From the Queen's perspective:
Genevieve had met the Naphtali king and queen once before. It was at the summit at which her dear homeland had been promised away. It had been nearly three years ago: an eternity past and only yesterday at once. Genevieve had been such a young thing, then, staring wide-eyed at the fancy lords and ladies, kings and queens who assembled from near and far to join the Unification of Nations, an alliance claiming to provide solidarity and peace among the many disparate kingdoms.
Genevieve had never seen life beyond her tiny hamlet Gwennel. Within its dreary, stony borders she had passed her seventeen years in comparative contentment. She knew she was more content than her best friend and lady-in-waiting, Myrna. A few years her senior, Myrna had been Genevieve's confidant and companion, defender and devotee for as long as she could remember. It might seem strange for a princess to bend to one not of noble birth. But Myrna had always been the protective one: the one who scared away bullies when they were children, the one who had helped Genevieve when she first received her blood cycle, the sure-footed sentinel who had never left Genevieve's side and without whom, Genevieve felt, frankly, helpless.
Myrna was at her side at this summit gathering held in a dominion not far from Gwennel. But it was Genevieve's first time leaving the mining mountains of Gwennel, and she relied on her best friend as she braved the masses of people, the unfamiliar faces and garb of the many who gathered to negotiate the governance of the kingdoms—some frail and tiny like her precious Gwennel, others large and mighty like Edgeran, which she knew, from reports and assemblies held in her own court, was her country's main focus for alliance.
It was at the gala the night before the main negotiations began that Genevieve saw Queen Lajoya for the first time. The woman was so graceful and lithe, it took Genevieve some time before she realized she was actually nearly eight months pregnant. She wore a shimmering orange gown, falling in cascades down her figure and circling her legs. Every man in the room vied for her hand to dance, or to fill it with another full goblet. They laughed at her jokes, mirrored her opinions, and stayed within arm's length continually.
Genevieve didn't know who Lajoya was, and was less curious than she was in awe. But the next day, she had met Frederick for the first time and vaguely remembered his face among the many who had danced with Lajoya the night before.
It was a handsome face, Genevieve could not deny. Framed with dark waves, even deeper than her own, his face was smooth and rugged at the same time, with a striking beard and frequent smile. Genevieve felt her heartbeat quicken not a little, and despite her despising everything to do with joining her small country to this behemoth, she could not help but feel an excitement at being the wife of such a dashing man. She had spoken little with him that day, had only made the acquaintance of Lajoya briefly before they all returned to Gwennel to live out her last year before her marriage would occur.
Now, years later Queen Lajoya of Naphtali entered the meeting hall with splendor unmarred by the chilly winds that blew in with her. Genevieve gazed in awestruck horror as the woman swept into the meeting hall and in a flurry of tiger fur and black gauze, she pounced upon Genevieve.
"Vivie!" she cried as she swept the queen into an embrace. "How wonderful to see you!" She pulled back to get a better view of Genevieve. "And looking so precious despite how ripe you are! Jorjet, doesn't she look wonderful?" The fair haired queen turned to her husband, swinging sparkling bejeweled earrings as she craned her head.
King Jorjet's dark, broad face turned to Genevieve, and a wide, composed smile creased his lips. "Yes," he said, his voice swathed in the coastal accent.
The buoyant queen turned her commanding gaze to Genevieve's husband. "And Frederick. It has been so long since we really spent any time to speak of together."
"Since the Summer Competition at Langlsey," the king said as he advanced to meet Lojoya's outstretched hand.
"You remember," Lojoya's eyes sparkled as Frederick kissed her hand. "So long ago, yet so fresh in my memory. Hot it was, that summer. That was in the days before our dear Genevieve came into our lives." She turned back to Genevieve, who met her gaze with an uncomfortable smile.
"Gwennel was not part of the Alliance then," Genevieve said meekly.
"And glory to the unity, then, no?" Lojoya spun around once more to face Frederick, who met her gaze with a warm smile. The queen's speech was similar to her husband, though marked by the accent of the North, where she had spent her childhood. Years of reigning in the coastal Naphtali, coupled with her heritage in the northern hills of Francianya, gave her voice a flowing, musical quality, mingled with the abrupt word endings indicative of the coastal dialect. Her silky yellow hair, drawn up in a complexity of loops was an almost startling contrast to her husband's black short crop. Her years among the coastal peoples had evidenced themselves on her skin. It was now a rich golden hue, though not as dark as Jorjet's black-brown skin. Jorjet was bare-chested, as was customary for the Coastal people, but he wore a tiger skin, to match the fabric of his wife's dress, draped over his shoulder to shield from the cold here in Edgeran.
"And speaking to that point," Lojoya said, turning towards the door she had just passed through. As she stepped aside, she revealed a tiny boy, bearing his father's dark eyes and hair and his mother's golden complexion. He strode forward, a regal head on his miniature shoulders, but fear hiding behind his eyes. The royal son was followed by a bowed head woman, whose blond hair was streaked with grey. Her eyes did not leave the boy as he walked, and Genevieve could see in them utter devotion.
"May I present," Queen Lajoya said. "His royal highness, Prince Edward Jorjet Conrad Raphdartian Josiahmas, heir to the throne of Naphtali."
Frederick and Genevieve bowed and curtsied respectively. Genevieve slowly lifted her head, dark curls dangling over her ears and saw the Prince's eyes. She followed his gaze downward and then clutched her belly. He knows she realized. Despite his youth, he knows. And by the expression on his face, he was not thrilled.
