Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(212)

Ran grinned, pulling her closer. “I can think of one or two ways.”

She plunged into the kiss with a fierce abandon while a tiny part of her mind marveled at the situation. She hadn’t intended to sleep with il Tornja when she burst into his chambers with news of her success, hadn’t even allowed herself to consider the thought. Adare hui’Malkeenian had spent her entire life knowing that the most crucial contribution she could make to the empire would be the giving of her hand in marriage. An imperial marriage could avert a war, seal a crucial trade agreement, or cement an alliance with a powerful aristocratic house. The choice is not yours, her father had told her gently but firmly time and time again, any more than I choose when to go to war, or receive a delegation from the Manjari.

She thought she had long ago accepted the constraints of her position and yet, as she had recounted the showdown with Uinian over a glass of Si’ite red, as she saw the admiration and then the hunger in Ran’s eyes, it suddenly seemed a small thing, less than nothing to fall into his arms. Only after, when they lay together, bodies pressed close in the tangled sheets, did she pause to reflect on the spectacular folly of what she had done. It had been folly, that much was clear, and yet it didn’t feel wrong. He’s not a stable boy, she reminded herself. He’s the kenarang, the ’Kent-kissing regent. Were they to marry, no one could accuse her of matching beneath her station.

And so she had stayed while the night wore on, until it seemed pointless to return to her own chambers.

“I will sleep here tonight,” she murmured, nestling her face into the firm flesh of his shoulder, “with you.”

“You’re welcome to the bed,” il Tornja replied, “but you’ll be the only one sleeping.”

He kissed her once more on the forehead, then groaned as he rolled upright.

“Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.

“The horseshit associated with regency is never-ending,” he replied. “The sooner your brother gets back here, the better.”

“You’re doing work now?”

“I’m not going far,” he said, nodding toward the heavy wooden desk across the room. “If you get frisky, I’ll be right over there.”

Adare grinned and fell back against the pillows, weariness and satisfaction washing over her in great soft waves. She felt good. Good to be in Ran’s bed. Good to have avenged her father. Good to have eliminated a threat to the Malkeenian line. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she had been truly tested, and she had passed the test. I’m sorry about Ran, Father, she thought, but you taught me well. I’m playing my part.

The thought of her father brought back the memory of his final bequest, the gift that he mentioned in his testament: Yenten’s History of the Atmani. She tossed in the bed for a while, but sleep had left her, and finally she sat up.

“Can you send one of your slaves to my chambers for a book?” she asked.

“Am I keeping you up?” He turned and gestured to the lamp. “I can dim this a little if you want. We can’t have the Imperial Princess uncomfortable.”

“The Imperial Princess is just fine, thank you. The Imperial Princess has a yen for some reading material. It’s Yenten’s History. My father left it to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A little light reading.”

“I’m not just a princess,” she replied, sticking out her chin. “I’m also the Minister of Finance.”

“You know,” he said carefully, “that the gongs have already tolled midnight. Tongues will be wagging about how late you lingered with the kenarang.…”

She stiffened. “You want me gone?”

He raised a conciliatory hand. “I want you here. Tonight. Tomorrow night. And all the nights after that. I’m just asking if it’s wise.”

She relaxed back into the bed. “A certain general once told me,” she said with a smile, “that you need to know when to plan, and when to act. Well, I’m acting finally, and realizing I have a taste for it.”

“So be it,” he replied before crossing the room, sticking his head out the door, and murmuring something to the slave just beyond.

A few minutes later, the man returned and passed a thick leather-bound codex through the gap in the door. Ran hefted it in his hand, flipped a couple of pages, then shrugged and tossed it onto the bed beside her. It landed with a thump.

“One chapter ought to put you right to sleep. Worse than these ’Shael-spawned petitions.”