Their hats with the long drifting feathers wrapped around the wide brims were set upon their heads.

Swords were unsheathed, and at the command of their captain, they thrust them high above, or at another command, they rested them on their shoulders.

This way, they marched in precise lines, ten across, fifty rows.

They were followed by the military drummers.

Ten across.

Five lines.

There came the mounted guard next, the rumps of their horses dressed with the blankets fashioned of the Dellish flag, a sea of green in the middle of which was an acorn, the nut in brown, the stem in yellow, the cupule a patchwork of reds, oranges and butterscotch.

This delegation was followed by the pipers.

Ten across.

Five lines.

After the pipers came the king’s carriage.

Open-topped, festooned in Dellish silver-pewter with a shiny forest-green lacquer, the doors of the carriage denoting the royal standard of the Wodell line. A shield cut in quarters, acorn to the top left, oak leaf under it, a tree in full bloom to the top right, a barren tree under it.

It was noted by all that the queen’s gown and jewels were resplendent, as was her visage and hair. She looked stately, but opulent, and most felt great pride viewing her as she waved regally at the crowd from her seat.

The king wore the dress greens of the Dellish military with a hat that had a dramatic flourish of a feather.

And it was noted by a fair few that he wore this uniform even if he’d never seen a single battle.

Mostly, though, they didn’t pay any mind to him, just his wife.

And then craned their necks to see what came next.

For this was when the crowd perked up and the excited cheering began to grow from constant…

To frenzied.

He was getting closer.

As was she.

For after the king was a procession of marching flag bearers.

Ten across.

Four rows.

The first row the flag of the acorn, second of the leaf, third of the blooming tree, last of its skeleton.

And after that, Prince True’s chosen lieutenants, Sir Alfie in the lead, followed by Sir Bram and Sir Luther side by side, and then Sir Florian and Sir Wallace.

That was when the cheers went deafening.

For behind them, on his esteemed chestnut charge Majesty, his horse’s rump covered in the royal standard, sitting straight and riding hatless, was their most handsome Prince True.

Men cheered. Women screamed (and some swooned). Children ran along the parade route beside him. Leaves flew in the air.

He turned and dipped his chin this way, that.

He caught eyes.

If those eyes were of a child, he smiled.

He was handsome beyond compare.

He was beloved beyond measure.