Royal Fools

XXVIII. The Arrival

If there was anyone shaking his temperament and distracting him from his plans, it was Henry. Emory couldn't get away far enough without the man barging into any room he was in, even while he was having a private bath.

His cousin did not even stop as he strode into the room.

"What is it?" Emory wryly asked.

"The Emperor is expected to arrive in two days."

"I know."

"And I heard you're throwing a ball to welcome him."

"I am."

Henry stared down at him, slowly nodding his head. "What are you planning?" When Emory did not answer, Henry added, "Talk to the man. Tell him you forgive his daughter and that you will marry her." This time, his cousin did not wait for a reply. He started pacing around the tub, hands on his hips. "You forgave her when she fooled you in Birchfield. I don't see why you're so furious she wants to marry you and not the other man. It's your pride. You think you're simply the better option and you hate that you are just an option." Pausing, he frowned down at Emory. "It's quite childish, really. You know why she did what she did. One word from you, cousin, and you can have her back."

Emory wasn't listening. He was deliberating whether to box the life out of his cousin or ask for a towel.

"You know what I think? I think you are going mad. Everyone thinks the same. There's rumor circulating that you gave orders to the chamberlain to continue preparing for a wedding that is not happening." Henry paused, face turning into a scowl. "Unless you are picking a different bride out of spite. Please tell me you're not."

He sighed and pointed with his finger. "Will you hand me a towel? I'm freezing." When Henry just stood there scowling, he sternly said, "Henry. Towel."

His cousin pursed his lips, snatched the towel, and threw it at his face. "This is not funny," Henry gritted out when Emory laughed. "I know you're up to something."

Emory dried himself and stepped out of the tub. Shrugging into a robe, he turned to his cousin with a smile.

"You bastard. You are up to something," Henry guessed correctly.

"I have to talk to the father first," he said, walking into his bedchamber. His cousin followed, looking more enthusiastic with each step. "It is not as easy as you think."

"You're a bloody king. Everything should be easy—"

"Her new betrothed is a very influential Gavarian lord. He governs Gavaria's biggest nation, and he has the strongest army."

"But surely he is not as powerful as the Emperor—"

"He might as well be," Emory interjected, pouring himself a drink. "He can gather powerful allies if the Emperor refuses to stand against him."

Henry dropped his hands to his sides. "Then what are you planning to do?"

Emory shrugged. "Offer a more powerful alliance."

"That is all?"

He grinned at his cousin. "Of course, not."

***

"You do not have to do this," Prince Steffan said as they stood on the threshold of the River Garden. Located in the eastern side, it was the oldest garden in Cloveshire Palace. With a small stream from the mountains in the east running through the center of the garden, it also boasted of various plants native to Sutherland.

They rarely held parties there, but he wanted to welcome the Emperor in this particular garden for one reason: it reminded of the woods in Birchfield—the beautiful chaos of wildflowers, of colors that bloomed freely and without order.