how beautiful did he look, as he sat amidst the lilies, maidens bedecked in gold bathing him in milk and rose petals as he accepted them graciously. lashes fluttered shut with golden orbs hiding behind serenity bathed eyes, calm despite the repetitive chant of his noble name.
priests chanted the holy name of the mighty god whose blessing seemed to have livened the nation with plenty joy, smiles rising on the face of every citizen. the city was bathed in lights and lamps bright as every gust of wind sang melody of the ardour.
music and incense had filled every nook and cranny, and travellers had gathered from the corners of the world to behold witness to the occasion; and to have their own hands filled with the generous king's gold—who was as gleeful as a father could be at the occasion of his eldest son's coronation.
he stands once the ceremony is completed, long brown hair open as they fall over his defined shoulders. to call him beautiful would've been both accurate and laughable, for he was more aptly compared with the sun than any petty word that could be used for anything else. the priests gather around him as he bows, a graciously swift movement as they slip the silks on his chest and the gold jewellery fitting of a crowned prince—enhancing his beauty a million times.
and had you blinked for even a moment, you would have missed the way his gaze fluttered ever so softly in your direction, atop the balcony which provided a view to the multitude of princesses who had been invited to the ceremony, as the garland of lotuses was slipped on him—the most silent gesture that very loudly said one thing—he would look forward to the day he can do that to you, and claim you his.
he turns back though, as quickly as he had looked, and then greets all with the most pleasant of smiles. all cheered loudly, but none's heart would've known the turmoil of anticipation that yours did. you understood very well the undertones of this coronation—it was his request from the king, who had been more than happy to oblige, so that he would have the right to ask your hand from your father who would only be willing to hand over his daughter to the noblest of men.
you have to prevent even a slip in gesture or airs to make for the sudden attention that you garner then, and your father smiles in the distance, old eyes gleaming with great understanding of his loveliest daughter's visage.
its a lovely affair then—the crowned prince and you sitting together near the lake of lotuses as he smiles at you with the smallest of desire in his gaze, as though trying not to let his composure slip—
'tell me, lotus-eyed, would your father allow me to take your hand in mine now?'
but your father knows the answer as he listens vaguely from near the rose bushes, even more than both of you who remain oblivious to his watchful gaze as he secretively smiles.
all that awaited now was the marriage ceremony and the rituals that follow with it—the best man wins the hand of his divine daughter. he knows he won't have to be partial, though. quite vain then would be his long wait of four years; looking for the valiant man who could dare to woo his daughter, the lady known for her very beauty and immaculate character in the land of wealth and trade.
he takes no worries when he smiles gleefully though, allowing the love birds to engage in peaceful conversation, fully trusting that his daughter would never do anything to make him bow his head low in shame. his eyes gleam in joy as he internally rejoices.
deus auri is the most competent of all in the seven continents, after all.
header credits: @cafekitsune !