The Marriage Contract
"Of course."
Laniakea bowed her head with careful courtesy.
The Marriage Contract.
Across the continent, anyone of even modest rank and fortune was required to draw one up before they married. Among those who had something to lose, a wedding was less a union of affection than a transaction between houses. Marriage set people and property in motion, and the future of a family hung upon it as well. For that reason a marriage contract was more intricate, and more exhaustive, than any other document a person might sign.
What each party brought into the match, where they would live, how many servants they might keep and in what fashion, how many times a week they were obliged to dine together—even the ordinary rhythms of daily life were fixed in the pages down to the number of times they must occur.
Of course, when a couple got along, the contract scarcely mattered. If both were content to overlook a breach, who remained to press the point? But when they did not get along, the contract became more important than anything else, and more important still should the marriage end in divorce. Blame was assigned by setting the original terms beside each spouse's violations and deciding who had broken more of them. A contract was already paramount in a noble marriage. Between imperial blood and royal blood, its weight only grew.
"As it happens, I am told the First Prince returned to the palace today. So if it suits you, I should like the contract signed before the day is out."
The voice was gentle. It was not a suggestion. It was a notice.
"That is perfectly agreeable to me."
Laniakea answered. In truth, it was not agreeable at all.
This was the first long journey of her life. From the hour she left Priatra until she arrived here, the carriage had taken a full twenty days. Laniakea could count on one hand the times she had ever stepped beyond the castle walls, and the road to the Empire had been nothing short of torture.
But she knew how to read a room. She knew, at the very least, that this was not the moment to say she wished to rest.
Perhaps so docile an answer pleased the Empress. Her smile softened a little further.
"I am sorry to press you when the fatigue of the journey has not yet left you. Still, this is a joyous occasion for the realm, and I am a mother who wishes to see her prince matched. I hope the two of you will not keep me waiting."
"Your Majesty is far too kind."
From the instant she crossed the Empire's border, Laniakea had felt it in her bones: the Empress was the one who truly held power. Which meant that bowing properly to her could do no harm. For the sake of a peaceful future, a little travel-weariness was easy enough to bear.
Perhaps the Empress noticed the effort. She turned to the maids beside her and gave an order.
"Even so, a little freshening up is in order. All of you, see that the princess shakes off at least some of her fatigue before she reviews the contract. She is so lovely that the Empire's fashions are certain to suit her beautifully."
At the Empress's command the maids sprang into motion, and in that bustle Laniakea understood something else. This brief respite had not been planned. It was a favor the Empress had chosen to bestow.
It was a good beginning.
At the Empress's order, the maids attended Laniakea with every courtesy. They bathed her in water strewn with fragrant oil and flower petals, and when she stepped out they brought a white summer dress and helped her into it. From the undergarments to the gown itself, the clothes were cut nothing like those of Priatra.
Once she was fully dressed, and her hair had been combed smooth and pinned neatly up again, the maids waiting outside let slip involuntary gasps.
"Oh my!"
"You are... truly beautiful."
They could not take their eyes from her. At the same time, they pitied her. Had she been promised to any prince but the First, beauty like hers would have won her favor, wealth, and honor all together. This princess, however lovely, would lay hold of none of it.
When her toilette was finished, Laniakea was shown into the council chamber.
"Please review the marriage contract before His Highness the First Prince arrives."
The elderly woman known as the Minister set a thick, bound sheaf before Laniakea, and another in the seat across from her.
"This is the contract?"
However she looked at it, the thing was closer to a book than a document. She did not say so aloud, but the Minister seemed to catch the thought all the same.
"For a marriage between nations, this is merely the standard length. The articles concerning relations between our states have already been confirmed by Priatra, so nothing there should give you trouble."
In other words, the diplomacy was already settled. It was none of her concern.
"All that remains are a few personal matters on which the two of you, soon to be husband and wife, must come to an agreement. Please look them over at your ease."
With that, the Minister left the chamber.
Only Laniakea and two maids remained. They withdrew to a respectful distance, but their eyes stayed on her.
So I am meant to hurry up and read it.
Feeling the wordless pressure, Laniakea opened the book-thick contract.
Marriage, in the name of God, was a matter of mutual fidelity and trust and love and so on and so forth. The document began with a preamble as dull as it was old-fashioned.
Laniakea forced strength into eyes that had nearly slid shut of their own accord, and set herself to reading.
Just as she had been told a moment before, looking it over would not let her change much of anything. The important terms were already fixed. All she could amend were a handful of strictly personal clauses. Even so, a contract was a contract. There was no harm in reading it properly.
Laniakea gathered what focus she could and began to go through it line by careful line.
Thick as it was, it held a great deal: where she would reside after the wedding, which banquets she was obliged to attend, and—set down with particular care—the allowance she would receive as a prince's consort.
Fifty thousand goldra a year.
It was an ambiguous sum. Not small, exactly, and yet it felt wanting if one thought of it as a consort's budget.
The maids' wages, my personal purchases, and the banquets as well—all of it is meant to come out of this.
She did not know the Empire's prices, nor what the Imperial Palace paid its people, but she suspected the figure was the bare minimum required to keep up the dignity of a prince's consort.
Anything beyond it will need the Empress's permission.
The moment she saw the clause, she was certain of it. The sum was enough to dress and eat and live in an ordinary way, and too tight to host even one small banquet. Proper society, in other words, would be out of reach. The Empress meant to keep every one of Laniakea's movements under her hand. She had expected as much, so it did not particularly surprise her.
In truth, I wouldn't have to do anything at all.
But doing nothing would displease them in its own way, so she would bow at the proper moments and ask that a little more be allotted. How many times a year would be safest to ask? Turning the question over, Laniakea kept turning the pages.
What she studied most carefully of all were the map of the Imperial Palace and the floor plan of the annex palace where she was to live.
Just as I thought. The annex palace in the farthest corner.
It was small, and one side of it lay flush against the little forest within the palace grounds. Set beside the other annexes, it was not even half the size. This, she thought, had probably been less a detached palace than a villa inside the Imperial Palace, a place to rest among the trees.
I like it all the better for that.
So remote, and so small—there would not be many servants. All the more chance of a quiet life.
With a lighter heart, Laniakea pored over the interior plan of the annex.
The more she looked, the better she liked it. Unlike the ordinary annexes where members of the imperial family lived, there was no shared conjugal chamber. Her room and the First Prince's stood at opposite ends, so even if he came home now and then, they would seldom have to meet. And between the forest and the annex lay a garden of considerable size.
Perhaps it was the Fairy Bloodline in her, faint though it ran. Laniakea loved places where nature remained—forests, lakes, and the like.
There is another reason, of course.
She glanced down at the thick carpet underfoot, then turned her gaze toward the open doors of the terrace.
The council chamber was on the ground floor, and the terrace had been built to open straight onto the palace garden.
Laniakea looked to the maids.
"Might I read the contract out in the garden? The long ride has left my stomach unsettled, and I would like a little air."
"But..."
The maids looked at one another. The only order they had been given on the way here was to attend the prospective consort well. And...
"Her Majesty the Empress seemed rather taken with her."
From what another maid had passed along, the meaning was plain enough. The Empress liked her, so they were not to be stingy in their treatment.
After a moment's hesitation, the maids looked out at the garden. The grounds adjoining the Empress's Palace seemed only quiet and beautiful, yet a strict guard lay beyond them. Even within the Imperial Palace, few places were safer. To forbid her that garden might itself be taken as casting doubt upon the palace's security.
"The fountain is lovely, and there are flowers I have never seen. I only want to look for a little while."
Laniakea let a small, deliberate sigh color the words.
A firm refusal had become awkward. The maids glanced at each other, then bowed their heads.
"Very well. We will escort you."
"Oh, there's no need for that. I only want a moment to myself."
She rose as she spoke, the contract in her hands. Caught off guard by how quickly she moved, the maids hesitated, then stopped short at the terrace.
If the Empress had taken a liking to that princess, it would be wiser not to fall out of favor from the very start.
Leaving the maids behind, Laniakea went to the fountain at the center of the garden and sat on the bench beside it.
She made certain no one else was near, then leaned toward the earth beneath the bench and spoke in a small voice.
"No one's watching. You can come out, Mole."
The instant the words left her, the soil gave a soft rustle. The ground at her feet stirred, and a small mole popped its head up out of the earth.
Mole was one of her few friends: a lowest-tier Earth Elemental.