Chapter Text
“A groom at last Kirigan!” Tsar Pyotr slapped his back in a poor attempt at jollity and camaraderie. As if he had not coerced Aleksander into this situation by force.
He just raised his glass to Pyotr's extended arm and let their glasses clink together. That was enough encouragement for the tsar, and he just slathered on to the whole room.
“To the benefits of marriage!” with that, buffoon raising his glass, the whole room followed in deference. “And to the Darkling and his nubile bride.” Another cheer echoed through the room, and Aleksander had to force himself to raise his glass for this sham. Even if he wanted to choke Pyotr with his shadows until the lecherous grin disappeared. As if he had not forced Aleksander's hand in this, hoping for young, more pliable shadow summoners who could do Pyotr’s bidding without too many questions.
The only other man in this round, who seemed less enthusiastic about the debauchery happening around them, was the Duke of Keramzin. Decorated army man and old enough to be the tsar's father. But without a proper heir to his estate and title. Aleksander wondered how Pyotr, degenerate, overeager schemer that he was, had managed to bully such a man into this.
The Duke seemed to have noticed that he was being observed and returned the mustering with tired but alert eyes. It seemed he passed whatever inspection the man had conducted. The Duke raised his own glass in a private toast and after a brief hesitation, Aleksander raised his as well.
Tomorrow, Aleksander would have to stand in front of the altar with Keramzin's niece. The poor girl did not know what she had been thrown into. Saints help them both.