Chris thought nothing of it when one of his friends tracked him down with this news. "Did you hear? The princess has killed another suitor! They're hushing it up, of course, but everyone knows what happened."
Though he knew the princess was as fierce as she was beautiful, and held herself in all the high-esteem you might expect from the treasured daughter of diminishing imperial line, Chris wasn't sure if he believed the rumors himself. He had seen something once, at an event they had both attended, a glint of pained desire in her eyes as she looked down at all the courting couples.
The princess, Chris had thought, longed to be loved.
But that had nothing to do with him.
"Princess Walnut," his father, a minor official who dealt mostly with the human side of the court, shook his head and began again. "Last week, when you were bringing me that lunch I had forgotten at home, the princess happened to see you passing through the gardens. And she was immediately smitten. She has been refusing to eat, destroying her rooms, plucking her own feathers, screaming out petition after petition to the emperor so that no one in the palace can even sleep-"
"All that?" Chris stared, open-mouthed. "Over me?"
"All that, over you," his father agreed, with a sigh. "I knew it would happen," he mumbled. "I knew there would be trouble when her mother died on her eggs, and they sent her away to be raised by humans, but would anyone listen-"
"But I can't-" Chris blushed. He cleared his throat. "Doesn't the princess need to have children? She's the only remaining heir."
His father, who was a shy and gentle man outside of the court, and who had been content to be a widower for nearly his son's entire life, also went red, and coughed.
"She has conceded, after a great deal of persuasion and some bribery, to accept a few noble cranes as consorts. But only on the condition that she is permitted to have you as her Lord and Husband."
"Oh." Chris looked at his hands, folded tightly atop the table. He knew he couldn't refuse.
It was terrifying. The thought of responsibility (and the dizzying increase in status) made him feel as though he were standing on the edge of a perilous cliff.
But there was a small part of him, growing bigger even as he sat, that couldn't help feeling flattered.
"I attend, my princess," Chris called, as he stepped into the hall, throwing his voice as far as he possibly could. It was a very large hall. Cranes required a great deal of space. "You summoned me, and it is my joy to obey."
He saw the princess come immediately to life - she rose from her perch and ran at him, her claws clicking against the tiles, cawing and screeching melodiously, more clearly pleased to see him than anyone had ever been in Chris' life.
Princess Walnut came to a halt a yard or two away from him, and stood still, her long white neck towering out from the collar of her delicate robes, her beak positioned to perfectly catch the sun spilling in from the tall windows. She took a moment to preen, plucking a few loose feathers and tossing them to the ground for the servants to later gather up, and store with all the others.
Then, once she felt she had been sufficiently admired, the princess let out a sort of cooing trill and the sleeves of her robes slid away as she extended her wings to their full - and majestic - length.
Chris swallowed. He had been training night and day for the last week, and his tutor had - very reluctantly - given him a passing grade, but he could only hope the princess would forgive his inevitable clumsiness. Closing his eyes and lifting his arms, Chris extended his left foot into the first of the one-hundred and forty-seven steps of the imperial mating dance.
"I am not worthy, my lady," Chris admitted, once he and Walnut were alone in their new chambers, "but I hope I will be able to make you happy."
His hands trembled a little as he held his cup of tea. He only hoped his wife had gained some experience from her former suitors, because Chris had none of his own to offer.
Walnut - his wife, the lady Walnut! - merely cooed at him, and, with an elegant curve of her neck, pointed her beak towards the pile of sweet grasses and polished sticks and her own discarded feathers.
Oh. Oh! Chris set down his tea and stood, brushing off his rose. He stood for a long moment above the pile, considering every piece, before he took a long stick, of about medium thickness, and a few long pieces of grass. He carried them to the cleared circle of space in the middle of the room, just below the skylight, and set to work arranging them as beautifully as he could, humming as he adjusted the grass first one way, and then another.
The princess, his wife, who had come over to watch him at work, shyly tucked her beak into her neck and made a sound that was nearly a purr.
