Dinner at the Sforza household was always a formal affair, being the ruling Ducal family over Milan, and most of the known world as far as they were concerned, they felt entitled to only the finest. It was generally a stilted thing, quiet and painfully polite, but tonight the eldest son's future hung in the balance, and he had other plans.
"The Countess DeTrevalle is a lovely girl, Ludovico," Beatrice trilled happily, "She would produce such fine heirs!"
Duke Ludovico Sforza nodded in distracted silence. Many times he had heard this particular statement from his wife, and already he had conceded to this particular proposal; he needed no further convincing. DeTravalle's lands were fertile, the family rich, the daughter attractive and voluptuous. He already looked forward to having such a lovely daughter-in-law, the thought of seeing her alone in the passageways of Castella Sforezco gave him enough incentive to arrange the marriage now that his son was 18 years old. He had been beating around the bush too long about this anyway. It was about time the boy had some interest in something other than his dogs, his horse and his Doctor. Beatrice was excited about an impending wedding to plan, grandchildren to dote on, an actual girl around the castle she could bring up to her bower to gossip with on endless warm summer days. Ludovico was content to stay out of it until it was time to sign papers with DeTravalle, and to sample the tastes of the young Countess. Beatrice's endless trilling and gushing over it was grating on him, but it was nothing new. The look on his son's face suggested that he shared the sentiment, though there was something more to his look than he let on, a sourness that was more than simple annoyance, and he was more than certain that the relative peace of the dinner table was going to be short-lived tonight. The old Duke had not been as successful as he was through ignorance of his surroundings and the emotions of those around him, and that included that of his strong-willed, fiery-tempered oldest son.
For his part, the youngest, Massimiliano, was content to sit quietly and enjoy his meal, out of the spotlight for the moment, and mentally preparing for what was to be an interesting evening. He shared his father's sense of his surroundings, and his silence, though Max was not going to fool himself into thinking silence would stop it from happening. He saw the storm brewing in his brother's brooding blue eyes, and it was all he could do to stifle the case of anticipation giggles he felt coming on. At 14, he was too young to be in his mother's sights for looking for a wife, but old enough to find his older brother's discomfiture endlessly amusing.
Dr. Ivan Urbane was quietly, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around him. He was all too familiar with this kind of conversation, and was under the impression that perhaps with the choice having been made already that he could enjoy a respite from it in a few weeks' time. He had learned early on in his career with the Sforzas to selectively tune out Beatrice's endless dinnertable prattle, thanks to Ludovico's example. Smile and nod, smile and nod, as he had once learned of his late wife's henlike sisters so many years ago, seemed the only way to enjoy any amount of peace. The memory elicited a melancholy sigh from the quiet Russian, which was quickly mistaken by the wretched Adrian to be something other than what it was.
"I won't have it," Adrian spoke quietly, almost unheard over his mother's chattering. Max stifled a snort of laughter. Ivan and Ludovico did not react at all, either too absorbed in their own thoughts to hear, or tuning out the boy as much as they were his mother.
"I refuse!" Adrian spoke a little louder; on a level with Beatrice, now, and getting impatient. Max took another mouthful of cannelloni to hide his giggle. Here it comes, he thought. Ivan glanced up at Adrian over his wine glass. Ludovico simply sunk lower in his seat, pouring another glass of sweet red wine to dull what he knew was going to be a headache to end all headaches. Beatrice continued to blather with no regard for the little drama beginning to play out around her. She was not about to be able to ignore it for long, though.
Adrian finally stood, kicking his ornate wooden chair out behind him with a booted foot, his fists hitting the table with a thud that rivaled his father at his angriest, his blue eyes flashing with old-fashioned Italian passion. "I refuse to marry this girl or any other! I will not have it!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Beatrice looked startled and offended that she had been interrupted and she glared at the boy. Ivan nearly dropped his wine glass, his eyes widening as he stared at him. Max giggled obscenely. Ludovico uttered a long suffering sigh, draining his wine glass.
"What are you talking about, Adrian?" his father said with cool patience, waving Beatrice down from what was going to be a noisy tirade that would accomplish nothing. He was used to fiery tempers when it came to politics, and family politics need be no different.
Max knew darn well what his brother was getting at. He had heard him whisper in the night more than once what his desires were, had seen the longing glances, the heartsick sighs, the awkward arousals at the wrong times. His heart was already quite taken, and not by any courtly lovely their mother had paraded through the castle in the past few months.
Adrian lifted his chin in a remarkably accurate portrayal of his father's haughty glare, the one that suggested he would take no refusal, and came off much like a young lion cub practicing his sire's lordly mien. His voice was steady, strong and confident, though still cracked slightly with youth's transitional fragility. "I have someone I want, and I will take no other. I need no woman, now or ever. My heart is spoken for, and that is final!"
Ludovico seemed bemused by this, his dark brows rising in mellow interest. "Oh really now, son? And just who is this lucky recipient of your affections?"
The boy could not have looked prouder of himself in that moment, his hairless baby smooth chin lifting higher, his graceful hand lifted to point a finger as though delivering the judgment of God as he announced, "Dottore Urbane. I will have none other."
Ivan nearly dropped his wineglass again, his eyes dropping instead to the table to avoid the gazes he knew to be trained on him, now. Beatrice nearly fainted with shock. Max could not contain his amusement any more and promptly fell out of his seat in a gale of laughter. Ludovico blinked slowly at his oldest son, no longer quite so bemused. "Max, sit down and behave yourself!" he barked, allowing his temper to flare.
Max crawled back into his seat beside Ivan with a muttered apology. Adrian looked triumphant, but it was to be short-lived. Ludovico gathered his wits about him, he had been unprepared for this development, and did not like to be caught unawares. "Dottore, what do you know of this?"
Beatrice recovered from her shock in time to practically shriek, "Dottore!! What ideas have you put into my boy's head?? How could you? The future of the duchy is at stake here!"
