Blood of a Thousand Stars (Empress of a Thousand Skies #2)(23)
“I’d rather stand,” Rhee said just as Lahna collapsed onto the white couch and gave it a bounce.
“Please,” Nero said, “I insist.”
Rhee snuck a look at Dahlen, who stood behind the couch watchfully, his face neutral—though she knew he was monitoring everyone’s movements out of the corner of his eye. She obliged, and noted the couch was rather cushiony, despite its angular design. Then she chided herself for becoming so easily distracted, and her whole body went rigid, alert, determined to focus. Nero had invited her for a reason. He wanted something, and she heard Veyron’s voice, his wisdom, whispering from the dead. You need to be three steps ahead of your opponent, always, he’d said during their final battle, just before he tried to kill her. Just before he died.
Dahlen cleared his throat loudly, pulling her out of her memory. Daisies zoomed in toward her, and she held perfectly still as he gave her a questioning look. She’d missed something.
Nero eyed them warily. “I was just saying—marveling, really—over the fact that you survived after the Eliedio exploded . . .”
That’s why she was here. To be interviewed, to tell her story—so it could be picked apart, so he could catch her in a lie and use it against her for all the galaxy to see.
“Those two weeks on the run were difficult,” she said slowly, choosing each word carefully. “But it was surviving a barrage of arrows this morning that was the real feat.”
Nero touched his finger to his cube, and the daisies went dead. Rhee tried not to show her alarm, though she’d had no idea his cube was capable of that. She thought again of his ambition to find the overwriter, and suppressed a chill.
“You’re a phenomenal actor,” Rhee said coolly.
“It’s why people like me.” He straightened up, a wry smile on his face. His nose was large, with a strong line to it—it looked disgustingly perfect on his face, as if every other feature had been placed there just to frame it. He’d always made her nervous, how immaculately handsome he was, but now something seemed odd about his face—a twitch in his lip, a squint of his left eye she had never noticed before. His energy was off.
“I don’t like you,” Lahna said casually, breaking the silence. Rhee almost laughed. That, at least, got a frown from Nero. He was probably not used to being around people who spoke the truth so easily. The guard with the eyepatch shifted just slightly behind Nero, the stunner on his belt in full view. He and Dahlen were locked in a staring contest.
A grimace passed over Nero’s features as if he’d smelled something foul. “For the love of the ancestors, lighten up, Yendit!” he yelled back to his guard. “Same goes for all of you, especially the Empress.” His gaze wandered from Rhee’s head to her toes. “You wear your resentment in the line of your jaw, in your posture.”
“You’d have me look more agreeable?”
“The scowling doesn’t suit your delicate features.” Nero smirked. “You’re the Rose of the Galaxy. Think of the support you could’ve garnered early on if you only smiled a bit more.”
Rhee read the subtext. If all she was was a collection of delicate features and rose petals, then surely her job was to wear a pleasant expression and put people at ease. As if her face didn’t belong to her, wasn’t linked to the emotions she felt—the grief and turmoil swirling inside her.
She hated this man, how he did vile things and dedicated his entire existence to gaining more power—to what end? She hated even more how he could cover up his wickedness with a superficial smile and a well-cut suit.
She smiled now, squeezing the coin tightly between her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger. “I suppose I was too busy imagining all the painful ways I could kill you.”
It was true, in a way. She had cultivated her mind and her fighting technique for ultimate vengeance all these years, though she’d been seeking vengeance on the wrong man. Until now.
“But I still found time in my busy schedule of envisioning your death to win the public over.” He was so poised. He’d spent years in front of the media, and it showed. Sitting before him, Rhee could feel her inexperience. “You really ought to consider your image more,” he continued. “Wouldn’t want everyone assuming you’re just a daddy’s girl, here to extend his soft policies. You’ll appear weak, just as he did.”
“If his policies seemed weak to anyone, it’s to the weak-minded—the ones who believe violence and war are the only answers,” Rhee fired back. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who fits that description?”
She leaned forward, an elbow on either knee, trying to take up as much space as possible—a thing she’d seen men do often. But for all her bravado, sweat gathered on the back of her neck. That specific phrase he’d used set off alarms all over her body. Daddy’s girl.
“In fact, I do.” Nero leaned forward too. “Only about half the galaxy.”
Daddy’s girl. She couldn’t focus, or properly exchange barbs with this pathetic excuse for a man—truly, her only pleasure in sitting across from him. Daddy’s girl. Daddy’s girl. Daddy’s girl. It repeated in her head. It was the exact same thing the man had whispered at her when she faced the crowd in front of the palace, on her arrival in Sibu. The protester certainly hadn’t been the first to call her that—nor would he be the last. Still, the timing of it put her on edge.