Q3 3036: Birthday Party
Royal Court
Port St. William, Veracruz Continent
Coventry
New Commonwealth
6 July 3036
The thirtieth anniversary of Prince Thomas' birth began like many days did on Coventry, with morning ablutions, cleaning, and a breakfast with his brother. They donned their red duty uniforms and departed for their respective work for the day.
The difference came after Coventry's noon-time hour was passed. Thomas, by personal arrangement, took Liberator out for a stroll at the proving grounds before returning the BattleMech to its bay and heading back to the Embassy and his living quarters. There he grudingly changed into a civilian dress suit, as being the guest of honor he was barred by etiquette from simply showing up in uniform. It was a fine assortment at least, arranged by Archon Katrina's court tailor and using fashions right from Savile Row in London, from Terra itself. The blue silk fit him well and the subdued red of the dress jacket managed to emulate the colors of the Free March, and the Arcadian Guards, without being garish. A pair of enameled pins with jewels marked his lapels, one a likeness of the Arcadian Free March flag and the other the seal of House Proctor.
Once ready, he and Mark - dressed in a similar suit - were taken by hover VTOL to the Palace. They were swiftly escorted straight to the throne room, which was set up with banquet tables and chairs and liveried servants at the ready for carving up roasted servings or providing fine wines and drinks. Two towering Griffin BattleMechs flanked the throne, marked in Lyran Guard colors, while Katrina sat in that throne at the head of one of the tables. Her family was to one side, leaving the seat of honor to Thomas himself.
A male voice called out in Steiner Court German. "Presenting His Highness the Prince Thomas, Heir to the Arcadian Throne, Count of Roslyn, Landgrave von Schneiderburg, Baron of Martleford and Newton-on-Avon, Major of the Arcadian Guards. Presenting his brother His Highness the Prince Mark, Landgrave von Ritterwald…" The presenter went into Mark's remaining subordinate titles as well.
"I forgot we were all Marquesses," Mark whispered to him. "Are we?"
"By courtesy only," Thomas whispered back in reminder. "Courtesy titles from the Duke of Mariefred to all children of the ruler."
"Even Willy then? Huh."
The introductions were already done and the two were free to enter. They accepted bows and smiles from the assorted nobility and guests before arriving at their place with the Archon's family as guests of honor. There, for the next hour, they waited patiently as more guests were announced in the Court German. The usual assortment were attending: dukes or ducal heirs serving in the Estates General, other high nobility, plenty of socially-prominent lower ranked nobility on Coventry itself, military commanders and officers, celebrity commoner socialites and academics. Thomas recognized, with some surprise, the patrician visage of Dr. Henrietta Markenson, "Doc Henrietta", who hosted an award-winning science series he'd watched as a child along with, he suspected, half of the worlds between Sudeten and Canopus.
Once the guest list was confirmed present and the many tables were occupied to their fullest, the meals were carted out by a company's worth of liveried palace servants, all while stern-faced men and women in quiet, subdued business suits watched. Enough food to feed a community for a year, Thomas thought, or at least a month once he had time to reflect on the actual numbers.
Movement caught his eye. He looked down to see that just a couple seats down, past Melissa Steiner, sat Johanna. She was dressed in civilian fashion too, a shoulderless, spaghetti strapped dress that hugged her form tightly. Given they'd only ever met while wearing cooling suits or uniforms, it was the first time he'd seen the lean muscle of her arms and shoulders. She had curves as well, perhaps not as pronounced (or exhibited) as those of other women present but clearly displayed by a dress meant to display them. Her flowing blonde hair was pulled back into an immaculate bun held in place by ornamental hair-styling rods. Her hazel eyes turned and looked directly toward him. A subdued grin briefly formed on her otherwise serious face.
Thomas felt something strange at that moment, eye to eye with a beautiful woman who, somehow, he just knew had dressed herself up for his benefit. It made him self-conscious of his own suit, not to mention other thoughts and sensations.
His concentration was broken by a short, sharp jab that brought pain to his ribs. He glanced toward his younger brother, who motioned with his eyes towards the head of the table. Katrina Steiner was standing, a goblet of champagne in her hand. As her husband stood, it signaled everyone to do so, save for Thomas as guest of honor. He noted that he and everyone else now had a plate of food in front of them as well as glasses of champagne.
Unlike the presenter, Katrina's German had a softer tone to it. "We are gathered here to honor the thirtieth birthday of a brave and true son of the Lyran worlds. A toast to the long life and health of Prince Thomas, in the name of the Lyran Alliance!"
Polite, but often enthusiastic, voices echoed the Archon's toast, and everyone took the requisite drink.
Thomas stood as everyone else sat down. He bowed his head graciously toward Katrina. "My thanks to you, Archon, for your kind words on this day. I hope to spend the rest of my life strengthening the ties of this Alliance and the realms within, so that we might protect ourselves from whatever threat presents itself. A toast, my friends, to the long life and health of Her Majesty the Archon, and to the happiness of our people!"
This toast was likewise received well. Thomas returned to his seat and began to eat.
Following the meal was a wider reception, with Thomas meeting the assorted guests and thanking them while receiving gifts of some sort or another. Given this was the core of Lyran space, the majority of gifts were financial instruments: ownership stock and financial bonds of some value, particularly from those businessmen hoping to curry his favor and support for expanded commerce. Bottles or entire cases of Glengarry Reserve and old Timbiqui Dark - pre-Marian conquest - joined other more local tastes, representing more alcohol than Thomas had ever imbibed in his life. A few timepieces or finely-crafted works topped it off, which made it lucky that one shipping magnate signed an entire DropShip over to him, as he could now arrange for it all to be returned home without having to charter transport himself.
One would understandably think that he would enjoy being showered with these gifts, as they were effectively making him a small fortune even beyond his share of the House Proctor Trust. These were pieces any aspiring ruler, planetary or interstellar, would wish for. So it would be understandably perverse to many who would never earn this amount of money in their lifetimes that Thomas was not pleased but quietly exasperated.
Yet he was. This was Lyran High Society at its worst. The gift-givers were in many cases not being generous to him out of social obligation or genuine appreciation of him, it was a faux generosity. A chance to showcase their own wealth - that they could afford this gift-giving without undermining their position - and their estimation of the rising power of his family. After all, House Proctor ruled Atreus. Whatever Marik heir might eventually assume the formal rulership of the planet, assuming one was found, they would be vassals to the Proctors of Arcadia, a momentous thing given the Mariks' long age as a governing family compared to the Proctors' infancy as a dynasty. These people wanted his favor as the future leader of House Proctor and ruler of their much-enlarged realm.
It was dark by the time the dinner and gifts were given, and the celebration turned to the usual social affair, the tables carted out by the palace servants and a hired band playing various waltzes and dancing tunes. At request the first dance of the evening was given to the Archon, a fairly standard affair. Thomas didn't fancy himself a dancer, but it existed on Arcadia as well, and he consoled himself with the thought it was just a fancy form of drilling.
After the obligatory dance concluded they stepped away for the moment. "I have a confession to you, Prince Thomas," Katrina said. The older woman showed him a bemused smile. "I was not happy to hear of your assignment here at first."
"Oh? And how did I potentially offend you, Archon?"
"You did not, at least, not anything you did. But sending the heir to the Arcadian throne to my court when there is a growing question among the Estates-General as to the future of my daughter? Her matrimonial future? I wondered if this was a ploy to secure a political marriage. To give my daughter to you."
"I see." He shook his head. "Then I hope my conduct toward your household has eased those concerns."
"They have, yes. I would not object to you as a son-in-law, mind you, but I will not have Melissa pushed into a relationship for political gain only."
"I sympathize, Archon, that I assure you," he said. "And you needn't worry, I have no desire to sway your daughter."
"No, I imagine not." On that note she slipped away, her knowing smile somewhat puzzling to Thomas.
The musicians were playing another quiet dance tune, but the pick up in the beat heralded a waltz, or perhaps a tango. Thomas, despite himself, was seized by a thought on the opportunity. He searched the room throoughly, making sure he knew whom was on the dance, and then the rest of the crowd.
Mark came up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Looking for someone, brother?" he asked. Without waiting for Thomas to reply, he pointed to a far wall. "Over there."
Thomas followed his brother's gesture and noted Johanna, standing by herself and looking more than a little withdrawn. "Thank you," he murmured to Mark before stepping away.
"Happy birthday, Tom," Mark replied, smiling.
He gave his brother a knowing smile in reply before finishing his approach of Johanna. She saw him coming the final few steps and her posture changed. The confidence he normally saw in her seemed to fade, and she rubbed her hand against one finely muscled arm. "Highness," she said quietly "Happy birthday."
"Thank you, Ladyship."
The tune of the music changed, picking up in tempo. They were definitely going for a tango.
What am I doing? he asked, all while a sensation more like bees than butterflies filled his stomach. I'm not a socialite. This isn't me. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
Then how is it supposed to go? a part of his mind asked the rest of them.
If you don't, you'll always wonder. You'll always regret.
He extended a hand toward her. "Ladyship, may I have the honor?"
She eyed his hand intently, then him. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a dancer."
"I'm not much of one myself. But I've found it works easier if you think of it as drilling. Remember the steps, left and right, and the rest comes together."
She drew in a breath and Thomas could see the uncertainty burning in her eyes too. She was as nervous as him. As out of place as he was.
And saw he saw the look in her hazel eyes focus, he saw that, just as he did, she knew refusing would lead to regrets, and that was one thing she didn't want to have.
She accepted his hand and together they headed to the center of the room. The music picked up appreciably and they moved with it. Their movements were not the picture perfect poise of the best social dancers on Coventry, nor the bumbling moves of children. They were inelegant but functional in their duet. Legs and arms went where they had to. Hands held what had to be held, feet did not tread on toes. They turned one another, dipped where they had to dip, and felt the warmth between them grow with their continued long proximity.
Nor did they go unnoticed, and while their attention was strictly on each other, more and more of the partygoers witnessed the birthday celebrant dancing with one of the lesser-known members of the ruling family. Style and flair might be missing, but there was an energy to it the rest of the crowd felt, and they liked it.
Thomas and Johanna felt it as well. They didn't speak to one another about it. Only the look in their eyes made clear it was felt mutually, and slowly, they felt themselves bend toward it.
Which was why, as the musicians slowed down to another pause, their heads closed and their lips locked into a long kiss.
It excited everything. Thomas felt something in himself come alive, a want and desire, a need. Physical and yet more. Like he was aware there was a hole, or void, in his being, and he wanted to fill it.
When the kiss ended the two kept staring into one another's eyes for several moments. He felt, in that moment, as if she felt the same. Johanna had that void too.
Awareness of the larger world returned. They became acutely aware of the silence around them, accompanied by knowing smiles, surprised looks, and more than a few jealous glares from ambitious socialites and hopeful dowagers alike. They blushed deeply before parting, abandoning the dance floor and the room.
The departure of the actual celebrant might have killed any other party, but not in Lyran high society. At a gesture the band began a gentle waltz and, one by one, others started to dance as well.
A quiet balcony gave Thomas time to gather his thoughts and deal with his embarrassment. What came over me in there? I… I just kissed her! It was foolish! What will Mum and Dad think?! I barely know the woman and I kissed her and…
...and I want to do it again.
He leaned against the rail and looked out at the skyline of Port St. William. It lacked some of the refinement of Roslyn, but it was a far older city too, and had a grandeur Roslyn still lacked. Coventry was a major manufacturing and resource world for the Lyran Commonwealth while Arcadia was still just a minor border planet. It's taken us a century to become the center of wealth and industry we are today… I am distracting myself. That thought immediately led his mind back to the dance floor, to Johanna and her body pressed against his, then her lips.
Lust wasn't new. He'd felt the stirrings in his adolescence and teenage years, like any other young man subjected to the instincts and biochemical onslaught of puberty and adulthood. The desire for pleasure with a beautiful woman. He'd repressed it with discipline and channeled it into the military arts. Unlike Mark he'd controlled his desires enough to avoid dalliances, at least, and then found as he progressed through his twenties that the urge died down to a background desire.
And now it was like he was seventeen again, and all he could think of was Johanna.
"Clearing your head?"
He swallowed before turning to face her. Johanna was still in that dress, that damned dress, and as lovely as before. "Trying," he confessed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"Lust. Loneliness. A little of both." She walked up beside him, although keeping a fair distance of about 2 meters. Her hands gripped the rail as well. "I'm a terrible Lyran, you know. Not very Steiner at all. I hate these gatherings. Right now all I want to do is go in my 'Mech and run across the country. I think combat would be preferable to… to this."
"I know the feeling, believe me I do." He chuckled. "Three years ago, when the Guards were part of the expansion campaigns, I was ecstatic. I treasured every moment away from social occasions. Just being a company commander, not the Count of Roslyn. Even after Bolan, and all that fighting and dying, and I think I'd pick that again over a life of social affairs."
"But you won't have a choice in the end," Johanna noted. "Your mother's throne will force you to be a social man to steer your country."
"It will. I suppose I could be more like my grandfather. He spent his time leading from the front and delegating to his wife and the Privy Council. But it's all too big for that now. It would be irresponsible for me to take the field outside of the most dire situation." He sighed. "Call me selfish, but it's one reason I pray for Mum's health. After she's too infirm to do her duties, or if she… passes on, this will be my life. Sycophants, feuding politicians and nobles, balls and parties…"
"I suppose I could end up the same," said Johanna. "If Raquel decides to name Ethan an heir, or if he claims power at her death and it sticks, I'll have to move to Donegal to support him. Maybe even marry as part of an alliance."
Thomas marveled at how he recoiled at that thought, especially since that was the usual fate of nobility. Marriage for political or dynastic purposes, not anything like affection. Just like his predecessor, Sara the Liberator herself, marrying the Baron Kalios to secure her new throne. Mother and Father love one another at least, but she was fortunate, and they grew into it.
"I suppose there's always abdication," Johanna ventured, folding her arms. "You hear about it. Nobles deciding to go off and become mercenaries rather then accept the restrictions. The freedom of the stars."
"I can't," Thomas said, shaking his head. "I… I won't do that to my siblings. To my parents. God help me, I hate the idea of my life as a ruler, but I'll do my duty just like they did."
"Right." She took a step over to him. "You and I are of a kind there, I guess. Maybe that's why I felt… why it felt right."
"It did. It felt right. I just… I just don't know if it is right. For us."
"Well, let's move on from it," she offered. "We'll keep things friendly. 'Mech runs, officer lounge meals. Nothing closer, nothing… private. Not until we know for sure."
It was the smart move, but he could feel the tension in her voice. She didn't quite want to do that. He didn't either. He… he wanted her, and he wasn't sure why. Why her and not any of the other pretty girls he'd seen his life? It wasn't like she was a model of beauty either, with that muscle, the roundness of her face…
We are adults, and we're officers. For now, this is the smart play, he told himself. "I'd like that," he said aloud. "And then if… if we feel comfortable about it, we can discuss things."
"Good. Right. Perfectly rational." She balled her fists for a moment before walking off, and Thomas didn't know if she was angry at him for not agreeing to do more now, or angry at herself for wanting it.
Time will tell, he told himself. Time will tell.
The next morning began like any other for Thomas, save maybe a slight headache from a little too much of a bottle of schnapps among his gifts. He began his morning routine in despite of it, and once ready, approached the table to have a quiet breakfast with Mark.
His hope for the same was dashed the moment Mark, with a weary expression, handed him the tablet.
It was his image, and Johanna's, from the party. Intertwined together. Kissing deeply. The headline read "ROMANCE IN THE AIR FOR ARCADIA'S HEIR?!" in block lettering.
All the color drained from Thomas' face.
Port St. William, Veracruz Continent
Coventry
New Commonwealth
6 July 3036
The thirtieth anniversary of Prince Thomas' birth began like many days did on Coventry, with morning ablutions, cleaning, and a breakfast with his brother. They donned their red duty uniforms and departed for their respective work for the day.
The difference came after Coventry's noon-time hour was passed. Thomas, by personal arrangement, took Liberator out for a stroll at the proving grounds before returning the BattleMech to its bay and heading back to the Embassy and his living quarters. There he grudingly changed into a civilian dress suit, as being the guest of honor he was barred by etiquette from simply showing up in uniform. It was a fine assortment at least, arranged by Archon Katrina's court tailor and using fashions right from Savile Row in London, from Terra itself. The blue silk fit him well and the subdued red of the dress jacket managed to emulate the colors of the Free March, and the Arcadian Guards, without being garish. A pair of enameled pins with jewels marked his lapels, one a likeness of the Arcadian Free March flag and the other the seal of House Proctor.
Once ready, he and Mark - dressed in a similar suit - were taken by hover VTOL to the Palace. They were swiftly escorted straight to the throne room, which was set up with banquet tables and chairs and liveried servants at the ready for carving up roasted servings or providing fine wines and drinks. Two towering Griffin BattleMechs flanked the throne, marked in Lyran Guard colors, while Katrina sat in that throne at the head of one of the tables. Her family was to one side, leaving the seat of honor to Thomas himself.
A male voice called out in Steiner Court German. "Presenting His Highness the Prince Thomas, Heir to the Arcadian Throne, Count of Roslyn, Landgrave von Schneiderburg, Baron of Martleford and Newton-on-Avon, Major of the Arcadian Guards. Presenting his brother His Highness the Prince Mark, Landgrave von Ritterwald…" The presenter went into Mark's remaining subordinate titles as well.
"I forgot we were all Marquesses," Mark whispered to him. "Are we?"
"By courtesy only," Thomas whispered back in reminder. "Courtesy titles from the Duke of Mariefred to all children of the ruler."
"Even Willy then? Huh."
The introductions were already done and the two were free to enter. They accepted bows and smiles from the assorted nobility and guests before arriving at their place with the Archon's family as guests of honor. There, for the next hour, they waited patiently as more guests were announced in the Court German. The usual assortment were attending: dukes or ducal heirs serving in the Estates General, other high nobility, plenty of socially-prominent lower ranked nobility on Coventry itself, military commanders and officers, celebrity commoner socialites and academics. Thomas recognized, with some surprise, the patrician visage of Dr. Henrietta Markenson, "Doc Henrietta", who hosted an award-winning science series he'd watched as a child along with, he suspected, half of the worlds between Sudeten and Canopus.
Once the guest list was confirmed present and the many tables were occupied to their fullest, the meals were carted out by a company's worth of liveried palace servants, all while stern-faced men and women in quiet, subdued business suits watched. Enough food to feed a community for a year, Thomas thought, or at least a month once he had time to reflect on the actual numbers.
Movement caught his eye. He looked down to see that just a couple seats down, past Melissa Steiner, sat Johanna. She was dressed in civilian fashion too, a shoulderless, spaghetti strapped dress that hugged her form tightly. Given they'd only ever met while wearing cooling suits or uniforms, it was the first time he'd seen the lean muscle of her arms and shoulders. She had curves as well, perhaps not as pronounced (or exhibited) as those of other women present but clearly displayed by a dress meant to display them. Her flowing blonde hair was pulled back into an immaculate bun held in place by ornamental hair-styling rods. Her hazel eyes turned and looked directly toward him. A subdued grin briefly formed on her otherwise serious face.
Thomas felt something strange at that moment, eye to eye with a beautiful woman who, somehow, he just knew had dressed herself up for his benefit. It made him self-conscious of his own suit, not to mention other thoughts and sensations.
His concentration was broken by a short, sharp jab that brought pain to his ribs. He glanced toward his younger brother, who motioned with his eyes towards the head of the table. Katrina Steiner was standing, a goblet of champagne in her hand. As her husband stood, it signaled everyone to do so, save for Thomas as guest of honor. He noted that he and everyone else now had a plate of food in front of them as well as glasses of champagne.
Unlike the presenter, Katrina's German had a softer tone to it. "We are gathered here to honor the thirtieth birthday of a brave and true son of the Lyran worlds. A toast to the long life and health of Prince Thomas, in the name of the Lyran Alliance!"
Polite, but often enthusiastic, voices echoed the Archon's toast, and everyone took the requisite drink.
Thomas stood as everyone else sat down. He bowed his head graciously toward Katrina. "My thanks to you, Archon, for your kind words on this day. I hope to spend the rest of my life strengthening the ties of this Alliance and the realms within, so that we might protect ourselves from whatever threat presents itself. A toast, my friends, to the long life and health of Her Majesty the Archon, and to the happiness of our people!"
This toast was likewise received well. Thomas returned to his seat and began to eat.
Following the meal was a wider reception, with Thomas meeting the assorted guests and thanking them while receiving gifts of some sort or another. Given this was the core of Lyran space, the majority of gifts were financial instruments: ownership stock and financial bonds of some value, particularly from those businessmen hoping to curry his favor and support for expanded commerce. Bottles or entire cases of Glengarry Reserve and old Timbiqui Dark - pre-Marian conquest - joined other more local tastes, representing more alcohol than Thomas had ever imbibed in his life. A few timepieces or finely-crafted works topped it off, which made it lucky that one shipping magnate signed an entire DropShip over to him, as he could now arrange for it all to be returned home without having to charter transport himself.
One would understandably think that he would enjoy being showered with these gifts, as they were effectively making him a small fortune even beyond his share of the House Proctor Trust. These were pieces any aspiring ruler, planetary or interstellar, would wish for. So it would be understandably perverse to many who would never earn this amount of money in their lifetimes that Thomas was not pleased but quietly exasperated.
Yet he was. This was Lyran High Society at its worst. The gift-givers were in many cases not being generous to him out of social obligation or genuine appreciation of him, it was a faux generosity. A chance to showcase their own wealth - that they could afford this gift-giving without undermining their position - and their estimation of the rising power of his family. After all, House Proctor ruled Atreus. Whatever Marik heir might eventually assume the formal rulership of the planet, assuming one was found, they would be vassals to the Proctors of Arcadia, a momentous thing given the Mariks' long age as a governing family compared to the Proctors' infancy as a dynasty. These people wanted his favor as the future leader of House Proctor and ruler of their much-enlarged realm.
It was dark by the time the dinner and gifts were given, and the celebration turned to the usual social affair, the tables carted out by the palace servants and a hired band playing various waltzes and dancing tunes. At request the first dance of the evening was given to the Archon, a fairly standard affair. Thomas didn't fancy himself a dancer, but it existed on Arcadia as well, and he consoled himself with the thought it was just a fancy form of drilling.
After the obligatory dance concluded they stepped away for the moment. "I have a confession to you, Prince Thomas," Katrina said. The older woman showed him a bemused smile. "I was not happy to hear of your assignment here at first."
"Oh? And how did I potentially offend you, Archon?"
"You did not, at least, not anything you did. But sending the heir to the Arcadian throne to my court when there is a growing question among the Estates-General as to the future of my daughter? Her matrimonial future? I wondered if this was a ploy to secure a political marriage. To give my daughter to you."
"I see." He shook his head. "Then I hope my conduct toward your household has eased those concerns."
"They have, yes. I would not object to you as a son-in-law, mind you, but I will not have Melissa pushed into a relationship for political gain only."
"I sympathize, Archon, that I assure you," he said. "And you needn't worry, I have no desire to sway your daughter."
"No, I imagine not." On that note she slipped away, her knowing smile somewhat puzzling to Thomas.
The musicians were playing another quiet dance tune, but the pick up in the beat heralded a waltz, or perhaps a tango. Thomas, despite himself, was seized by a thought on the opportunity. He searched the room throoughly, making sure he knew whom was on the dance, and then the rest of the crowd.
Mark came up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Looking for someone, brother?" he asked. Without waiting for Thomas to reply, he pointed to a far wall. "Over there."
Thomas followed his brother's gesture and noted Johanna, standing by herself and looking more than a little withdrawn. "Thank you," he murmured to Mark before stepping away.
"Happy birthday, Tom," Mark replied, smiling.
He gave his brother a knowing smile in reply before finishing his approach of Johanna. She saw him coming the final few steps and her posture changed. The confidence he normally saw in her seemed to fade, and she rubbed her hand against one finely muscled arm. "Highness," she said quietly "Happy birthday."
"Thank you, Ladyship."
The tune of the music changed, picking up in tempo. They were definitely going for a tango.
What am I doing? he asked, all while a sensation more like bees than butterflies filled his stomach. I'm not a socialite. This isn't me. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
Then how is it supposed to go? a part of his mind asked the rest of them.
If you don't, you'll always wonder. You'll always regret.
He extended a hand toward her. "Ladyship, may I have the honor?"
She eyed his hand intently, then him. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a dancer."
"I'm not much of one myself. But I've found it works easier if you think of it as drilling. Remember the steps, left and right, and the rest comes together."
She drew in a breath and Thomas could see the uncertainty burning in her eyes too. She was as nervous as him. As out of place as he was.
And saw he saw the look in her hazel eyes focus, he saw that, just as he did, she knew refusing would lead to regrets, and that was one thing she didn't want to have.
She accepted his hand and together they headed to the center of the room. The music picked up appreciably and they moved with it. Their movements were not the picture perfect poise of the best social dancers on Coventry, nor the bumbling moves of children. They were inelegant but functional in their duet. Legs and arms went where they had to. Hands held what had to be held, feet did not tread on toes. They turned one another, dipped where they had to dip, and felt the warmth between them grow with their continued long proximity.
Nor did they go unnoticed, and while their attention was strictly on each other, more and more of the partygoers witnessed the birthday celebrant dancing with one of the lesser-known members of the ruling family. Style and flair might be missing, but there was an energy to it the rest of the crowd felt, and they liked it.
Thomas and Johanna felt it as well. They didn't speak to one another about it. Only the look in their eyes made clear it was felt mutually, and slowly, they felt themselves bend toward it.
Which was why, as the musicians slowed down to another pause, their heads closed and their lips locked into a long kiss.
It excited everything. Thomas felt something in himself come alive, a want and desire, a need. Physical and yet more. Like he was aware there was a hole, or void, in his being, and he wanted to fill it.
When the kiss ended the two kept staring into one another's eyes for several moments. He felt, in that moment, as if she felt the same. Johanna had that void too.
Awareness of the larger world returned. They became acutely aware of the silence around them, accompanied by knowing smiles, surprised looks, and more than a few jealous glares from ambitious socialites and hopeful dowagers alike. They blushed deeply before parting, abandoning the dance floor and the room.
The departure of the actual celebrant might have killed any other party, but not in Lyran high society. At a gesture the band began a gentle waltz and, one by one, others started to dance as well.
A quiet balcony gave Thomas time to gather his thoughts and deal with his embarrassment. What came over me in there? I… I just kissed her! It was foolish! What will Mum and Dad think?! I barely know the woman and I kissed her and…
...and I want to do it again.
He leaned against the rail and looked out at the skyline of Port St. William. It lacked some of the refinement of Roslyn, but it was a far older city too, and had a grandeur Roslyn still lacked. Coventry was a major manufacturing and resource world for the Lyran Commonwealth while Arcadia was still just a minor border planet. It's taken us a century to become the center of wealth and industry we are today… I am distracting myself. That thought immediately led his mind back to the dance floor, to Johanna and her body pressed against his, then her lips.
Lust wasn't new. He'd felt the stirrings in his adolescence and teenage years, like any other young man subjected to the instincts and biochemical onslaught of puberty and adulthood. The desire for pleasure with a beautiful woman. He'd repressed it with discipline and channeled it into the military arts. Unlike Mark he'd controlled his desires enough to avoid dalliances, at least, and then found as he progressed through his twenties that the urge died down to a background desire.
And now it was like he was seventeen again, and all he could think of was Johanna.
"Clearing your head?"
He swallowed before turning to face her. Johanna was still in that dress, that damned dress, and as lovely as before. "Trying," he confessed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"Lust. Loneliness. A little of both." She walked up beside him, although keeping a fair distance of about 2 meters. Her hands gripped the rail as well. "I'm a terrible Lyran, you know. Not very Steiner at all. I hate these gatherings. Right now all I want to do is go in my 'Mech and run across the country. I think combat would be preferable to… to this."
"I know the feeling, believe me I do." He chuckled. "Three years ago, when the Guards were part of the expansion campaigns, I was ecstatic. I treasured every moment away from social occasions. Just being a company commander, not the Count of Roslyn. Even after Bolan, and all that fighting and dying, and I think I'd pick that again over a life of social affairs."
"But you won't have a choice in the end," Johanna noted. "Your mother's throne will force you to be a social man to steer your country."
"It will. I suppose I could be more like my grandfather. He spent his time leading from the front and delegating to his wife and the Privy Council. But it's all too big for that now. It would be irresponsible for me to take the field outside of the most dire situation." He sighed. "Call me selfish, but it's one reason I pray for Mum's health. After she's too infirm to do her duties, or if she… passes on, this will be my life. Sycophants, feuding politicians and nobles, balls and parties…"
"I suppose I could end up the same," said Johanna. "If Raquel decides to name Ethan an heir, or if he claims power at her death and it sticks, I'll have to move to Donegal to support him. Maybe even marry as part of an alliance."
Thomas marveled at how he recoiled at that thought, especially since that was the usual fate of nobility. Marriage for political or dynastic purposes, not anything like affection. Just like his predecessor, Sara the Liberator herself, marrying the Baron Kalios to secure her new throne. Mother and Father love one another at least, but she was fortunate, and they grew into it.
"I suppose there's always abdication," Johanna ventured, folding her arms. "You hear about it. Nobles deciding to go off and become mercenaries rather then accept the restrictions. The freedom of the stars."
"I can't," Thomas said, shaking his head. "I… I won't do that to my siblings. To my parents. God help me, I hate the idea of my life as a ruler, but I'll do my duty just like they did."
"Right." She took a step over to him. "You and I are of a kind there, I guess. Maybe that's why I felt… why it felt right."
"It did. It felt right. I just… I just don't know if it is right. For us."
"Well, let's move on from it," she offered. "We'll keep things friendly. 'Mech runs, officer lounge meals. Nothing closer, nothing… private. Not until we know for sure."
It was the smart move, but he could feel the tension in her voice. She didn't quite want to do that. He didn't either. He… he wanted her, and he wasn't sure why. Why her and not any of the other pretty girls he'd seen his life? It wasn't like she was a model of beauty either, with that muscle, the roundness of her face…
We are adults, and we're officers. For now, this is the smart play, he told himself. "I'd like that," he said aloud. "And then if… if we feel comfortable about it, we can discuss things."
"Good. Right. Perfectly rational." She balled her fists for a moment before walking off, and Thomas didn't know if she was angry at him for not agreeing to do more now, or angry at herself for wanting it.
Time will tell, he told himself. Time will tell.
The next morning began like any other for Thomas, save maybe a slight headache from a little too much of a bottle of schnapps among his gifts. He began his morning routine in despite of it, and once ready, approached the table to have a quiet breakfast with Mark.
His hope for the same was dashed the moment Mark, with a weary expression, handed him the tablet.
It was his image, and Johanna's, from the party. Intertwined together. Kissing deeply. The headline read "ROMANCE IN THE AIR FOR ARCADIA'S HEIR?!" in block lettering.
All the color drained from Thomas' face.
