Chapter Five

Kaddar hated balls. He hated parties. He hated large social events in general. It seemed as if being Emperor was divided into two categories: work, and social events. Bad luck for him, as Kalasin liked to point out with a smirk. It wasn't any big problem for her, though. All she had to do was put on a nice dress, comb her hair and stick some pins into it, adorn herself with a few jewels, and she was ready to go.

She didn't seem to be uncomfortable around large groups of people. She could fraternize with any group in the Imperial Court perfectly, and leave them panting for more of her company. Especially the young men of the University. They did more than their fair share of panting after her. It was almost irritating.

After putting on his standard gear for such occasions, Kaddar waited patiently for Kalasin near the door of her dressing room, trying not to look as if he was going on a burial march instead of welcoming Gallan ambassadors.

"You're not succeeding," a dry voice remarked from behind him. "Still looking very much like a participant of a burial march." Kalasin stood a few feet away. Even in full ball regalia, complete with impossibly high-heeled sandals, she was almost half a head shorter. Yet as always, she managed to convey that she was looking down her nose at him.

The empress twirled around and struck a pose, hands on hips. "What do you think?" she asked dramatically, tilting her head back. Her hair had been styled differently—twisted into an elaborate knot, with two or three curly tendrils drifting loose. The ruby chain securing her hair glittered and twinkled in the candlelight, matching her red silk dress perfectly. He found his eyes drawn to her sleeves, made of a flowing white material reminiscent of Siraji style gowns that his mother used to wear. The black insignia of Iliniat House twisted up her skirt.

Kaddar couldn't help but be impressed. "You look very nice," he managed. "The kohl is a nice touch." It was the first time he had complimented her on something as trivial as dress. Normally it had been insults all around, but he was just beginning to get used to the new routine. It was pleasant to go through the preparation ritual without being told he looked like a dead duck or a melancholy elephant.

Kalasin walked up to him, inspecting him closely. Judging from the lack of comments, he didn't look too horrible. "Just try and look happy," she finished. "You look like a dead duck. Now come on. I promised the University group a debate before dinner."

Dead duck. Again. Why did that always come up? Kaddar stuck his nose an inch from hers. "Be polite, and I might consider it."

Kalasin glared. "I don't like being ordered around."

"Well, somebody has to take care of you. Obviously, you're too hot-headed to do so yourself."

She drew herself up to her full height. "Fine, then, my lord," she said coldly. "Lead the way."

Kaddar did so, feeling at once victorious and apprehensive. Kalasin had been put into place…but something told him it was going to be a very long night.

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As always, his prediction had been right. The celebration had lasted four and a half hours. Dancing. Festivities. Celebrations. Midwinter. Unity between two countries.

Superficiality. Misery. Stress. Exhaustion. Then there was Kalasin. She had been perfectly cordial, and perfectly cool. When they had danced, they had just gone through the movements. There had been no pinching, poking, elbowing, or harassing. It felt as if something was missing. And then, while he had been talking to one of the Gallan ambassadors, he had seen her dancing with no less than two of the male students who loved to pant over her. She had been perfectly happy and animated with them. Just for that, he had employed his happy, enthusiastic, thoughtful, and raptly listening faces. That dead duck comment had hurt more than he would admit.

Kaddar was just glad the night was over. He gave her a sidelong glance, and saw she was walking slower than usual, limping slightly. He couldn't help but feel that she deserved whatever pain her sandals were giving her, horrible as it may sound. And he was just a little thankful that their rooms were on the other side of the Imperial Palace.

At that moment, Kalasin was having a very hard time, and that was before she remembered that their rooms were on the other side of the palace. At that, she almost groaned aloud, but something resembling an exhausted whimper came out instead. Kaddar looked at her, raised an eyebrow slightly, and kept walking.

Oh, Goddess. Part of her wished that she could swallow her pride and lean on Kaddar. Or, better yet, beg him to carry her. But then she remembered his comment about having to be taken care of, and being hotheaded. Implying that she was immature. Just because she was eighteen didn't mean he was that much older and more mature than her. Kalasin took a deep breath, and walked on, doggedly.

Silence stretched between them for a few minutes. At last, Kaddar made a noise somewhere between a growl and a frustrated mumble in his throat, and swept her off her feet. Literally.

Kalasin kicked his knee. "Put me down! I don't want to be carried!"

He looked down at her. "I would dearly love to drop you right here, my lady, but I can't let you kill yourself by walking in those infernal sandals. There's still the succession to worry about, after all."

Kalasin wriggled in his grasp, outraged. "Don't you dare say that's all I mean to you! I—"

"—wouldn't have anybody to argue with if you die, you know. And do you really want 'killed because of her own insistence to walk in her ridiculous sandals' on your gravestone?"

Kalasin stopped her struggles with a defeated sigh. "You're so morbid. But now that you're carrying me anyway, take me back to our rooms."

"Oh, of course not. I'd rather take you three wings out of our way to the Hall of Mirrors, after feeding you drugged oranges, so I can take advantage of your innocence. Brutally," he added, as an afterthought. "With chains."

"You've threatened to do that already," she said, nonplussed. "except last time, you were going to use rope. Take me home."

"We are home," he retorted, shutting the door behind them. "If you hadn't been so busy nitpicking over the ways I was going to brutalize you, you would have noticed sooner. Now, go and get ready for bed."

"Can't I have some help undressing?" she asked, swaying slightly.

Kaddar snorted. "Don't even try that one again. Last time I fell for the I'm-drunk-and-can't-unlace-my-corset-properly routine, you slapped my arm and called me a pervert. Loudly. I'm above that." He left her alone in the dressing room, standing in front of the mirror. She reached around to unlace herself, and suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of dizziness.

She grabbed the edge of the sofa to steady herself, but that only made it worse. The world lurched madly, and Kalasin fell back.

In the next instant, the world went black and she knew no more.

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