A Line of Soft Princes - Ch. 5 - Wedding Buns (Patreon)

The Burrocks’ carriage ride to Princess Ginevra’s palace was utterly miserable. Or, at least, Linden couldn’t stop complaining about how miserable it was. Days of being trapped in a carriage with his father and two of his younger brothers with limited snacks was not something he ever would’ve signed up for. He was also still nursing the sting of his odd duck of a brother taking his rightful place within the royal family. And sure, that marriage meant that this ride was taking place in a royal carriage that was far nicer and roomier than either of the Burrocks’ carriages, but that didn’t make Linden feel any better.

Unable to soothe himself with his favorite foods, he settled on pouting and loudly complaining every time they hit the smallest of bumps in the road. Everyone else in the carriage did their best to ignore him, choosing to discuss the wedding instead. It had been years since anyone important in the royal family had married, and no one was about to let Linden’s grumbling spoil their excitement. Father kept blubbering into a handkerchief, still in proud shock all these months later that he had managed to train up a prince.

River, the baby of the family, filled the carriage with talk of the food it was rumored Ginevra and Bartem would be serving. This only made Linden hungrier and grumpier, and set the stomachs of everyone in the carriage growling. Even Clay, who usually didn’t have anything resembling the famous Burrock appetite, was intrigued by River’s descriptions, though he spent most of his time reading quietly, and occasionally leaning out of the carriage window to wave at his mother and brothers in the carriage behind them.

And then—finally—they arrived. It was still early morning, just enough time for them to eat, wash up, and get ready to see Bartem married off. The palace servants ushered them inside along with their belongings, showing them all to a suite of rooms that included a small dining room as well as several bedrooms and bathrooms. Despite the grandeur of their own home, they were still shocked at how fine the furnishings were.

In between all their gawking, they all washed and dressed up in their very best, then sat down to a small repast at the little dining table, gossipping between bites.

***

As his family relaxed, Bartem was in the process of being dressed in wedding finery.

The first outfit of the day, the one he would wear during the ceremony, was quite modest, with only a small cutout to display a portion of his stomach, his navel just barely peeking out from the bottom of the opening. It was a deep royal blue color, with silver embroidery around the edge of the cutout and along the high neckline and hem. The sleeves went down to his wrists, and the skirt went all the way to the floor. It was fitted closely, showing off the mild curve of his stomach. It certainly wasn’t something Bartem would ever wear again, despite his own general preference for more modest clothes, but covering up during one’s wedding ceremony was the done thing. Something about it showing you were pure and clean and would only show off with your wife’s permission. Bartem thought it was rather silly given that current fashions for men tended toward putting as much of one’s body on display as possible, baring naked breasts and thighs and backsides.

A different, showier outfit more in keeping with modern sensibilities would be reserved for the festivities after the ceremony. That outfit also wasn’t much to Bartem’s liking, but since it was just for a few hours, he’d resolved to bear it without complaining. Tradition dictated (at least for the wealthy and aristocratic) that men be nearly bare during their wedding feasts. Bartem would have only a long strip of cloth to cover his backside and another to hang down in front between his legs, and aside from various decorative chains and bits of jewelry would be otherwise nude. He would also be expected to eat a ridiculous amount at the feast, proving to everyone present that he would be up to the task of fathering many children and pleasing his wife. As if an appetite for food had anything to do with an appetite for sex! It was so archaic Bartem could hardly stand it.

But a royal wedding was not the time to buck tradition, and despite his misgivings about the kingdom’s customs, it wasn’t like he knew of a better way.

Once his valet had finished dressing him, Bartem took a long look in the mirror, swishing the blue dress around. Another servant dusted his cheeks with silver and painted his lips a natural, rosy color. “You look lovely, Prince Bartem.” The servants had started calling him that already, even though he was not yet a prince. It would take him quite a while to get used to his new titles and honorifics.

“Thank you, Edmund. I do hope they all like it.” He could feel the vulnerability in his voice as he said it and hated it. He had always been a confident person. Feeling so nervous on a day when he had to assure everyone that their future queen had selected an appropriate spouse was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

After the final touches were put on his makeup and his valet had adjusted his clothes a dozen times, Bartem moved to stand by the window that overlooked the front of the palace. There were dozens of carriages rolling up, people streaming out of them and into the palace. Some of the carriages were older models with old-fashioned single doors, and he watched more than one man get stuck trying to exit, their wives and the palace’s servants struggling to pull them out. Bartem couldn’t imagine ever being so large.

He turned away from the window and sought other things to occupy himself, but found he was too restless to focus on anything. By the time he’d decided to give up, there was a knock on the door. A servant peeked in. “It’s time!” she said excitedly.

Bartem took a deep breath, then put on a smile. “About time!”

***

The wedding took place outdoors, in the mild heat of spring. There were rows and rows of pews set up to face a wedding table in a part of the garden usually reserved for large events like these. There were immense oak trees with centuries-old canopies spreading out above them, shading the gathering. The lower branches of the trees had been decorated with garlands of fine blue cloth and aromatic white flowers, along with glass baubles that caught the sunlight, sending out little beams of rainbows. Every noble who mattered (and many who didn’t) was seated, waiting to witness the ceremony.

The wedding table, which had been used at every royal wedding for so long no one could even remember the first time it was used, was slim and long, with dramatic blue and white flower arrangements placed along its length. There was a single silver plate on either end, each with a single wedding bun sitting at its center. The pastries were very simple: clean, bready orbs of dough, one with the bride’s filling, the other with the groom’s. The fillings were meant to represent their families and, in a literal way, what each person brought to the table. Evie’s had a meat filling, bursting with exotic spices from the furthest reaches of the world. Bartem’s was filled with jam made of peaches and plums—fruits of the Burrock orchards.

When Bartem was led out to the garden by his valet and first saw it all, his breath caught in his throat. He had never been the sort to daydream about his future wedding. Even if he had, he never could’ve imagined something like this.

His valet led him to his side of the wedding table. At the same time, Evie was walking up to her side. She wore a dress similar to Bartem’s, but with opposite colors: silvery fabric with blue embroidery. When they were both in position, she smiled at him. He smiled back, shyly, keenly aware of how closely they were being observed. It was almost enough to make him sweat.

She gave him a nearly imperceptible nod, letting him know she was beginning the ceremony, then turned toward the crowd, her arms outstretched in welcome. And then, suddenly, she was “on”—no longer quite the Evie he knew. “We are so lucky to be blessed with such fine weather, are we not?” It was a simple way to begin, and yet her delivery was so charismatic that she might as well have just thrown out some flawless new pearl of wisdom. “I am so glad to welcome you all to my—our—home today.” She gave a sweet glance in Bartem’s direction. Bartem knew she was putting on a show, and yet when she looked at him, he felt his heart flutter. How queer. “Today, I, Princess Ginevra Amalia, will join Bartem Burrock in matrimony.” She brought her hands together gently, fingers interlaced to represent their joining.

She picked up the bun from her side of the table. She began to recite familiar words—the ones said at every wedding, of every couple great or small. “This is of my house and hearth.” She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. There was scattered applause throughout the audience. “It is unblemished, and I share it freely with the one I choose.”

She paused. Now it was Bartem’s turn. He picked up his bun. “This is of my house and hearth.” He took a bite, and was surprised at how delicious the filling was. He made a noise without realizing and there were titters of laughter in response. Thankfully, such displays were not only expected but encouraged at weddings, so he didn’t feel too embarrassed. “It is unblemished, and I share it freely with the one I choose.”

They both moved to walk towards each other, buns in hand, on the side of the table closest to the audience. When they came together, Bartem offered his bun to her, lifting it to her lips. She took a huge bite, pretending to be embarrassed at how eager she seemed. God, she’s good at this. Some in the crowd were dabbing handkerchiefs at their teary eyes, and others had their hands splayed over their chests as if they couldn’t handle the sweetness they were witnessing. When she finished, she offered her bun up to Bartem, and he took a (more conservative) bite. Before he’d even swallowed, she leaned in for the kiss that would seal them together forever, throwing her arms around his neck. He put his hands on her hips, drawing her in close.

Everyone erupted into cheers, many getting to their feet as they applauded. They were officially wed.

Evie turned toward everyone again, holding Bartem’s hand and looking for all the world like the happiest woman who had ever lived or died. “Now that that’s done, let’s eat!”