Graham Afia V

Words she’d heard more times than she could count and spoken just as many times, more often to herself than others. Sorry for running away, sorry for killing, sorry for not being someone I can be proud of. She was a bundle of mistakes constantly wearing away at her own esteem and ability and one day… she’d break. She knew that. The best she could hope to do was provide her country a stable enough base until… Until…

What? I have kids? There are no more heirs.

Uly shook her head, dismissing the thought before it could take hold of her thinking and instead waving a hand dismissively at his apology. “You owe me no apology. I’m sorry that I sobered the mood. Ever the killjoy.” She said with a smile.

Turning her attention back to the food, Uly rubbed her head like some comical villain sizing up their next victim, a smile broadening her lips. Her eyes lifted to him out of complete and utter surprise as he mentioned not eating with a knife and fork. Could you be any more dreamy? She couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” She mused, reaching out to take the aforementioned Gyro, beginning to bite into it with gusto. Albeit she did allow herself some manners, not simply pigging out on the food… much.

Through sheer force of will, she managed to finish one delicious mouthful before speaking, her eyes on him. “What are your parents like? They must not approve of your traveling.”

At least it’s someone else for a change. Graham thought ruefully to himself. It was usually him making an ill-timed joke about his impending death that ruined the mood for friends or family. They hated it, which only made him more likely to continue doing it. Sooner or later they would be forced to face the truth, he was just trying to help them along. And it made him feel a little better to acknowledge it sometimes, make it less of this looming, unspoken thing. “It’s alright. We’re humans, we get sad, bad things happen. No point in pretending that they don’t.” He shrugged, feeling the conversation was over. 

Graham grinned at the way she responded to that. Of course, sometimes he forgot when he made the transition back into royalty, that she had probably not been allowed to eat like this for most of her life. There was never any telling if that meant someone would be pleased or horrified at the idea of letting manners go. “The important part of food is that you enjoy it.” He pointed out, with a small chuckle. He wouldn’t point out just yet that they had planned to share, and he probably should have cut it in half first with that in mind. Instead, he focused on the other meal in front of him, long skewers of sliced pork. That was more acceptable to eat with a fork and knife, so he cut off a bite sized piece and tried it. It was better than he expected. 

His gaze flickered up, then back down. There was really no easy way to answer that when the truth was that they did not like it at all, they only let him because he was dying and the couldn’t tell him no. “My parents are everything you expect when you hear the words King and Queen. But they were also very close with us, very involved. I have an older sister and brother, and we’re all close. None of them really like my traveling, but I guess being the youngest has some perks. Nobody really wants to tell you no.” 

Graham pushed into her room. He never pushed in so brashly, but this situation called for it, and he couldn’t wait. “Rochelle, I need to talk.” He announced, letting the door swing shut behind him and immediately pulling himself up to sit cross-legged on her bed. 

Uly found herself expecting the voice long before she heard it. He was right back where he’d been a few minutes earlier, dressed in the same ragged fatigues as he always was. You. Are. Not. Real. Eyes focused on the table to force herself looking at something that wasn’t there, she found her fingers unconsciously tightening around the ceramic cup, her knuckles going white.

Is something wrong?

Uly’s heartbeat was a thundering army hammering away at her chest from the inside. A cold flush swept across her skin as she put every ounce of willpower she had into not showing her internal feelings to the prince she was sitting across from lest he think himself to blame. Her father had recommended a therapist, hell, he’d all but demanded she see one. Sitting in that alcove feeling as if she were constricted on all sides, Uly vaguely regretted turning him away.

‘Your friends sound like fun.’ 

Uly couldn’t help but laugh, however her heart wasn’t in the sound. She had been tempted to correct him on the present tense. Her friends had been fun. Instead, she simply shook her head demurely, forcing a sad smile onto her lips, if not for the reasons the prince might predict. “I’m alright.” She lied, one she was familiar with. She managed to bring her eyes back up to meet the prince’s own. In that caramel gaze… she found it easier to relax. Something she’d never felt before. She didn’t need to look to know that Jameson was gone, the pair alone in the alcove.

“Jameson died, uh…” She rubbed a finger across her lips in an unconscious nervous gesture as she tried not to think too thoroughly on the topic at hand while still retrieving the information necessary. “About six months ago. Just before I got shipped off to Athens in my brother’s place.” That rueful smile was back as Uly sipped her coffee, leaning back in the chair as if to distance herself more. Not because she wanted distance… no, in reality, she felt an insane urge to just tell him everything. But no. That rumor could not be allowed to spread.

Lying to my future husband before we’re even married. Classic.

Thankfully, Uly was saved from further words by the arrival of their food. Heaping platters of steaming Greecian food laid out as a banquet between the pair.

“Could you, uh.. Show me how to eat some of this? I don’t want to make any more of a fool of myself.” She managed, dropping her gaze to the table as she composed herself. Get yourself together, Uly.

The hollow laugh didn’t come close to fooling Graham. It wasn’t something he expected to hear from her, but now he didn’t think he would be able to forget the sound of it. Somewhere, this conversation had taken a turn, and he was missing the pieces needed to find out where things went wrong. She was upset, clearly. She looked like she was expecting someone to start yelling at her at any moment, and Graham didn’t know where it was coming from, if it was something he had said or done. He felt a little helpless, in that moment. 

“You don’t have to tell me about it.” He said, as a way of pointing out that he didn’t believe her for a second. It wasn’t really his place to go on picking or digging at something he had nothing to do with, but he also didn’t like to be lied to. Hypocritical, he knew. Maybe it was best to except early that there were going to be lies in their relationship and learn to let it go. This was going to be much more difficult than he had expected it to be. 

Graham turned still. He wasn’t aware that he had been moving much, until it was contrasted with the absolute stillness that came over him. He swallowed. His chest was growing tight, everything inside of him screaming that he could not go through with this. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep the outside of his face clear from emotion. This is not right. She only just lost someone, and here he came, acting as though he was a sure thing in her life. The anger that he had just about gotten rid of came flaming back, and he wanted to call his parents and yell at them. He had never yelled at any member of his family, before. He didn’t think he had ever yelled at anyone, before. But he had never been this angry before, either. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, once he trusted his voice to be even. “I know that probably doesn’t mean much, at this point.” She had probably heard it a thousand times, until the words lost all meaning. Problem was, that knowledge didn’t give him anything better to say. “But I’m not just saying it because I have to, if that makes it any better.” He was sorry for much more than she could ever imagine. He debated, for a moment, telling her. Maybe with the two of them against this, they could talk their way out of this arrangement and she would find a more deserving pair. He dismissed the thought just as quickly. There were too many ways it could backfire, and the selfish part of him didn’t want to take the chance of his truth being spread. 

Graham shifted his cup out of the way as the food arrived, sucecssfully breaking through the solemnness of their conversation. Plates laid down, darkness lifted, lighter tones returned to voices. He shifted forward again. “Well the gyro you just....well, you have to pick it up with your hands and bit off of it. I guess you could use a fork and a knife but that’s just...” he didn’t want to say he would judge her for doing that, but it felt so wrong. “Not authentic.” 

His tidbit did, however, make her think. Mind filling with modern-day royals in their puffy dresses and suits sitting in some dusty outback at a log-raised plank table. Those images made her smile, restraining a laugh lest he think she was insane for bursting into laughter at such a comparatively unfunny remark.

At his story she inwardly sighed, narrowing her eyes as if jokingly annoyed at him, though making her sarcasm clear. He was to be her husband. Political or not, she would have to break down that steely exterior eventually. She wanted to experience who he really was, not this political face he was presenting because he was nervous.

Ah.

He was nervous. Having some girl you barely knew stare at you for a full ten minutes tended to have that effect on people. Perhaps if I go first, make him realize I’m just another human being. She scrounged her brain for a long few moments, dimly aware of coffee being brought into their alcove and offered. She took one, clasping the small ceramic cup in both hands, allowing the warmth to seep into her palms as she got the story straight in her head. The memory bringing a wistful smile to her lips.

“A few years ago I was just getting back from Iran, third time back. The place couldn’t keep me away.” That last statement said with a sarcastic lilt. He knew her past and could likely infer the real reason she’d been going to such a place. “Some close friends - about five of us - are celebrating. Old tradition. Anyway, we’d planned to introduce an extended friend of ours, a beautiful girl called Katie.” Uly held out a hand as if to forestall interjection, despite that she knew the prince would never do something so rude asinterrupt. “You’ll have to take my word for it, but she was stunning. Way out of his league. Anyway.”

Uly sipped her coffee briefly, resisting the urge to stick out both pinkies jokingly. “Long story short, he wasn’t aware she was coming. She ends up running late because of a work commitment, arrived at the house just as the fun was getting started. Imagine this: I open the door, there she is: beautiful dress, immaculate makeup, the full works. She asks me which one of my friends she was here to meet and, Perfectly timed as always, Jameson - the guy we were gonna set her up with - yells. He was talking to Alex, though I’ll be damned if we couldn’t hear him word for word all the way from the front door. ” She puffs up her chest, imitating his masculine tone satirically. “ ‘Oie, boy-o. Get me another bottle o’ Jagermeister, eh? The last three had fookin’ water in ‘em. Already empty, they are!’” Uly smiles ruefully at the memory, shaking her head. “Should’ve seen the look on her face, like a deer caught in headlights.”

Uly waved a hand dismissively. “Two years later they were still going strong, he was about to propose. Cute couple.” She kept her face as was, however the latter end of the memory sobered her prior good mood. She kept her eyes down in her coffee, waiting for his reply. She hoped he would think her deep in thought… in truth, she was worried that if she looked up she would see a look of disgust on those beautiful features. She had gone out on a limb, appealing to his humanity.

All or nothing.

She didn’t look annoyed, at least. Not yet. It was Rochelle’s voice in his head, telling him to keep his nerdy facts to himself, if he wanted to impress a girl. But then, he didn’t really want to impress her. He had to keep reminding himself of that, each time she managed a smile and he caught himself wondering what he could do to make it happen again. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, unless she was laughing at him inside her head. 

Funny, Graham had never been self-conscious before. He knew how he came across, and for most of his life, it had been too close to perfect for his own comfort. He had nearly everything going for him, after all. Life had been good to him, except when it hadn’t. But she didn’t know about those things. She would know about the asthma, but even that wasn’t so bad anymore. He could leave home without his inhaler, though everyone told him not to. Sometimes it did get him in trouble, but most times it didn’t. 

He was too far in his own head, again. He had to snap his attention back to her, and she was annoyed. Not really annoyed, but she had clearly picked up on the fact that he hadn’t put much heart into talking about his home. “If I’m being honest, home doesn’t really hold any of my interesting stories. That was always the steady place, where I go when I need a break.” He shrugged. Maybe he was supposed to wax poetry on the majestic beauty of his home country, but that just wasn’t how he felt about it. Home meant steady. 

He knew a story was coming before she ever started speaking. It was a look that people got when they tugged at the strings of a memory, anticipation settling. No matter the circumstance, Graham was a person who liked to hear stories, so he found himself leaning forward, forearms settling against the edge of the table and fingers finding his own mug to wrap around. He listened, allowing the pieces of what she told him to fall into place with what he already knew about her. A smile tugged at his mouth, turning into a full laugh as the story came to a close. If he was being honest, it was mostly her attempt at a Scottish accent that had him chuckling. He didn’t think it was really that bad of an accent, it was just so different from her own accent that it caught him by surprise. 

He was ready to reply, comment on her story, ask about her friends, but something in her face stopped him. The smile had faded to something else. She looked unsure, which he didn’t think he had seen yet. “Something wrong?” He couldn’t help but ask. This was the problem with him; he was not a creature built to be cold with people. He could try and try, but at the end of the day, he always found himself worrying over people, talking to people, falling in love in some context with everyone around him. He didn’t have an understanding of how to be in between, to know someone and not want to know everything about them. He leaned back. He reminded himself of what was at stake here. 

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that. Your friends sound like fun.” He meant it. He wasn’t much of a party person himself, but it didn’t mean that he could appreciate people who were. Ever a chameleon, he could find a way to fit into a group of them, as he had before. College had taught him a variety of different masks and now he had a closet full of them, always available to pull out at a moment’s notice. 

             Seemingly LOST expression turned to one of satisfaction when the request - albeit a challenging one - was given. And Cyrus had to grin. It was easier for him to create things from imagination than to mimic an image already in front of him. Graham must’ve known him well enough for that. ❝ Not difficult at all - perfect , in fact. ❞ Especially since Cyrus used to dabble in tarot readings himself.

              Pencil moved along paper to sketch out the edges of the cards , making them large enough to focus on one by one but not enough to overshadow anything else on the page. And then , as a joke , he dare ask , ❝ You want to be on one of the cards ?? My treat. ❞

As had been expected, Cyrus rose to the challenge. This had been a game that went on between the two of them for years, after all. Nights spent drawing, building, creating whatever odd thing came to mind when insomnia managed to strike the both of them on the same night (truthfully, that was nearly every night). “I thought you might appreciate it.” He blamed Rochelle’s presence for the idea of tarot cards. Graham was no stranger to the mystical world himself, but it was his older sister who really held and affinity for it. 

Graham just smiled. This was homey, in the oddest way. He didn’t get to be anything close to mean to anyone else, but Rochelle did not fit the mold of the other people he spent time around. He didn’t have to censor himself around her as much. There were still things he couldn’t say, like his morbid jokes about his own mortality. He heaved a breath. “Love you too.” 

                   Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Prince’s fingers move in a quick pattern as brown eyes stare at a blank sketchpad in front of him. He’s … lost. The repetition of his movements at least help to let him think ; tongue in cheek as he wonders what he could POSSIBLY fill the paper in front of him with. …He’s been drawing a few unwanted faces recently whenever he lets his hand glide free. Kind of annoying - less than TASTEFUL for he who doesn’t prefer to even acknowledge those faces sometimes.

                    A breath. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. There’s another person in the area but there’s a lack of conversation - it’s unusually QUIET. Before Cyrus turns to the other as his fingers continue - ❝ Give me an object. Any object. Just , go. ❞

“Card tower.” Graham answered easily. “But make them tarot cards, and create your own faces for the different cards.” It was a challenging request, sure, but he was confident that Cyrus would be able to do something with it. If nothing else, it would keep his friend busy for a while, and he got the idea that was what was wanted out of this activity. Not so much about actually creating the perfect piece of artwork. 

‘A lady never puts her elbows on the table. Her back is straight, her chin is up, her posture perfect.’ The wise words of her instructor echoed in Uly’s head as if the concept of a woman being anything but was not even worth considering. Uly considered those words, turned them over for further consideration… and then promptly placed her elbows on the table, with her chin resting on her palms so that she might have a more relaxed study of the prince. She watched as he removed those glasses - something she found almost adorably nerdy - before musing about his own competitive nature.

That’s going to be a problem, she thought with a mischevious grin. Uly was many things. Sarcastic, snappy, temperamental… but the trait she had heard herself referred to by most often was competitive. Hell, half the reason she’d tried for the special forces was that they were the best. It could be misconstrued that Uly enjoyed mastery over others… rather, quite the contrary was true. Coming from a family that was ‘better’ than others in her country by definition, Uly compensated by hunting for achievement in every area except heritage. Uly would forge her own path to success, or die trying.

“I would love to hear a story about your time in South Africa.” 

Uly heard the words as if they’d come from someone else’s lips, escaping before she had a chance to stop them. But the more she thought about them, the more she found herself agreeing with them. Sure, the prince had been to an abundance of countries but… she’d never heard many stories from the beautiful expanses of South Africa. Romanticized settings like Greece and Italy were often over-described, leaving those less well-known countries underrepresented in conventional storytelling. Uly wanted to hear a story from his past.

If there was one thing Graham was grateful for, it was that he was used to being watched. Even around his family, there were always eyes on him, like they were ready for him to keel over at any second. The picture had to be kept up, and now he could hold it for indefinite amounts of time. He found himself in the small morning hours when he couldn’t sleep and nobody was around to see him. He allowed her to order, smiling slightly when he heard her manage to get through the words. She was not as lacking as she had passed herself off to be, as he expected. He wanted to ask what else she was hiding. 

Graham’s eyes followed her arms, a thought slipping into his head and finding it’s way to his mouth before he could have the good sense to stop it. “Did you know the only reason we’re taught to keep our elbows off the table as children is because tables were one just a wooden plank on a tree stump? It was common sense, and they kept passing that rule down, even with the sensible part of it gone.” Some of his friends and most of his family had gotten to the point that they sighed as soon as the words did you know passed his lips. He wasn’t trying to act as though he knew everything, he just found knowing things interesting and he occasionally forgot that other people did not feel the same way. 

He could feel her judgement of his response. Someone like her had to expect competition. But he had grown up the baby of his family, the golden child. He hadn’t needed to compete for anything. He had been the best in school, but it wasn’t because he had tried all that hard. If he did, it was because he wanted to learn, because he wanted to better himself. The idea of competition was foreign to him. 

Graham swallowed again. He did have lots of stories, but when it came to his home... Did she want to hear about the fire that had briefly killed him, or the time he had collapsed up in the Hex River mountains? The endless hospital visits, or the subtle, well-meant guilt trips from his family when he went home? South Africa was not what held his good stories. “It’s a beautiful country,” he told her, because that was what he had trained himself to say. “I grew up near the Hex River Mountains. I got into plenty of trouble with my parents for running off as a child, and not much has changed since.” 

Not that I’ll ever be able to do that, now. I have responsibilities.

Staring at the prince, she saw a shadow of what she wished she could be. Those stoic features aged by experiences throughout the entire world gave him a distinctly wisened appearance beyond his mere twenty-five years. Perhaps she could see herself, one day, sitting with him. Hearing about his life. Different languages and cultures always interested her, and here was a man far more learned than most, destined to be chained to her for the rest of his life. Poor guy. She smirked at the thought.

His ‘Really?’ made her smile also, glad that he didn’t see her as dumbly as she saw herself. That or perhaps she wasn’t as good a liar as she thought she was, regardless the genuine smile remained in place and she found herself relaxing a fraction. If nothing else, perhaps I will at least gain a friend..

“Messy Gyro sounds delicious.” Uly said honestly, a welcome change from the tiny snacks and gourmet food that barely filled her stomach. Something hefty and meaty sounded perfect. “Perhaps you can choose something else and we’ll… share?” She inquired, fixing him with those brown eyes. He still looked ill at ease. Uly didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation for being charming… how was she supposed to get this charming prince to relax?

“If you manage to eat more of it than me, I might just promise you a second date.” She joked softly, that teasing smile quirking the corner of her lips skyward. On the inside though, she wound tight as a steel coil. Her humour was always a double edged sword with royalty… the Prince would either be offended by her bluntness and lack of ladylike behaviour, or he would find it funny.

She desperately hoped for the latter.

He tried to smile, but it was the bittersweet smile of recognizing wanderlust in someone else. He wanted to say, it hurts sometimes, doesn’t it? But he didn’t. It did ache, in ways that nobody could understand unless they felt it too. He felt like he was searching for a home he hadn’t found yet, like when he found it, he would finally be able to put his bags down and rest. But that was nothing but poetry, and this was real life, and he was already facing the suspicion that it was going to be difficult not to like her. She looked like stories, and the academic in him wanted to hear them. He lived life to hear people’s stories, and in another life, maybe this would have been the beginning of something good. In this life, it just felt like the first page of a tragedy. 

She was smiling at him now, and he was too involved in his own head to keep himself from analyzing what might have spurred it. There were a thousand reasons a person might smile, a thousand aspects of a smile which could give clues to the reason. This one looked a little pleased, a little more at ease as time passed. Graham absently realized he was chewing on his lower lip out of habit and forced himself to stop. 

He didn’t ask if she wanted everything on it. He didn’t think she would be the kind of person to need alterations to food. “Messy gyro it is.” He set his menu down, slipping the glasses off once more and carefully folding them before placing them back in his front pocket. “I um...I could do that.” So much for being eloquent. She had caught him by surprise. This was not going how he planned it. He had assumed that upon his announcement, she would either leave the restaurant, or be another cold royal more than happy to avoid personal ties. He had never expected to find someone that seemed they would be easy to have a conversation with. 

“I’ve never been a very competitive person, actually. But if that’s the point, we probably ought to order more than just two meals.” There were many things Graham was good with. Making friends, looking for things, getting along with people much older than him. This, however, was not one of those things, and he was feeling so decidedly out of his element that everything out of his mouth sounded like pre-recorded royal nonsense, even to him. He sighed. Wasn’t it for the best, anyway? One of these days he was going to have to get over his obsessive need to have people like him. 

“no, but thank you,” sasha replied. “who knows how long I would have been on the floor if you hadn’t come by.”

“No thanks necessary. I know the feeling. I’ve been stranded without my inhaler before, usually my own fault.” Just because his heart was public knowledge didn’t mean that his asthma wasn’t, and that brought along a host of problems all it’s own. It didn’t help that he was always leaving it in his room, or his backpack, or the car, along with his epi-pen. To him, they were just reminders of something he didn’t want to think about. 

Comfortable. Such a presentation implied he was anything but, to the astute observer. Uly was not surprised… her unorthodox behaviour and background often unsettled the blue-bloods she came in contact with. Though she had come to expect it, the notion that she was making her future husband uncomfortable with a mere look made her feel vaguely nauseous. Thankfully, he saved her from such contemplations of the future by inquiring about the menu.

Ah. She knew far more languages than the average person and yet, she knew nearly no Greek. She’d been learning, of course. Enough to exchange pleasantries. Decoding the hieroglyphics assembled on the menu proved beyond her capability. Perhaps admitting that weakness would put the prince more at ease?

“I don’t speak Greek, or many languages for that matter.” Not strictly a lie but not the truth either… he was intimidated by her, something she hated. Best to lower his opinion further lest she send him running for hills, not that she’d blame him. The thought stirred a strange feeling in her chest however. As she stared at him, she couldn’t help but hope he didn’t run away. He was charming, beautiful and kind. If only she, a brute from the battlefield, we’re worthy of him.

Discreetly glancing toward the entryway of their alcove, she couldn’t help but smile at the realisation Jameson was gone. As she returned her attention to Graham, that smile was still in place. Political or not, she could use a new friend.

“I am open to any recommendations you might have, Graham.” She murmured, tasting his name as she spoke it. She suspected it would become a comfortable sound eventually, but for now it was new and unfamiliar, like its owner. Something she hoped to change.

Graham nodded, feeling a little guilty. The whole situation might have been out of his hands, but he couldn’t help but feel there ought to be a better way for him to handle it. “That’s reasonable...” He replied carefully. “No, I can’t say that I’m fan of the situation. It’s nothing against you, of course. I guess I’ve just always found it hard to stay in one place. I’m sure you’ve been provided enough information to gather that,” he went on with a flippant wave of his hand. No point in pretending that they didn’t read up on each other. What she wouldn’t find were the months out of contact with anyone, the moments when his family hadn’t known if he was dead or alive because he had found it easier to run away. They didn’t talk about those times, as if his entire family conveniently forgot about any faults Graham carried with him. 

His eyes flicked up. She was still assessing him, and he wished he could hear what verdict she came to when she seemed to settle on a decision of what to think. Or perhaps he was just being paranoid. He rarely was, but he always knew it was a possibility when it came to these situations. It was better to be paranoid than oblivious, after all. He looked back at the window. The more he let his mind wander, the more like it was to spiral and wind up finding the most negative option possible. 

“Really?” Again, he looked at her. That didn’t seem likely, given what he did know of her. Not overly scholastic, of course, but she had her fair share of travels and that usually meant picking up languages. He had known girls in the past who played dumb to come across more attractive, but she didn’t seem the type to do something like that. Especially with him. Well, it could always be a placating sort of thing, give him something since this was one of his only strengths. Attention back to the menu, he scanned over the options. 

There was something of a shiver down his spine when he heard her use his name so casually. It sounded like another test, possibly more to do with her than him. He swallowed before speaking. “The courgette balls or  dolmadakia would both make a good appetizer, but they’re a little difficult to describe. A Gyro is usually a safe bet for an actual meal, but it does get messy to eat, I’m not sure how you feel about that. It’s kind of like a taco, but with pita bread and thick slices of lamb. Or...” he flipped the menu to the other side, “souvlaki is another safe one. Just meat on a skewer, more or less.” Thankfully, it was not the first time he had been in Greece, and the food had always been one of the shining attractions of the country (nevermind that he would probably a prefer a street vendor). 

Such a simple statement but one that put Uly far more at ease than the man she sat across from would ever know. At least he has a sense of humor. Uly found herself smiling again, if not for the fact that his retort had been hilarious, then at least that he might not be completely hopeless after all. ‘Make the best of what you’re given’ had been one of her father’s favorite little snippets of wisdom and, in this situation, Uly was certainly trying. Not that the young prince was making it particularly difficult.

He’s almost too perfect. Uly thought blithely, studying him as his lips parted for that final explanation. Just as Uly found herself relaxing in the Prince’s company, those robotic, calculated words struck right to her very core and ran ice along her spine. Before that statement, she had almost managed to trick herself into believing this just another coffee date with a cute boy. Nearly tricked herself into thinking him just another cute bachelor vying for her debatably limited attention. In two sentences he had quelled that notion with brutal efficiency, heralding loud and clear that he was and always would be a prince. ‘… these things are easier without feelings involved.’

“What had you been expecting, Ules? Rainbows and a white wedding?”

Jameson’s voice came unwelcome and cut like a knife. Through sheer force of will, she kept her attention on the prince and a smile on her lips, not turning her head towards the source of the imaginary voice. To think she’d been spared his opinions for nearly a full day, only for this meeting to bring him crashing back into her life. Looking at the prince in that moment, she felt a shred of pity for him. He had been forced into this as much as she had, only he was getting the far worse end of the deal.

“If that is what you wish, Graham.” She said simply, acquiescent. Knotting her white-knuckled fingers together underneath the table, she held his gaze as she forced herself to relax muscle by muscle. “It would probably make this easier.”

But when were the best things ever easy?

“Coward.” Came the voice of the dead man, audible only to her.

Graham had the distinct feeling that he was being appraised. This, he was used to. It was a routine of their kind, so he settled his shoulders into a short line and let the hospitable expression he’d learned from his mother fall on the face he’d gotten from his father. The perfect mix of both, he’d been told on more than one occasion. He took it as a good thing, most of the time. Only at certain moments did it feel to be a bit too much pressure. 

Slowly, the princess before him shifted. It was a physical thing, though it wasn’t so much in her expression. She went from relaxed, friendly, to a straightening spine and tensed muscles. Her face, for the most part, remained the same. The bomb in his chest ticked a little faster, sending up another wish that he could disappear from this moment. All of this would be so much easier if- no, there was no point in torturing himself with if’s. They would only lead him down a dark road that he had been down before and he knew offered no relief. It was best to accept the moment he was in and try to make the best of it. But how was he supposed to make the best of this? 

Her eyes were trained on him in a fixed sort of way that made him want to crawl under the table. He wanted to know if she was angry, annoyed, embarrassed, whatever she was feeling, before he decided how to proceed. There was no polite way to ask her that though, so he didn’t. He nodded, slightly. “And your thoughts, on the matter?” Cold being the best option or not, no part of Graham could go without at least asking her how she felt. She was a human, and that alone earned her that much respect. He knew, in his heart, that easier did not always mean better, but his heart had always been weaker than his mind. That was his whole problem. 

He turned his attention down to the menu. The script was small, so he took a pair of wire-framed glasses from his front pocket and slipped them on. Too many late nights reading old texts in dim lights had worn down his eyes early, and he was already forced to keep a pair of reading glasses on him. His gaze flickered back up. “Do you know Greek? If not, I can make a few recommendations.” 

Aesthetic - Graham Afia V

His greeting had been nothing if not textbook polite, those hazelnut eyes boring into her soul as she reached out to shake his hand. It was only when she had grasped his hand fully that she remembered her mistake. Too late. Her instructors had chastised her again and again for her masculine handshake, such a tiny gesture that sparked a cascade of impressions. Handshaking with her only fingers like some dainty flower, however, simply felt wrong.

“I’d hope so… Unless there are other women waiting in private alcoves for you.” She managed, a wry smile tugging up the corners of her lips. She couldn’t help it… if she was going to be stuck with this guy for the rest of her life, she might as well get a feel for his humor. He would appreciate that more than a smattering of formless compliments and conversation about the weather, right?

She took him in, then. Truly took him in. The littering of callouses around his hands aligned with her research about his hiking and climbing background, the subtle shrug of his shoulders and forward posture heralding weeks bent over books. He looks fresh out of some magazine.

Uly’s mother had always assumed that she would be best suited with a husband who could match her fire. The first few men she had presented having come from military backgrounds, backs stiff and conversations formal. Quite to the contrary, Uly found herself more at ease with normal people. People she could joke with and learn from. If Graham was half as smart as her research implied, well… he was going to be sorely disappointed with her performance.

Feeling just as out of her depth as he likely was, Uly sat back in one of the two chairs before folding her hands in her lap. 

“How do you feel about… This?” She inquired after a moments silence, ever one to jump straight to the point. One hand raising to emphasize her point and gesture to each of them respectively. Uly was in no mood to dance around the point for the next hour, better to get it out of the way and then potentially move on to getting to know this man who was to be her husband.

.He caught the twitch of her mouth, but he couldn’t decide what it was from. There was any number of things that a person could look at him and be amused by, and usually he was able to talk himself past any self-consciousness. This was a different situation. He did not get nervous, but here he was, nervous. He didn’t know why. It would be for the best if she didn’t think highly of him; at least then she wouldn’t care when he died. The ticking bomb in his chest sped up a little with the thought. 

She did not shake his hand like a princess. There was something very real about that. She reminded him more of the girls he had known in his travels than he had known in college or in these circles he spent time in for his families sake. It made him feel less like he was meeting a princess, and more like he was running into someone new. But this was not that. He couldn’t keep running away from his problems forever, even if he had been making a valiant effort up till this point. At least his initial take on her told him that she was strong. She had probably seen more death than he could imagine, all things in consideration. Maybe it was stupid of him to try to protect her from his future. 

She caught him by surprise with her statement, as he smiled and ran a thumb across his bottom lip in unconscious expression. “No, not that I know of.” He thought he ought to come with something wittier for a response, but nothing came to mind. It was for the best. This was the same routine he would go on cycling through with himself, the same one he had been cycling through, because what right did he have to be afraid? He had already lived so much more, so much better than so many people around him. It was time to put his attention onto the people around him, instead. 

He sat in the opposite chair. Looking across the table he couldn’t help but notice she seemed stiff, uncomfortable. He wondered if it was the atmosphere, or if it was him. He couldn’t think of another time when he had managed to make someone uncomfortable; his specialty had always been putting people at ease. Leaning back slightly in the chair, he ignored the buzz of his phone in his pocket. His parents could wait. 

“I feel it would be for the best to keep things political. Nothing personal, I just think these things are easier without feelings involved.” His chest tightened with every word. The idea of a marriage being impersonal was absurd, especially coming from someone who had grown up under two loving parents. But it did happen. He saw plenty of it outside of his own family, and in the long run, it would be an easier arrangement for the both of them. The idea set wrong inside of him, an ever personable creature. All he had to do to fix that was picture his grave, though. 

he was happy his explination didn’t make the other say sorry, or give him the pity eyes, as sasha now called them. his fiancée gave them to him when he told her, and his sister gave them daily. plus his parents, he was able to get away from those though. he nodded, but wondered. he knew they all had questions, his were just exposed. “I wonder what the media would say if they had saw that,” he laughed, not wanting to speak about doctors.

Subtle, Father. Truly subtle. He had no doubt arranged their first meeting at such a romantic setting intentionally. For a king, his actions could be terribly ham-fisted at times.

She had received the news via a brief phone call from her father. As busy as he was, he always made time to call her when important news arose. That oldfashioned chivalry of his afforded him a permanent place in Uly’s good books, regardless of the news that followed. Namely, in this case, that he had finally found a match for her.

Prince Graham Afia the Fifth, of South Africa.

Of course, Uly had done extensive research on the man immediately following the phone call. The youngest of three, he was a particularly adventurous soul despite also being academic. Had Uly been a romantic, she’d have thought him perfect. Good looking, smart, adventurous, fit… tick, tick, tick, tick. Regardless of all that, he had one quality looming over his head that Uly simply couldn’t ignore. Arranged.

Uly sighed and folded her hands in her lap, the sound of footsteps snapping her from such thoughts as none other than the Prince himself came around the corner, announced into their small alcove by a waiter. She stood, as was polite. Barely remembering her training. Forcing a faint smile onto her lips, she studied him intently.

“Prince Afia… A pleasure to finally meet you.”

@grahamafiav

Graham was angry. He never did like the feeling of being angry, and he was usually able to avoid it. He had gotten very good at talking himself around a temper, as the Afia’s were more prone to do. Only there was no talking himself around this particular situation, and for perhaps the first time, he was angry with his parents. They had always been a close-knit family, despite being royalty. They cared about each other, first. Until now. 

This wasn’t right. It was not so much the fact that he was being pushed into an arranged marriage; that was to be expected when it came to royalty. It was that he was being pushed into an arranged marriage, and he didn’t think that anyone deserved that. His family could go on sticking their heads in the sand and pretending that he wasn’t dying; but he knew the truth. There was no new heart coming. It had been over a decade already. He was going to be married, he was going to die, and he was going to leave one more person behind when he did. 

He didn’t know what to do, and that was another thing that was rare for him. He had always been good with people, talking to them, getting along with them, but he didn’t want to do that here and he wasn’t sure how not to. Of course, there had been plenty of nstances where he had rubbed people the wrong way, but that was mostly around people who thought he came across too high and mighty, due to his manners and the way he had been taught. He was going to make himself crazy, going around and around like this in his head. He was no better for it either, once he reached the little cafe arranged for the meeting. It was quaint, he gave, though he was personally partial to place with more local color. Still, this was not the kind of meeting that would allow that part of himself. She would get the royal Graham, the Prince Graham. 

Then he was in front of her, face falling into what friends in college had coined his ‘politicians’ pleasant expression. He inclined his head in greeting, then offered out a hand. “Just Graham, please. I hate titles.” And as if just to contradict himself, he followed with, “you must be Princess Ulysses.” 

He couldn’t help but feel he was a little out of his depth. He felt much too young for this, still. He was more of a scholar himself, but research had told him she had a military background, and he was thinking that she must see him as soft. She would be right, of course. He kept himself in shape when it came to hiking and traveling, by he was by no means a hardened product of the world, and he could never tell how much that showed.