Marriage in Regiis was a private affair, generally only involving the couple and their designated Tamer. The marriage of a Princess, on the other hand, was a national event.

I felt like a mannequin as I was asked to strip off the latest in a long line of outfits and try yet another one. The royal couturier, a shrunken old woman with an aquiline nose and a nit-picky gaze hidden behind thick glasses took a step back and frowned at me. Stepping forward, she pulled out one of the bobbins she had stuck in her grey bun and stuck the pin into my coat, making it fit my frame better.

“There, that’s better,” she finally said, “at least you don’t look like a sweaty soldier anymore.”

I sighed internally, once again regretting showing up for my appointment with her in my exercise attire. She’d been nattering at me about my public image for the past two hours.

“Now take that off… and mind the pins. Took me long enough to get it to fit you.”

I complied, carefully taking the ornate long coat off. It was apparently called a sherwani – a traditional attire from Indus. This was what the male members of their royalty wore to formal occasions like court meetings and marriages. It was tailored from the finest silk money could buy. It had been dyed a beautiful shade of dark emerald that complimented my crimson hair and the majestic tiger embroidered on it in orange and gold thread accented it further.

I handed it off to the woman and she immediately went about altering it to fit me.

Underneath it, I was wearing beige raw silk shirt and pantaloons. And my shoes were also from Indus, traditional footwear called nagra. They had tapering tips that curled upwards and were made from quite stiff leather. Not the most comfortable, or practical, but I had to admit… they did look rather regal.

My attire obviously had political implications. With war with the Shogunate on the horizon, we didn’t want the other nations around us getting any ideas. Hence, the show of goodwill by having me wear their traditional clothing to the wedding.

I was sure Artemis would be wearing something similarly politically meaningful. Given her aversion to Rome, probably something Egyptian. As for Huaxia… I had heard something about plans to decorate the venue in accordance to their customs. I guess that would leave our notary official, the Prime Minister, in a toga and wreath. My lips curved upwards at the mental image of the old man in what was essentially a souped up version of a bath towel.

My musings were interrupted by the seamstress thrusting the newly altered clothes into my hands and demanding that I put them on. I sighed. Society was quite exhausting.

…

Bruno crouched, feeling the fresh breeze of the rock golem’s arm sweeping through where his head had been.

His biceps bulged and the muscles of his back strained as he swung his heavy war hammer up from the ground and slammed it into the construct’s side. Rock shattered, sending chips of stone flying as the golem staggered backwards, each of its steps making the ground tremble under its weight.

As he made to swing again, spikes of stone jutted up from the ground at his feet and he stepped back hastily to avoid getting impaled.

Sweeping his hammer in a circle around him, he shattered the spikes. The few that got through broke against his sparkling armour of ice. The impact still put him off balance and he had to duck swiftly to avoid another of the golem’s haymakers.

Golden mana spilled out of the cracks in its rocky torso, knitting the damage together at a visible rate. More golden mana concentrated on its shoulders and two additional arms grew out of the stone. The now four-armed opponent stepped forward and let loose with a barrage of blows.

His frigid blue eyes glinting with determination through the visor of his icy helmet, Bruno stood his ground without dodging. The heavy blows slammed into his armour, sending chips of ice flying but he anchored himself to the ground by driving in spikes of ice from the soles of his boots and freezing himself in place.

Weathering the onslaught, he pumped his mana into his weapon and raising it above his head, brought it slamming down on the golem with a roar.

The heavy skystone head of the hammer crushed the golem’s head into its torso; his icy mana flooding into the cracks, drawing in the water in the air and freezing it solid. The expanding ice widened the fissures, shattering the stone into small fragments.

The torso-less golem stood upright for a moment before toppling backward and crashing onto the ground with a bone-jarring thud.

Breathing hard from the sudden drain on his mana, he reached up and pulled off his helmet. He stood over his fallen foe, supporting himself by leaning on his long-handled hammer.

…

Off in the distance, Anil Felidae stood with his wife Vera, watching his son train. He had a bitter expression on his face as he saw the boy driving himself to exhaustion against the endless hordes of rock golems that infested the Central Province mine.

After the Trial of Water had been so abruptly aborted, they had banded together with several other mages and fought their way out of the Shogunate occupied region, racking up a great deal of military merits along the way.

Once they had reached the safety of the western district of the South-Eastern Province, they had received much praise for their efforts. Bruno had been awarded full marks for his Trial of Water and he had even reached the middle stage of Tier 2 in the process of escaping.

Despite the depressive pall hanging over them due to the Shogunate’s invasion, they had been quite pleased at taking the lead in the Swayamvar.

Then, the news of the exploits of Mars and his wives had reached their ears, followed by news of his being summoned to the Capital, then his victory in the Duel against the First Princess. And now, he would be marrying her the next day.

Anil couldn't imagine what must be going through his son’s mind. Bruno had lost even before the competition truly began.

He sighed, reminded of a Huaxian proverb: A tiger father doesn’t beget a dog son.