The Lavender Marriage

[Danmark]

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Kronprinsens Sekretariatet
Det Gule Palæ, Amaliengade Slotsplads, Christiansborg​

Hr. Rurik van Stannisen, Private Secretary to His Majesty King Edvard V, by the Grace of God, King of all Arendaal
Karlheim Slottet
Emyn Arnen


Dear Hr. Van Stannisen,

HKH The Crown Prince Sweyn of the Kingdom of the Great Danes and of Midgaard, Crown Prince of the Commonwealth, Prince of Suðreyjar, Grand Duke of Færøerne, Lord of the Azurean Realm of Implaria, Grand Duke of the Swabians, Knight Marshall of Jutland and of Pommerania, has commanded to me his profound wish to inform you of a desirous visitation of His Royal Highness to the the realm of HM King Edvard V, the Kingdom of Arendaal.

His Royal Highness wishes it to be known that he is of especial consideration to make closer acquaintance with HRH The Princess Iselin of Arendaal, by right second-in-line to the throne of all Arendaal.

His Royal Highness The Crown Prince trusts that this announcement is treated with the utmost sensitivity commensurate with high regal status and is hopeful of reciprocity.



Regards,


Fr. Birgitte Beauregaard
Principle Private Secretary to HKH The Crown Prince of the Great Danes and of Midgaard et alli

 

[Arendaal]

Office of the Aren Royal Private Secretary
Karlheim Palace
Emyn Arnen, Arendaal

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​

Her Excellency Ms. Birgitte Beauregaard
Principle Private Secretary to HKH The Crown Prince of the Great Danes and of Midgaard et al


Dear Madam,

His Majesty King Edvard V, by the Grace of God King of All Arendaal, presents his compliments to HRH Crown Prince Sweyn of the Kingdom of the Great Danes and of Midgaard and the Danish Royal Household. His Majesty would be honoured to host the Crown Prince at Karlheim Palace as soon as possible.

Her Royal Highness Princess Iselin of Arendaal thanks the Crown Prince for the great honour done unto her by the Crown Prince’s interest, and wishes to assure him of her own desire to become better acquainted with him.

His Majesty respectfully proposes that HRH Crown Prince Sweyn attend a formal intimate dinner at Karlheim Palace on Thursday.

With my very best regards,

Rurik van Stannisen
Private Secretary to His Majesty King Edvard V, by the Grace of God, King of all Arendaal
Karlheim Palace
Emyn Arnen

 

[Danmark]

Karlheim Palace, Emyn Arnen


The Danes went to great lengths to present their royal family with a distinct grandeur and panache with no expense spared on the minutest details. This occasion was no different to any other in that regard. Descendants of the royal dynasty of antiquity Roskildeske Slægt, or the House of Roskilde, they had single-handedly ruled or reigned over the Great Danish race, flung across thousands of miles of expansive ocean, for the best part of 400 years with no interruptions or change of name and could trace its lineage to least the past millennium. Grandiosity, pride and lustrous flurries were ingrained and the Danes would not expect any less of their rather traditional and conservative monarchy.

The Crown Prince of the moment - Sweyn Magnus Henri Ragnar Nickolaus Maximilian Augustus, each name specially chosen for its link to ancient Scanian history, the roll-call of kings, and the non-Danes that also made up some of the people of the Kingdom, Montelimarién, Polascianans and Germans - was couched alone in the back of an immaculately lacquered burgundy-toned and large 1942 royal state limousine surrounded by apparently light security and followed by an entourage of equally grand but more modern vehicles. All had been specially transported by a Danish military transport carrier ahead of the arrival of the prized Crown Prince.

The convoy made a leisurely progress to the official core of Arendaaler royalty, the Karlheim Palace, in the centre of the beautiful capital city of Emyn Aren. Despite the pitter-patter of light Nordic rain that dashed against the windows of the limousine, the Crown Prince had the window down so that he could be viewed with ease by the crowds of Arendaal that had lined the route hoping to catch a view of him resplendent in the black dress uniform and cap of a Field Marshall of the Danish army, topped off with 12 military decorations of the homeland, the symbolic decoration awarded to him by King Edvard V on a visit some six years back, and the Golden Chain of the Order of the Elephant. His appearance was completed by a sash coloured in the tone of light blue, golden braids, and white kid gloves. He duly obliged the affection displayed to him on the streets of Emyn Aren as he gave countless dignified 'royal waves', a restrained flurry of the hand that did not involve much movement beyond the wrist, to them.

The Dannebrog pennant flag, centred with the Kronprinsen Insignier, fluttered on the bonnet of the state car as always, neatly summing up the flutters of Sweyn. He had been to countless visits but this one had an extra dimension which caused butterflies in his stomach. It involved something beyond good statesmanship and flying the flag for the Kingdom. It was dominated by the need to find a Queen Consort that would secure the continuity, a archtypal king and queen, under his own personal reign as he imminently expected to inherit the Amber Throne and accede to the duties of king. A consummate and well-honed royal, he did not give away his inner concerns to anyone, but the sensation of a conflict between duty and his sexual attraction towards the stronger sex, the masculine, weighed upon his mind. However, duty was paramount and was riven through him like a golden thread. He had not only to think of his own desires and happiness - the expectation of an entire nation was weighted upon his shoulders.

His car came to a smooth halt at the steps of the Karlheim Palace and a guard ran out to open the left door. Sweyn quickly checked over himself for any stray bits on his uniform and clambered out into the Arendaaler dampness to greet the King of All Arendaal who had awaited him. The Crown Prince duly bowed to the King and they shook hands before the tall but lonesome Dane and the monarch ascended the steps into the grandeur of the home of Arendaaler monarchy.

 

[Arendaal]

The Crown Prince had been greeted by King Edvard V in proper Royal fashion, with every ounce of pomp and circumstance and a healthy helping of protocol formalities. [WIKI]Princess Iselin of Arendaal[/WIKI], fourth child of King Edvard and Queen Laura, had stood dutifully beside her mother as Sweyn was welcomed into Karlheim Palace.

Iselin was the only member of the Royal children present. The rest were scattered about Arendaal, performing official duties, as in the case of her ever diligent older brother, the Crown Prince of Arendaal, or generally keeping busy and ducking out of official functions. But Iselin was never a one to avoid an official event. She was a true Princess in that sense – and a highly eligible princess at that. So much so that, although only in her early twenties, the beautiful princess had begun to despair of her eligibility.

She wanted desperately to be married. Iselin’s beauty had attracted many a suitor, but she had found every one of them wanting in one crucial aspect. Europe, she lamented offered so few opportunities for young women in the “queen-ing” department. Eligible bachelors were few and far between, and even fewer if you considered that Iselin was determined to be a Queen one day – or an Empress, or anything that involved wearing a Crown. Iselin, more than any of her sisters, and perhaps more than any of her relatives over the past fifty years, was determined to marry a Crown. Whose head it sat on was not a matter of particular interest to her.

So as she stood beside the King and Queen of Arendaal, duly smiling and curtseying to their royal Danish guest, Iselin spent the rest of her time giving the Crown Prince a thorough, albeit subtle, one over with her keen gaze.

He was certainly polished – she particularly appreciated the decoration of Order of the Elephant. It was a nice touch, she reflected, for him to have remembered her father had awarded the Order to the Prince personally. Iselin did not know this because she had an encyclopaedic knowledge of which Princes of Europe had been so celebrated by her father. She had spent the entire night researching Crown Prince Sweyn online. As rare a commodity as a Crown Prince was to be thoroughly investigated by any self-respecting Princess.

Unfortunately, Iselin had not had a chance to approach Rurik van Stannisen, King Edvard’s Private Secretary, about what he knew of the Prince. This would beat any internet site by miles, she knew, because Rurik had a knack for knowing secrets. If there was anyone who knew what the Prince’s visit was really about, Iselin knew, it was him.

Crown Prince Sweyn and King Edvard V approached the King’s study to speak in private, before the family dined together that evening. Iselin lingered for a moment as the door to the lavish study shut. There had been something about the Prince, she thought, that was ... strange.

As the King’s Private Secretary bowed out of the study and headed for his own office, Iselin cornered him.

“Your Highness,” Rurik greeted her, nodding lightly. The smirk on his face annoyed Iselin, but she couldn’t blame him for displaying it. He knew precisely what she wanted, and he knew she knew he was the only one who could give it to her. Iselin decided she would work out the logistics of that last sentence when she had more time.

“Well?” she asked.
“Highness?” he said, almost playfully, which irritated her further and evidently delighted him.
“You know full well,” the Princess retorted haughtily, “what is he doing here?”

Rurik sighed. You couldn’t keep something from Iselin for long, she would pry information out of you with a crowbar if you weren’t careful. “The household of His Royal Highness has indicated to me that the Prince is indeed in search of a wife-”

He continued speaking but Iselin couldn’t hear him. There were crowds cheering and brass bands playing triumphantly in her head. Finally, finally, she would have her own Prince! She had been waiting for this day since she could remember, and all the more feverishly when her elder sister Katarina had married the King of Montelimar. Well, know Iselin too would be a Queen. Well, a Crown Princess, she reminded herself, but it was a good start.

“However, your Highness,” Rurik cautioned, suddenly very serious. He looked at Iselin with a sombre expression. “I must warn you that Crown Prince Sweyn may not be... the ideal candidate for a prospective husband.”

Iselin’s face dropped. “Why not?”

“His tastes, as I understand, are of a somewhat different nature than you might hope.”

Iselin’s eyes narrowed. “Rurik,” she warned, “tell me what you mean. And tell me plainly, I’m not in the mood for games.”

Rurik hesitated. “I do not believe that the company of ladies has ever held much attraction for the Prince”

“Oh”, Iselin said flatly. “Oh”

For a moment, she did not speak. Rurik felt rather sorry for her. More so because he knew what this girl before him, too pretty and too proud by far, would do next.

Iselin did not disappoint him.

She shrugged.

“The Prince of Danmark needs a wife. I need a Crown. I think we will do together nicely.”

Perhaps there had been a hint of sadness under her resolve, but her cool exterior and icy determination masked it almost completely. Rurik felt an emptiness as he watched the Princess, facade all and ambition, walk slowly from his office.

 

[Danmark]

Muffled but discernibly calm voices became increasingly audible moments before the heavy door to the King's study was opened ajar. A conversation of some time, the contents of which would remain strictly private at this stage, had taken place between the monarch and the crown prince, the dilemma having been poured forth in a candid but good humoured atmosphere. Two Scanian monarchies with deeply historic links liberally sprinkled throughout the centuries had been drawn close again as the urgency of a Queen Consort gathered momentum, and with none apparently on the horizon threatening to cast dark clouds over the what was supposed to be a joyous and grand accession. To be without a Queen Consort just wasn't done in old guard court circles and amongst conservative thinkers who held a particular power in the royal household and largely shared by the reigning monarch himself, no matter the advent of liberal thought and increasingly relaxed attitudes to marriage, sex and relations in the rest of society - monarchy had to set an example and rise above the melee, not sink into the mire. Although most Danes took a fairly laid-back attitude to the seemingly unhurried pace at which their Crown Prince had not yet found 'the one', there was also an element of hypocrisy, some critics had opined. It was said that too many people placed their royals on pedestals and set high expectations of them whilst setting different standards for themselves.

The study door now opened fully as Sweyn emerged, sweeping his hand through his hair, straightening his tie and nervously fiddling with his cufflinks, closely followed by the King of Arendaal. The Dane eyed the panjandrum waiting out in the corridor, Rurik van Stannisen, and smiled in a somewhat semi-professional attempt to be nice. He appeared to be gracious and unruffled like a swan on the surface, but all the effort was well-hidden below the surface as he pulled out all the stops to keep himself afloat.

The Crown Prince normally thoroughly enjoyed his brief sojourns to Arendaal but he was not finding this one a source of pleasure at all. But the days were getting ever closer to his coronation and the thoughts of being a single monarch, anathema to so many people and feeling he had traditions to uphold, something frequently pointed to him by his father, loomed ever greater in his mind and occupied increasing amounts of his private thoughts. It was even going so far as to disturb his sleep and causing him a pressure and fretfulness he'd not experienced before. Uncharacteristically, he was losing his temper with his friends and his brothers, snapping at them, and then ticking himself off for it. He threw himself ever more into his duties and desperately tried to find a multitude of ways to relax, including the odd stiff drink, but the dread did not dissipate. It wouldn't budge.

He had thought of all possible avenues to solve his 'problem'. He needed someone with the tolerance (especially tolerance of his sexual leaning), or even the thick skin, independence, willpower and sense of personal ambition of becoming a Queen Consort full in the knowledge that it would be for duty and status but could never be for love. But Sweyn, ever a sensitive soul, found this part particularly difficult. Not only was it a compromise from what his own heart would dearly wish for himself but, he felt, it would be a compromise for a future wife and that a wife, and himself, in a sheer marriage of convenience would be lonely, trapped, let-down, and having had hopes dashed. It felt a sham, he felt wrong and unbecoming, but he was under intense expectation and he knew it had to be done.

He'd pondered over his options, even his 'escape', for some time and had privately discussed it with his close friends, brothers and extended family. Would a non-royal wife be acceptable? To many of the relaxed Danes, probably so. But there was no tradition of Danish crown princes marrying commoners and to the traditionalists it would be seen as diluting the royal blood line with 'lowly' sorts and, anyway, his father would be instantly opposed - so that was an instant dead-end. He'd scoured around the royal houses of Europe in the hope that a suitable bride could be found, but the only matches of equal royal stature were to be found in the regal houses of Germania. This had been actively pursued, as he instructed his private secretary to put out the feelers. A royal marriage between a Dane and a German would be a symbolic act and one that said to the world that all had moved on and put eons of conflict and distrust behind them - and Sweyn liked Germans anyway. But, as always, realpolitik and a likely lukewarm sentiment to a match from that quarter would always make a Crown Princely marriage to a 'sauerkraut', as some uncharitably called the neighbours, uncomfortable for many. Times had changed and great progress had been made in easing the relations between Danes and Germans, but there was clearly much more work to do. A German as the second highest royal in the land, and a mother to royal offspring, would send some into an apoplectic fit and be seen, in the more conspiracy-minded circles, as a plot to undermine the Great Danish race, and a scoundrelous plot at the infiltration of their treasured monarchy.

So thoughts turned, perhaps inevitably, to safe, plausible and neutral options and the only one of those was Arendaal. It was well known that they had an illustrious monarchy whose intermarriages, including into the Danes' own grand monarchy, had ensured they had blood ties to nearly the whole of Europe. They had the necessary and appropriate dignity and, perhaps one of the most significant elements, they were Scanian. Marriage to a fellow Scanian royal house had none of the issues that German marriage entailed and Arendaalers were ever popular with the rank and file. This avenue had far more mileage and the Crown Prince's private secretary had worked tirelessly in ensuring that it came to be. And so, after months of high level talks it came to pass that here, on this day, the Crown Prince himself had stepped onto Arendaaler soil for the final act.

The trio of Sweyn, King Edvard, and van Stannisen keeping at respectful distance behind, made their way along the corridor of long sash windows and ornate mirrors towards a grand state dining room. The Crown Prince, in an inordinate preoccupation with his appearance, checked himself and his dark and slightly tussled hair through the mirrors as they went along, making sure it was not out of place. Some might have said he had a slight obsession, ever a perfectionist.

A thought flickered across his mind as he neared the doors to the dining room that perhaps its was all in his mind and that he was creating his own problems. He smiled and started to feeling a little more relieved - just a little. After all, there were clear indications that something was going well and there was a good chance of solving his immediate marriage issue, so that was one thing out of the way at least. He tried to gear himself into positive thoughts and suppress the Danish gloomy temperament.

"She won't want to see you looking like you're a bag of nerves", he chastised himself as he took in a deep breath in preparation.

The doors to the dining room opened and that was it. Face to face with the woman who the King had informed him was his suit - Princess Iselin.

Sweyn, a 'fight or flight' response kicking in, suddenly overcome by nerves, guilt, and self-loathing at the prospect of marrying someone he really did not want to marry and at what he was doing, greeted the Princess.