Daimon sat gloomily in the seat of honor at his wedding reception. His father sat on his left side basking in the attention. Emperor Zinj loved a good party, especially one filled with fawning courtiers. With the way he behaved, you would think it was his wedding and not that of his son. Daimon didn't mind. He would have happily avoided all of this attention if he could.
His newly acquired bride sat on his right side. Surreptitiously, he watched her from the corner of his eye. Since he was now intimately bound to her for the rest of her life, he admitted some curiosity about her. He could tell absolutely nothing about her. Not that it mattered since this was all part of his father's little game. The poor girl was nothing but a pawn.
He couldn't even tell much about her physically except that she was taller than most females he met. She was nearly his height of 5 feet 11 inches. Of course, he couldn't tell if she was wearing high heels under her dress.
Dragorian wedding gowns were loose and voluminous, so he could tell nothing about her figure. The heavy veil effectively obscured most of her face.
He briefly wondered if his father was playing an elaborate prank on him by wedding him to an old or ugly woman. He quickly dismissed the thought. His father's ego was too proud to have an ugly daughter-in-law. Besides, he did know she had delicate smooth hands with slender fingers and an absolutely mesmerizing voice.
Over the years he had met many princesses as vassal states were always trying to curry favor and gain leverage by throwing their daughters at him. They were all disappointingly similar little butterflies – pretty and delicate creatures that flitted about incessantly concerned only with their beauty and comfort. It was not entirely their fault, he supposed. They were raised to simply be decorative, but hardly functional or interesting. Of course, they had one function but were of little use otherwise.
He wasn't interested in being a father and never bothered using them for pleasure. No matter, his father happily took the proffered daughters of his would-be allies and made them his concubines. If anyone – daughters or parents – were disappointed, they did not dare voice their displeasure aloud.
He supposed there were worse things than being a concubine. His father's women certainly seemed to enjoy it. They had noting to do all day but be pampered, indulge in luxury, and occasionally service the Emperor. They didn't seem unhappy. Although it was not as if they ever had a choice. Admittedly, he had never asked or even given it much thought. It simply did not matter to him.
Daimon had never pondered much about what he wanted in a wife. He had always assumed that he would die in one of his father's endless wars. He had seen firsthand the devastation death wrought on survivors, particularly the widows and orphans. He knew that he did not want that for his own family. Better to not have one at all then to put them through that.
What really perplexed him most about this marriage was why his father insisted on it in the first place. Not just a wedding in general, but this princess, in particular. The Lady Rowena was from a tiny obscure kingdom at the farthest border of the Empire. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason behind it.
But he knew his father well, so he knew there was definitely more to the story. He supposed he would find out in due time. His father never revealed anything to him until he absolutely had to. His father never seemed to trust him with information, he only used him as a sword to conquer more territory.
On his right side, the Lady Rowena was desperately trying to figure out how to eat gracefully and without removing or dirtying her thick veil. Pre-wedding jitters had prevented her from eating much in the past two days and she was absolutely famished.
Seeing her struggles snapped Daimon out of his ruminations. Later, he would have plenty of time to focus on the puzzle of his father's sudden desire to see his son married.
"Let me help you." He said softly as he pulled her veil out just enough so that she could comfortably feed herself while still keeping her face concealed.
He watched with some amusement as she attacked the food like a ravenous creature. She didn't hesitate to try any of the various dishes before her. The Empire's chefs were very skilled. And, in another way to showoff, his father made sure that they prepared a large number and variety of dishes.
Sensing his penetrating gaze upon her, she paused in her feeding frenzy. "Thank you, My Lord" she said demurely.
"Is the food that good?" he laughed genuinely for the first time in months.
"Oh, yes!" she said enthusiastically. And before he could react, she shoved the forkful of lobster she about to eat into his mouth instead. Surprised, he nearly choked but managed to chew and swallow. "Thank you." He muttered.
"It's only right that I feed you, My Lord." She said.
"I'm old enough to feed myself" he said somewhat amused and somewhat perplexed. "Besides, I have my own plate and fork." He indicated the numerous dishes placed before him.
"Oh!" she exclaimed with some embarrassment. "I will feed you from your plate then."
"That's not necessary" he protested.
He tried to prevent her from accessing his plate, but she was surprisingly swift. She tried to stab his food with her fork. And he tried to prevent her from doing so. Their quick maneuvers of trying to dodge each other's forks resulted in his full wine goblet being overturned onto his plate and the whole thing clattering loudly to the floor between them.