A veritable who’s who of queer nobles and royals from the European courts, and Francis’s worst nightmare.
Some of the other noble guests with darker skin tones and more exotic wardrobes, Francis had no idea who they were. Perhaps Gustav would know.
When Archie, Maddie, and Christian finally caught up, they too were in awe of the room for different reasons.
Maddie gasped. “That’s the Duke of Saxony! Francis, isn’t he your cousin?”
“Yes,” Francis replied.
Christian had a keen eye, too, and immediately spotted Wittensbach. He nudged Francis. “Isn’t that…?”
“Yes,” Francis said.
“Didn’t you two…?”
Francis sighed. “Yes. Don’t remind me.”
“Who spilled their damn drink?” Archie complained,shaking his wet shoe after stepping in a gutter.
A few of the guests had noticed their arrival and were staring in their direction.
Francis felt awkward and out of place. He wasn’t used to a social engagement where he wasn’t certain of the rules. They’d had no announcement upon entry, and apart from the faces he recognised—and wished he didn’t—Francis had no idea who anyone else was.
Was the king in attendance? Were they awaiting his arrival? What was the protocol?
Before Francis could spiral too much, a trio of pretty attendants appeared, bearing golden trays with little bowls of warm water and rose petals floating on top.
More tea, Francis supposed.
They each took a bowl. Francis was about to raise his to his lips to take a sip. The only thing that saved him was Archie beating him to it and smacking his lips loudly.
“A touch too sweet for my taste,” he complained.
“Archie!” Gustav hissed at him. “This is rose perfumed water to wash your hands with.”
Archie stared at him, his one eye large. “Oh,” he said, while Christian and Maddie stifled their chuckles.
Francis, too, was smiling. That was until someone with broad shoulders brushed past him most rudely, causing him to almost drop his bowl.
Francis managed to catch the dish before it fell, but in doing so spilled the rose water all over his clothes.
When he looked to see who had knocked him, Francis saw the offending gentleman glance back at him and smirk unkindly.
Dimitri.
The Marquis of Montferrat, and an almost-fling four and a half years ago.
“Sir, are you all right?” Gustav asked.
“That scoundrel,” Maddie hissed. “He did that on purpose.”
“Who?” Archie demanded, having missed the incident.
“Montferrat, isn’t it?” Christian said, nodding to the retreating Marquis. “That was a clear slight, sir, if I may say so.”
“He’s a suitor?” Francis asked Gustav, his heart sinking when Gustav nodded. “He’s always been competitive.”
“You’re all wet!” Archie noticed Francis was soaked. “Montferrat did that? Right.” He frowned and faced the crowd with determination. “I’ll demand satisfaction this instant.”
