He Was Antinous

I couldn't come up with a title....

Enjolras is good at it. He can steal a crowd's attention quicker than death can steal an innocent soul.

He keeps going. "I hope our kingdoms can remain at peace, and know you part now with Musain's best wishes, but that I want what's best for my people and--" he pauses to take a breath, because even Enjolras is only human, no matter how many times he seems to prove he is nothing less than a god.

Valjean must see his chance, because he uses this slight gap to break in. "Enjolras, son, I know you are smart enough to realize that a unity of this sort can only be beneficial--"

"Not with our relations so strained as they are with the northern kingdom." Enjolras's voice is practically overflowing with conviction, and Grantaire is torn between feeling pity for Valjean for being on the receiving end of such passion or pity for himself for not. "A wedding would only be a liability, they could find ways to use it to their advantage--no matter how powerful our armies are, taking the risk would be foolish."

Javert stands, and this time, Valjean doesn't try to stop him, instead rising right along with his husband. "Enjolras," the former grits out, "a word, please."

Nobody moves as the three of them make their ways towards a door at the side of the throne room, Valjean throwing Grantaire an ostensibly reassuring look before disappearing from the hall.

Enjolras keeps his shoulders straight, his expression resolute, the entire way, and the room returns to a pleasant rumble the second the door closes behind them.

Grantaire, for lack of anything better to do, looks around. Everybody is milling about, flitting from conversation to conversation, and Grantaire gets the distinct impression that the people have grown used to Enjolras's stubbornness. Whether through continual experience of it or just for the fact that Enjolras is royal and they wouldn't dare dispute him, Grantaire isn't sure. (Although he assumes some skewed mixture of both.)

At the back of the room, Cosette is still sitting primly on her throne. They lock eyes, and Grantaire inwardly composes himself as she stands and makes her way towards him. She reaches Grantaire much quicker than he'd expected.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Grantaire," she greets kindly. Cosette seems like the sort of person that doesn't have a single mean bone in her body, and yet her kindness doesn't feel any less subjective. It feels as though it's meant specifically for him, and that thought is the strangest breath of relief. "Although, it's funny, it feels like we've met before."

The relief leaks away. Grantaire swallows. Smiles. She can't remember, he tells himself, and like a mantra it repeats again and again through his head. She can't recognize you. "Your face is not one I'd forget." He keeps his tone light.

Cosette smiles, an amused quirk to the corners of her lips. Grantaire really hadn't been lying, although he'd meant it as a diversion; the tales of her beauty were not at all exaggerated.

Swiftly, though, her smile slips away, and her expression morphs into one of sympathy. "I'm sorry about my brother," Cosette says.

Probably, Grantaire ought to look a little more like a kicked puppy, but he mostly doesn't feel the need to play it up, and his simple resignation is the best he can muster. "He did what any respectable royal would do."

Cosette frowns. "But you must be a little angry. A unity such as this one passed up? I can see where my brother is coming from, of course, but it's not as if his actions weren't also foolish."

"I'm sure he knows what he's doing. Word spreads far and I've heard his heart is made of gold." It's only a half lie. Grantaire has heard that Enjolras is strong of heart, but he's learned that people lie often, and if it weren't for the fact that he's been on the receiving end of Enjolras's dogged altruism, he'd have never believed a single soul could hold so much one-track goodwill.