kay_brooke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kay_brooke) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2012-05-15 10:58 am
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-05-15 10:58 am
Alice Blue #8, Burnt Umber #12, Screaming Green #17
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Alice Blue #8 (curiouser and curiouser), Burnt Umber #12 (Kunlun Mountains), Screaming Green #17 (sudden acquaintance brings repentance)
Styles/Supplies: Frame, Seed Beads, Pastels toorigfic_bingo card prompt "honor"
Word Count: 3,055
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Cheyti meets Gyeth.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Cheyti hadn't expected to see the Emperor that day. She thought she would have more time to prepare, but a servant had come to her guest quarters shortly after the first sun set and informed her that she would be attending to the Emperor in the throne room and then accompanying him to dinner. She was to dress immediately.
Why is he in such a hurry to see me? she wondered. Was the Emperor so desperate that he couldn't wait to meet her until she had slept for the night, until she had washed the days' travel from her spirit? Checking herself in the mirror, she knew she looked presentable. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a simple but elegant knot, and while her green gown wasn't made of the finest silk it still shimmered and hung flatteringly from her curves. But she couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes and the redness in her cheeks, chapped irritation caused by several days on horseback with both suns beating down upon her.
"Is there paint?" Cheyti asked her handmaiden Berna, gingerly touching the tender areas of her face.
Berna's reflection in the mirror shook her head. "It is among our baggage, which is still yet packed. You would not want paint now, anyway. It would only exacerbate that burn."
Cheyti smiled at her in the mirror. "Since when are you a physician?"
"That is no medicine, but common sense," Berna replied, returning the smile.
Cheyti surveyed herself in the mirror again and sighed. She looked rough. She looked like she had spent several days traveling with little sleep. She looked like every stereotype of a Wyrtessian that the Ceenta Voweiians must believe. From the land of barbarians, she was, even though her people had nothing to do with the wild Cottocks who roamed the mountains. She didn't think the people here made much distinction between them and she had hoped to convince them otherwise. But because the Emperor had called her before she was ready, she would appear as their worst fears.
"Do not worry," said Berna soothingly, pulling back a strand of hair that escaped from its knot and fell across Cheyti's shoulder. "It is not like he will know."
Cheyti bit her lip as fear flooded her again. She pulled away from Berna's hands and looked down at the floor. "He will know. His servants will tell him."
"Look up," said Berna gently but firmly. "You are not to appear without confidence."
"I know," said Cheyti, biting back the resentment she felt that Berna wanted her to keep up her act even here in the privacy of their quarters. "I understand perfectly well what I am to do."
Berna nodded. "You know I am not to come with you."
"I know." She so desperately wanted Berna to come with her, even though she knew, intellectually, that she had nothing to fear. Not in the palace of the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei. But she still didn't want to be alone.
At that moment there was a knock upon her door, and when Berna opened it a servant, the same one who had come around earlier to tell her to get ready, stood there. He was little more than a boy, perhaps in his late teenage years, but she envied the confident stance he held. Even the servants here were more sophisticated than she could ever hope to be; what in all the worlds would the Emperor think of her? So much for proving her people weren't the very same barbarians who had threatened Ceenta Vowei for generations.
"You are ready?" said the servant, and Cheyti nodded. She followed the servant out into the hallway and through several corridors that she soon lost track of. Everything in the palace was finely made, from the plush carpet to the silver engraved lamps lining the walls to the exquisite tapestries depicting scenes Cheyti couldn't begin to understand. Even the fine white stone of the palace itself was like nothing else she had ever seen before. She glanced sidelong at the servant, wondering if he was laughing inwardly at her gaping, but his face gave no sign of it. He didn't even look back at her. Cheyti focused on the floor, remembered that she was supposed to be confident, and raised her head once again. She tilted her chin up slightly to give herself an even more self-assured pose. Even if it didn't seem that the servant was looking, she knew that he was. She had been coached very carefully by the Elders, and she knew her every move would be noticed by the Emperor's people. Her entire purpose for being there was to be judged, after all.
Cheyti hated all of it, but the Elders had made it clear to her there was no other choice. They had been waiting many years for a meeting like this to happen, and they had not hesitated to let her know that her performance may very well decide the fate of her entire people.
That was not the impact she had wanted to make. She had been a scholar back in Rednor. She had wanted to contribute to the collective knowledge of her people. Instead the Elders had turned her into political currency, to be spent as they saw fit. She had often wondered if it was punishment, if she unwittingly had done something to upset or oppose the Elders.
Cheyti was so deep in her own thoughts that she almost failed to notice that the servant led her straight past the door that she already knew opened into the throne room. Her mouth opened almost of its own volition, and the words were out before she could stop them. "I thought I was to meet the Emperor in the throne room?"
Now the servant glanced at her, and Cheyti bit her lip, wondering if her words had sounded confident. To her they had seemed deeply uncertain, and she was horrified that she was accumulating so many points against her before she had even seen the man she had been sent to see.
"Plans have changed," said the servant shortly, looking back away from her. His quick stride hadn't once broken pace and Cheyti was beginning to fear she wouldn't be able to keep up with him for much longer. She was so weary from her travels. "The Emperor wishes to meet with you privately in a more informal setting."
"I see," said Cheyti, pretending like this was in no way a problem. Inside she shook with fear. She had counted on first seeing the Emperor in the safety of public, where she might be able to acclimate herself to him.
"Here we are," the servant said, stopping in front of a set of inlaid wooden doors. They were simple compared to the lavish finery that decorated the other doors in this place, and Cheyti waited, her breath held, as the servant opened the doors and showed her into the room.
It was a small room that seemed to be a combination of a sitting room and a dining room. One side held an oak table large enough for only four matching chairs with red silk cushions. The theme of red silk and wood extended to the rest of the room, which held a fireplace and a lush sofa with a pair of matching chairs, all inlaid with dark oak. The sitting area of the room was more dimly lit, the only light coming from the fireplace.
Cheyti took in all these details, but her attention was almost immediately drawn to the sole occupant of the room, a dark-haired man in a simple tunic and trousers, his booted feet propped up on a table sat in front of the sofa he lounged upon. He was staring into the fire and idly twirling a glass of wine in his hand. His other arm was thrown back across the sofa. Cheyti stumbled to a halt, surprised by such a casual show. Surely the man wasn't the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei?
"You're here," he said suddenly, not looking toward the doorway. Of course, he wouldn't. But how did he know anyone was there? Had he heard the door open? She was almost surprised to hear him speak. She had imagined a man almost like a dummy, with no speech nor wits nor other senses, sitting upon a throne he had only gained through the luck of birth while his advisors ruled for him. But this man almost seemed normal. Was he an advisor? Was it he she was supposed to impress?
"Please, come in," the man continued, leaning forward to place the glass of wine on the table in front of him. He put his feet back on the floor as he did so, and sat up straighter.
When he turned to look at her, Cheyti took a deep breath. This was not the Emperor. This was someone who had been chosen to speak for him. Or to speak for the Emperor's advisors, whoever it was that ran the actual empire.
"Please," he repeated, holding a hand out toward her.
Cheyti put on her most confident smile and stepped further into the room, approaching the sofa and allowing the man to take her hand in his own. He smiled back, and she realized that he was quite handsome. He had high, strong cheekbones and clear green eyes. His teeth were straight and his skin unblemished. His hair, which she saw now was a lighter brown than she had first thought, was swept back in a fashionable style. His hands seemed strong with some calluses that evidenced hard work on his part--probably with weapons--but not too rough. Not as rough as she felt her own were, and she blushed with embarrassment, hoping the dim light would hide it--though her she probably didn't need to worry about her sunburn.
"Sit," said the man, coaxing her down not onto the sofa next to him, but to one of the chairs next to it. "How was your travel?"
"It was uneventful and quite comfortable," she lied. "I thank you for your concern, my-" she stopped, embarrassed anew. Who was this man and how should she address him? Heart beating in her chest hard enough that she feared it would break free and fly away, she said, "Please forgive me, but I have a question."
"Don't be afraid of questions," said the man. "Please, ask me whatever you want."
Cheyti swallowed. "I-I do not know who I am meeting with. What is your title?"
Despite his insistence that she could ask any question, the silence which followed convinced Cheyti that she had seriously overstepped her bounds and offended him. She bowed her head. "Please accept my apologies," she said. "I have memorized the names and titles of the Ceenta Voweiian royalty and nobility, but I do not know what any of them look like."
"You memorized the names and titles of the entire nobility?" said the man, sounding incredulous. At least he didn't seem offended anymore, so Cheyti nodded.
"Yes, as is appropriate. It was the very least I could do." Ever since the Elders had chosen her for this purpose she had studied as hard as she could, learning the Ceenta Voweiian language so well that she was nearly fluent in it, and forcing herself to become familiar with the empire's history, culture, heroes, and important figures, as well as the family trees and origins of each noble family. She had been terrified she would appear stupid in front of the people she was supposed to impress, so she was determined to know almost as much as them by the time she was summoned to the palace.
The man fell silent again and turned to face the fire, and Cheyti barely stopped herself from wringing her hands nervously. This man was clearly unimpressed by her, and if he really was the one chosen to deal with her it seemed she had failed. The Elders would he horribly disappointed. She had let her entire people down.
She was working herself up into a quiet panic when she realized the man was making a noise. It was soft at first, so soft that she thought she was mistaken about what it was. But then he got louder, and there was no denying it. The strange man was laughing, positively giggling, holding his hand over his mouth as if he was a young boy trying his best to behave during a solemn occasion. Cheyti held her breath, scandalized.
"I am sorry," the man gasped out after he had managed to get himself under control. "Oh, please, I apologize so much. Forgive me, I beg you." His words were rather undermined by the occasional giggle still surfacing under his breath.
Cheyti had no idea how to respond. Of all that she had imagined, scenarios good and bad and horrible, this wasn't among them.
"So," he said, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his knees as if bracing himself for something, "you wish to know who I am."
Cheyti blushed again. She'd hoped he'd just forgotten her impertinent question.
"Cheyti," he said, and the way he said her name did nothing to help the intensity of the heat flooding her face. "Cheyti of the Wyrtessians, I am Emperor Gyeth of Ceenta Vowei." In the silence that followed, he added, "Is that a formal enough introduction for you? The fault was mine. I didn't even consider that you wouldn't know what I looked like. It was a stupid assumption on my part, and I'm sorry."
Cheyti was speechless. This was the Emperor? This handsome, entirely functional man was the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei that everyone talked about in hushed, apologetic tones? That couldn't be right. Were the things people said all lies? How was that even possible?
"You did know you were meeting with me?" asked the Emperor, cocking his head at her.
"Yes," Cheyti managed to force out. "But--"
"But?"
"You are not what I imagined." Cheyti was horrified at her own boldness. All her life she had spoken her mind, but this was the worst possible time to give in to that impulse. She couldn't stop herself. "You are not what people said."
"What do people say?"
Cheyti looked down into her lap again, not bothering to hide her shyness. This mas was onto her now and she had nothing more to lose. "You are not blind."
There was another pause, and when she chanced a glance up at him he was looking at her, his head still cocked to the side. "But I am," he said quietly.
How could he say such a thing, when he was clearly looking right at her? But as Cheyti held his gaze she realized she wasn't holding his gaze at all, because his gaze wasn't on her. His eyes were fixed at some point a little above her left shoulder. It had been hard to tell in the firelight, but she was suddenly sure that he hadn't looked directly at her once since she'd entered the room.
He reached over and took her hand, as if he could see it sitting on her knee as well as anyone else. "You cannot catch it from me."
She shook her head, realized that was a useless gesture, and answered, "No. I would not think such a thing."
"Perhaps not at the forefront of your mind," he said, dropping her hand and sitting back against the sofa. "But it is a common fear, that touching me or looking too long at me will pass disease to you."
"No," said Cheyti feebly, but she knew that very thing had been the source of her fear, as well as the thought that she was to be married off to a man who wasn't a man at all, but an invalid.
"I have no disease," he continued. "I have been blind since birth and there is no way you could ever become like me just by being in my presence."
"No," said Cheyti again, swallowing past the lump in her throat.
"I know what some others think of me," said the Emperor. "I know it was a long hard battle to reach my position and even then the High Councilors would not allow it unless I shared my power with my sister. Which I gladly do, of course. Loathe as I am to admit it, there are certain duties required of an Emperor that I am incapable of. I trust my sister more than anyone to handle those things."
Cheyti gave a murmur of agreement. She knew all about Kyla, the Empress of Ceenta Vowei. It was this strange power structure that had called the Elders' attention to the empire in the first place. They had brokered a deal with the Emperor and his advisors that the Emperor would at least consider a marriage of alliance between himself and a Wyrtessian woman. That was why Cheyti was there.
“But I assure you, my mind is fine,” he said, and then he smiled again like he could see her, and the combination of his words and the smile instantly lifted the suffocating fear she had been living with for nearly a year, ever since the Elders had told her she was the one they had selected as the Ceenta Voweiian Emperor’s future wife. For that whole year she had lived in terror that she would appear too stupid and back country to the Emperor’s advisors and to his sister, the Empress. And that even if she made it past that hurdle and was accepted by the Ceenta Voweiian royal family, that she would spend the rest of her life tied to a witless invalid who would never be able to hold a conversation with her or be with her the way a husband should be with a wife. The last thing she had expected was this handsome, strong, articulate man who seemed to accept her despite her own background.
She thought perhaps it was only fair that she do the same for him, so she smiled back and, because he couldn’t see it, took his hand to show him that she was.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Alice Blue #8 (curiouser and curiouser), Burnt Umber #12 (Kunlun Mountains), Screaming Green #17 (sudden acquaintance brings repentance)
Styles/Supplies: Frame, Seed Beads, Pastels to
origfic_bingo card prompt "honor"Word Count: 3,055
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Cheyti meets Gyeth.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Cheyti hadn't expected to see the Emperor that day. She thought she would have more time to prepare, but a servant had come to her guest quarters shortly after the first sun set and informed her that she would be attending to the Emperor in the throne room and then accompanying him to dinner. She was to dress immediately.
Why is he in such a hurry to see me? she wondered. Was the Emperor so desperate that he couldn't wait to meet her until she had slept for the night, until she had washed the days' travel from her spirit? Checking herself in the mirror, she knew she looked presentable. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a simple but elegant knot, and while her green gown wasn't made of the finest silk it still shimmered and hung flatteringly from her curves. But she couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes and the redness in her cheeks, chapped irritation caused by several days on horseback with both suns beating down upon her.
"Is there paint?" Cheyti asked her handmaiden Berna, gingerly touching the tender areas of her face.
Berna's reflection in the mirror shook her head. "It is among our baggage, which is still yet packed. You would not want paint now, anyway. It would only exacerbate that burn."
Cheyti smiled at her in the mirror. "Since when are you a physician?"
"That is no medicine, but common sense," Berna replied, returning the smile.
Cheyti surveyed herself in the mirror again and sighed. She looked rough. She looked like she had spent several days traveling with little sleep. She looked like every stereotype of a Wyrtessian that the Ceenta Voweiians must believe. From the land of barbarians, she was, even though her people had nothing to do with the wild Cottocks who roamed the mountains. She didn't think the people here made much distinction between them and she had hoped to convince them otherwise. But because the Emperor had called her before she was ready, she would appear as their worst fears.
"Do not worry," said Berna soothingly, pulling back a strand of hair that escaped from its knot and fell across Cheyti's shoulder. "It is not like he will know."
Cheyti bit her lip as fear flooded her again. She pulled away from Berna's hands and looked down at the floor. "He will know. His servants will tell him."
"Look up," said Berna gently but firmly. "You are not to appear without confidence."
"I know," said Cheyti, biting back the resentment she felt that Berna wanted her to keep up her act even here in the privacy of their quarters. "I understand perfectly well what I am to do."
Berna nodded. "You know I am not to come with you."
"I know." She so desperately wanted Berna to come with her, even though she knew, intellectually, that she had nothing to fear. Not in the palace of the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei. But she still didn't want to be alone.
At that moment there was a knock upon her door, and when Berna opened it a servant, the same one who had come around earlier to tell her to get ready, stood there. He was little more than a boy, perhaps in his late teenage years, but she envied the confident stance he held. Even the servants here were more sophisticated than she could ever hope to be; what in all the worlds would the Emperor think of her? So much for proving her people weren't the very same barbarians who had threatened Ceenta Vowei for generations.
"You are ready?" said the servant, and Cheyti nodded. She followed the servant out into the hallway and through several corridors that she soon lost track of. Everything in the palace was finely made, from the plush carpet to the silver engraved lamps lining the walls to the exquisite tapestries depicting scenes Cheyti couldn't begin to understand. Even the fine white stone of the palace itself was like nothing else she had ever seen before. She glanced sidelong at the servant, wondering if he was laughing inwardly at her gaping, but his face gave no sign of it. He didn't even look back at her. Cheyti focused on the floor, remembered that she was supposed to be confident, and raised her head once again. She tilted her chin up slightly to give herself an even more self-assured pose. Even if it didn't seem that the servant was looking, she knew that he was. She had been coached very carefully by the Elders, and she knew her every move would be noticed by the Emperor's people. Her entire purpose for being there was to be judged, after all.
Cheyti hated all of it, but the Elders had made it clear to her there was no other choice. They had been waiting many years for a meeting like this to happen, and they had not hesitated to let her know that her performance may very well decide the fate of her entire people.
That was not the impact she had wanted to make. She had been a scholar back in Rednor. She had wanted to contribute to the collective knowledge of her people. Instead the Elders had turned her into political currency, to be spent as they saw fit. She had often wondered if it was punishment, if she unwittingly had done something to upset or oppose the Elders.
Cheyti was so deep in her own thoughts that she almost failed to notice that the servant led her straight past the door that she already knew opened into the throne room. Her mouth opened almost of its own volition, and the words were out before she could stop them. "I thought I was to meet the Emperor in the throne room?"
Now the servant glanced at her, and Cheyti bit her lip, wondering if her words had sounded confident. To her they had seemed deeply uncertain, and she was horrified that she was accumulating so many points against her before she had even seen the man she had been sent to see.
"Plans have changed," said the servant shortly, looking back away from her. His quick stride hadn't once broken pace and Cheyti was beginning to fear she wouldn't be able to keep up with him for much longer. She was so weary from her travels. "The Emperor wishes to meet with you privately in a more informal setting."
"I see," said Cheyti, pretending like this was in no way a problem. Inside she shook with fear. She had counted on first seeing the Emperor in the safety of public, where she might be able to acclimate herself to him.
"Here we are," the servant said, stopping in front of a set of inlaid wooden doors. They were simple compared to the lavish finery that decorated the other doors in this place, and Cheyti waited, her breath held, as the servant opened the doors and showed her into the room.
It was a small room that seemed to be a combination of a sitting room and a dining room. One side held an oak table large enough for only four matching chairs with red silk cushions. The theme of red silk and wood extended to the rest of the room, which held a fireplace and a lush sofa with a pair of matching chairs, all inlaid with dark oak. The sitting area of the room was more dimly lit, the only light coming from the fireplace.
Cheyti took in all these details, but her attention was almost immediately drawn to the sole occupant of the room, a dark-haired man in a simple tunic and trousers, his booted feet propped up on a table sat in front of the sofa he lounged upon. He was staring into the fire and idly twirling a glass of wine in his hand. His other arm was thrown back across the sofa. Cheyti stumbled to a halt, surprised by such a casual show. Surely the man wasn't the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei?
"You're here," he said suddenly, not looking toward the doorway. Of course, he wouldn't. But how did he know anyone was there? Had he heard the door open? She was almost surprised to hear him speak. She had imagined a man almost like a dummy, with no speech nor wits nor other senses, sitting upon a throne he had only gained through the luck of birth while his advisors ruled for him. But this man almost seemed normal. Was he an advisor? Was it he she was supposed to impress?
"Please, come in," the man continued, leaning forward to place the glass of wine on the table in front of him. He put his feet back on the floor as he did so, and sat up straighter.
When he turned to look at her, Cheyti took a deep breath. This was not the Emperor. This was someone who had been chosen to speak for him. Or to speak for the Emperor's advisors, whoever it was that ran the actual empire.
"Please," he repeated, holding a hand out toward her.
Cheyti put on her most confident smile and stepped further into the room, approaching the sofa and allowing the man to take her hand in his own. He smiled back, and she realized that he was quite handsome. He had high, strong cheekbones and clear green eyes. His teeth were straight and his skin unblemished. His hair, which she saw now was a lighter brown than she had first thought, was swept back in a fashionable style. His hands seemed strong with some calluses that evidenced hard work on his part--probably with weapons--but not too rough. Not as rough as she felt her own were, and she blushed with embarrassment, hoping the dim light would hide it--though her she probably didn't need to worry about her sunburn.
"Sit," said the man, coaxing her down not onto the sofa next to him, but to one of the chairs next to it. "How was your travel?"
"It was uneventful and quite comfortable," she lied. "I thank you for your concern, my-" she stopped, embarrassed anew. Who was this man and how should she address him? Heart beating in her chest hard enough that she feared it would break free and fly away, she said, "Please forgive me, but I have a question."
"Don't be afraid of questions," said the man. "Please, ask me whatever you want."
Cheyti swallowed. "I-I do not know who I am meeting with. What is your title?"
Despite his insistence that she could ask any question, the silence which followed convinced Cheyti that she had seriously overstepped her bounds and offended him. She bowed her head. "Please accept my apologies," she said. "I have memorized the names and titles of the Ceenta Voweiian royalty and nobility, but I do not know what any of them look like."
"You memorized the names and titles of the entire nobility?" said the man, sounding incredulous. At least he didn't seem offended anymore, so Cheyti nodded.
"Yes, as is appropriate. It was the very least I could do." Ever since the Elders had chosen her for this purpose she had studied as hard as she could, learning the Ceenta Voweiian language so well that she was nearly fluent in it, and forcing herself to become familiar with the empire's history, culture, heroes, and important figures, as well as the family trees and origins of each noble family. She had been terrified she would appear stupid in front of the people she was supposed to impress, so she was determined to know almost as much as them by the time she was summoned to the palace.
The man fell silent again and turned to face the fire, and Cheyti barely stopped herself from wringing her hands nervously. This man was clearly unimpressed by her, and if he really was the one chosen to deal with her it seemed she had failed. The Elders would he horribly disappointed. She had let her entire people down.
She was working herself up into a quiet panic when she realized the man was making a noise. It was soft at first, so soft that she thought she was mistaken about what it was. But then he got louder, and there was no denying it. The strange man was laughing, positively giggling, holding his hand over his mouth as if he was a young boy trying his best to behave during a solemn occasion. Cheyti held her breath, scandalized.
"I am sorry," the man gasped out after he had managed to get himself under control. "Oh, please, I apologize so much. Forgive me, I beg you." His words were rather undermined by the occasional giggle still surfacing under his breath.
Cheyti had no idea how to respond. Of all that she had imagined, scenarios good and bad and horrible, this wasn't among them.
"So," he said, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his knees as if bracing himself for something, "you wish to know who I am."
Cheyti blushed again. She'd hoped he'd just forgotten her impertinent question.
"Cheyti," he said, and the way he said her name did nothing to help the intensity of the heat flooding her face. "Cheyti of the Wyrtessians, I am Emperor Gyeth of Ceenta Vowei." In the silence that followed, he added, "Is that a formal enough introduction for you? The fault was mine. I didn't even consider that you wouldn't know what I looked like. It was a stupid assumption on my part, and I'm sorry."
Cheyti was speechless. This was the Emperor? This handsome, entirely functional man was the Emperor of Ceenta Vowei that everyone talked about in hushed, apologetic tones? That couldn't be right. Were the things people said all lies? How was that even possible?
"You did know you were meeting with me?" asked the Emperor, cocking his head at her.
"Yes," Cheyti managed to force out. "But--"
"But?"
"You are not what I imagined." Cheyti was horrified at her own boldness. All her life she had spoken her mind, but this was the worst possible time to give in to that impulse. She couldn't stop herself. "You are not what people said."
"What do people say?"
Cheyti looked down into her lap again, not bothering to hide her shyness. This mas was onto her now and she had nothing more to lose. "You are not blind."
There was another pause, and when she chanced a glance up at him he was looking at her, his head still cocked to the side. "But I am," he said quietly.
How could he say such a thing, when he was clearly looking right at her? But as Cheyti held his gaze she realized she wasn't holding his gaze at all, because his gaze wasn't on her. His eyes were fixed at some point a little above her left shoulder. It had been hard to tell in the firelight, but she was suddenly sure that he hadn't looked directly at her once since she'd entered the room.
He reached over and took her hand, as if he could see it sitting on her knee as well as anyone else. "You cannot catch it from me."
She shook her head, realized that was a useless gesture, and answered, "No. I would not think such a thing."
"Perhaps not at the forefront of your mind," he said, dropping her hand and sitting back against the sofa. "But it is a common fear, that touching me or looking too long at me will pass disease to you."
"No," said Cheyti feebly, but she knew that very thing had been the source of her fear, as well as the thought that she was to be married off to a man who wasn't a man at all, but an invalid.
"I have no disease," he continued. "I have been blind since birth and there is no way you could ever become like me just by being in my presence."
"No," said Cheyti again, swallowing past the lump in her throat.
"I know what some others think of me," said the Emperor. "I know it was a long hard battle to reach my position and even then the High Councilors would not allow it unless I shared my power with my sister. Which I gladly do, of course. Loathe as I am to admit it, there are certain duties required of an Emperor that I am incapable of. I trust my sister more than anyone to handle those things."
Cheyti gave a murmur of agreement. She knew all about Kyla, the Empress of Ceenta Vowei. It was this strange power structure that had called the Elders' attention to the empire in the first place. They had brokered a deal with the Emperor and his advisors that the Emperor would at least consider a marriage of alliance between himself and a Wyrtessian woman. That was why Cheyti was there.
“But I assure you, my mind is fine,” he said, and then he smiled again like he could see her, and the combination of his words and the smile instantly lifted the suffocating fear she had been living with for nearly a year, ever since the Elders had told her she was the one they had selected as the Ceenta Voweiian Emperor’s future wife. For that whole year she had lived in terror that she would appear too stupid and back country to the Emperor’s advisors and to his sister, the Empress. And that even if she made it past that hurdle and was accepted by the Ceenta Voweiian royal family, that she would spend the rest of her life tied to a witless invalid who would never be able to hold a conversation with her or be with her the way a husband should be with a wife. The last thing she had expected was this handsome, strong, articulate man who seemed to accept her despite her own background.
She thought perhaps it was only fair that she do the same for him, so she smiled back and, because he couldn’t see it, took his hand to show him that she was.
no subject
I...I just really love these two together. They just get along so well, despite being in a situation that's not entirely within their spheres of control, and that's so refreshing in arranged marriages.
no subject
Thank you for reading!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject