What the Night Left Behind
"Your Majesty. Mosquito?"
Lucy watched Laniakea scratching the back of her hand, worry written plain across her face.
"This? I don't think it's a mosquito..."
Laniakea's answer trailed off. A faint redness had risen at the center of the back of her hand. What on earth happened last night?
She remembered summoning Minnow and lingering far too long, and how exhaustion had crashed over her all at once. On an ordinary day she would not have tired so quickly, but a matter she had worried over for ages had finally taken shape, and she had talked with Hyperion for a very long time—and eaten with him besides. All of it had piled together until she dropped into a sleep as deep as a faint.
What she did remember was this: before she slept, Hyperion had asked for her hand, and she had simply set it in his. Even half-asleep and scarcely in her right mind, she had, thinking back on it, surrendered that hand with astonishing ease. She doubted she would have offered it so readily even if Lucy had asked. Honestly, she was appalled at herself for falling asleep like that. She was not a particularly sensitive person, but neither was she so unguarded that she drifted off in front of someone else at the drop of a hat. And the someone in question was Hyperion—Emperor of the Empire before he was ever her husband. To fall asleep in front of a man like that merely because she was tired, and after showing him that mortifying spectacle only days ago...!
"Ack!"
The memory struck, and Laniakea covered her face with both hands. I took my clothes off. And we held hands, and then...
For an instant the recollection returned with brutal clarity: the bed, the weight pressing down on her, and what had touched her from below. Heat climbed the nape of her neck, and her ears burned. She snatched up whatever document came to hand and fanned herself, but this was not a warmth that would be so easily chased away.
What embarrassed her still more was that remembering it made her head spin, and yet she could not say she had disliked it. Had she been afraid? She thought she had. It was the first time in her life, and she had been told it would be difficult and painful; it would have been strange not to be frightened. If they were to do it again, she would have to steel herself.
Even so, I don't think I'd be as afraid as I was the first time.
Laniakea's neck flushed a deeper red. She wondered whether dwelling on it like this meant she was turning into some kind of pervert.
No—but—even so...!
Desperately trying to drag her thoughts elsewhere, she looked at the reddened patch on the back of her hand. Tracing it with a fingertip, she tried to work out what had caused the mark. There was little enough to puzzle over. Hyperion had been the one holding her hand before she fell asleep, so it must have come from him. What she could not understand was what he could possibly have done to leave a mark this red. He certainly had not struck her.
I think he held my hand. Touched it.
Did a mere touch leave a mark like this? It did not hurt, so it was hardly a problem, and yet the question of how the mark had come to be remained stubbornly unsolved.
If I ask, will he tell me?
Then she could simply ask him tonight—
"Ah."
The moment the thought reached that far, Laniakea remembered something important. She had seen him yesterday, which meant she would not be going to the Main Palace today. The Ensi couple had advised that, from now on, the two of them meet only once every few days. When Gemma relayed this, she had watched Laniakea's face with care, as though worried the arrangement might make her uncomfortable. Contrary to Gemma's fears, Laniakea was disappointed by the decision.
There's more I wanted to ask.
She turned her gaze to the desk before her. The documents she had hurriedly carried to the Main Palace yesterday had all been reviewed that morning with Hyperion's help and sent back. Once the backlog—the urgent portion of it, at least—was cleared, color returned to the faces of the temporary officers standing nearby. They had been dispatched to the Empress's Palace from the Ministry of Finance and the Ministry of the Interior, and no doubt they wanted this place settled as soon as possible so they could return to their own departments. In her heart, Laniakea wanted to send them back just as quickly. The Empress's Palace was in disarray partly because its new mistress had only just arrived, and partly because people who meant to leave were still lingering here.
People who mean to leave.
Watching the officers work with awkward expressions, Laniakea's own face sank. The heat of a moment ago vanished as if someone had doused her in cold water, and her mind went cold. Her resolve had not changed.
One year.
If a child came, that span would stretch a little longer, but even then she would leave this place. Had the spirits been beside her, they would have asked in puzzlement why she insisted on going. Contrary to what she had expected, Hyperion had held on to her, and he had treated her with extraordinary care. She did not know why, but he clearly cherished her. Otherwise, on their first night, he would have carried out his duty as Emperor whether she lost consciousness or not. Instead he had drawn back, watched over her, and worried for her.
But.
He needs me for now, so he has no choice.
In the end, an empress was meant to share in the affairs of state that fell outside the Emperor's own sphere, and at the same time to govern within the palace. This time she had managed the work safely with Hyperion's help, but she could not ask him to help with everything. Her eyes moved to the officers bent diligently over their tasks. They wanted to go back soon, to the places where they belonged. Just as they did, Laniakea wanted to go somewhere that suited her.
After watching them a long while longer, she drew another document in front of her. Even those who meant to leave were working hard. She would have to try at least as hard as they did—no, harder than they did—right up to the end. She wanted the affairs of the Empress's Palace arranged as thoroughly as possible, so that whoever came after her might take them up a little more easily, a little more quickly, and be of help to Hyperion.
She had just picked up her pen and begun signing the documents she had finished reviewing when a voice came.
"Your Majesty. They say all the lady-in-waiting candidates have assembled."
"Have them come in."
Laniakea had sent word to everyone living in the capital who had either applied to become a lady-in-waiting or been judged suitable and named. Some already worked within the Imperial Palace; others remained with their families. The palace's reply had been delayed as it was, and those who finally received an answer came running at once. Now every one of them had arrived.
A short while after the maid withdrew, the door opened and twenty women entered. Watching them walk in, Laniakea swallowed a breath of admiration. As if each of them had come already prepared, from their gait to the way they stopped before her and offered their greetings, there was not a single flaw to be found.
"Come a little closer."
At her word the candidates kept their heads bowed and took two light steps nearer.
"You may all raise your faces. And you—begin by giving me your name."
She addressed the tall woman standing at the far left.
"I am Livia Lesron. I serve in the Ministry of Finance of the Imperial Palace, and I seek the honor of becoming Your Majesty's pen."
As she listened to the name, Laniakea found the woman's documents where she had stacked them to one side and looked them over along with her. The Lesron family had produced a number of Ministers of Finance, and still held several key posts in the Ministry.
Mm. This one is a talent the Ministry of Finance wants placed here.
Every department of the palace longed to set its own people inside every residence. Only then, when budgets were drawn and great undertakings planned, could they steer as much advantage as possible toward their own ministry.
"I am Haran Sdirenbessa. I currently serve in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and I wish to become Your Majesty's eyes and ears afar."
Haran went on to say that she spoke no fewer than twelve foreign languages with fluency, and that even within the Foreign Ministry she was responsible for drafting official documents. Listening, Laniakea thought, Accepted. Unconditionally accepted.
After that the others earnestly gave their names, their affiliations, and the ways in which they might be of use. By the time they had passed the tenth, Laniakea's hand paused on the documents she was turning.
"I am Chelsea Rivington. It is an honor to see Your Majesty the Empress again."
The one who invoked an old acquaintance rather than a post within the palace was a woman Laniakea knew. Chelsea Rivington, the Queen of High Society, was widely rumored not only to have mastered etiquette but to help broker and conclude all manner of dealings among the nobility. She was also exceedingly beautiful, and several families had recommended her at once. And Laniakea could tell from her eyes alone that Chelsea had volunteered as a lady-in-waiting not in order to serve the Empress, but because she had some greater purpose. Chelsea looked straight at her, as if to declare that the place she wanted was precisely that one.
Just then a knock sounded at the door, and with it a voice announcing that a messenger from the Emperor had arrived. The voice sounded urgent. When Laniakea told them to enter, the door opened, and the maids came in carrying something she had never expected.
In their arms was a bouquet so enormous it looked as though an entire garden had been dug up and planted anew.