March 26th, 1614

Of all the cities on the continent of Meringia, perhaps the most unique, the most awe-inspiring, was the great city of Cicile, the royal seat of the northern country of Cicilia. Set out into the lagoon of the coastal waters, it used the waterways as roads, and rare it was to see those waters still or uncrowded. Gondolas traversed the narrower canals with ease, while on the Great Canal, ships and smaller vessels ruled the water. And over it all presided the great dome of the palace itself, home of King Benedict and his royal court.

And indeed, even the royal court bore some measure of fame in the sheer number of princesses that walked the palace's halls. Benedict and his queen had been blessed with but a single son, born after eight daughters and twinned with the ninth. Of those nine, seven had been married off, to men of Cicilia or to nobles of other lands. The prince's twin remained unwed by her own choice, yet the attention now fell upon the eighth daughter of the king, whose chosen bridegroom had arrived from Pasai to claim his bride, wed her, and take her away from the city that was all she knew.

Duke Leandro d'Elan, newly invested following the death of his father, was doubly honored in his reception at the palace, for it was not a meeting before all the court. Benedict himself waited in private to meet with the man who had won the right of his daughter's hand in marriage, the daughter herself sat quietly in an antechamber attached to that private place. It seemed things were a good deal less ritualized in Cicilia.

Though the journey from Pasai by sea had been shorter than it would have been by land, it had not been without its own difficulties. The sea air was cold with the last touch of winter, the wind whipping the water to lash the faces of those on board. Taking refuge below deck only brought on bouts of seasickness, but thankfully, it was a short journey, and Leandro, Duke of Elan, was just as happy to get his feet back on solid ground. By the time he arrived in the capital, he was cranky and tired and he still had to meet with the King and his retinue before he could rest.

Yet it was not a retinue, or even a council, he was directed to, but a private chamber away from the main court rooms, inhabited by just two gentlemen. It was a well appointed room, looking out over the walled garden of the palace itself, but what drew the eye was the robed man who waited patiently by the window. Benedict of Cicilia was not a young man, by any means, but it seemed that life so close to the sea agreed with him greatly. He was still vital, even in his fifties, yet he dressed for his own comfort, rather than to impress those who visited his court. Indeed, it was rare that he even wore his crown unless he had no other choice.

He smiled at the duke as he was directed within, gesturing for the man to take a seat, greeting him in as good Pasan as the Cicilian could manage. "Welcome, noble son, and take ease."

Thankfully, the foreign duke had managed a few hours of rest before he'd been summoned to meet with the King and whoever else the King saw fit to join them. It was a good thing the man knew a little Pasan because Leandro knew little to no Cicilian. He bowed respectfully and thanked the man in broken Cicilian before taking the proffered seat. "I am sorry I am not fluent in your language," he apologized, unsure if the man would even understand what he was saying. He and his father had not been on the best of terms, and his father, in his wisdom, had never had the foresight to see to it that his son was schooled in the Cicilian language. So far, the King was not what he'd expected, but perhaps that was a good thing. Leandro withheld his judgement, for now.

Thankfully, the second man who had been waiting with Benedict was skilled with languages, a translator for the men as they sat down. "My king knows only a little Pasan, my lord," he explained to Leandro as Benedict spoke once again. "He asks if your journey was a good one, and if there is aught you require."

Satisfied he was being translated properly, Benedict smiled and nodded, clearly not expecting much from this meeting. He seemed confident of the outcome, at the very least, though his daughter had yet to be called in.

Leandro nodded acknowledgement of the King's statement, grateful for the interpreter without whom conversation would be difficult at best. As tired and cranky as the Duke was, he was schooled enough in diplomacy and politics to play his part well, and with politeness and civility. "The weather made for a difficult journey, but thankfully, it was a short one. Please tell the King I thank him for his kindness and generous hospitality."

There was a short pause as his words were translated to Benedict, and the reply given from what seemed to be a most benevolent monarch. Or perhaps he was simply tired of his long life of duty, preparing his son to take the throne and swear loyalty to the High King on his father's death. "The King is glad that you are well appointed, and asks if you might consider the day after next a choice for the marriage ahead of you?"

Leandro arched a brow, wondering why the King was in such a hurry to marry off this daughter of his. Was it merely for the sake of their alliance, or was there something else going on that he was unaware of? As for himself, he had agreed to this marriage mostly because it made political sense, and now that he was Duke, he needed a proper wife to provide heirs, and there was no better prospect than that of a princess. "The day after next is agreeable; however, while I mean no disrespect, I would ask that I am allowed to meet my prospective bride before we are agreed on a marriage." While he had been assured the princess was pleasant enough to look on, he had no way of knowing whether that was true until he saw her with his own eyes.

"Ah, of course." This was spoken by the King himself, waving a hand toward the far door. The young boy standing beside it bowed, and opened the door himself, stepping inside to fetch the princess. "Adelina, she is there. I leave, yes?" Benedict rose to his feet, indicating that the translator should stay. "I think you not need an old man to watch."

Leandro realized that the King meant to leave, but would leave his translator behind so that he and the princess could talk without much misunderstanding. If one of them didn't learn the other's language, things were going to be awkward between them in the bedroom. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I do appreciate your graciousness."

Inclining his head to the Duke, Benedict smiled his benevolent smile and ambled out of the room, hardly seeming like a king at all. And in keeping with that strange impression, the entrance of the princess was not what one might expect.

Slender and silent, with hair the color of golden wheat swept into a net, she entered the room at the behest of the page who had gone for her, meeting the duke's gaze with bold green eyes. For all that she wore no jewels, she carried herself straight, a woman at twenty years of age with everything that age and that sex had to offer. She did not curtsey, but simply stood, looking the duke over with that bold gaze as though assessing him for his suitability.

"My lord duke, I present Princess Adelina."

If the duke was anything, it was stubborn, and he was not accustomed to being ignored, especially by someone of the opposite sex. He reached for her hand, curling his fingers very gently around hers before going down on a knee beside her. "Principessa," he started, searching his brain for the right words in her language and failing. What he wanted to say was too important to risk being lost in translation. "Please do not misunderstand. I do not wish only for a mistress or someone to bear me heirs. I know we hardly know each other, but if you will let me, I would like to be a good husband to you. You are very lovely, princess, and I would be proud to make you my wife." He touched his lips to her hand in a very courtly and tender kiss, hoping she would not misunderstand his intent.

He had certainly gained her attention, if not by the gentle way he took her hand, then by the way he knelt to her. Again, she seemed utterly bemused by such an action, but kept her silence as his words were translated to her. Her answer, when it came, was not in broken Pasan, but in her own native Cicilian, once again the responsibility of the translator in their midst to convey.

"The princess wishes you to know, my lord, that she will do her duty to you as you wish it to be done. And she asks me to tell you ....in Cicilia, only a courtesan kneels before one he would bed."

He laughed a little at the translator's explanation of the princess' words, feeling a little foolish but also more than a little amused. "I shall stand, then," he said, moving to his feet and offering her a bow. If nothing else, this was bound to prove interesting. "Would the princess like to go for a walk" Perhaps show me around?"

Mollified by the clarification of their error, Adelina's smile touched her face again as Leandro laughed and rose to his feet, inclining her head in answer. "Si, signore," she agreed. "Walk, we." Her eyes flickered to the translator as he, too, bowed and stepped back out of their way, preparing to follow them wherever they chose to go.

He wasn't quite sure what the customs were here in Cicilia and had already made at least one faux pas, but he was not ready to give up just yet. He offered her a warm smile, along with a hand, allowing her to lay her hand on his or take his arm, whichever suited her. "After you, my lady," he told her, giving up on her language for now. He understood her well enough for now.

Adelina, too, needed no translation for that polite offer. She inclined her head once again, curling her hand into the crook of his elbow in the manner she had been taught, for Cicilian customs seemed far less formal than those in the lands more centralized to the continent. No doubt it was the influence of the traders from overseas who often docked there. With a rustle of skirts, she lead the Duke from that private antechamber, and away from the louder bustle of the court, out into the gardens that were cultivated within the confines of the Palace itself.

Unlike ambassadors and others involved with diplomacy, the duke had never been to Cicilia and though he was weary from the voyage, he was hoping to learn all he could from this trip in hopes of not only understanding his new allies, but also his bride-to-be. "The gardens are lovely," he told her in his own tongue. "Um ....bello," he attempted. "I hope you will like Pasan, but it is very different from Cicilia."

The gardens, like the city itself, were intersected with beautifully maintained miniature canals, over which small bridges had been constructed to allow men and women to cross without danger. It was on one of these that Adelina stopped, listening to the translation of his assurances before replying in her broken Pasan. "There is no sea, yes?" she asked, her hand still curled to Leandro's elbow. "No water, no ....what is word" Nuoto?"

This was offered to the translator, who bowed as he answered. "Swimming, principessa."

Leandro frowned a little at the question, knowing he was going to disappoint her with his answer. "No, well ....The northern coast is on the sea, but ....no, there is no place to swim. Not like here. I am sorry," he told her sadly. "Scusate." He had never thought about it much himself. He had never even learned how to swim, as was evidenced by his nervousness on the ship. He much preferred and trusted a horse to a ship.

Adelina frowned, her eyes straying tellingly toward the water that passed beneath them. It was clear that she would miss the abundance of water, the openness of the horizon over the sea. But she knew her duty, and spirited though she was, she was already resigned to it. She offered a small smile, nodding her understanding as they continued on. "Tell me please ....you are Elan," she asked, trying hard to speak the same language as he, even if she didn't quite understand. "That is ....knife, metal, yes?"

He saw her disappointment and unexpectedly found his heart aching to please her in some way. Perhaps he would have a house built near a lake to appease her, or perhaps he'd look into having a pool installed in the castle. He thought there must be some way he could bring the water she so loved to Pasan somehow. Her question drew him out of his thoughts and he nodded his head. "Si. We are proud of our blades and the metal that produces them. Um ....spada?" he ventured. "Knives, swords ....Weapons."

"Ah, spada, si," she nodded, understanding that she had not been quite so wrong as she had thought she was. "They good," she added, glancing back at the translator with a little irritation now. He was walking far too close for her to feel entirely comfortable. "Mio padre, my father, he have a sword of Elan." Unfortunately, she pronounced the "w" in sword quite clearly, but it was not a bad attempt.

He nodded his understanding, following her gaze to the translator, who they seemed to be doing well enough without, so long as they went slowly with each other. "Scusi," he started, reaching to take his hat from the man. "I do not think we will be needing your help any longer. Grazie."

The man opened his mouth to protest leaving the princess unchaperoned, but was interrupted by Adelina herself. Whether Leandro could follow her in Cicilian or not, it was obvious that she was making the translator feel a fool for objecting to leaving her alone with the man who would be her husband in less than two days. Embarrassed, he bowed and left, and the moment his back was turned, Adelina erupted into peals of giggles.

"He doesn't think we're going to invite him into our marriage bed, does he?" he asked her, unsure if she'd understand his meaning, but smiling broadly at her giggling. Instead of putting the hat on his own head, he reached over and set it atop hers, adjusting it so that it sat a little bit crooked. "There ....Perfetto!" he told her with a grin, proving he could be a little bit silly, too, despite his maturity and all the responsibilities on his shoulders.

His grin was more than enough to keep her laughter continuing, though she did not understand his words at all. Having his hat set upon her head offered up a second burst of giggles, this time punctuated by a decent attempt at a man's courtly bow. A bow which caught the breeze and tossed said hat into the nearest little waterway. Adelina straightened up instantly, her hands flying to her mouth as she gasped, looking up at Leandro with wide, contrite eyes as apologies poured from behind her hands.

He had indeed wanted to kiss her, but had been satisfied with the kiss he had touched to her fingertips and the kiss she had touched to his cheek - at least, for now. Two days really wasn't very long to wait, was it' Two days and he was going to be married to a princess. As ordinary as arranged marriages were among nobles, he had never expected a match such as this. He paused a moment to let her fetch her shoes, and turning back to the canals that wound their way through the city, he pulled the hat off his head and whistled to get the attention of one of the many gondoliers who steered the boats through the canals.

"Per fortuna, il mio amico!" he shouted as he flung the wet hat toward him, letting the wind take it.

Slipping into her shoes, she smiled as he called for gondolier. "You ....you go now?" she asked him curiously. "You not stay here, you visit?" She had assumed he would be quartered within the palace, but perhaps she had been wrong ....and he proved her uncertain question unnecessary by tossing his sodden hat toward the first gondola that came close enough. As the man caught it and bowed, Adelina erupted into giggles once again. "You happy man, Leandro."

Leandro returned the bow to the gondolier, wondering if the man had any idea whose hat he had just caught. Though the hat was drenched, it might still prove stylish once it had dried out. "Happy?" he echoed, smiling down at the little princess. "Yes, I suppose I am. Si, I am happy because of you," he told her, tapping a finger against her nose.

If the gondolier did not know now, he would know in two days' time whose hat he had caught. The whole city would turn out to witness the passage of the princess and her new husband through the canals before they returned to the palace, after all. Adelina's giggles faded as he tapped her nose, her green eyes bright with mystified pleasure. She did not quite understand, but she had a feeling that would be a regular occurrence over the weeks and months ahead of them, determined to learn Pasan as quickly as she could. "Come, il mio Duca," she told him, drawing him back through the gardens. "You rest."

"Will you mind so very much being a duchess?" he asked, one of the many varied worries on his mind. She was giving up a lot to marry him - her home, her family, her title. She'd find herself in an unfamiliar land where she was alone and didn't know the language. "You must bring your lady with you. Your, um ..." He frowned, unsure how to explain what he was trying to say as she led him back through the gardens. He couldn't deny he was tired from the long journey, and in another few days, they'd have to make the long journey back.

He had lost her, unfortunately, though she found she enjoyed the sound of his voice, even if she didn't understand a word he was saying. His stumbling to make sense brought a softer smile to her face as they reached the steps to the palace, where the translator had been waiting for them all this time. Turning, Adelina raised her hand to gently stroke Leandro's cheek, rising onto her toes to touch her cheek to his in a surprisingly intimate gesture. "Il mio Duca," she murmured to him. "Io sono tua."

He arched his brows at her curiously, only understanding part of what she was saying, just as she had only understand some of his words, as well. There was no mistaking the touch of her fingers to his cheek, the smile on her face, the brightness to her eyes, or the way she brushed her cheek against his bearded face. Il mio Duca ....my Duke. Whatever it was she said after that, he wasn't sure, nor did it matter. He had a feeling he'd made a good impression on her, as she had on him. "Mia Principessa," he replied, taking her hand and touching it to his lips. "I must rest, but I will see you soon, yes?"

This, she could just about follow, smiling as he kissed her hand. "Soon," she agreed, glancing toward the translator with a barely concealed smirk on her lips. The man looked extremely uncomfortable, and she was about to make him more so. With a gentle tug on Leandro's hand, she pulled herself close to her betrothed Duke to touch her full lips to his, bold and confident that this was what he had backed away from in the relative privacy of the gardens themselves.

He followed her glance to the translator, wondering what the man made of all this, likely as surprised as the duke himself to find the princess' lips touching his. He looked back at her with curiously arched brows, surprised at her boldness as she had dared what he had not. Leandro found himself smiling into her kiss, touching his fingers to her cheek as his lips tasted hers before drawing slowly away. Her lips were soft and sweet and warm, and that one shared kiss only left him wanting more, but not here - not with the translator looking on. "Gracias, Adelina," he told her quietly, for her ears only. "Soon," he repeated, since she seemed to have understood that much.

"Soon," she promised him in return, the very faintest of blushes touching her cheeks as she slipped away from him. She offered him a courtly curtsey, hurrying up the steps to join the lady who was waiting within - her companion, no doubt, given the gales of laughter that erupted from inside the doors as the two bent their heads together and continued inside.

The translator cleared his throat, bowing to Leandro. "My lord, if you would go with this man," he indicated a liveried servant standing nearby, "he will direct you to your rooms."

Leandro couldn't help but look after the departing princess, a distracted smile on his face. All his worries seemed to fade away at the sound of her laughter. Perhaps she didn't hate him, after all. "Yes, thank you," he told the translator, still clearly distracted by the lady who'd just left his company, enchanted by her really.

It took a moment before he came to his senses and looked to the servant nearby. "After you," he told the man.

The serving man bowed to him, and turned, leading the way back into the palace, once again away from the bustling court rooms and into the quieter wings were guests were quartered. Leandro was directed to a suite of rooms that looked out over the Great Canal, to the city proper on its stone stilts, with its domes and towers. This would be his wedding chamber, too, it seemed; for there were already chests bearing his betrothed's sigil set against the far wall, beside his own. With the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows, the reflected ripple of the lagoon prickling on the ceilings, the suite was a warm, welcoming sight to a man who had been traveling for several days.

"Gracias," he told the serving man politely as he entered the chambers that would be his for a few days, to be shared by husband and wife after that, until they left for the ducal castle in Elan. He looked around briefly, finding his quarters both suitable and comfortable. For now, all he wanted was to lay his weary head against the pillow and lose himself to blissful sleep. Perhaps if he was lucky, he would dream of the princess - his future wife.

((Distracted" Maybe. Welcome to Cicilia, folks, and shortly, to Pasai!))