The empress.
She thought of her life as the empress, not as his wife. She imagined a life with the crown on her head, not a life with his arms around her waist. And she saw him as the emperor. Not as Sebestyén. In the past, he’d have admired her practicality. Respected her lack of sentiment. There and then, he hated it. Because he knew it was a state of repression, a state she’d been molded into. A state he’d been molded into.
“I see.” He rubbed his eyes feeling like they’d been illuminated with a new clarity.
A line marred the smooth space between her eyebrows. “Was my answer not satisfactory?”
“It was perfectly satisfactory, Lady Zsófia. Thank you very much for helping me resolve my dilemma.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware there was a dilemma.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. Please have a good day.”
And I hope we never have an occasion to meet again, he thought after she glided out of the parlor.
His father’s stare was glacial. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”
“Then you’ll just be admitting you’re deaf,” Sebestyén retorted clenching his fists.
He and his father were alone in the parlor, but he had no doubt that every servant listened in on their argument. Worry niggled at the back of his mind. Any moment, his father would recognize his true intentions. His lies would splinter under scrutiny, and he’d be damned. The former emperor slammed a hand on the armchair he sat in. Even though he was no longer a lad, the sound imbued Sebestyén with fear.
“You’re out of your mind, boy,” his father roared. “You’re to be married in a week. You can’t suddenly slink away to Mesinia for a month!”
“We’ll postpone the marriage. State matters take precedence over trivial personal events.”
“Marriage isn’t trivial. It’s your duty. The most important one.”
“But we must secure Mesinia’s borders at once.” Sebestyén raised his voice, desperate. “I sacrificed so much to win us those lands, and now we’re being threatened by a group of rebels.”
“Those uncivilized baboons aren’t really a threat. Any general worth his name could put an end to them in a day. There’s no need for you as the emperor to get involved with military matters personally.”
Sebestyén feared he was losing this argument, and that had been the only method he’d come up with to delay his marriage. To make up his mind about Rea and what she was to him. “I want to reassure the citizens of Mesinia that we care for them.”
“The citizens don’t need your reassurance. They need you to do your duty.” His father’s words were hard, unyielding, just like the man himself.
“I have to show my face in Mesinia sometime!” Sebestyén cried.
“Rubbish! For the last twenty years of my life, I’ve never left the palace. An emperor has people to manage things for him. Your job is to stay in the palace.”
“I…”
Already, it was terrifying to argue with a man as frightening as his father. Despite his advanced age and gray hair, the emperor cut an intimidating figure. He looked like a titan who could crush Sebestyén’s plans with one flick of his fingers.
It’s too early to give in.
A sharp ache knifed through his chest, right over where the tattoo was. Ever since he parted from Rea, those aches had become a regular feature in his life. Was it her pain? Was it his pain? Was it both their pain echoing through his ribcage in a tormenting symphony?
“Listen, lad, I was just as antsy as you when I first took the throne. Responsibility is a heavy beast, but the only way you’ll get used to it is by not running away.” Considering his father’s temperament, that sentence almost qualified as a tender hug. Showing sympathy for other people’s weaknesses, especially Sebestyén’s, wasn’t something the emperor did.
But it wasn’t what he wanted. Or needed. The crown was a burden, but not for the reasons his father believed.
Sebestyén calmed himself, then came up with the quickest lie he could. “There’s a promise I must fulfill to someone in Mesinia. It was made during the war and it’s thanks to their help that I survived.” It was some version of the truth, highly embellished though it was.
“Who’s this person?” asked the emperor. Suspicion sweetened his voice.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Sebestyén replied. “But they’re someone important.”
At least to him.
“You never mentioned this promise before.”
“I gave my word to that person to do anything they wanted. Only recently did they inform me that they wanted to see me immediately.”
“Sounds like sentimental claptrap.” The former emperor groaned.
Once, Sebestyén would’ve thought the same. Sentimentality was something he’d despised, something he viewed as a character flaw. But Rea had taught him better. To someone people sentimentality was a way of remembering themselves.
“Whatever it may be, I refuse to go back on my word.” Promises counted for something among men, which was why he had chosen that particular lie to tell his father. “Please postpone the wedding.”
“You leave me no choice then.” The former emperor sighed. “Talk to Count Asboth yourself. I’m not going to antagonize him over this matter.”
“All right. I will be sure to let him know.” Sebestyén’s chest swelled with triumph. Patting his face, he wondered if his glee was leaking through his pores, showing on his expression as clearly as the reflection of the moon on a still lake. “Thank you, your highness. I’ll take my leave now.”
“Sebestyén?” A sharp voice called as he approached the cusp of the parlor’s door. “I hope this isn’t about a woman.”
Sebestyén froze before liquid anger rushed through his veins and melted his paralysis. “And if it was a woman I owed a debt to? Would you have me renege on my word?”
“In the present situation, yes,” said the old emperor. “If your current behavior is anything to go by, I do not believe this female’s association with you is beneficial. You’ve become too defiant. Too distracted. At the end of the day, you have no authority unless it comes from me. I could easily dethrone you if the situation gets out of hand.”
Threats?
“Even if you did that, I would uphold my promise. A man’s honor is worth more than any title bestowed upon him. It was you who taught me that.”
A muscle protruded beneath the skin on the former emperor’s forehead. His eyes clouded over, the way they did when his anger reached boiling point. “Remember, lad,” he said. “A disgraced noble is but a beggar. If I cut off your allowance, snatch away your position, throw you out of the palace, you’ll be left with nothing. A common peasant’s life would look luxurious to you.”
“Will you do that?” Sebestyén questioned. “Make me a beggar?”
“Not unless you give me a reason to,” said the emperor. “If you don’t come back from Mesinia in two weeks and marry Zsófia, I’ll have a reason.”