“Is the privilege to bother her reserved only for yourself, Emperor Alaric?” Sevraim quipped, and Talasyn’s jaw dropped.
But, instead of smiting the legionnaire where he stood, Alaric merely tossed Talasyn a long-suffering glance over his shoulder as he kept on walking. “My apologies.”
Sevraim laughed. The manner in which he teased Alaric reminded Talasyn of how Khaede used to tease her, and there it was again, that abrupt jolt of the chasm of loss at Khaede’s absence, at not knowing what had become of her.
It was harder to set aside today than it had ever been, but Talasyn eventually managed—by ruminating on the very odd fact that Alaric could apparently tolerate one of his subordinates talking to him in that manner.
The thrum of aether hearts pulsed through the steel walls, accompanied by the groaning of machinery as the stormship began to move. At Alaric’s stern nod, Sevraim left, most likely to take up his position as the Deliverance cruised over the archipelago. Alaric led the Nenavarene delegation to the officers’ wing, where he stopped and turned to Talasyn and Elagbi.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” he asked.
Talasyn gave a start. “Refreshment?”
“You have been very gracious in adhering to my request that you accompany me outside Eskaya. It would be the height of rudeness to put you up in the lounge without offering the finest vintage that I have on board.” The invitation was extended without a semblance of warmth. It was clear that Alaric was going through the motions of social niceties, fully expecting his guests to refuse. “I understand if my presence would be intolerable, given the situation. You may feel free to make yourselves comfortable while I’m overseeing the search.”
It was impulsive and ill advised, but Talasyn decided to call his bluff. “Some wine would be lovely. And I must insist that you join us, Your Majesty.” Petty triumph sparked in her veins as surprise and annoyance flickered over her betrothed’s face. “Surely you can delay pressing your nose to the windows and squinting down at the ground for an hour or so.”
Alaric glanced at Elagbi as if half hoping that the latter would help him out of the mess that he’d gotten himself into. Instead of courteously declining, however, the Dominion prince was content to follow Talasyn’s lead, flashing a brilliant, toothy smile. “Yes, yes!” Elagbi boomed. “Her Grace and I would be most honored to drink with you, Emperor Alaric. Thank you!”
“The honor is mine,” Alaric gritted out. “Please follow me.”
After the Sardovian Allfold’s crushing defeat, the majority of Talasyn’s daily routine had been spent in the marble halls and extravagantly furnished rooms of the Roof of Heaven. Thus, the lounge that Alaric showed them to was rather underwhelming, even though the bottom-dweller that Talasyn had once been would have swooned at the luxury of upholstered furniture and windows that spanned the length of the entire wall on one side, displaying a breathtaking panorama of Nenavar’s green mountains and sandy beaches sprawled beneath clear blue skies.
With the Lachis-dalo stationed outside, the three royals took their seats—Talasyn and Elagbi on the settee, Alaric in a black leather armchair that appeared too small for him, as Talasyn suspected most standard-sized seating would be. He hunched in on himself and stretched his long legs out further than was strictly decorous. It would have been endearing if he’d been anyone else.
A mousy aide brought in a bottle of wine and three slim flutes carefully balanced on a tray, which he set down on the table. He uncorked the bottle and was about to start pouring, when Alaric stopped him with a crisp “We’ll help ourselves, Nordaye.”
Giving a deep bow, the aide scurried out of the lounge.
“Ah, cherry wine.” Elagbi sounded reluctantly impressed, eyeing the label on the bottle. “Imported from the Diwara Theocracy. This is a rare treat, Emperor Alaric. You have good taste.”
Alaric blinked, as though the compliment had thrown him off-balance. “Thank you,” he said at last, awkwardly. “It is nothing, of course, compared to Nenavar’s currant red.”
“The Lachis’ka doesn’t care overly much for the red. She finds it too astringent,” said Elagbi. “Perhaps the cherry wine will be more to her taste.”
And it was, as it turned out. The purplish beverage was earthy and sweet, and Talasyn tried not to let on how much she delighted in each sip. Not even the Dominion with all its wonders had made her any more well disposed toward the bottle, but the cherry wine might as well have been a particularly rich juice.
Alaric, for his part, drank sparingly, more interested in swirling the liquid around in its flute. He was probably waiting for the whole ordeal to be over, counting down the minutes in his head.
“It is good that we have the chance to talk in private, just the three of us,” Elagbi ventured after a drawn-out silence. “I thought that I should prepare you both for a certain topic that will doubtless crop up over the coming days as we plan for the wedding. I speak of consummation—”
Talasyn choked on her wine. Alaric’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass so violently that the fine crystal seemed in danger of snapping in half.
“There will be a feast after the ceremony,” Elagbi soldiered on. “At some point, the two of you will be expected to abscond to the Lachis’ka’s chambers, where you will spend the night in accordance with Nenavarene custom.”
“There is no need for that,” Alaric said quickly. “I do not expect Her Grace to—” He stopped, clamping his lips together, just the slightest tinge of pink leaching into his pallor.
“Naturally there will be no coercion involved,” Elagbi declared in stern tones, giving Alaric such a forbidding look that a lesser man would have flinched. “However, the union will not be valid in the eyes of the court until you share your wife’s chambers.”
“But that is so unnecessary!” Talasyn cried. “The Dragon Queen herself knows that this will be a marriage in name alone . . .” Something about her father’s grave expression caused her to trail off.
“To be sure, there is no pressure on you as of now,” the Nenavarene prince said carefully. “It will be a different story once you have ascended to the Dragon Throne and there is need for a new Lachis’ka, but I believe that is a matter best saved for another time. What the two of you need to discuss now is your wedding night and how to handle the issue.”
Talasyn wondered if Urduja had put Elagbi up to this: the Zahiya-lachis often employed back-channel negotiations. She would have appreciated some warning beforehand; but, then again, it was highly likely that she would have refused to set foot on the Deliverance if she had known.