Death and the Emperor

Book 1 Chapter XIII: Marry in Haste, Repent at Leisure

"It's too late to correct it," said the Red Queen: "when you've once said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences." -- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There

The next morning, Kilan woke up with the unpleasant feeling that he'd done something extremely foolish last night. He lay still for a moment and took stock of his surroundings.

He was in his own bed. That was good, and certainly an improvement on his sixteenth birthday, when a combination of too much alcohol, a dare, and a slippery floor had resulted in him waking up in a hospital bed.

He was naked. On its own that was neither good nor bad, but it was unusual enough to be rather alarming. He had never slept in anything less than a pair of pyjamas before.

There was someone next to him. That was bad. Especially now his memories of last night had returned.

Oh no. Oh no. How in the name of all the gods could he have been such a fool?

He buried his face in his pillow. What had he been thinking?

The answer was only too obvious. He hadn't been thinking at all. Idiot that he was, he had acted without thought, and now here he was. In bed with Death, and married to her in both worlds. Well, this was just wonderful.

Against his will he glanced over at the woman lying beside him. Death, damn her, was peacefully sleeping, oblivious to her new "husband" having a mental breakdown.

Oh gods. He was her husband now. There went any chance of marrying the Duchess. Worse, there went any chance of marrying any mortal woman, which, if he was to be Emperor, would be expected. Could this situation be any worse?

There was a knock at the door.

Kilan realised that yes, it could be worse.

"Your Highness?" his valet called through the door. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Kilan said, trying to arrange the covers so they would hide Death from view while scanning the room in search of something to wear. Where were his clothes? "Could you... Er..." How was he to tell his valet to go away right now and don't come back without raising suspicions? "I want to have a lie-in today. I have a headache."

"As you wish, your Highness," his valet replied, as if Kilan staying in bed after seven o'clock was a perfectly normal occurrence. Kilan wondered with a sense of dread if this would be gossiped about among the servants for weeks to come. "Shall I have a headache remedy sent to you?"

"No! No, I'll be fine in an hour or two."

"Very good, your Highness."

Only after his valet's footsteps had travelled down the corridor and out of earshot did Kilan let out the breath he'd been holding. One disaster averted. Now to deal with the next one. Namely, the embodiment of Death who had somehow slept through the entire conversation.

There were times when Death reminded Kilan of nothing so much as a humanoid cat. Her eyes, the odd gracefulness of her movements, and the curious humming noise, almost like a purr, he'd heard her make at times all made her seem very cat-like. So did her fondness for naps. One would think the personification of death itself would have no need for sleep, yet he had seen Death fall asleep at the strangest times, in the strangest of places.

This would have been an amusing oddity, if right now she weren't asleep in his bed, as naked as he himself was.

Kilan debated waking her at once. After a moment's thought, he decided that if he was to be at all able to cope with this, he needed to put some clothes on first. And perhaps have a drink of the tanyl[1] he kept by his bedside.