The distance between relief and dread was a single breath.
Ett felt it seize her chest when Lady Dasra's voice lifted again, light and careless, as though curiosity were a harmless thing. Thank goodness Akan had withdrawn earlier, positioning himself far enough away to appear inattentive while missing nothing.
Even so, Ett's pulse lurched, sharp and sudden, as though her heart had been pulled straight up into her throat.
Lady Dasra truly has amazing guts. Her questions are very awesome.
"Were you jesting?"
The words fell into the air with deceptive softness.
For a moment, no one spoke. Tea steam curled lazily upward, carrying the faint scent of citrus leaves. Ett kept her gaze on her porcelain cup, the pale liquid within trembling ever so slightly.
"I… yes." The response came hurriedly, voice pitched too high. "Please forgive me, Your Highness. It was the most horrible jest."
Lady Ferie, ever eager to smooth rough waters, leaned forward at once.
"Aiya, apologies, Your Highness. Everyone believed that you would truly become His Majesty's Empress, given your standing and noble descent. It seemed only natural, and so the talk spread. Well…"
Her voice faltered before the end of the sentence, trailing into something uncertain.
Ett lifted her eyes then, slow and deliberate.
"Continue," Ett said calmly. "I wish to hear all of it."
Let me hear everything before I strike you senseless.
Lady Ferie swallowed. "It was also said that you were troubled by how the people regard the Emperor in an… unusual manner."
Unusual?
Ett felt the word settle unpleasantly against her thoughts. Her fingers paused against the cup's rim. In that instant, clarity struck her with startling force.
So that is how it was.
"Hah."
The sound escaped her before she could stop it, short and unamused.
Right, they were all of potential marriageable age, even she because of her physique and not her true 'age' per se. She knew the court possessed a remarkable imagination, but this went beyond mere embroidery.
Well…
Herself marrying her own son? What was this, some grotesque reflection of a forgotten myth? It would have been laughable if it had not made her stomach churn. A cold wave ran through her, the echo of nausea following close behind.
They did not know, of course. They could not know. Still, the very notion nearly robbed her of breath.
Hahaha.
What was that complex again…? Electra complex? Oh mama, please that will never happen. Freak. That's too freaky. We'll change genre if that happens. Nuh-uh.
Since we are already buried in absurdity, Ett thought, then let us dig deeper. Just for fun.
"Then tell me," she uttered, her tone even, almost idle. "What is your honest opinion of the Emperor?"
She allowed her gaze to drift across their faces one by one.
"Speak plainly. There is no need for restraint."
The three ladies were silent.
Only then did it dawn upon them that they were witnessing Lady Ettna's particular manner of… regard toward His Majesty. If it could be called that at all.
Ett's lips twitched, not in humor but in distaste. "I like him,"
"???"
"?!"
"You're expressions are worth the tease."
She uttered.
"Uhh."
"Ehem, excuse me."
Ett is quite fond of their shy, embarrassed expression but didn't show. "I like him…for his killing. That's it."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"His way of killing the enemies, is it not admirable?"
Alright? What do you want to say? You speechless? Kehe.
Lady Dasra smiled, well its not a smile, she was trying to smile.
"Other than that, there is nothing commendable about him."
Son, forgive me, Ett thought without remorse. In my heart, your mother is far more useless than you. I am content to be the hermit.
She set her cup down. "I am not his intended Empress. There is no binding between us."
"Oh."
The sound came from Lady Dasra, small and hollow.
Silence followed.
"Well," Ett added after a brief pause, as though recalling something of minor importance, "he is skilled in war."
It was the only concession she offered.
They did not respond.
Ett turned her attention instead to the quietest among them. "Lady Arandel. What are your thoughts?"
Lady Arandel, who had observed rather than participated throughout the gathering, inclined her head slightly. "Do you wish my words as a noble, or as myself?"
Ett replied, "I do not wish our speech to become blades for later use."
Not now, dearies.
Understanding flickered across their faces. This was a warning, clear and unmistakable. What was spoken here was not to be carried elsewhere, nor twisted into advantage. It was opinion only, nothing more.
"The Emperor," Lady Arandel began slowly, "rules with a firm hand."
That was all she said.
Ett raised a brow inwardly. Very prudent.
The others watched her closely, awaiting continuation.
"There are many ways to govern," Arandel went on. "His Majesty prefers that all matters rest within his grasp. He either seizes them entirely or destroys them. Yet, did he not safeguard the empire?"
"Indeed," Lady Dasra and Lady Ferie murmured together, their youth evident in their quick agreement.
"Some rulers resort to severity," Arandel continued. "Each bears a different manner of resolve. What matters is whether the result endures. Even with divided beliefs, His Majesty did not bring ruin upon our realm."
"Many still name him a tyrant," Lady Dasra muttered, her voice barely above the teacups.
Many, Ett thought, glancing at Dasra over the rim of her cup. Or merely some? She sipped quietly. A clever choice of words. Outspoken, yet never accountable.
"Even so," Lady Ferie interjected quickly, "Lady Arandel speaks true. Wanton slaughter is excess, and excess cannot be defended. We should look instead toward what lies ahead."
A bead of sweat clung to Ferie's temple. She smiled, though the strain showed.
Ett observed them carefully. Lady Dasra's cheer had dimmed, her nod hesitant, her smile incomplete.
Perhaps I should press further, Ett mused. The tea has lost its warmth.
"If your father had been among those slain without cause," she asked mildly, "would you say the same?"
"I…" Lady Ferie faltered.
"Aiya. There is no need to answer." Ett waved it away. "It was merely a passing notion."
Merely?
Lady Dasra's fingers trembled as she raised her cup, the liquid threatening to spill. She drank quickly, her brows knitting.
Why does the tea taste bitter today?
A calm voice cut through the tension.
"I have not endured such loss," Lady Arandel said, "nor do I desire it upon my kin. Yet such an end might plant resentment and longing for reprisal. To restrain such thoughts and choose instead a brighter path, for the sake of one's family, is admirable." She paused. "It is only my own passing thought."
Ett drank from her cup, her expression unreadable.
What a rare presence, she thought. If only I had one such ally here.
Interesting.
She felt no irritation at Arandel's careful mirroring of her words. On the contrary, her certainty deepened. This woman knew more than she revealed, yet preferred to remain unnoticed, a quiet fixture rather than a spark.
Lady Ferie smiled still, though uncertainty clouded her eyes. She did not know where to look.
In Ett's estimation, Lady Arandel grew steadily more compelling. Potential lay there, undisguised but disciplined.
"Lady Arandel speaks wisely," Ett said. "Those who overcome such trials emerge hardened. Their designs grow sharper."
Lady Dasra let out a small laugh, the tension in her throat easing at last.
Ett lifted her cup and let it chime softly against the saucer. "That will suffice. I see that brightness suits you far better than my darker interests."
Lady Dasra and Lady Ferie fell silent once more.
Then why summon such discourse at all? their expressions seemed to ask.
Only Lady Arandel smiled, subtle and brief.
Ett motioned, and Akan approached at once. Ever meticulous, he carried three small boxes and placed one before each lady. Ett's gaze lingered on the Lady of Zalore, who seemed dazed.
"Lady Ferie," Ett said, "are you unwell?"
"Ah. No, Your Highness. I was merely lost in thought. Is this a gift?"
No, it is a stone, Ett thought dryly. Can you not tell?
She inclined her head. "Do not open it here. Wait until you have returned."
Lady Dasra giggled. "Now you have made me all the more curious."
"Let us finish the tea first," Ett replied. "Lady Ferie prepared it with care."
"Yes." Ferie smiled more easily this time. "Even cooled, it remains drinkable."
Ett watched the scene settle back into gentler conversation, as though the earlier unease had never occurred.
Lady Ferie spoke little when matters grew strange, choosing instead to observe. She sensed discord, though she could not grasp its shape. Sensible, Ett judged. Still insufficient, were it Guren in her place. That man was hopeless when it came to understanding sentiment.
As their voices blended again, Ett exhaled quietly.
Exhausting.
Had it not been for the tea, she might have betrayed her fatigue outright. She had spoken more than intended, allowed emotion to surface merely to conceal herself.
What a draining day.
When she rose, her knees faltered. Akan was there at once, offering his arm with practiced grace.
"Are you departing, My Lady?" Lady Dasra asked.
Ett nodded. "I regret that I cannot remain. I must rest. Enjoy yourselves."
The three ladies stood and bowed.
"Rest well, Your Highness."
Ett inclined her head. Akan guided her away.
The moment she reached her chambers, she collapsed onto the bed.
"Ha."
Conversation was not without merit. One learned much from listening. Yet this body was frail beyond tolerance. Even the chair had felt like thorns.
Her hips ached. Her arms were numb from holding the cup. Her jaw felt misaligned, as though it had slipped loose.
Ett focused on breathing.
"You appeared to enjoy yourself," Akan remarked lightly.
"…Akan. Leave matters here to them. After a day or two, we will meet the Dean and return."
She had seen enough.
"As you wish, Your Ladyship. Once dinner is prepared, I'll let you know."
"Mmm."
She stared at the ceiling.
This will be the last time I drink tea with these nobles.