greater force the closer his hand came to the hilt. On the second attempt, he caught palace servants stopping to stare at his efforts, snickering behind their hands at him. It took an act of will to ignore the sword each time he passed by it, but Danilaesis despised being mocked.
He knocked on the door of Empress Celia’s private chambers. The ornate doors were meant to be impressive, but Danilaesis had never cared for them. The gold leafing and red lacquer seemed gaudy. His family’s estate was not quite so richly appointed, but it was done with better taste, in black and silver. The Solaran Estate runed theirs better as well.
When there was no quick answer to his knock, Danilaesis forced the door. He had done it enough times that he knew just where to apply a bit of pressure to cause the wards to fail and leave the lock unprotected for a moment. There was a gasp from within.
“What are you doing—” the servant’s words were cut off in her throat as self-preservation warned her that it was the warlock barging in on her empress.
Celia lay on her side, facing away from the door, the bare skin of her back glistening with oils. She was nestled among a vast pile of embroidered pillows, propped up in languorous comfort as her servant kneaded the tension from her. A chalice at the bedside in easy reach of the empress told that she sought her ease inside as well as out. “Do they no longer teach manners at the Academy?”
Danilaesis caught himself staring for a moment, then remembered himself and shut the door. “They do, but I’ve always preferred my uncle’s form of diplomacy. Manners are for enemies and strangers, and I always found them a bit false among friends.”
With a sigh, Celia took up the chalice and drank deep. Wine was ill advised when carrying a child, but Danilaesis had stolen sips of her wine often enough to know it was little more than water scented with grape. She would have to drink a bucket of the stuff before Danilaesis would fade from her worries. “So you would presume us friends?” she asked. The servant girl resumed her work on Celia’s back, digging fingers into the muscles and working them loose as Celia made quiet noises of approval.
“Of course,” said Dan. “Our lives may be different. I still have lessons every day; you have to sit long hours on the throne listening to nobles prattle. I spill the blood of our enemies to protect the empire; you spill your own to provide it heirs. You take your pleasures with Tia atop you; I’d prefer to—”
“Where is this leading?” Celia asked. Dan watched as Tia blushed. Like all the palace servants, she was enspelled to remember nothing of conversations among her betters, but she was listening in as they spoke.
“We have our common problems as well. Axterion is becoming a bother.”
“We have a powerful sorcerer at the head of the Imperial Circle once more. I find it more of a blessing than a bother.”
“And when he contradicts you in front of the court?” Danilaesis asked.
Celia held up a hand, and Tia paused her ministrations, wiping her hands on the hem of her dress and sitting back on the bed away from her empress. Dan smirked and moved to the side table where Emperor Sommick kept a selection of expensive liquors. The chambers were Celia’s alone, but when the emperor visited on official business, he needed strong drink. Pouring himself a chalice of brandy, Dan waited for Celia to decide how she would answer.
“Leave us,” Celia ordered. Despite the fact that Tia was no threat to remember anything that was about to be said, there were elements of decorum and embarrassment to consider. The servant girl nodded to the empress and rose to leave. On her way past, Dan winked at her, causing her to flush anew. She was peasant comely, which meant she was plain but well-formed; Dan only teased for her reaction, not with any intention of following through on it.
When the door closed, Celia’s demeanor shifted. She rolled over
He knocked on the door of Empress Celia’s private chambers. The ornate doors were meant to be impressive, but Danilaesis had never cared for them. The gold leafing and red lacquer seemed gaudy. His family’s estate was not quite so richly appointed, but it was done with better taste, in black and silver. The Solaran Estate runed theirs better as well.
When there was no quick answer to his knock, Danilaesis forced the door. He had done it enough times that he knew just where to apply a bit of pressure to cause the wards to fail and leave the lock unprotected for a moment. There was a gasp from within.
“What are you doing—” the servant’s words were cut off in her throat as self-preservation warned her that it was the warlock barging in on her empress.
Celia lay on her side, facing away from the door, the bare skin of her back glistening with oils. She was nestled among a vast pile of embroidered pillows, propped up in languorous comfort as her servant kneaded the tension from her. A chalice at the bedside in easy reach of the empress told that she sought her ease inside as well as out. “Do they no longer teach manners at the Academy?”
Danilaesis caught himself staring for a moment, then remembered himself and shut the door. “They do, but I’ve always preferred my uncle’s form of diplomacy. Manners are for enemies and strangers, and I always found them a bit false among friends.”
With a sigh, Celia took up the chalice and drank deep. Wine was ill advised when carrying a child, but Danilaesis had stolen sips of her wine often enough to know it was little more than water scented with grape. She would have to drink a bucket of the stuff before Danilaesis would fade from her worries. “So you would presume us friends?” she asked. The servant girl resumed her work on Celia’s back, digging fingers into the muscles and working them loose as Celia made quiet noises of approval.
“Of course,” said Dan. “Our lives may be different. I still have lessons every day; you have to sit long hours on the throne listening to nobles prattle. I spill the blood of our enemies to protect the empire; you spill your own to provide it heirs. You take your pleasures with Tia atop you; I’d prefer to—”
“Where is this leading?” Celia asked. Dan watched as Tia blushed. Like all the palace servants, she was enspelled to remember nothing of conversations among her betters, but she was listening in as they spoke.
“We have our common problems as well. Axterion is becoming a bother.”
“We have a powerful sorcerer at the head of the Imperial Circle once more. I find it more of a blessing than a bother.”
“And when he contradicts you in front of the court?” Danilaesis asked.
Celia held up a hand, and Tia paused her ministrations, wiping her hands on the hem of her dress and sitting back on the bed away from her empress. Dan smirked and moved to the side table where Emperor Sommick kept a selection of expensive liquors. The chambers were Celia’s alone, but when the emperor visited on official business, he needed strong drink. Pouring himself a chalice of brandy, Dan waited for Celia to decide how she would answer.
“Leave us,” Celia ordered. Despite the fact that Tia was no threat to remember anything that was about to be said, there were elements of decorum and embarrassment to consider. The servant girl nodded to the empress and rose to leave. On her way past, Dan winked at her, causing her to flush anew. She was peasant comely, which meant she was plain but well-formed; Dan only teased for her reaction, not with any intention of following through on it.
When the door closed, Celia’s demeanor shifted. She rolled over
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