Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 41.2 - Aster

After sending a page to notify Aselle that we can lunch in my suite, I track down a maid so she can make sure that the room is straightened and another to ensure we'll have food.

I really need my own man. I draw up short. Sela can't arrange it, and I wonder when she'll be able to arrange anything at all.

Forcing myself forward, I head back to the Mage Room and approach Solus. It seems odd that the one person I started out staunchly against is the only one who seems to have my back now. After I make sure he hasn't come across any new tasks that need my attention, he tells me the matters he's taken care of. I'm amazed by how efficient he is when we're not at odds.

Instead of getting to stay with him and learn, I head to my suite, where Aselle should soon be. If I'm lucky, she won't simply ridicule me the entire time.

Disapproval flits to the top of my mind, and I bite the other side of my lip. Bitterness does not become me. The door is already open when I arrive, and two maids inside are setting the table for lunch. They see me and curtsy. I nod, greeting them by name, and they duck their heads with a tight smile. The tension of the siege feels like an infection, slowly spreading even to those who should know little of it. When they finish settling everything, they step back to the walls. I walk to my bookshelf, but no sooner have I reached for the strange book of dooming poems than Aselle sweeps in.

"Prince Aster," she says, smiling. "How kind of you to let me eat with you."

My hand drops. I smile back, and knowing it looks genuine feels like venom. "I'm always glad to host you when I can."

Revelation washes over me like shockingly cold water. It's as if my compounded lies beat at a door in my mind until it revealed a shining pool of truth that I should have known since childhood. I struggle to keep my face steady.

It doesn't matter what cruelties the Ladies impose, what double-standards they hold, or how much they ridicule me. They are my people, just as much as the maids standing against the wall. I shouldn't have to pretend to be happy to see one of them. Lying and manipulation should not be my mode of operation simply because it is theirs.

I should not hate them.

Underneath my exhaustion, warmth flows through me. She and everyone else that seek to use me are misguided, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what wrongs they do me any more than Morineaux forsakes me for the wrongs I have done her. They are my people, and I love my people.

The venom drains away, and I take her hand, my palm-up, and raise it to my cheek. "I really am glad to have you here."

She seems surprised, but her own political smile softens some. "And I'm glad to be here."

I gesture to the maids, and they step forward to uncover our plates and pour our drinks.

"So," I begin, not bothering with pleasantries. Not because I'm too tired or frustrated or self-centered for them this time, but because I don't want to play games with her, or let her play them with me. "What is it you needed to speak with me about?"