“Anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure.” Hallalyn ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
The Princesses Orianne and Helene usually comport themselves with the dignity expected of a nine- and six-year-old royalty these days, but when they enter the royal family’s private dining room to find a woman sitting in her usual place, traveling cloak still around her shoulders, the eagerness and affection of their youth wins out, and they leave behind any semblance of solemnity as they cry in unison, “Mama!”
The woman turns, and a smile breaks out on her face. “Mes choux!” She stands in time to catch them in her arms. She waits for little Prince Theodore, running behind his sisters on his two-year-old legs, to join them before she closes her arms around her children.
The Emperor and Empress follow slower, smiling at the three young voices all trying to talk over each other at once, demanding the Imperial Consort’s attention. But eventually, the Consort looks up with a smile. “Mes amours.”
The Empress is the first to sink gracefully to kneel once she reaches the Consort and the royal children. “Welcome home, Halla.” She puts one elegant finger under the Consort’s chin to gently urge her into a kiss.
A trio of delighted “eugh!”s goes up from the children as their mothers kiss. It lasts only a second, though, and the Empress pats the Consort’s cheek when it ends. The Consort extracts herself from the children long enough to stand and kiss the Emperor on each cheek.
“Your trip went well, I assume?” the Emperor asks in a voice made husky by years of smoking and drinking.
“Of course, Gaspard,” she promises. “I’m back in one piece, aren’t I? Well, mostly,” she jokes, gesturing with her silverite prosthetic arm. She turns back to the children. “Now. I want to know everything that happened while I was gone!”
The babble breaks out again, and the parents guide the children to their chairs around the table before sitting down themselves. For an hour, the Emperor and Empress watch as the Princesses and Prince regale the Consort with tales of exploits and hijinks and one memorable incident of antagonizing the Empress’s cats. (The Emperor chuckles at that one, and his wife shoots him a disapproving look.)
Finally, the clock in the dining room strikes, and the Emperor claps his hands. “Bedtime!” he announces, to a chorus of sad “aww”s. “You can tell Mama more stories in the morning.”
The children reluctantly hop down from their chairs and file past the Consort and the Empress to kiss them goodnight before their father herds them back to their rooms.
The Consort and the Empress are left sitting together in the dining room, across from one another, and their gazes are identical in their challenge and their desire. “Did you have to ask to hear everything?” the Empress sighs. “It took every ounce of my self-control to not order Gaspard to put them to bed right away, ma chérie.”
The Consort only smiles, coy and inviting. “Oh, Evie, don’t you know?” She gets up and circles the table to whisper in the Empress’s ear, “Anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure.”
