“Our heirs will surely be beautiful, at least.” For Hanla?
“At least any kids we have will be good-looking,” Han mutters.
“I’m glad to hear you’re looking on the bright side,” Haormina says, placing her hand over his on the seat between them. He yanks it away, but she continues, gently encouraging, “She did look very lovely in her portrait. Saraan said so, and I find she’s a very good judge of beauty.”
“You only say that ‘cause she thinks you’re beautiful.” Han sort of regrets his tone. Haormina is pretty, definitely the prettiest of the siblings. But he sort of doesn’t regret it, either–Haormina got to marry Saraan for love. Han is being given no such chance. He’s not even going to get married as himself; his mother sent him under his twin’s name, while keeping Re at her side. It’s wrong, and beyond that, it just…pisses him off. Why even care? He and Re are the youngest sons, and the princess he’s supposed to marry is…what, fifth? Sixth? of her siblings? Lower than that in the succession now that a couple of her older siblings have had children.
The carriage jolts to a halt before he can steel himself. At least there’s no fucking fanfare as he and Haormina are led to King Dominic’s grand hall. The king himself is there to greet him, as well as his heir, the princess’s oldest brother, but there is no princess in sight.
“I apologize for my daughter’s lateness,” the king says after introductions are made (and Han swallows the sour taste in his mouth at being announced as “Prince Reathemas of Lavellan”). “You arrived slightly earlier than we expected; we have sent her lady-in-waiting to retrieve her.”
Han keeps his face carefully neutral as he imagines idly what she might be doing. Those slender hands that were displayed nicely in the portrait are probably obsessed with needlework.
“Father–I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d arrived.”
Everyone turns to the side door as a woman enters. She pushes black hair out of her face, revealing the dark flush on her high cheekbones. “I wasn’t sure I had time to clean up, so I came right here. I hope you don’t mind my appearance.” She addresses the last to Han, bowing–yes, bowing; her outfit affords no skirts with which to curtsy. Leggings, a loose white shirt open almost to her breastbone, high shiny boots, and a pair of long knives in sheaths strapped to her thighs. Han can feel his own face warming as he bows hastily, a second after Haormina curtsies and the herald announces, “Princess Halla of Ostwick.”
Han amends his own statement in his head as Halla smiles at him for the first time. Gods. I hope any kids we have look like her.
arranged marriage prompts
