Thanksgiving with the Suitors
Happy Thanksgiving to all of my fellow American MidCin bloggers! I hope your day has been/was filled with warm memories and delicious food. Here’s a fun, humorous fanfic about all the suitors and the Princess having a dinner at Wysteria’s palace for Thanksgiving. I hope you enjoy! No warnings.
“King Byron, could you pass me the casserole?”
“Pass the dressing to Giles, please.”
“Leo, you took my silverware!”
“Nico! Stop stepping on my foot!”
It is a lively day for Wysteria’s royal court. Autumnal festivities have infiltrated the interior of the palace in the form of plastic leaves, burnt orange dinner plates, and gold garland. Faux animal fur is scattered throughout the halls, and the candles on the chandeliers had been changed from eggshell white to a soft brown. The faint aroma of pumpkin spice and cinnamon mysteriously follows guests from room to room. A live orchestra strums softly in the corner of the palace’s dining hall; however, the sultry sound was drowned out entirely by the buzz of bubbly conversation.
“By God, Albert! You're being rather stingy with the cranberry sauce,” Byron muses, grinning affectionately at his trusty knight.
Albert grumbles something under his breath before begrudgingly passing the bowl of red liquid to Nico. A light shade of pink dusts his cheeks.
“I never would’ve pegged you as a sugar addict Al, but I guess that’s why you’ve been losing steam on the sparring field lately,“ Nico jests, elbowing Albert in the ribcage.
"You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
“I don’t know Albert,” a voice calls from the kitchen. “I think I can beat you any day, whether you’ve had sweets or not.”
“Alyn!” the Princess Elect admonishes, hissing sharply.
As the young lady spoke, the intoxicating aroma of seasoned meat wafts into the dining hall and into the nostrils of the eight men gathered around her. While the banquet table was lengthy and spacious, there was not enough adequate room to seat ten diners. Each person rubs elbows with the next, clanging drinking glasses together involuntarily like wind chimes. The Princess Elect perches at the head of the table, massaging her temples delicately. The only member of the eccentric party that is missing was Alyn, who is preoccupied with crafting the turkey in the next room.
“What’s taking so long?” Leo gripes, raising his voice above the ruckus.
“I told you a few minutes ago that I’m still checking the temperature,” the younger Crawford brother growls, thrusting a thermometer into the thigh of the bird as if the instrument were his sword.
“Perhaps,” Robert begins hesitantly, clamping a firm hand on Leo’s shoulder, “you should consider leaving your brother alone today. The less we trouble him, the faster he’ll work.”
Leo waves his hand dismissively.
“Al’s used to it by now. I’ve been the catalyst of the Crawford family since we were in diapers; he’d never survive without me.”
“Says the one who couldn’t wield a sword if his life depended on it,” Giles adds, smirking devilishly. The party laughs heartily.
“Gentlemen, please,” the Princess begs, grinning wryly. Bags had gathered beneath her eyes, wrenching her flesh downward.
A brief silence falls over the party. Each guest begins picking apart their meals, making approving grunts and moans between bites. Dressing, pecan pie, casseroles, salad, beans, and other fattening treats pile up on each plate like mountains. Alyn joins the group, positioning a steaming, roasted turkey in the center of the banquet table before collapsing in a chair between the Princess and his brother.
“You’re throwing in the towel already? We don’t have enough food yet,” Sid remarks, cheesing toothily.
“Shut up and eat your dinner, Sid,” the knight grumbles, beginning to scoop his own meal onto his plate.
“I’m just saying that I wish we had more. You’re cooking is actually pretty good,” the information dealer admits, casting his eyes downward in a bashful manner.
“Thank you,” Alyn says gratefully. “That means a lot.”
“Sid’s right. This might be your best work yet, Mr. Crawford,” Byron toasts, raising a celebratory glass toward the young man.
“I’ll second that," Duke Howard smiles. "I haven’t had a Thanksgiving meal as splendid as this since I attended the Autumnal Festival in Laurelia five years ago."
"It is really good, but I’m used to it. Alyn’s been our family’s designated chef for Thanksgiving since we were teenagers. I’ve been privileged enough to eat his turkey for years,” Leo praises, patting his younger brother on the back.
“Lucky bastard,” Sid murmurs.
“Sid, watch your tongue in the presence of a noble lady,” Giles chastises, cutting his eyes warily at the Princess. She waves her hand as if the pardon the insulting word.
“Sometimes I think you should’ve been a culinary chef instead of a knight, Alyn. You would probably enjoy that job more. You’d be away from Giles and your brother, at least,” Robert laughs.
“You act as if I’m a plague on this earth, Robert,” the chamberlain chortles.
“Boys, please have some self control for one day!” the Princess gripes, slamming the palms of her hand on the edge of the table.
Drinking glasses rattle, and the turkey carcass quivers ominously in the center. The din captures the attention of each suitor seated at the table. Their eyes flicker toward hers like moths to a flame.
“The Princess is right,” Albert says. “We’re all grown men who are expected to serve our respective countries with dignity and pride, but here we are bickering like insolate children.”
“Well said, Mr. Burkhardt,” Duke Howard replies.
“Leave it to Albert to be the one to have a stick lodged so far up his-”
“Nico, that’s enough,” Byron interjects. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“I hope you will forgive me and Mr. Meier for our rudeness as well, Princess,” Albert says.
“I can apologize for myself, Al. I’m a ‘grown man representing my country with dignity and pride’, remember?” Nico exclaims, mocking the Stein knight.
“You’re such a child, Nico.”
“I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to be so rude,” the ex-butler says sweetly, melting the Princess’s heart with his cheerful smile.
“Of course the royal court of Stein is the first to apologize,” Louis snaps offhandedly.
“Oh yeah? What’s that supposed to mean, twinkle toes?” Sid inquires, ruffling Louis’s hair with a gloved hand.
The party laughs, and the uncontrollable noise revs up again. At the head of the table, the Princess cradles her head in her hands and groans. It was is if she was herding cats. Abruptly, a hand settles gently on her shoulder.
“Just let loose a little,” Giles comments soothingly. “What else did you expect from inviting us all to a dinner in one room?”
“A humble family dinner with pleasant conversation about political climates and international relations.”
“Then you’re friends with the wrong crowd, Princess,” Alyn pipes up, winking at her jovially.
A sigh emits from her lungs, but a light grin tugs at the corners of her lips.
“No, I think I’m friends with the perfect crowd, and I’m very thankful for that.”
