Chapter Text
“Kiem.” The Emperor stared at him from her seat behind her large desk. It was cleared, almost eerily so, except for a single document. Kiem tried to glance down at it, but the desk had been set with security polarization, and he couldn’t make out much from this angle. “Good. You’re here.”
“Your majesty,” Kiem acknowledged. He’d gotten the summons to the imperial presence twenty minutes ago, and he’d spent almost the entirety of the time trying to figure out why. Had he missed one of his parts of the mourning rituals? He didn’t think so. Bel was new to the job, but she was already good at it, and even when he was having trouble focusing or remembering where he was supposed to be, she never lost track. “Good, er, morning.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” she snapped. “But nevermind that now. Your malfunctioning circadian rhythms are not the topic of this conversation.”
Kiem had been awake since some time before dawn that morning, when he’d woken abruptly with the realization that the final five-week mourning ceremony would take place in a few hours. He hadn’t been able to get back to sleep until he’d spent over an hour making sure he knew the clan lineage that it would be his task to recite, and after that he’d only had another forty minutes of fitful dozing before his alarm had gone off to alert him that it was time to get up and begin getting ready. He’d felt time slipping away through his fingers all during the long ceremony, as if in the darkness of the shrine time was passing differently than in the sunlit gardens outside. Or maybe it was all just inside his own head. And afterwards there had been an endless line of people to greet—mostly old military friends and connections of Taam’s, either offering condolences or merely wishing to make some connection, however slight, with the son of General Tegnar.
Saying any of this to the Emperor wouldn’t help. “Yes, ma’am,” he tried instead. “Um. How can I serve today?”
She sniffed. “The new treaty marriage. An appropriate candidate has been selected.”
The knot of tension in Kiem’s back released slightly. That was all, then. He hadn’t been summoned to be read a lecture about a half-remembered failure or a minor media scandal. Of course, now that the ceremony this morning had marked the end of the official mourning period, the palace would be making plans for replacing the former treaty representatives. She probably just wanted Kiem to brief the new Iskat partner. “Who is it, then?” he asked. He had plenty of cousins, some of whom he barely knew. “Prince Vaile?” Wait, no, that was probably not right. Vaile was a born politician, a rising light in the imperial family. Her skills would be wasted on any job that Kiem had been able to do.
Now the Emperor was staring at him. She was probably thinking the same thing. “There is no new Iskat representative.”
Kiem frowned, trying to make that make sense. Surely a treaty marriage required a partner from each side of the treaty. “I don’t understand. Ma’am.”
“Iskat already has an appropriate representative,” she said. Kiem was finally, slowly but with the momentum of an approaching avalanche, realizing what she meant. “Even you cannot be this dense,” she added sharply in apparent response to the expression on his face. “You are going to marry the new Thean representative.”
It was only five long years of practice that kept Kiem from showing outright panic. Based on the Emperor’s reaction, he still hadn’t managed to keep it off his face entirely. “This can hardly be a surprise to you,” she snapped.
“No, ma’am, I—I wasn’t expecting. . .” Kiem trailed off. “Are you sure that I’m the best person to do it?” He tried hard to keep the note of pleading out of his voice.
“You were selected five years ago,” she said. Kiem, remembering that conversation (up until now, the most alarming one he’d ever had with the Emperor), didn’t think “best person for it” had been much of a factor at the time. The theme had been more along the lines of You’ve screwed everything else up, you might as well be useful for something.
“You’ve performed your duties since adequately,” she added, startling Kiem. It was the closest thing to praise he could remember hearing from her. Possibly ever.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, adding quickly. “Thank you. But—you don’t think it will seem like we’re just, I don’t know, slotting another Thean in into Taam’s place?”
“No. I do not,” she said, very coolly. Even now, Kiem never knew when to keep his mouth shut. “You are a prince of the imperial house. You are known to most of the Thean diplomatic corps already. You are familiar with the duties of the position. Regardless of the occasional more. . . erratic personal outbursts, your reappointment will bring stability and predictability to a situation that is badly in need of both.”
Kiem didn’t know what he’d done now, to earn that comment about being erratic. He couldn’t think of anything that he’d done recently, but that didn’t mean much. Taam would have been able to tell him. There wasn’t any point in asking the Emperor. Or arguing with her. And there was definitely no way he was getting out of this. “All right. Yes, your majesty.”
She cast him a quick glance, but was apparently satisfied that he’d really capitulated. “You are probably acquainted with the new Thean representative. Count Jainan nav Adessari.” Kiem looked blank. She added, more snappishly, “He has been part of the Thean expat community for years. He’s a professor of something or other at the University. Anyway, you've probably met him at functions before. He’s Thean as they come, of acceptable rank. He’s not a diplomat, but he has family connections in the Thean diplomatic corps. And I suppose you can show him how to get on.”
Right. That would go great. Kiem trying to show his new Thean husband—who was a professor, no less, so clearly had some real brains—how to do his new job. He tried to remember who it was she was talking about, but he couldn’t put a face to the name. “I’ll be honored, ma’am,” he said, instead of one of the dozens of other remarks that sprang to his lips.
“ He will be honored,” she said under her breath. “You’re still an imperial prince of my house. Remember that, boy. One o’clock tomorrow, then.”
Kiem had lost the thread of the conversation again. “Um. What’s at one tomorrow? Official announcement?” Press conference? Engagement party?
Now the Emperor stared at him, not with annoyance, but with complete disbelief. “The wedding.”
At those words, Kiem couldn’t keep the gradually-building tide of panic at bay any longer. He felt a wave of cold rush through his body, and he knew that if his hands weren’t clasped carefully behind his back, they’d be visibly trembling. When he managed to get a word out, his voice was a tone higher than usual, and sounded thready in his own ears. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” the Emperor said firmly.
“I—but—” He couldn’t stand here stammering in front of the Emperor. “You don’t think it’s a little soon?” Hell, the last of the mourning ceremonies had been this morning . This couldn’t be happening.
“We do not have the luxury of time.” The Emperor swiped her hand across her desk, banishing the document that had been displayed there, one of the few external indicators of stress that Kiem had ever seen her display. “Unification Day is quickly approaching. Even you must be aware of that.”
“Of course, but—”
“The auditor will want to know that Iskaat’s treaties with her vassel planets are solid. We cannot afford to be lacking treaty representatives now.” She sighed. “Lord Taam’s death was terrible timing, but at least it wasn’t so late that we didn’t have time to find a replacement before the treaty signing.”
Kiem felt like he should probably protest this brusque mention of his former partner. But all he felt was numb. He couldn’t do this. “But—”
The Emperor rose from her chair and stood, leaning forward with her hands on the desk. “Prince Kiem. This is not a request. You will marry Count Jainan tomorrow. You will represent the Palace and convince the Auditor that the relationship between Iskaat and Thea is sound. And then you and Count Jainan will sign the treaty with the Resolution, and we will remain at peace with the rest of the galaxy. Must I make that an imperial order?”
“No, your majesty,” Kiem said quietly. “Of course not. I am an obedient subject of the empire.”
“Good.” She sat back down, attention turning to the surface of the desk and the new notifications that her wristband was projecting onto it. “You may go, then.”
Kiem barely registered anything in the time between leaving her office and reaching his own quarters in a nearby wing of the palace. He found himself in their—his—their own living room, staring at the couch and contemplating just throwing himself down on it. He paused a moment, then turned and sat down on it, letting his head fall back against the back.
“Difficult day?” Kiem jumped at the unexpected voice, before reminding himself that of course Bel was there. He wanted to just stay where he was, but it would be rude, so he forced himself to raise his head and open his eyes.
“Mourning ceremony,” he said, shortly. “And then I saw the Emperor, and. . .”
“She told you you were getting married,” Bel said, when it became clear Kiem wasn’t going to finish his sentence. He just gaped at her. “Her office just sent over the details. I’ve added it to your calendar.”
Kiem felt vaguely that the prosaic business of adding a wedding to his calendar, as if it were no more momentous than a lunch meeting, should have made the whole thing feel more manageable. Instead, it just made everything seem even more surreal. “Right,” he said, vaguely.
When he glanced up, Bel was studying him. “Your highness–”
“Not that again,” Kiem groaned, then stopped himself. “Sorry. Just. I’d really prefer it if you called me by my name.”
“Kiem,” she said, only sounding a bit like she was humoring an irrational child. “Are you all right?”
Kiem had no idea what to say to that. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Again.” Bel had a careful expression, like she was trying to figure out the right thing to say, but was nervous she was going to get it wrong. Kiem forced himself to give a laugh. It didn’t sound too obviously fake to him. “It’s just something of a surprise. I wasn’t expecting it. Especially not so soon. But, hey, at least I don’t have to learn how to do a whole new job.” Just doing it with a new partner. Which might be just as different.
“Count Jainan nav Adessari,” Bel said, then paused.
“Right,” Kiem said, forcing himself to sit up straight and actually pay attention. “What do you know about him?”
“Not much, so far,” Bel said, with a distinctly apologetic note. “He is a professor of deep space engineering at the University.”
“Right, she did say something about that.” Kiem had no idea what he’d be able to talk about with an engineering professor. “Good. Someone who can be the brains in this place.”
“I don’t think we’ve done so badly for ourselves,” Bel said. “He’s Thean, of course. Been on Iskat for about two years.”
Kiem wondered if it would make it easier or harder, his partner already being familiar with the planet. “What clan is he?”
Bel glanced down at the document she had open. “Feria. It’s one of the larger–”
“I know them.” Not an ally of Taam’s former clan, but not a particular rival, either, as far as Kiem knew. Even after five years, he sometimes felt like he’d only scratched the barest surface of Thean clan politics.
“I don’t have much else, just yet,” Bel said, definitely apologetic now. “I can find more this afternoon. In the meantime, perhaps we should talk about the alterations to your schedule for the next few days. . . “
**
The first thing Jainan did, after his wholly unexpected and deeply alarming conversation with the Thean ambassador to Iskat, was call his sister.
“I thought you might want to talk,” Ressid said, far too calmly, as soon as he’d finished his first and rather incoherent explanation.
“You knew about this.” Jainan shifted in his chair. He’d come straight home, instead of back to his laboratory as he’d originally intended. But this conversation wasn’t one to have in his office where he could be interrupted by a student at any time. Even if his somewhat neglected living quarters were hardly likely to meet with Ressit’s approval. His apartment, situated in a small building conveniently near to campus, wasn't bad, really. Just a little. . . dusty.
She looked unimpressed. “Of course I knew about this. The discussions have been going on since the moment Lord Taam’s death was announced. Your name has been mentioned rather frequently.”
“But–why?” Jainan let some of his anxiety show. “It’s not just about the rank. I’m not–I’m not the diplomat in the family. I’m an engineer. I don’t know anything about how to do any of this.”
“Treaty representatives are not generally very involved in policy or negotiations,” Ressid said. “You’ll need to be present at some functions, participate in some meetings. But you’ll pick it up in no time. You’ve been navigating academic politics for years now. This won’t be too different.”
“Yes, because the stakes are definitely the same,” he said dryly. “But Ressid, there’s also my work. I can’t just–”
“You can still keep your position,” she said. “I won’t pretend to you that your new duties won’t be a demand on your time. But I’m quite sure the University will be willing to compromise.”
He was running low on arguments for why this was impossible. Of course, if he’d wanted to actually win an argument on the subject, he never would have called Ressid, of all people. “And that’s another part of it. I was always planning on coming home. This was never supposed to be permanent.”
Ressid sighed, looking much more serious. “I know. I cannot pretend that I wasn’t tempted to try to remove your name from the list. I have missed you.”
Jainan nodded, throat feeling tight, too overwhelmed at the thought of never being able to return to Thea. Not as his home, anyway. “So. Tell me why you didn’t.”
Ressid sighed again. “We need you. The treaty with the Resolution must be signed, and it must be signed by a properly recognized representative from Thea. There is very little time, and nothing could be officially arranged until Taam’s mourning period was completed. The fact that you are already on Iskat is not a minor point. We do not have an extra week to send someone else from Thea.”
Jainan nodded. He might have been head down his work recently, but he was hardly oblivious enough to be unaware of the importance of the upcoming Unification Day. “We’re not just looking to the treaty, though,” Ressid was saying. “The situation with Iskat has been. . . complex. Project Kingfisher and future mining operations are of obvious importance.”
“All I’ve done with Kingfisher is study some of the data,” Jainan protested half-heartedly. “I don’t know any of the people.”
“Lord Taam was Thea’s primary representative in the mining operation,” Ressid said. “Without him, we have the remaining military collaboration, but nobody with diplomatic ties. Or even any clear access to the upper-level decisions. Thea cannot allow the project to come completely under Iskat control.”
As far as Jainan had ever been able to tell, any semblance of Thean control over recent mining operations in their local space was nominal, but Ressid wasn’t wrong that it was in Thea’s interest to maintain a presence. “Of course.”
She looked genuinely worried as she studied him. “Jainan. I want you to be happy. If you really can’t–you are the best option, but you are not the only option.”
It was hard to know what to say in response. Deep down he’d known, ever since the ambassador had first laid the scheme out before him, that it was already decided. “I know. But. . .”
Ressid nodded. “Your work has always been in service to Thea. This is. . . a different way. It is an honor to you, and to Feria, to be put forward as a treaty representative. I know that you have always wanted to do your duty.”
“Yes.” There didn’t seem to be much more to say. Ressid was, as always, right. “I must call the ambassador, then.”
She flashed him a smile, then. “Congratulations,” she said, quiet and sincere. Her smile changed, becoming less serious. “I’ve met Prince Kiem. He’s quite–charming. I think you’ll get along. Not bad-looking either. Have you seen his–”
“Ressid!” Jainan yelped. He was definitely, definitely not thinking about such things. Not even something as relatively innocuous as the sight of Kiem’s brief smile, half-seen across the room at a crowded embassy reception. As far as Jainan could remember, he and the prince had never exchanged more than a polite greeting when introduced to each other, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been aware of him as a polite, smiling, and yes, handsome, figure on Taam’s arm.
“Charitable work, I was going to say,” she finished, voice prim but eyes laughing.
“I cannot imagine why I called you for advice,” Jainan said.
“Call me after the wedding,” she said, as he reached for the button to disconnect the call. “I want to hear all about it.”
**
It had proved almost depressingly easy to cancel all of Kiem’s other appointments for the next few days. None of them really needed him for anything important, after all.
That just left him with far, far too much free time to think about the following day. Jainan was supposed to come over tomorrow for a short period before the wedding, which would be his first introduction not only to Kiem-as-his-future-partner, but also the rooms they would now be sharing. Kiem had gotten a little bit careless in the last few weeks, with just him living there, but even so it didn’t take more than a few minutes to tidy away the few books that had been left out and a couple of pieces of clothing draped over a chair. The apartment had been feeling too large for a single person. Kiem had been thinking rather wistfully about the smaller suite, in an auxiliary wing of the palace, that he’d been assigned to briefly in the short window between leaving university and being married and subsequent move to these more central, and decidedly more formal, rooms.
Now, with someone else moving in with him–tomorrow–he was just as glad to have the space. Not much could be done about the furniture–if Jainan wanted new, they’d have to order it anyway, and he could choose it then. The walls, when Kiem glanced around, were another matter. The art on them was perhaps a trifle sparse, even for the usual Iskaner taste, evenly-spaced around the walls. And Kiem didn’t know what to do about it.
He’d spent the majority of the three weeks between the announcement of his first wedding and the event itself that he didn’t spend partying reading up on Thea. He’d been proud, on their wedding night, to bring his new partner back to rooms that had a large flag, emblazoned in red, black and blue, on the wall in their living room.
It had been his first misstep in their marriage. He truly hadn’t meant to insult Taam with a mass-produced flag that was not of a quality that would be displayed by any true Thean noble. Nor had he intended to condescend, or imply that Taam was nothing more than a provincial Thean. But intentions didn’t count for much, not when he’d screwed up so badly and insulted his partner on their wedding night.
Kiem hadn’t been in many Thean households on Iskat, but he had seen clan flags hanging in public spaces in a few of them. Would Jainan expect to hang one in his new home? If he did, it would make him feel unwelcome if Kiem hadn’t at least made space for it, even if he couldn’t have ordered one in time anyway. But there seemed just as great a chance that he’d find it insulting, if he didn’t. Kiem stared at the walls of the room, a horrible suffocating paralysis setting in. It would be obvious if he moved the art to clear a wall. He could move some of it and leave a single, easily-moved painting on the largest open wall, but then it would probably look like he was trying to feature that one, and Jainan would be even less likely to suggest replacing it.
He was still standing there, stuck in the middle of the room, when the door alarm chimed. He jumped, gave the command for it to open, and almost immediately regretted it.
“Prince Kiem.” Hren Halesar, the palace’s press officer, filled the door. “Congratulations.”
“What? Oh,” Kiem said. The word seemed incongruous. “Right. Of course. Thanks.”
“And how do you feel about your upcoming marriage?” Hren didn’t wait to be invited in, shouldering his way in and looming across the room.
“Oh. I’m, um, very happy? To maintain the treaty? And the Resolution?” Kiem was floundering, and he knew it. Behind him, he heard the door to the study open. Great. Bel and Hren had equally low opinions of each other, and Kiem wasn’t sure he had the mental capacity to prevent a full-on argument if they got started.
“You’re happy, are you,” Hren growled. “Barely out of mourning for your partner of five years, and you’re happy.”
He’d put his foot in it again. “I–the Emperor–said I was going to–”
It was honestly a relief when Hren interrupted him. “You’d better be more eloquent by the time you’re talking to the press tomorrow. Try it again. And stick to the damn statement.”
“Yes, of course,” Kiem agreed. “Um. The statement?”
“We just received it,” Bel said from behind him.
“Learn it,” Hren said, pointing a large finger right at Kiem. “Remember it. You’re honored to represent the treaty at Unification Day in service to the empire and in honor of Lord Taam. And for god’s sake, don’t go off script, or you’ll be seeing me again a lot sooner than either of us wants.”
“Right,” Kiem said, controlling a flinch.
“We received the statement approximately three minutes ago,” Bel said dryly. “Prince Kiem has not had time to study it yet, but of course he will do so.”
“You don’t think–” The words were out before Kiem had a chance to actually consider them. And now Hren was glaring at him, instead of Bel, and he might as well finish. “Should I mention Jainan?” It had turned into a question. “Before Taam, at least? I mean, he’s the one I’m marrying. . .”
Hren seemed to swell with additional irritation. “You’ll use the statement that press office gave you. And you’ll like it, or you’ll do a damn good job pretending that you do.”
Kiem just nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d start babbling again. Bel stepped to the side and half in front of him, a cool look on her face. “Prince Kiem has a short time to prepare for the ceremony and Count Jainan’s arrival,” she said pointedly. “And a great many things to do.”
Hren glared at them both one more time, then turned and left, the door closing loudly behind him. Kiem turned to look at Bel. “Ok. What things? Have I missed something yet? I can–”
“What? Oh,” Bel said, sounding unconcerned. “That was just to get rid of him. Although, if you want something to do, you have gotten some calls. Now that you have the statement, do you want to start taking congratulatory calls this evening, or would you rather wait until tomorrow?”
Kiem shook his head, trying to focus on something other than decorating dilemmas or the prospect of journalists the next day. He had to pull up his schedule–only two appointments tomorrow, one of which was his wedding , and he couldn’t even remember what time they were. Jainan wasn’t coming over until an hour beforehand. There would be time for the calls tomorrow. But if Kiem had to listen to just the inside of his own head for the rest of the evening, it was going to be unbearable.
“A few tonight,” he decided, then cursed himself for not thinking. “Unless, of course, you need to be done for the day, I know it’s getting later, I don’t need to keep you–”
“This evening is fine,” Bel said, giving him an odd look. “I’m not quite such a neglectful aide that I’d keep plans for the night before your unexpected wedding, even if I’d had any to start with.”
“Right, no, sorry, of course you’re not, I know you wouldn’t, just–” Kiem was tangled up in his own words, appalled again at his own self-centeredness. Of course this marriage was going to affect people other than him and Jainan. He should have thought about Bel sooner. “You’re a wonderful aide. I’m lucky to have you.”
“I know,” Bel said, still giving him that odd, somewhat quizzical look. “If you’d like to take the calls in the study, I can send them in to you there.”
“Sure. Yes. Just, um, give me a few minutes to look the statement over.” Kiem wandered into the office and sat in the vid-chair. He lost a minute to squinting at his dim reflection in the display surface, trying to check if he still looked respectable, until Bel, who must have been watching, set it to display the camera view of himself. He flushed, but took the minute to straighten his collar and try to smooth an errant bit of hair before bringing the statement up on the desk to study it. It was a typical press office release, the sort he’d been receiving for half his life. Sometimes he hated being restricted to them, but recently he’d felt so scattered, his head full of nothing but fluff, that it was almost a relief to be able to stick to a script and not have to think about what to say. Particularly in the haze that had filled his head since the accident.
He didn’t love this script. It mentioned Taam three times and the Resolution twice before Jainan’s name even came up. But if he didn’t stick to it Hren would have his head, and if she had to listen to complaints that Kiem hadn’t followed orders, the Emperor would have his head. “Right,” he called, loudly enough for Bel to hear. “Let’s do this.”
The first few calls were easy–various officials, some Iskaners, some Thean, almost all former acquaintances, all with their own rote congratulations. Kiem responded with the appropriate pieces of the statement, routine enough that he scarcely needed Bel’s notes at the bottom of the screen.
The first challenge came when the screen filled with the image of a dignified woman. Bel’s voice in his ear said quietly, “Lady Ressid. Count Jainan’s sister.”
Kiem swallowed through a suddenly dry throat, and nodded a greeting at the figure on the screen. “Lady Ressid. Good, um–” He didn’t know where she was, or what time of day it would be there. “Evening?”
She ignored his inept greeting. “Prince Kiem. A pleasure to speak to you again.” Kiem did have a dim recollection of meeting her in person at a couple of functions, when she’d been on Iskat, and maybe once on one of his and Taam’s rare visits to Thea. He didn’t think they’d ever exchanged more than a few words. He’d always attended such events on Taam’s arm, of course, and had rarely had a chance to exchange more than a few words with anyone else. “I wish to offer my congratulations.”
“Right, of course. Yes.” Kiem was babbling, again, and Jainan’s sister was going to think that he was a complete idiot. “Thank you. I’m very honored.” That sounded tepid. “Pleased.” That was exactly what Fren had told him not to say, but this was Jainan’s sister . He couldn’t sound like marrying Ressid’s brother was just a dull duty.
“Clan Feria is honored, too, by Jainan’s role as treaty representative.” Kiem gave a half-bow, which seemed to get him out of saying anything. “I know the timing is. . . awkward,” Ressid went on, and Kiem tried not to wince. “But I want to wish you both very happy. Jainan is a remarkable person.”
Kiem hoped his floundering wasn’t evident over the vid. When he glanced down, Bel was suggesting one of Fren’s phrases about commitment to their respective planets, but that really didn’t seem like the right response. “I’m, um. I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.” That wasn’t great, but at least it was unlikely to cause offense.
Ressid nodded. Her gaze on Kiem was intense, measuring. He hoped she wasn’t too disappointed with what she saw. “I have always wanted to see my brother happy.”
Kiem didn’t have siblings, and very few of his relationships before his marriage had been serious enough to progress to meeting the family. But he still knew a sisterly threat when he heard one. “I’ll do my best,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry I’m not able to attend,” Ressid said. She looked satisfied, Kiem thought. Well, she didn’t really know him yet. She wouldn’t know yet how inadequate his best would turn out to be. “I look forward to seeing you both for Unification Day.”
Kiem made some polite response, and managed to get through the goodbyes and ended the call without putting his foot in it too badly. He wasn’t sure that had gone well, but he didn’t think it had gone awfully. He sagged back in his chair, about to tell Bel that he was done for the night, but the next call was already coming through. Well, he could probably manage one more, as long as he could stick to the script.
He’d just managed to straighten himself back up to a respectable position when the vid came up on the screen. His heart sank somewhere into his stomach when he saw who it was, even as he managed to plaster a polite smile on his face. “Counselor Selth. Hello.”
Taam’s parent looked back at him, face expressionless. Kiem didn’t know Selth very well; they and Taam hadn’t been particularly close, and he’d only met them on their occasional visits to Thea, or the single time Selth’s duties had brought them to Iskat. That, and the first week of funeral ceremonies, but that had hardly been conducive to conversation. “Prince Kiem.” Kiem had, over the years, gotten better at reading Taam, but he’d never picked up the trick for Taam’s parent. They must have come from a formal event, the stark red and black of the collar of their clan Bellat uniform making their expression look even more severe. “The Emperor has announced that you will continue as the treaty representative.”
Here, at least, one of Hren’s statements was appropriate. “I’m very honored to continue serving as a representative of Iskat, and our relationship with Thea.”
“Feria,” Selth said. Kiem thought maybe they looked a little disgruntled. “Well.” Taam as the treaty representative had been a mixed blessing for his clan, Kiem knew–a personal honor that brought status to both him and his clan, but also a certain amount of disdain from the Theans who were particularly un-fond of Iskat. It wasn’t just the radicals who didn’t love the empire.
The last line of the statement came as close as it could to declaring that Kiem was happy about marrying Jainan without using any words that actually indicated happiness. It was meant for this moment. But Kiem couldn’t bring himself to say any of it, not to the bereaved parent of his former partner. “I know it’s all a bit fast, but. . .”
“There must be a treaty representative for Unification,” Selth said. “It should be Taam, but. . .” Kiem had absolutely no idea what to say. “But Taam is gone,” they finished quietly.
For once their emotions were plain on their face, and Kiem had to look away from their open grief for a moment, his own stomach twisting. “He was devoted to his duty,” Kiem said. “He, um. He would have done Thea honor.” It seemed scant praise to offer for his life partner.
Selth had resumed their severe expression. “I trust that you will continue to honor Taam’s memory. As a diplomat and as your partner.”
The words startled Kiem. “Of course,” he said quickly. “He was a–he was my partner. I’d never–” His heart was inexplicably pounding, his head felt full of fog, but this was too important to fall apart now. “I’d never want to disrespect his memory.”
Kiem didn’t have a clear recollection of the rest of the call, just knew that it had ended and that Bel was telling him that the rest would wait until the next day. His only particularly coherent thought, as he fell into bed, was that the worst of it had to be over.
**
Jainan stared at the heavy door, heart racing. Behind it was the man who, in an hour, was going to become Jainan’s partner. And Jainan, who was apparently a coward, couldn’t even bring himself to knock.
He’d been up late the night before, stubbornly trying to finish his work before conceding defeat and reading everything he could find about Prince Kiem. He was a fairly minor royal within the imperial family, but his mother was one of Iskat’s generals. Jainan didn’t know if she’d be in attendance today or not.
Kiem seemed to have had a somewhat inconsistent career. When Jainan had gone back far enough, most of the news stories had been about Kiem’s involvement in minor scandals; mostly behavior that would have been, as far as Jainan could tell, unremarkable except for the royal personage involved. He had left university at some point, definitely before getting his degree. Not very long after he’d married Lord Taam, a move that seemed to have surprised the news logs, who had run a number of articles speculating on why Kiem had been selected for the position of treaty representative.
Jainan had spent a long time staring at the photographs of Taam and Kiem’s wedding. Taam looked, as always, suitably serious and dignified for the occasion. Kiem, on his arm, had a slightly uncertain but bright smile, and a number of gently self-deprecating quotes for the reporters about taking on his new role and starting a new chapter in his life. Taam’s remarks were focused on representing what he believed would be a new era of collaboration between Thea and Iskat. The wedding had been received with unmitigated approval on Iskat, as far as Jainan could tell, although reactions in the Thean press were slightly more mixed.
After the wedding, Kiem and Taam appeared regularly in stories about various events, almost always with an accompanying photograph. They looked like the few hazy memories Jainan had of seeing them at the occasional embassy function; Taam in Iskaner dress more often than Thean clan formals, with Kiem on his arm. They looked practiced, polished. A perfect diplomatic couple. There had been a spate of stories about how Kiem had grown up almost overnight, and how marriage had been then making of him. Taam had been a leader in a new initiative to have Thean experts working together with this Iskaner military on Project Kingfisher, the mining operation in Thean space, and he was often mentioned in conjunction with it. Over the years, the press seemed to have turned their attention away from Kiem, who was mentioned mostly in passing, with few personal details included.
The two of them had, to all appearances, been an exemplary treaty representative pair. Jainan, an academic with a habit of getting sucked into his work and forgetting to leave the building for meals, couldn’t possibly compare to the dignified, powerful Taam. At least he did know something about regolith mining, even if he’d never been able to get access to any of the details about Project Kingfisher–maybe that would be something he and Kiem could have a conversation about.
They weren’t going to be able to have a conversation about anything if Jainan didn’t manage to knock on the door. He’d come to live and work on a foreign planet. He regularly stood up in front of dozens of undergraduates and talked to them. He could at the very least manage to introduce himself to his prospective life partner.
He’d barely touched the door when it opened, revealing a rather slight figure of medium-height on the other side. “Jainan,” Kiem said, quickly, then appeared to catch himself. “Count Jainan, sorry. Unless you prefer–” He cut himself off.
“Jainan is fine,” Jainan said. “Um. May I come in?”
Kiem jumped, then backed up quickly, making a broad gesture with one hand. “Yes, of course, sorry. Make yourself at home, please. I mean, I guess it will be, soon enough–and of course we can, you know, do anything with it you like. Decorating, furniture, any sort of thing, you just have to let me know. Or Bel, really. Oh, you should meet–she’ll be here later. My aide. Our aide, if you like. Bel. She’s the one who runs things here, really. I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?”
Jainan had been caught in the flood of words, but he drifted towards the chair that was set opposite the sofa. The living room was a typical Iskaner suite, with the mostly-bare white walls, stark lines, and neutral furniture. Kiem had added a few touches of color in a golden-yellow blanket folded on one end of the sofa, and various art pieces on the walls. “Yes, thank you.”
“Right. The samovar is ready, if you’d like some coffee. Or I have–” Kiem stepped quickly sideways to a cabinet and flipped the door open. “Wine? Not much by way of spirits, but there’s probably something, if you’d like stronger.”
“Coffee, please,” Jainan said automatically, before realizing that the last thing he needed just now was to be jitterier. “Actually, no. Water, please.”
“Yes, of course.” Kiem ducked somewhere out of sight and came back with a glass of water that he set on the low table in front of Jainan. He closed the liquor cabinet, and gave what Jainan thought was maybe a wistful glance towards the samovar, but instead disappeared and returned with water for himself as well, holding the glass as he perched on the edge of the sofa across from Jainan. “So, um. I know we’ve been introduced at some party or other before, but there’s never time to actually talk to people at those kinds of things. You’re a professor, right? In some kind of engineering?”
So Jainan found himself making small talk with the man he was about to marry. It was strangely normal, until he let himself think about it. Kiem was good at asking questions to draw him out and keep the conversation going. Jainan was afraid he was dominating it, but he couldn’t think of many questions to ask Kiem that wouldn’t raise the specter of his last partner. It was bad enough for him to be forced into a new marriage while he was doubtless still grieving the last one, the last thing he needed was Jainan clumsily bringing it up on their wedding day.
The routine of casually chatting about his work was soothing, but Jainan was growing painfully aware that time was passing quickly, and there were a few things, at least, that had to be said before the wedding ceremony permanently bound them together. He gathered his courage, and broke into the next natural pause. “Kiem. I wonder if we can–talk. More. About what this means for us both.”
**
Kiem set down his water glass quickly, not wanting Jainan to see how his hand wouldn’t stop trembling. Just nerves, he told himself. Normal, before a wedding day, for any couple. He tried to remember how he’d felt the day he married Taam, but it was like looking down through dark water, dimmed and distorted. He was sure he’d been nervous then, too. He took another moment, looking down at his lap, to gather himself, then looked up at Jainan. “I know you probably wouldn’t have chosen–that is, you weren’t planning on any of this. And I’m sure you’d never have thought about someone like me, and I know I can’t be–but of course, anything that you’d want, to make you more comfortable–” He realized that, while Jainan wasn’t displaying signs of impatience, he’d started this topic because he had something to say, and instead here was Keim, babbling again. He closed his mouth, bit the inside of his lip, hard, to keep himself from opening it again, and made a “go-ahead” gesture at Jainan.
“This is a strange situation for me,” Jainan admitted. “An honor, of course, but an unexpected one. I just—“ Even when he clearly felt awkward, there was a kind of dignity to Jainen that Kiem could only envy. “I know this was a rather. . . abrupt arrangement. I just want to make it clear that I have no. . .” Kiem braced himself. “Expectations.”
Kiem only had a moment to wonder what kinds of stories Jainen might have heard about him, to be starting off this new marriage already not expecting much. Or even anything at all. He tried to convince himself that maybe that was a good thing. When you were starting from the bottom, at least there was only one way to go.
“Of a personal nature, I mean,” Jainan was continuing. “Of course there are the duties of being the treaty representatives, and I would not shirk those. And of course you are familiar with them already. But as far as the rest. . . Things can be different, in private.”
Kiem wasn’t sure what to make of that. He picked at a corner of the gold braid on the cuff of his uniform jacket, then forced himself to stop. “Whatever you want,” he said, maybe too quietly, because Jainan was looking at him with a questioning expression and Kiem was going to have to explain himself, and he had no idea how to do that, any more than he had any idea how to make Jainan happy after being forced into marriage with a stranger.
It was almost a relief when the door chimed. Kiem jumped up and opened it, finding Bel and a palace steward on the other side. “The contracts are ready,” Bel said. “In the library atrium.”
“Right, yes.” Events were moving too fast, but Kiem couldn’t do anything about that right now. “Oh, Jainan.” He stepped aside to let Jainan, who’d risen from his own seat, step towards the doorway. “This is Bel. My aide.”
Jainan nodded a greeting. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure, your grace,” Bel said, with a half bow. “I hope you will ask me for anything you need. Later. Just now, if Kiem is done disarranging his own collar, it is time to go to the ceremony."
“Sorry,” Kiem muttered, his hands going back to his jacket, trying to fix it.
“That’s made it worse,” Bel commented.
“Here.” Suddenly hands were on his shoulders, turning him a quarter turn until Jainan was right in front of him. “Allow me.” Then there were hands on the fabric of his jacket, gently tugging and smoothing. Kiem froze. Jainan adjusted his tie slightly, then took a half step back. “Better.”
“Yes. Um. Thanks,” Kiem said, breaking himself out of his immobility. Jainan’s touch hadn’t been any more personal than a tailor checking a fit, but somehow Kiem could still feel the ghost of it, lingering. He was afraid his face was flushing, even though he wasn’t generally prone to it. Jainan’s hands were graceful and long-fingered. And one was being held out now towards Kiem, as Jainan offered his arm. Kiem reached for it automatically, resting his hand lightly in the crook of his elbow. Their first few steps were awkward–Jainan was a little bit taller than Taam had been, and he moved more smoothly–but by the time they were out of the first hallway Kiem had at least managed to acclimate himself enough to keep from tugging on Jainan’s arm every other step when he got too far ahead or behind.
The entrance to the palace library was up several flights in the main palace wing. It contained the private collections of current and former Emperors and other important royals, displayed on gleaming wooden shelves. Lower levels held the palace’s archives, in long sliding rows of metal drawers. They weren’t going that far in, though. The atrium was a large, double-height space, painted spare white, amplifying the light that came in through the high skylights. Low dark wood shelves and stands housed assorted special displays from the collection.
This time as they entered, Kiem found himself blinded by the bursts of flashes from the press photographers. Jainan hesitated, a small movement that would have been imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t holding his arm. Of course, he probably wasn’t used to being in the eye of the press. That, at least, was something that Kiem could help handle. As the glare of the flashes faded, leaving green after-images, he glanced sideways at Jainan. He’d started moving again, after that momentary hesitation, but had a slightly wide-eyed look that was probably concealing panic. He probably wouldn’t mind if Kiem took the lead, at least for now. If it was a problem, doubtless Jainan would tell him later.
Kiem stepped a little bit forward, capturing the attention of most of the journalists and smiling at them in blatant invitation.
“Prince Kiem!” He picked out Yarrow, a journalist for the mid-tier news log The Observer, who had their hand raised for his attention. “How do you feel about this new marriage?”
An easy one. “I’m pleased to be able to continue fostering the relationship between Iskat and Thea.”
They didn’t look particularly pleased with his answer, but another journalist, Hani Sereson from the Consult News was already taking advantage of the gap. “How is this new marriage going to affect the treaty with the Resolution?”
“Now, you know I don’t have the brains for keeping up with the politics of it all,” Kiem said. Under his hand, he could feel Jainan’s arm tense slightly. He was probably just now realizing how inept his new partner was, but Kiem couldn’t spare much attention to worrying about it just now. “But what I’m told is that the Resolution is primarily concerned with making sure that the treaties are in good order. And Count Jainan and I will be hap–honored, to represent that agreement between our planets.”
“And how would your late partner Lord Taam feel about today?” Another voice called.
Jainan’s arm tightened again. Of course, he wouldn’t be happy about starting this marriage in Taam’s shadow, but there wasn’t anything Kiem could do about that. “Taam was dedicated to Thea and the treaty,” Kiem said. The words were straight out of the press statement, easy, but somehow actually speaking Taam’s name in front of this crowd of people, it stuck in his throat. “He would have wanted our planets to maintain our strong diplomatic relationship.”
“How’d he feel about it being you marrying the new Thean representative?” Kiem looked over hard in the direction the question had come from, but he couldn’t tell which of the reporters in the little knot of people had asked it.
“Please.” Jainan spoke for the first time, his deep voice measured. “Lord Taam’s death was a tragedy. Please respect his memory and the grief that Prince Kiem, the rest of the palace, and Thea are still feeling.” His words were polite, but there was no flexibility in his calm tone.
Kiem could only manage a nod. That was probably enough questions, he thought, but before he could start walking again Dak, a journalist from a log that straddled the boundary between news and gossip, was in front of him. “And how do you think Count Jainan feels about marrying someone with your history?”
It had been a long time since Kiem had frozen up in front of the press. He wasn’t going to do it now. “I–I’m here to serve–”
“You might as well ask me directly,” Jainan interrupted. “I’m standing right here. Prince Kiem has been a dedicated diplomat and treaty representative. I am honored to have been chosen to fill that role along with him. And I am looking forward to getting to know him better.” With that he started to walk again. Kiem could at least manage to move with him, even if his brain still felt stuck on the question.
Beyond the reporters were the guests. Several of Kiem’s cousins were there, and he nodded at them. There were a scattering of other minor palace officials. Other treaty pairs. The military officers sat in a block, all in formal dress uniforms. Taam’s former colleagues. Kiem nodded acknowledgements at the ones who met his eyes. The rest of the room was Theans, either diplomats from the embassy or other expats who knew Jainan. The green and gold of Feria were dotted around the room, among the other clan colors. There was a group of young people, probably students. They, Kiem noticed, got the only genuine-looking smile from Jainan. Bel was standing to the side along with some other aides and junior stewards. She was the only one who made Kiem feel a little bit better.
Then they were in front of the antique table, barely large enough to hold the two stacks of paper that were the contracts, that was the focal point of the room. Kiem recalled dimly that when he’d married Taam, in a different reception room, there had been a large wooden desk. The table was small enough that they’d practically be pressed together when they were signing the documents. Kiem didn’t think about that.
The judge entered, the gong sounded, and the ceremony began. Kiem stared down at the stacked contracts, not listening to a word of the ceremony. When he snuck a glance at Jainan out of the corner of his eye he was watching the judge carefully, apparently drinking in every word. Kiem tried to focus and do the same, but the words were both too familiar from other marriage ceremonies and too stilted for him to absorb any except “duty”, repeated enough that even the most absent attendee couldn’t miss it.
Finally, the judge finished reciting the ceremony, cleared her throat and said, “Gentlemen, you may now sign the contracts.”
Kiem stepped up to the table to his stack, picking up the quill lying next to it. He’d tried to leave Jainan as much space as possible, but even so he could feel the cuff of Jainan’s stiff uniform jacket brush against his own sleeve. Kiem had carefully dipped his quill and was raising it out of the pot when Jainan, nervous and moving too fast, knocked into his hand and sent the ink pot sideways.
Red ink flooded across the table. Jainan made a surprised and mildly alarmed noise. Kiem, seeing the wave of it heading towards Jainan, dropped his forearm across the table, damming the flow. It trickled around the edges at his elbow and finger tips, dripping slowly on the floor. Jainan made another surprised noise. “Kiem.”
Then the palace steward descended on them, followed almost instantly by three junior stewards and Bel. The head steward made concerned noises and flapped around behind Jainan. Two of the junior stewards produced handkerchiefs and began mopping busily at the pool that had built up behind Kiem’s arm. Bel tugged him gently back and used another handkerchief to wipe at his arm and hand. She didn’t say anything, but the raised eyebrow was plenty of indication about her opinion on getting ink all over his best uniform instead of letting it run onto the floor.
The head palace steward had finally stopped uselessly fussing and had instead turned to the press, instructing them firmly to stop photographing. That, Kiem knew, was definitely going to be too little too late. But he’d been photographed doing worse things than getting ink on his sleeve. Even if the effect, with the bright red ink, was verging on gory.
Kiem and Jainan had been nudged to opposite sides of the room while various junior staffers wiped up the worst of the ink, covered the rest with a tablecloth and a small area rug, and produced new contracts, ink, and even quills to replace the sodden originals.
“We can resume the signing of the contracts,” the judge intoned, and both of them came back up to the table. Kiem, distracted, misjudged the distance, and ended up standing with Jainan’s shoulder pressed up against his. “Sorry,” Jainan said under his breath, reaching for the quill and dipping it with exaggerated care. Kiem followed suit, staring for a moment at a sight he’d never thought he’d see again–his name, in fresh ink, at the bottom of a marriage contract.
That wasn’t the end of it, though. The judge gave them permission to kiss, and Kiem could see Jainan’s eyes going wide, as if he’d forgotten that this was coming. For a moment, Kiem’s first wedding was crystal clear in his mind; his own awkwardness mixed with tentative anticipation, Taam’s hands on his elbows pulling him closer. The first press of lips. Then Jainan let out a small, questioning sound, and Kiem snapped back to the present. He had no business being distracted by his last marriage now. This was a new marriage, a new beginning, and he had to try to get it right. Jainan was looking uncertainly at him, and maybe at least Kiem could do one thing to get their marriage started off right. He stepped up to Jainan, reaching out one hand to hold his arm lightly, and turned his head enough to press a kiss against Jainan’s lips. Jainan jumped, a small movement, and then held carefully still. The kiss was closed and chaste, Kiem holding it just long enough for the photographers to get a good image, but it still sent a thill of something down the back of his spine.