Rhom fidgeted some as the tailor made a few small marks on the jacket with a bit of tailors pencil. The cut and quality were astounding, but a few adjustments were needed to keep the fabric from moving oddly in response to the wearer’s wings moving as he knelt. He looked the platinum and electrum circlet on his head over as well, the band adorned with sapphires. “Is the jewelry really necessary, cousin?” Behind him, sitting in a tall backed chair was his cousin Theorne the Fourth, the current regent of Xalendare. The man had a few draconian traits from the unusual bloodline of the Dragoon family, but for the most part looked very much like a winged human with shadowy blue hair. He laughed, “Believe it or not, Rhom, but yes. Your grandfather was never officially cast from the throne, your mother was born,as were you, in lawful unions. By rights, I should be calling you my king.”
Rhom narrowed his eyes, “I’ll thank you to forget you ever said that. I want no claim to a throne that rightfully belongs to you and your daughter and descendants. Besides, if I were to take the throne, then technically mother would have her way…Theorne gone, and my side of the family back in power.”
Theorne the Fourth had risen and walked over. “I know, but Esme is very very very big on tradition and the proper titles and trappings of office. I think it comes from being raised among the Fae courts. Even if you renounce the title of king, like it or not you’re part of a royal bloodline and that requires certain formalities be upheld. You only have to wear it for the ceremony and the celebration, afterwards you can lock it away and forget it exists unless you come visit.”
Elsbeth poked her head around the doorframe, “Dad, Mom wants to know if you will be joining her for dinner soon?” He nods, “I’ll be along in a moment, we’re just finishing up here.” The tailor and the dragon blooded warrior help Rhom slip the formal jacket off so the alterations can be completed. “I’ll see you bright and early cousin, don’t stay out partying to late.” Rhom put on his more comfortable loose fitting shirt. “I’ll not stay out long, Diana doesn’t approve of me drinking despite it not really having much of an effect. I just have to remember I will be sleeping back at the Guildhall tonight so there’s no chance we’ll see each other before the ceremony.”
The concept of the bachelor party was something of a new tradition that had sprouted up in more recent years as marriages were becoming more arrangements between people in love and less about matches being made between families with contracts. As Rhom understood it, the idea was that he would have one last night as a single and ‘free’ man with his friends to celebrate the man he was before he took on the responsibilities and duties of being a husband and one day possibly a father. He really felt it was more an excuse for the guys to drink and get away from the insanity that was the whirlwind last minute preparations of the impending wedding. To be even more honest, it seemed like an invention of the people in charge of the wedding details in make sure the groom was out from underfoot and that he’d be likely to sleepy after being out drinking to get cold feet and flee. But by the same token, there was the same kind of celebration being held by the bride to be and her friends. So maybe there was some merit to the idea it was created to keep the couple busy and out of the way.