Versailles
The carriage ride was long and dreary. Johanna had been sitting all day, gazing out the window. She was wearing her most comfortable clothes— traveling clothes— but it would not be long until they reached France. The symbolic marriage had occurred two weeks earlier with her brother standing as bridegroom; the ceremony itself would follow soon after her arrival in France. The countryside was charming, and she’d found herself slowly falling in love with it.
The carriage came to a stop, and Johanna stepped out with help from a footman. She looked up at her new home, Versailles, the opulent palace that looked nothing like her home in Austria. The Dauphin would be waiting for her inside. There was to be a dinner where they would officially meet, but she found herself terribly nervous. Various ladies in waiting and other servants of the house rushed to meet her, taking her inside to change her clothing at once.
“You will not retain any belongings from a foreign court.” The comtesse— undoubtedly French, by the name of Euphemia— was conducting the makeover.
“But I—”
“No buts.”
Johanna was stripped with little discrimination, and her things were taken away. They laced her into a new French corset, and she could barely breathe. Her normally flat chest grew exponentially, as it always did in corsets. But now she looked something like a harlot would in Austria. She hoped the Dauphin wouldn’t take her for one.
She saw her reflection and gasped— the wig placed on her head was gorgeous. The French definitely had a flair for fashion— something she could appreciate.
Johanna was then versed in French etiquette by Euphemia. She picked it up quickly, and was whisked off to her dinner with the Dauphin.
The candlelit table seemed to glow as she entered the room, all in French fashion and such. She’d never worn a gown this wide before. The Dauphin sat across the table of an empty seat, amongst many other members of the court. Johanna attempted to glide across the room and took her seat, feeling every eye on her. She looked up at the Dauphin with a smile. His portrait did not do him justice.
Peeta didn’t want to abandon his childhood. For weeks he had dreaded the arrival of Johanna. Both his teachers and elder siblings had been less than kind at the mention of her. They thought her a spy and a negative influence on the impressionable young prince. He was wary of her as well. This girl would be who he shared his life with, regardless of his preference for the same sex. Peeta would make due with the arrangement. He only regretted that he would become separated from his brothers and tend to his duties as a dauphin. His life would become a spectacle alongside his new bride.
Just thinking of it made his hands clammy and his face go pale. He was excellent at speaking to crowds and to people. Marriage on the other hand was eating at his nerves, robbing him of coherent thought and downright terrifying him. There was nothing to fear. Peeta had assured himself of that many times before but couldn’t bite back his nervous tendencies. He would find out soon enough when he met his bride. His family accompanied him to the rendezvous. To his understanding Johanna had been stripped of all her former belongings and now belonged to France. Which would one day be their nation.
Peeta had worn a deep blue coat for the occasion. It was decorated with golden trimming, the vest beneath it was a cream color that complimented his freckled face. Underneath that was a crisp white shirt, the neck of which was decorated with a lacy ruff that spilled out over the beginnings of his vest. Atop of his head he wore a blue hat made of the same material of his coat. The edges of this were adorned with a fluffy pale blue fur that matched all of the colors he wore. Peeta thought he looked ridiculous. He preferred simple garb and was often ridiculed for it. While his family enjoyed the frivolity of their aristocratic blood he did not. If he had it his way he would’ve ate dinner in a cotton shirt and pants. Instead he was decorated like a wedding cake.
Upon arriving at the rendezvous Peeta was taken into the dining tent where he would first meet his bride. After a meal they would travel to Versailles. Peeta was uninterested in the proceedings. He had been through this time and time again. He scuffed the toe of his fine leather shoe against the ground, keeping his attention fixed onto that point. It wasn’t until his Father, a boisterously kind man rapped him on the elbow with a fine cane that Peeta looked up. She had arrived. Peeta cleared his throat and stood up quickly from his seat. “Come now, boy. Greet your new wife.” The King said as he gestured toward the girl seated across from him. Peeta did as he was told, crossing the room far too quickly.
He bowed, offering his hand to her afterward. “Peeta Mellark.” His voice was soft as he looked her over. She had pleasant features. Not at all like he had imagined thanks to the vicious rumors spread about her. “I’m pleased to finally meet you.” He stood up straight, dabbing at the sweat along his forehead with a fine tissue. “I apologize for my shyness. I’m not used to feminine charms."