~This is taking place in a weird quasi-historical AU just go with it OK~
The night before the Great Feast, Yusuf’s parents sat him down and went through every candidate for his hand who would be walking through the doors of the main hall tomorrow, as though he did not know every one of them already. His mother scolded him once again for not having a preferred suitor; she, he was reminded, had accepted his father halfway through her own Great Feast – not even waiting for all her suitors to make their proposals – and put everybody out of their misery.
“Father said that I wasn’t to do that, because it would offend people,” Yusuf pointed out dryly.
His father harrumphed. “Well, yes, it was a very different time then -”
“If I thought there was one of them you truly wanted, you could do that with my blessing,” said his mother. “But there isn’t, so you can hear them all out. Now, where were we? Ah yes. Prince Stephen.”
“A weasel,” said his father succinctly.
“A powerful one, unfortunately.” His mother fussed with the edge of her scarf. “Don’t offend him, but if you love your aged parents, please do not accept him.”
“I’ve met him,” said Yusuf. Stephen had tried to quote poetry from his own land at him as if Yusuf had been entirely ignorant of it. Yusuf would spit on the man if he was dragged before him in chains, still less accept his hand in marriage in his family’s own palace.
“Good.” His mother put that paper down firmly. “Now, Duke Keane is an ally of Stephen’s family, and he would be acceptable, although I do hear…well, you can make up your own mind.” She frowned at the next one. “I know you and Count Sébastien are great friends, but -”
“He will not accept me,” Yusuf said, “never fear.” Sébastien had written to him, his cocky grin evident in every line, that he had put off his engagement to the lady Adele in order to present himself as a suitor “but do not worry – it is only that I would not miss this chance for the world.”
They worked their way through Princess Quynh of the Viet, the Emperor’s second daughter, and Duchess Nile of Illinois who had travelled across the sea, and all the other suitors, and Yusuf could not think of one of them who he wanted to marry. They were Christian and Muslim and Jewish and even a pagan Viking; they were men and women, princes and duchesses, emirs and ladies; Yusuf simply did not care for any of them. He knew that his position did not allow him to be a romantic, but he could not pretend to like it.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” said his father. “The Comte di Genova has sent his youngest son.”
“God preserve us, has he?” His mother frowned at the page. “Why on earth are we still sending invitations to them? After the raid -”
“It’s tradition.” His father sighed. “They do not expect anything to come of it; we do not expect anything to come of it; if I remember correctly the boy was sent to a monastery, and I doubt he is interested in marrying here, much less converting.”
“Unless he wants to be a martyr,” Yusuf said dryly. He knew that Christian texts made much of people marrying outside their faith to either bravely die for it or convert their spouses. The Comte di Genova’s son wasn’t going to get either of those things here.
“Well, whatever you do, do not accept the Comte di Genova’s son,” his mother finished up. “I swear by God, Yusuf, just make a decent choice and we can put this behind us.”
“I will be married,” Yusuf said. Tradition dictated that the wedding take place that night.
“It’s not as if you can’t divorce them quietly in a year or two, if it’s that disastrous,” said his mother. “I promised my father I’d divorce your father eventually, since he was the second son of a third wife instead of the senior prince my father was expecting –” Yusuf’s father’s eyebrows went up like that was news to him – “but then we had you right away and he came around.”
“There’s at least three people on this list he can’t divorce for any reason,” objected his father. “It would start a war.”
“Mother, how did Father even come to make you a proposal at your Feast, and not one of his older brothers?” Yusuf suddenly wondered.
“I spoke to my mother, and she spoke to Yusuf’s mother, and Yusuf’s mother spoke to her husband’s eldest wife, and it was arranged, of course,” his mother said. “You don’t think I left it to chance.” She frowned at Yusuf again. “Unlike some people in this room.”
Yusuf sighed. “Alright, Mother. I will not disgrace us, I promise.”
“Oh, I know you won’t,” said his mother benevolently, which was the most frightening thing she’d said all night.
FILL: Joe/Nicky, The Prince Is Getting Married, Royalty AU [1/?]
~This is taking place in a weird quasi-historical AU just go with it OK~
The night before the Great Feast, Yusuf’s parents sat him down and went through every candidate for his hand who would be walking through the doors of the main hall tomorrow, as though he did not know every one of them already. His mother scolded him once again for not having a preferred suitor; she, he was reminded, had accepted his father halfway through her own Great Feast – not even waiting for all her suitors to make their proposals – and put everybody out of their misery.
“Father said that I wasn’t to do that, because it would offend people,” Yusuf pointed out dryly.
His father harrumphed. “Well, yes, it was a very different time then -”
“If I thought there was one of them you truly wanted, you could do that with my blessing,” said his mother. “But there isn’t, so you can hear them all out. Now, where were we? Ah yes. Prince Stephen.”
“A weasel,” said his father succinctly.
“A powerful one, unfortunately.” His mother fussed with the edge of her scarf. “Don’t offend him, but if you love your aged parents, please do not accept him.”
“I’ve met him,” said Yusuf. Stephen had tried to quote poetry from his own land at him as if Yusuf had been entirely ignorant of it. Yusuf would spit on the man if he was dragged before him in chains, still less accept his hand in marriage in his family’s own palace.
“Good.” His mother put that paper down firmly. “Now, Duke Keane is an ally of Stephen’s family, and he would be acceptable, although I do hear…well, you can make up your own mind.” She frowned at the next one. “I know you and Count Sébastien are great friends, but -”
“He will not accept me,” Yusuf said, “never fear.” Sébastien had written to him, his cocky grin evident in every line, that he had put off his engagement to the lady Adele in order to present himself as a suitor “but do not worry – it is only that I would not miss this chance for the world.”
They worked their way through Princess Quynh of the Viet, the Emperor’s second daughter, and Duchess Nile of Illinois who had travelled across the sea, and all the other suitors, and Yusuf could not think of one of them who he wanted to marry. They were Christian and Muslim and Jewish and even a pagan Viking; they were men and women, princes and duchesses, emirs and ladies; Yusuf simply did not care for any of them. He knew that his position did not allow him to be a romantic, but he could not pretend to like it.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” said his father. “The Comte di Genova has sent his youngest son.”
“God preserve us, has he?” His mother frowned at the page. “Why on earth are we still sending invitations to them? After the raid -”
“It’s tradition.” His father sighed. “They do not expect anything to come of it; we do not expect anything to come of it; if I remember correctly the boy was sent to a monastery, and I doubt he is interested in marrying here, much less converting.”
“Unless he wants to be a martyr,” Yusuf said dryly. He knew that Christian texts made much of people marrying outside their faith to either bravely die for it or convert their spouses. The Comte di Genova’s son wasn’t going to get either of those things here.
“Well, whatever you do, do not accept the Comte di Genova’s son,” his mother finished up. “I swear by God, Yusuf, just make a decent choice and we can put this behind us.”
“I will be married,” Yusuf said. Tradition dictated that the wedding take place that night.
“It’s not as if you can’t divorce them quietly in a year or two, if it’s that disastrous,” said his mother. “I promised my father I’d divorce your father eventually, since he was the second son of a third wife instead of the senior prince my father was expecting –” Yusuf’s father’s eyebrows went up like that was news to him – “but then we had you right away and he came around.”
“There’s at least three people on this list he can’t divorce for any reason,” objected his father. “It would start a war.”
“Mother, how did Father even come to make you a proposal at your Feast, and not one of his older brothers?” Yusuf suddenly wondered.
“I spoke to my mother, and she spoke to Yusuf’s mother, and Yusuf’s mother spoke to her husband’s eldest wife, and it was arranged, of course,” his mother said. “You don’t think I left it to chance.” She frowned at Yusuf again. “Unlike some people in this room.”
Yusuf sighed. “Alright, Mother. I will not disgrace us, I promise.”
“Oh, I know you won’t,” said his mother benevolently, which was the most frightening thing she’d said all night.