“I didn’t want to tell you all this so soon,” Aeson whispers after a few moments, and we move slightly apart—just far enough apart to look at each other. “I didn’t want you to learn any of the dark things about my family before you’ve even had a chance to settle in. I am so sorry—it is all my fault, I should’ve warned you about the possibility of him using the compelling voice—”
“It’s all right,” I say softly. “You couldn’t know.”
“No, it’s not all right!” he says with passion. And then he takes my face between his hands, holding me as if I were a precious thing. “I know him—my Father, so I should have known and anticipated this. Next time—if it happens, next time, I beg you, Gwen, please, just don’t resist him. Allow him to have his will, no matter what. It’s not worth it! I would never think less of you, no matter what you might say or do as a result of his compulsion.”
“Do you really think there will be a next time?” I stand thoughtful and motionless, looking into his eyes. “Will your Father try to compel me again? Is it such a common thing, then?”
Aeson exhales. “I don’t know. But it is a possibility. As the Imperator, it is within his right. He is very angry with me now, and he is taking it out on you. He cannot truly harm you, but he can make things difficult. Please, promise me you will not resist him again.”
“I—I’ll try. But, no promises.” I am frowning. “If he makes me say awful things again, I just don’t know—”
“Gwen!”
“All right!” I place my fingers against his cheek and run them along his beautiful jaw line.
Aeson leans into my touch. “And now,” he says, “tell me how your eyes are doing. Are you feeling okay? How is your vision?”
I blink, considering. “I think I’m okay,” I say again. “At first there were these after-image spots, I guess, when we first returned inside, but they faded by now, so it should be okay.”
“You are not to go outside again without the sunglasses!” He glances around the room, notes the drawn curtain over the star-shaped window. “Good, keep the window shaded,” he says.
I nod.
We pause for a few long moments, as our hands continue to move over each other involuntarily, my fingers on his cheeks, his own caressing my neck and shoulders, while sweet currents of energy run up and down my spine.
“Gwen, I am going to take care of some things this afternoon, so I will be gone for a few hours,” he says at last, breaking our reverie. “Tomorrow is the Imperial Court Assembly in your honor, and you will need to be ready for it—to see and be seen. I have asked Consul Denu to come by and help you with all the formal arrangements and Court Protocol. He should be here soon.”
“Oh, good!” I smile. “Consul Denu has helped me in this regard too many times to mention! I owe him a great deal.”
“Tomorrow is also when my Father decides one very important aspect of our fate—the date of the Imperial Wedding.”
I stare into his eyes and notice how a blush comes over him as he speaks about the Wedding. It never ceases to amaze me, to see Aeson Kassiopei blushing. And it makes me blush in turn, as though infected by a strange communicable virus of warm electric force.
“Do you really feel you will be ready for it in three months?” he says suddenly, with a strange vulnerable expression. “Because I don’t want to force you into it if you are not quite ready—”
But I silence him with an impulsive kiss. Basically I pull his neck down toward me and then I peck him on the cheek, feeling my own cheeks inflame even as I do it. “I already said, yes,” I mutter with a smile.
His own smile in reply is amazing.
Did I mention that when Aeson Kassiopei smiles it is a glorious thing to see? His whole face lights up, and he appears to glow with joy. . . .
Yeah, I know. Gwen, the disgustingly lovesick cow. I need to stop with the sickening gushing, already.
Well, maybe at some point I will, but not just yet.
Because in that moment he kisses me.
On my mouth.
Deeply.
And oh, sweet lord, it takes my breath away.
We come apart and I am so lightheaded, I am barely able to stand up straight.
“Gwen,” he says in a strangely thick voice. “I—I need to go now.”
“Don’t!” The raw exclamation just tears out of me.
His breathing is elevated and his face is flushed—as much as mine—and he shakes his head regretfully. “One of the things I need to do is arrange to have your sister and brother brought down here from their Fleet vessels, first thing tomorrow.”
“Oh!” I exclaim, immediately forgetting the sensual mood. “My God, yes! Gracie and Gordie need to be here! Thank you! And then my parents and George—”
“First things first.” Aeson smiles lightly at me, and once again I am mesmerized by him—by the way his chiseled lips curve. “Let’s get your closest family down here from orbit. And your friends also. Make a list for me of all the names of your friends, and I will see what I can do.”
In reply I rush to the small desk and attempt to pull out the wall console with the computer display. Aeson comes around to help me retract the monitor arm and bring it forward, and then activates the login screen.
An Imperial logo comes to life on the display.
“This is the Imperial Palace network. You have automatic access to it with your Fleet login. Feel free to use this console or the ones in my workroom, anytime. Gennio and Anu use it on a regular basis, and so does Manala.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Speaking of my sister—” Aeson pauses for a moment, and looks at me seriously. “Gwen, I wanted to talk to you about Manala. First of all, thank you for being so kind to her, from the first moment.”
I glance at him curiously. “But of course!”
“She—she can be somewhat overwhelming in her affections and enthusiasm, which might seem a little odd. . . . I realize she comes across as—very naive, somewhat young for her age . . . possibly even simple. But I ask you not to come to such a conclusion prematurely. It would be a mistake to perceive her innocence and exuberance as simplemindedness.”
“Oh, no! I understand completely,” I rush to say, watching his concerned expression. “I would never think that of her!”
Aeson continues thoughtfully, “In fact, Manala is very intelligent, extremely inquisitive and well-educated. She is merely inexperienced with people, and completely sheltered. She might be perfectly versed in Court Protocol but has no ordinary interpersonal skills.”
“I get it. She’s a Princess, the only daughter of the Imperator.”
He nods. “Yes. Furthermore, she has been isolated for all of her life, and has no friends—no one has been deemed sufficiently noble to be allowed close enough to keep the Imperial Princess regular company—not even the young ladies at court.”
“Wow. . . .”
“As a result, Manala has grown up surrounded by nannies and tutors, but never any peers. My Father believes no one is worthy of that honor. So—she is very hungry for company of someone her own age. And it is apparent she really likes you.”
“And I like her!” I say with a growing smile. “How can I not? She is wonderful and lively, and—”
“And she can definitely be too much, all at once,” he concludes, looking into my eyes with a thinly hidden plea. “But please, give her a chance, and be patient with her. It’s all I ask.”
“Aeson, you have nothing to worry about,” I say warmly. “I love your sister already, and I’ve only known her for about an hour. Besides—” and here I smile mischievously, “wait till she meets my sister Gracie! And some of my friends! That is—if they are deemed ‘noble enough’ to be in the same room with her!”
Aeson makes a small sound that could be a chuckle. I definitely feel the tension leaving him as he watches me with pleasure. “Your sister Gracie? Your friends? Should I be afraid for Manala’s life and my own sanity?”
I snort.
“Since we’re
speaking of your friends, go ahead and email me that list of names, now,” he tells me, assuming his usual businesslike manner. “And then come out and join my sister in the workroom before she dies of boredom, or drives Gennio and Anu to commit Imperial murder. Also—I think you need to eat a little, since you hardly had a chance to do so during eos bread with my Father. You’ll see, Manala is very likely having a snack also, right this moment. Meanwhile, I promise, I will return this afternoon in time for the dea meal, and we will eat properly then.”
And after a lingering touch of my shoulders, Aeson leaves my bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.
A few minutes later I am done with the names of all my friends, and send the email. Then I take a deep breath and come out of my room into the workroom where, sure enough, I see Manala chewing something that looks like a pastry which she’s waving about in one hand, and chattering with Gennio, while Anu works sullenly at his display.
The moment I enter the room, they all look up at me.
“Gwen! There you are!” Manala exclaims. “My brother just left, and he said to keep you company, which I am very happy to do!”
Gennio gets up, and with a very solemn expression bows before me. He then meaningfully clears his throat and glances in Anu’s direction.
A second passes. Then Anu gets up, completely stone-faced, and gives me a somewhat abbreviated version of the bow.
I bite my lip. “Seriously, guys . . .” I say. “Is that really necessary?”
“Yes it is, Imperial Lady,” replies Gennio politely. And he coughs again at Anu.
“Yes . . . Imperial Lady,” Anu echoes him, while frowning.
Great, I think. This is going to be interminable and awkward. How long is Anu going to continue acting like a sourpuss?
I am saved from further interpersonal weirdness by Manala. “Oh!” she says. “Aeson said you were still hungry and need to eat.” She waves her pastry at me. “See, I am eating too! I always eat in private right after a meal with Father. It is very uncomfortable to eat during those, so I never have enough to be full.”
“Okay, sounds good.” I nod at her, turning my attention away from the two boys, even though I’m still not particularly hungry after being so wound up. “What’s that you have there? I’ll try some of that.”
In reply Manala takes me to the cold box storage unit in the wall, and the two of us look inside at the different tasty things in there, while the two Imperial Aides get back to their work. Anu periodically gives me dirty looks.
While we rummage through the refrigerator, there is a gentle knock on the door, and a servant comes in, so quietly we barely notice him, to announce that the Imperial Bride has a visitor.
My heart starts beating faster with nerves, until I find out who it is.
Consul Denu is here! And apparently he is not alone.
Chapter 7
I’ve come to know Consul Suval Denu as a flamboyant middle-aged man, slim and slight, who wears extravagant Court clothing, long jeweled robes in expensive fabrics decorated with fine embroidery, and grand golden wigs reminiscent of Ancient Egypt.
His elegant face is that of a handsome painted doll, covered in subtle layers of makeup—his dark brown eyes are highlighted in smoky kohl, his brows are tinted with lapis lazuli, and his thin lips glisten with henna.
But I’ve learned to never underestimate Consul Denu—neither his subtle wisdom and intelligence, nor his skills in diplomacy.
And this morning the Consul enters the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters, followed by a retinue of servants who are carrying boxes and bags of all sizes.
Seeing me and Manala, Consul Denu pauses and then makes a perfect courtly bow to each of us.
“My Imperial Lady Gwen, My Imperial Lady Manala, it is a delight to see you this morning,” he says in his delicate musical tenor, speaking in Atlanteo with perfect precision and nuance. And then he switches to English, for my sake. “My Imperial Lady Gwen, I am here to assist in any way I can, and to perform a number of very important functions before your formal Court debut at the Assembly tomorrow.”
“Oh, good morning, Consul Denu!” I say warmly. “I am so glad to see you! And please, really, no need to bow or anything—”
But the Consul interrupts with tactful skill and politeness. “Oh, but there is the utmost need to bow, as my excellent pupil might recall from our Court Protocol classes, during which she learned about the necessity of keeping up the proper Court decorum under all circumstances.”
I know when not to fight a losing battle, not against the Consul and his super ability to wield the Protocol weapon against me. And so I nod and listen.
“Now then,” Consul Denu says. “First, my dear, we will have you measured for a new wardrobe appropriate for the Bride of the Imperial Crown Prince and his future Imperial Consort. And then we will discuss the details of the Event and your role in it.”
“A new wardrobe?” I echo, feeling a slight sensation of panic. Because I am reminded yet again that I have no suitable clothes, and that from this day forward I am going to have to wear some very exotic and uncomfortable stuff . . . for the rest of my life.
Did I mention I am feeling panic?
Consul Denu directs the servants to set up shop all around the workroom. The Consul nods to Gennio and Anu and they make room on the desk for elegant boxes.
“My dear, I will ask you now to please stand up straight, while we achieve your physical measurements the old-fashioned way—by hand. I do have your size blueprints still on file in the Fleet database, but this is, as I say, Imperial Protocol, and we must abide by tradition. The Bride must be measured, and her detailed measurements recorded in the Imperial Book of Fashion, for all future generations.”
“What?” I say. “Oh my God!”
Does this mean that my underwear size is going to be on record for all Atlantis to see?
But the Consul waves with one long manicured fingernail at a servant, who opens a large antique box of gold, decorated with black stone inlay. Inside it is a delicate ancient-looking scroll. “The Imperial Book of Fashion,” he says to me. “And its attendant scribe.”
At the same time, he motions to a second servant who approaches me with what looks like a roll of measuring tape with Atlantean numerical notches. The servant bows silently to me, then begins to take measurements of my body, while I stand frozen, afraid to breathe.
The first servant records my numbers as he is told.
While all this torture is going on, I see Manala go up to a nearby wall and then call up some kind of weird mechanical arm thing that suddenly hovers and unfurls into a floating flat screen equivalent of an Earth smart wall. The panel levitates before her and she issues sound commands in a lovely soprano voice. Suddenly the thing comes alive with a video feed that looks like a TV program, or a newscast, with urban scenes of what must be Poseidon, and people speaking on camera. There’s even an Earth-style running marquee with Atlantean language headlines.
So, I think. This is Atlantean television.
Manala sings another series of commands, and the hovering TV panel follows her as she walks to the nearest sofa and settles in, holding a glass with a drink in one hand and another pastry in her other. The sound of Atlantean speech and unusual music carries softly across the room, and then the images flicker in multiple smaller screens, punctuated with occasional noise of crowds. At some point Manala sings another command and the panel floats closer to her, allowing her to swipe the screen and input with her fingers. I make a guess that she’s changing the channels and resizing the window dimensions.
I glance to the side and see Gennio and Anu stare at the screen, pausing their work.
“Whoa! Is that the Games Update?” Anu says, forgetting himself. “Imperial Lady Manala, can you please hold the channel? Yes, whoa! What’s he saying? Deneb Gratu is at what place?”
Manala glances at him and a small frown comes to her forehead. “Yes, it’s the tedious Pre-Game Trials, and I don’t really want to watch it no
w. Something about Deneb Gratu in the Athlete Category getting another five percentage points lead over whoever is next in line—”
“Yes!” Anu exclaims, slamming his hand on the desk surface in triumph, and almost jumps out of his seat. “How many points? How many points total does he have now? I have money riding on this!”
Consul Denu glances in his direction with raised brows and a stern look.
“Is Tiamat Irtiu still next in line, or did Hedj Kukkait pass her?” Gennio says with some interest also. “The last I heard, it was 67 points for Tiamat in Entertainer and 63 for Hedj in Warrior—”
Okay I have no idea what they are talking about, but something tells me this has to do with the Games of the Atlantis Grail.
“I don’t know how many points,” Manala says, starting to sigh. “May I please change the channel now?”
“Wait, just hold a second,” Anu says. “What does the score table read, just read the top three numbers, My Imperial Lady, please? The line that says popularity score.”
Consul Denu clears his throat. “Anu Vei, this is inappropriate,” he says in a firm voice. “The Imperial Princess does not wish to view this low-class nonsense any longer, and you have work to do. Get back to it, immediately!”
“Oh, yes, sorry,” Anu mutters, and looks back to his console, while Gennio straightens also and looks away. However, I see both of them continue glancing sideways at the floating TV. Manala returns her attention to it also and apparently removes that channel with the noisy chatter and crowd noise from the smaller window, replacing it with something else.
“What was that?” I ask.
“My dear, nothing you need to be concerned with, at least not now,” Consul Denu tells me, sitting down in a deep high-backed chair a few paces away, and continuing to direct the servants with his fingers. “For many days now they will be showing relentless, unending coverage of a terrible sort of base entertainment that seems to be very popular with the masses. All during Green season, it takes over our lives, here in the capital, and elsewhere in this nation, unfortunately. It is a very ancient traditional event, held every year here in the capital city, called the Games of the Atlantis Grail, and they show it live on all the media. The Games themselves are a few weeks away, but this is all the preliminaries leading up to it. And you can hardly escape it, the coverage of it seems to be everywhere.”