it's so much fun to write royai weddings guys. we have a little more plot hinted at in this chapter too!

The King was well-known for being a somewhat difficult man at the best of times, but on the day of his eldest daughter's wedding Major Matthew Miles felt that the man was perhaps leaning into his ill-tempered persona a little too much.

"Is it too hard," the older man fumed, wringing his hands in agitation, "to expect some sort of professionalism for crying out loud? It is my daughter's wedding-"

"Right you are, sir," Miles smoothly interrupted, taking the bowtie from the young butler (a new one, if his eyes weren't deceiving him) and folding it in his hands in the proper fashion, jerking his head towards the younger man to leave. "You must forgive us; we are all just as excited as you must be."

Berthold eyed the Major carefully, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Are you doing that Ishvallan thing where you say nice things to my face, but mean much ruder things in your words?" He blew the smoke out lazily, watching the tendrils dissipate into the air. "Well, Major?"

Miles blinked, nonplussed. "Of course not, your majesty. But if I may present you with a challenge…" Berthold snorted derisively.

"A sea captain's young bride, fell into the bay at low tide..." Miles began, the barest of smirks pulling at his lips. There was a pause, before the King sighed, and readjusted his position as Miles began to fasten the tie. "You could tell by her squeals," he continued, "that some of the eels-"

He pulled back and nodded at the King. Berthold raised an eyebrow.

"-had discovered a dark place to hide." Miles finished easily.

"You're getting better, Miles," Berthold replied, rubbing at his chin. "Let me see…ah – there once was a girl named Mariah, who succumbed to a lover's desire." He accepted the sash given to him by another butler, motioning for Miles to stay close by. "She said 'it's a sin! But now that it's in',"

A lewd smile grew on the King's face. "'Could you shove it a few inches higher?'"

Miles hid a smile behind a gloved hand. "Very good sir. I will have to think of a winning one for next time."

Berthold nodded, stubbing out his cigarette on the ashtray next to him on the mantelpiece, running a hand over his hair. "Do you think they will notice?" he asked, turning back to Miles and gesturing at his face.

"Does Your Majesty require more rouge?" an elderly butler asked, but Miles held up his hand, waving the man off.

"There are hot water bottles in the carriage for when you leave, which should do more than enough for your complexion. As soon as you are seated in the church nobody will pay you much attention, I confess," Miles admitted.

Berthold smiled weakly. "But you don't think-"

"I wouldn't wish to overdo it, sir. It is cold today. I think I'd be more worried for the princesses – I do not imagine they have the luxury of long johns like we do."

The King laughed loudly, before coughing violently, gripping the back of the nearest chair as he bent over. There were a few moments of laboured breathing before he righted himself, moving the handkerchief away from his mouth – it was speckled with red, Miles noted uneasily. The wedding had been on everyone's nerves, both inside and outside the palace: aside from the stigma Mustang brought over from his family based in Southern Xing, the amount of planning and preparing that had gone into this event meant that mistakes would not and could not be tolerated.

This was the first real test for the family – for Berthold's family. The scandal that had arisen from Zolf's sudden abdication and the much quieter scandal that they had managed to keep almost entirely under wraps meant that they were being closely scrutinised, not only by their populace but by neighbouring nations. A transition like that was never meant to go peacefully – any sign of weakness in the family today would be torn apart for clues and signs of discord.

The door swung open suddenly, and Rebecca practically floated in, ignoring the sudden exclamations form the butlers hovering around the room.

"Papa!" she exclaimed, skipping over to him, a wide smile on her face as she balanced a cigarette in-between fingers tightly clenching a near-empty flute of champagne. "You look very handsome." She draped her free hand over her father's shoulders and inclined her head at Miles, still smiling broadly. "Don't you think so, Major?"

Miles bit down a smile and nodded. "Of course he does, Princess. I cannot imagine a prouder father."

Something flickered in Rebecca's expression, before she turned to face her father properly, deftly handing her glass and cigarette to a maid as she straightened his collar.

"You must look perfect for Riza," she murmured under her breath, the grin still sitting brightly on her face. Her dark hair had been tamed into a tight coif, with baby's breath surrounding her head like a halo. She had changed into her bridesmaid dress: it was a simple design, accented with floral motifs from each district in the delicate lacing surrounding her bodice. It wasn't entirely suited to her – most certainly to Elizabeth, to be sure – but Miles felt that perhaps even old sibling rivalries couldn't be laid to rest for the sake of each other.

Miles stepped back to allow the King and his younger daughter some privacy to talk, catching Rebecca's eyes for a moment before another butler began to whisper furiously in his ear about an incident downstairs involving the groom's party. Miles sighed inwardly, before gesturing for the man to lead the way.

He was going to need a drink after all this.

She could already hear the roars and screams from the crowd that had assembled outside the palace – a quick peek through the curtains confirmed just as much: the crowd was a sea of green and gold outside, as far as her eyes could see. All waiting for her.

Riza didn't do well with stress of any kind. She never had – as a child she had always been the more reserved of her and her sister – Becca had always shone under the spotlight, practically lived for it. Becca had the flair for the dramatics that lent her a particular kind of gravitas that Riza could only wish for. No amount of practice would ever fully prepare her for talking with people who may have well been strangers in any other situation: but for some reason being a princess meant that everyone talked to her with the air of an old friend, with the assumption that they knew her intimately.

They did not.

Though she didn't quite share her father's hatred of public speaking – provided she actually understood the topic and felt keenly about it, Riza certainly felt she could be very compelling; but the fact still remained that such a significant moment in her life was going to be watched by people of whom she had never met before and was unlikely ever to in future. It didn't sit well with her that her marriage to Roy Mustang – and she was still shrieking a little inside that she was going to marry that beautiful, idiotic man and he would be all hers – would be shared with people and countries beyond her reach.

It was a moment meant for them, and them alone. Not fifty million others.

She turned from where she hovered by the curtains, her hands running over the lace of her dress as she paced the room. She was grateful her mother wasn't here, instead someplace else undoubtedly trying to reign in a younger sister that had already helped herself to too much brandy at breakfast, because Riza didn't think she could listen to her prattling right now. She was a mess of emotions, but terror was the overarching one. What if she mucked up her vows partway through? What if he decided he didn't want to go through with it, and just left her standing at the altar? What if-

"You're going to wear a hole into that carpet if you're not careful," a familiar voice said behind her. She whirled around, hands flying to her mouth as she realised who had walked in.

"Roy, what are you doing-"

He smirked and held a finger up to his lips ducking his head out the doorway for a moment before carefully closing the door with a slight click.

"You can't just-"

It only took him three quick strides to gather her up in a bruising kiss, his warm hands cupping her face and sending shivers down her spine as his thumbs rubbed over her pale cheeks. Riza sighed into the kiss, allowing herself to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him closer to her – as much as her dress would let her. He was a much-needed reprieve from the emotions churning inside her, and though she knew she wasn't meant to be seeing him until the ceremony – the old superstitions surrounding the traditions of weddings niggled at the back of her mind – but there wasn't anybody else she would be genuinely happy to see in this moment. Her father never had the right words at the right time, her mother had far too many, and Becca – well, judging by the amount of brandy that was missing from the decanter at breakfast, Riza supposed that her younger sister wouldn't be capable of much coherency anyway.

Roy treated her like a normal woman. Like a human. Too many people were always trying to touch her, to talk to her like they had any right and Zolf had –

She stopped that thought in its tracks, pulling back her shoulders slightly and standing straight, steadfastly ignoring the prickle travelling across her back. Now was not the time to dwell on a man who was a good as dead to the family.

Roy pulled back and inspected her, a soft smile on his face. "Much better," he said lowly, carefully rearranging her fringe. "Now you have some colour to your cheeks."

Her hands flew to her cheeks and she groaned, turning towards the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the small room. Roy laughed, a hand drifting down to rest on her waist, his fingers rubbing against the satin of her bodice reassuringly. "Did you have enough to eat this morning?" he asked quietly, shifting her hair aside to drop a kiss on her back, at the top of the mottled skin. She shivered slightly at the touch – not unwelcome, but she always marvelled at Roy's capacity to love without any kind of hesitation.

"I had some toast," she answered, closing her eyes and leaning back into his touch for a moment, focusing on her breathing. "I'll be able to eat once this is all over – this dress, I swear to-."

Roy snorted harshly. "We'll all be happier once this is over. I saw your sister on my way here – is she-"

"Yes," she interrupted tiredly, turning so she could face him properly. Up close, she could see the signs of stress on his face – he certainly could hide it better than she ever would, but it made her feel a little better to know that she wasn't the only one stressing out about this. Her fingers brushed along his brow bone and she stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss him softly. "We'll deal with her later – well, somebody will. We have more important things to do."

"Like getting married," he murmured, the joy obvious in his voice.

"Like getting married," she repeated, unable to keep the broad smile off her face.

He kissed her once more, and Riza let herself smile widely, giggling against his mouth as he peppered her face with kisses that were more ticklish than soothing: she batted his hands away, grasping them tightly as she tried to fight him off.

"You're the worst-"

"You like it," he reminded her playfully, smirking as she tried to push his arms back to his side. She was too restrained in this dress; normally Roy wouldn't underestimate her in any kind of fight, whether verbal or physical, but seeing her struggle in this strange, made-up way was far too entertaining.

He relaxed his arms and let her adjust herself and smooth down the dress quickly. She smiled at him nervously, eyes bright. "You should- you should go," she said hesitantly, twisting her fingers together. Roy inclined his head.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine!" she replied quickly. "Just – you know how I am with crowds, and-"

Roy nodded, reaching to adjust the pearl necklace she was wearing – a gift from him early on in their courtship. Though it was easy enough to transmute mother-of-pearl, this necklace had been created in the traditional fashion (Roy claimed he had hand-harvested each and every pearl – Riza thought he was full of it).

The gifts didn't matter to her – she had more than enough wealth simply from her own savings, not to mention the coffers that were made available to her if she so wished: but no amount of money could buy what she craved – privacy, quiet, boundaries.

He was the first person that didn't immediately treat her like an old friend, like he was privy to her secrets and affections. It was a startlingly refreshing change from the other suitors her mother had been coaxing over: for once in her life she was able to savour the ability to say, 'call me Riza' of her own volition. The way he had breathed it hadn't helped her either – like a prayer, like she was sacred. The subsequent kiss had sealed her fate: beyond the intoxicating feeling of him under her fingers, beyond the warmth that had burned like fire on her lips, there was a man who she was already half in love with, by the mere fact that he didn't presume.

She wrung her hands slightly, trying to ease the nerves she could feel building once more. "Honestly though – you shouldn't be here, where is Maes-"

"Maes may or may not be causing one hell of a distraction for me," he quipped, rolling on the balls of his heels. "My time is probably up, anyway. I'll-" He paused, cocking his head to the side before rubbing a thumb over her bottom lip – Riza tried her best not to close her eyes as a wave of pleasure brushed over her. He was addictive, a trait that had reared its ugly head in the last few weeks. She couldn't remember the last time she had time to properly enjoy the time she spent with him. In the days following the announcement of their engagement her grandfather had warned her that they days spent shrouded in secrecy were long behind them – Riza was only just beginning to appreciate the few stolen nights she had managed in the last month alone. She worried for him, sometimes; his marrying into this family was far more taxing for him than it would ever be for her, and yet he barely seemed to notice as more duties and responsibilities were thrust upon him.

All for her.

"Now you look presentable," he said softly, squeezing her hand tightly. "All prim and proper for the people."

She bit her lip, nodding. "I'll be glad when all of this is over," she admitted, running her thumbs over the fingers grasping her hands. She could feel the heat from his body from where she stood, apart from him, and part of her desperately wished this whole affair could be over and done with without the pomp and circumstance. She was just so tired.

"Me too," he replied, dropping a final, soft kiss on her cheek before ducking out the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. She could hear Maes beyond the wood, chastising her fiancé for taking so long.

"That butler was onto me, I swear if you-"

"You look fine, so obviously you weren't caught-"

"You won't be so lucky – you've got lipstick all over you, idiot."