manage to fit flat shoes on his feet on the second try. He notices there are at least five different pairs lined up against a chest, all made in the same colours of the red sash they had wrapped around his waist, securing the blue tunic over the silk layers.
Nicolò holds his breath at the clicking sounds of jewellery being put around his neck and hooked in his headdress, and he takes a deep breath when he notices something large in Nile’s arms. It has a creamy colour and once she’s close enough, Nicolò notices the washed patterns all over the fabric. She smiles and instructs him to lower his head. Nicolò does it, also closing his eyes, but only realises she’s arranging a veil on his head when he feels the softest fabric brush against his face.
“My Prince,” Quỳnh says, and she sounds so kind Nicolò that feels his eyes prickle with unshed tears. But he knows he cannot allow himself to break now. “When you are ready, if you please.”
Nicolò takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, staring at his reflection in a full-body mirror that takes three of Nile’s handmaids to hold upright. He realises, to his own surprise, that he does look like a bride now. He did not think that would be possible, but he cannot deny what he sees. The realisation makes his eyes burn again, so he cleans his throat and nods, not trusting words anymore.
Nile and Quỳnh exchange a quick look before the Princess steps forward and takes Nicolò’s face between her hands. She pulls him down so she can kiss both his cheeks before taking the veil and covering Nicolò’s face with it. He holds his breath during the whole process, trying to focus on the beating of his heart.
The fabric is too dense, and Nicolò starts to panic when he understands he will not be able to see where he’s going. And he is about to say something when he feels two pairs of hands secure each of his own. He recognises Quỳnh’s tough grip and Nile’s soft strength, and he immediately feels himself relax, blindly trusting these two women to walk him to his fate.
Nicolò cannot tell exactly how long it takes for them to arrive at the ballroom. He does know there are several people on their way there, filling every corridor they pass, for he can distinguish the uneven shapes and shadows through the thick veil; but if they say anything to him, he does not understand a word. Instead, Nicolò begins to hum to himself, a melody he cannot place but recognises as some of the hymns they used to sing at the monastery. It feels oddly fitting.
Nile and Quỳnh never falter at their task, doing a careful job of keeping Nicolò on his way. He knows they are getting closer as the crowd thickens, as the voices grow louder. Very soon, he can no longer compete with them, so he abandons his hymn, wondering for the first time if his future husband will allow him to worship his God or if Nicolò will be forced to pretend to love a different faith. A different kind of dread takes hold of his heart then, and he halts, starting to breathe a little too quickly.
“My Prin–” Quỳnh begins, but her voice is made null by a loud bang, a cacophony of voices and drums and clapping. So Nicolò resumes walking, wondering if that’s how knights feel when they are about to do battle… barely able to see the way ahead through the narrow slits of their helmets, weighted down by a large and uncomfortable armour, struggling to breathe in the midst of too many people and too many emotions, the war cry just within their grasp and forever trapped inside their hearts.
When all the noise abruptly stops, it feels like he could hear a pin fall on the floor. The heavy silence is followed by the rustling of fabric, and Nicolò wonders if someone very important has arrived when Quỳnh and Nile let go of his hands at once. Nicolò’s fingers tingle from their sudden absence, but he does not have time to think about it because someone steps too close to his personal space. In the next heartbeat, his veil is lifted, and Nicolò blinks up, finding himself staring at Prince Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, Regent of Mahdia.
His future husband.
The man is only a little taller than Nicolò himself, and he feels his chest tighten at the sight. Nicolò wonders if he may be staring at Prince Yusuf almost as he had looked at his wedding gown for the first time. In a mix of anger and awe.
The Prince is wearing white robes, almost the same colour as Nicolò’s veil, and on the top of his head there’s a turban kept in place with a golden band. He has a full, dark beard that looks thick but soft, and Nicolò cannot help wondering if the prince’s hair will be the same underneath all that fabric.
And there are his eyes. The man’s eyes look warm and kind if not a little puzzled, and that’s when Nicolò remembers the Prince’s voice earlier, in his chambers, ordering those awful people to stop touching Nicolò at once...
Nicolò feels himself shiver at the memory alone, but he understands he will not mind hearing that voice again. For a moment, he forgets there’s a room full of people around them. He even forgets the awful thing they expect him to do very soon. Nicolò forgets everything but to keep breathing because Prince Yusuf moves one more time.
He takes one of Nicolò’s hands between his, his fingers cool and calloused and careful, before he leans forward, pressing his lips to Nicolò’s forehead, Prince Yusuf’s breath warm and alluring against his flushed skin.
art by hoax1918