It would not have befitted the honor of the House of Loristan or the nation of Samavia for Marco to pace back and forth on the throne dais in front of his entire court. Therefore Marco sat in his throne, a little below his father’s, as calm as if the eyes and the whispers of the court were not fixed on him.
The mocking gaze of the Jiardasian ambassador, dashing in his short velvet cape, especially vexed Marco. The ambassador looked as self-satisfied as a cat, his white teeth flashing occasionally when he could not fight back his smile any longer. “Where is Captain Ratcliffe?” he asked, just loud enough that Marco could hear, and it took all Marco’s self-control to remain calm in his seat.
The Rat would be here soon, he told himself. He would be here at any moment, and then he would explain everything, and they would trust him again. They should never have doubted him, when he had helped bring the message across Europe to Samavia. But of course they did not know the Rat like Marco did.
And they could not forget that the Rat was British. “He is a foreigner,” General Sapt had said, his voice gruff, during the Cabinet meeting that had led to this gathering in the throne room.
“I’m a foreigner,” Marco pointed out with asperity.
The cabinet was so shocked that no one spoke. “Oh no, sir,” said old Tamboran, who was in charge of the exchequer. “A Loristan could never be a foreigner.”
And Marco had not pressed the matter, because he knew that he had to be Samavian for them, even if he still sometimes felt hopelessly confused by the customs of the country that he would one day rule.
Marco wished the Rat would arrive. Despite his resolve to sit still and dignified, he briefly touched his father’s signet ring. If only his father were here!
But Stefan Loristan was away, calming Kaiser Wilhelm from another one of his rages. Marco could not call him back from a mission that was of such importance to Europe. Certainly not for something as minor as this.
Minor.
But it was minor, Marco told himself fiercely. He and the Rat would laugh about it that evening, sitting in front of Marco’s fire.
The throne room, hitherto buzzing quietly, fell abruptly silent. The Rat had entered.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-06-16 08:51 pm (UTC)The mocking gaze of the Jiardasian ambassador, dashing in his short velvet cape, especially vexed Marco. The ambassador looked as self-satisfied as a cat, his white teeth flashing occasionally when he could not fight back his smile any longer. “Where is Captain Ratcliffe?” he asked, just loud enough that Marco could hear, and it took all Marco’s self-control to remain calm in his seat.
The Rat would be here soon, he told himself. He would be here at any moment, and then he would explain everything, and they would trust him again. They should never have doubted him, when he had helped bring the message across Europe to Samavia. But of course they did not know the Rat like Marco did.
And they could not forget that the Rat was British. “He is a foreigner,” General Sapt had said, his voice gruff, during the Cabinet meeting that had led to this gathering in the throne room.
“I’m a foreigner,” Marco pointed out with asperity.
The cabinet was so shocked that no one spoke. “Oh no, sir,” said old Tamboran, who was in charge of the exchequer. “A Loristan could never be a foreigner.”
And Marco had not pressed the matter, because he knew that he had to be Samavian for them, even if he still sometimes felt hopelessly confused by the customs of the country that he would one day rule.
Marco wished the Rat would arrive. Despite his resolve to sit still and dignified, he briefly touched his father’s signet ring. If only his father were here!
But Stefan Loristan was away, calming Kaiser Wilhelm from another one of his rages. Marco could not call him back from a mission that was of such importance to Europe. Certainly not for something as minor as this.
Minor.
But it was minor, Marco told himself fiercely. He and the Rat would laugh about it that evening, sitting in front of Marco’s fire.
The throne room, hitherto buzzing quietly, fell abruptly silent. The Rat had entered.