Chapter 443: No More Planning

Chapter 443: Chapter 443: No More Planning

Mezos realized the wedding had escaped their control when Rubis entered his office carrying three folders thick enough to qualify as evidence.

Late winter light stretched across the security wing in pale bands, catching on the polished edge of Mezos’s desk and the gold fastenings of Rubis’s dark green coat. Outside the tall windows, Deira’s eastern gardens were beginning to thaw, patches of damp earth appearing beneath the retreating snow while gardeners cleared broken branches from the paths.

Rubis crossed the room without removing his coat and dropped the folders onto the desk.

The impact displaced two security reports.

Mezos looked at them, then at him.

Rubis’s expression was calm.

That was generally worse than anger.

"How bad?"

Rubis opened the first folder.

A guest list unfolded across the desk.

Mezos scanned the first page, reached the second, and stopped somewhere near the middle of the third.

"There are ambassadors."

"There are six ambassadors."

"Why?"

Rubis slid another page toward him. "Because apparently marrying the Chief of Imperial Security requires diplomatic representation from countries we have not personally visited in years."

Mezos leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth.

He already knew who had done this.

"My father."

"And Kamal."

Of course.

Allowing them to help had originally sounded sensible. Theron had spent most of his life organizing armies, logistics, personnel, and events involving people important enough to become dangerous if seated incorrectly. Kamal possessed nearly a century of experience with Nurian court protocol and could identify the rank of a foreign official before the person finished introducing himself.

Neither man understood the phrase small wedding.

Rubis opened the second folder.

"Four hundred and twelve potential guests."

Mezos stared at the number.

"I don’t want four hundred and twelve people watching me get married."

"You know most of them."

"That does not improve the situation."

Rubis’s mouth finally twitched.

Mezos stood.

"Where are they?"

"Eastern drawing room."

He took his jacket from the back of the chair.

"Good."

The eastern drawing room sat in one of the older sections of the imperial residence, overlooking the gardens where Rubis actually wanted to hold the ceremony once spring arrived. The room was warm from the low fire burning beneath the carved stone mantel, its walls lined with old books and faded landscapes that had survived the Gate years.

Theron sat near the windows in dark trousers and a charcoal knit shirt, looking more like a retired general trying unsuccessfully to appear retired than anything else. One ankle rested over his opposite knee while he reviewed a tablet.

Kamal occupied the sofa beside him.

He wore a long black coat embroidered subtly at the cuffs, the walking cane he used on more difficult days resting against the arm of the sofa. His breathing was easy that afternoon, though a cup of tea steamed within reach on the low table.

Between them sat another stack of papers.

Mezos stopped inside the doorway.

Rubis came to stand beside him.

"There’s more."

Theron glanced up. "We finished the revised reception plan."

Mezos walked into the room.

"You finished planning the wedding."

Theron’s brows drew together.

Rubis placed their three folders onto the table and sat opposite them.

"We appreciate that both of you wanted the event to reflect our positions."

Kamal studied his face for a moment and seemed to understand immediately where this was going.

Theron did not.

"The wedding should reflect your positions."

Mezos lowered himself beside Rubis and rested his forearms on his knees.

"It should reflect us."

Theron’s gaze shifted between them.

Rubis opened the guest list.

"This has foreign delegations, provincial representatives, senior military officers, members of the Assembly, and nearly every noble family currently active in Deira."

"Most would expect invitations."

"They can survive disappointment."

Kamal’s mouth curved faintly.

Theron ignored him.

"You are the emperor’s Chief of Imperial Security. Rubis manages ceremonial and household functions at the highest level of the court. A wedding that appears deliberately modest could be interpreted as—"

"A wedding," Mezos cut in.

Theron’s jaw tightened.

Mezos knew that expression from childhood. It had once preceded lectures capable of making soldiers stand straighter from three rooms away.

It no longer worked quite as effectively.

Rubis rested a hand over Mezos’s wrist before the conversation became a contest between two Aradia men.

"We want the eastern garden in spring," he said. "The ceremony should be short. Enough chairs for family and the people we actually spend time with. Lunch or an early dinner afterward, depending on the weather."

Theron looked toward him.

"No ballroom?"

"No ballroom."

Kamal leaned back against the sofa, fingers resting loosely around the head of his cane.

"And the formal reception?"

Rubis shook his head.

"One meal. One room if the weather turns bad."

Mezos glanced through the windows toward the garden below.

The hedges were bare now, but by spring the old climbing roses would cover the southern wall again. Rubis had shown him the spot months ago, under the stone pergola near the reflecting pool, and Mezos had understood immediately why he wanted it.

Theron exhaled through his nose.

"I arranged a military honor detail."

Mezos slowly turned back.

Rubis pressed his lips together.

Kamal looked toward Theron with the air of a man who had been waiting for this confession.

"I told you that was excessive."

"You approved the ceremonial arrival."

"I approved transport."

"The carriage was part of the arrival."

"It had horses, Theron. I assumed that was the extent of the matter."

Mezos looked at Rubis.

Rubis lowered his head, shoulders beginning to shake.

Theron frowned at both of them.

"This is not amusing."

"It is becoming extremely amusing," Mezos said.

Theron’s stare sharpened.

Kamal reached for his tea, clearly refusing to rescue him.

Mezos took one of the folders from the table and closed it.

"No honor detail. No diplomatic delegation. No ceremonial carriage. No four hundred guests."

"How many?"

Rubis answered before Mezos could.

"Forty."

Theron went still.

Kamal paused with the cup halfway to his mouth.

Mezos settled back against the sofa.

"Possibly fewer."

For several seconds, only the soft crackle of the fire filled the room.

Theron looked toward Kamal, perhaps hoping for an ally.

Kamal considered the matter with irritating calm.

"They are right."

Theron’s head turned.

Kamal continued before he could object.

"We began planning for their ranks rather than their preferences."

Theron looked at the papers spread across the table.

Some of the tension left his shoulders.

Rubis softened as well.

"We still want you involved."

Theron raised his eyes.

"Within limits," Mezos added.

Rubis nudged his knee.

Mezos ignored it.

"You can help with the meal," Rubis said. "And flowers. The garden will need work after winter."

Kamal nodded thoughtfully.

"That is manageable."

Theron glanced toward the windows.

"And security?"

Mezos smiled.

"That part is mine."

At last, his father’s expression eased.

Rubis gathered the guest list and placed it firmly on his own side of the table.

"The wedding is ours again."