“Do you let everyone inside your rooms so easily?” I asked, then after an awkward beat, added, “Your Imperial Majesty.” It was the first time I’d ever initiated conversation with him. I hoped I didn’t sound disrespectful. I was only trying to grasp control of the evening before it had a chance to turn awry. Valko might have been smiling warmly at me, but his aura had me on edge. Beneath the surface of his emotions, he seemed concerned about something. My throat ran dry with it.
He grinned like I’d challenged him. I realized too late I’d forgotten to curtsy. “No one comes here without my sanction,” he replied with assurance. “Besides, I have nothing to fear. I have you.” He rose to his feet and approached me.
I knew we would be alone, but I’d never imagined how different it would feel. In the daytime, during our busy routine, we were always in the company of at least one other person.
I retreated and pressed my back to the door. “Don’t you have any guards to attend you?” I kept my voice light and hoped he wouldn’t see the fear so evident in my body language. “I may be able to warn you of danger, but I’ve never wielded a saber or fired a musket.”
Reaching the entryway, he crossed to where I hovered.
I held my breath and tucked my hands behind me.
“Relax, Sonya.” His smile reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. “A retinue of Imperial Guard keeps barracks in the rooms beside mine. If there were any commotion, they would come. At least they would at any other time. I’ve dismissed them tonight,” he whispered conspiratorially. “My walls are thin so they may serve me better, but I wish to have a private conversation with you.”
“Very well.” I swallowed.
He tilted his head. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Anton’s words came to mind—meekness, yet firmness of character. “Yes,” I admitted. “I was taught never to find myself alone with a man behind closed doors, especially after midnight.” Never mind I’d never been taught such a thing, and I’d just met in seclusion with his brother.
“Hmm.” Valko’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Am I a mere man?”
“No.” I dropped my gaze, wishing to appear humble. “You are my lord emperor, sanctioned by the gods, blessed above common, vulgar men who would seek to tarnish someone’s virtue without thought.” Was that too heavy-handed? All I could think of was drawing a definite line between what I would and wouldn’t do. I looked up at him and raised the pitch of my voice so I sounded young and innocent. “I know I can trust you.”
He searched my eyes for a heart-stopping moment, then he erupted with laughter. I hadn’t sensed the shift in him fast enough to anticipate it. “Whatever did Anton tell you about my summons tonight?”
I stared at him dumbfounded, not wanting to betray anything his brother had said.
“Come, Sonya.” He whirled around and descended the stairs to his crimson pillow. “I only wish for you to give me a report on the last few weeks. I should have had you do so sooner, what with the attempt on my life just before you arrived in Torchev. But you must forgive me, I’ve been in a rather dreary state since my mother died.” At those words, his humor wilted. He cleared his throat and spent a few moments arranging the smaller cushions around him, keeping his face averted from mine.
I followed him as far as the lip of the stairs, then I hesitated. A heaviness came across my chest and limbs, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I observed the emperor closely. His sorrow was authentic. Just as real and weighty as mine and the loss I had suffered.
He sat on his pillow and stared at his empty hands, then glanced up at me with a smile, as genuine as before, though it seemed to pain him. He extended an arm to the cushion at his right. “Come.”
My pulse hammered as I descended the stairs, stepped around the pillows, and lowered myself at his side. I kept waiting for some evidence to reveal him as the man who had charmed Pia or as the schemer Anton had warned me about. I found nothing. Regardless, I hung on every thought, every feeling, assuredly my own. I couldn’t let Valko’s aura compromise me. His energy was collected enough now, but there was no telling when it might shift. I hadn’t forgotten how abruptly his mood altered during this afternoon’s council meeting. Even more worrisome was the idea his aura could change so subtly it slipped my detection altogether.
“I apologize for the late hour,” he said, and lit a match to a cluster of fir cones beneath a golden samovar on the table. Smoke curled out from beneath it with a soothing aroma. “My days are ruled by tedious affairs, and so I find myself sleepless at night. Perhaps it is my own stubbornness for not wishing to yet face the morning—that or clinging to the fragments of time belonging to no one but myself.”
“It’s all right,” I replied, and relaxed a little more to find we had something in common. “I was awake. I also have difficulty sleeping.”