Chapter Eighteen
What Passes for 'Subtlety'
Emperor Austin Burnell
"Your Imperial Majesty, the item you ordered has arrived."
I suppose it would be somewhat petty to suggest I might have been notified this delivery was expected, but still, I admit to being startled (and not particularly pleased) when a servant arrives in our 'common room' one evening, bearing a large, square box containing something for Hoshi.
It goes without saying that she can order whatever she pleases, short of an assassination squad or a bottle of cyanide 'for use when required'. Nor do I expect to see what she buys or is given, except in passing during normal use or when she specifically chooses to show it to me. It's merely that when I finally retire for a few minutes of peace and quiet with my wife, I prefer it to be uninterrupted. I spend every waking second of the rest of my day at the beck and call of anyone who has anything urgent that I'm expected to resolve, and I value my very short 'down time' accordingly. That's not to say I don't often have work to carry on with, but I can do it without distraction, preferably listening to some quiet music. I can also have conversations with Hoshi that aren't possible during the rest of the day where our environment almost invariably means that anything we say may be overheard and have far-reaching consequences.
My household are very well aware of this, so it's unsurprising that the servant bobs a nervous reverence in my direction before approaching Hoshi. At a guess she's ordered whatever this is to be delivered at this specific time, or at least 'as soon as it arrives' regardless, because they wouldn't bring it in now without specific instructions to do so. So I say nothing, though inwardly I'm ever so slightly annoyed; however, as long as it doesn't become a regular occurrence, I'm prepared to tolerate the occasional intrusion.
Though she maintains the appropriate poise until the box has been put down on the coffee table and the servant has departed again, as soon as the door's shut she utters a squeak of delight that's unusual enough for me to lift my eyes from my PADD again.
The lid of the box is, of course, not secured. Everything that's inside it will have been examined by Household Security. But though she must surely be so jaded by now that even dresses made of the most luxurious stuffs and jewellery of the most wonderful design fail to elicit more than a nod of approval, her expression of childlike excitement as she lifts the lid and looks inside is enough to pique my curiosity. For the first time, I see a genuine smile emerge, so captivating it makes the lovely, demure expression she uses for official portraits look positively funereal.
This must be investigated. I set down the PADD, stand up and walk over to see what's so interesting.
The box is lined with blue velvet, and there's a cushion of the same at the bottom. And nestling on it, fast asleep, is a cream-coloured kitten, looking for just one moment so perfect that I think it must be an exquisitely made figurine or even a toy.
I'm disabused of this assumption when the little beast wakes up and raises its head. It opens sapphire eyes in a black mask so perfect that it looks to have been painted on by a master, and gives an inquisitive squeak.
"Ohhh!" She may be the Empress of All the Conquered Worlds, but my wife sounds exactly like any smitten little girl as she lifts the kitten out of the box and stares at it for a second before enfolding it in a cuddle.
Personally all I can see are puddles on the floor and ruined curtains, but that's me. I've always been more of a dog lover, and when I have time I fully intend to acquire a couple, but perhaps I was overly influenced in my youth by the tales of an aunt who owned a pair of Bengal cats who treated her house like an assault course – much to the disparagement of a leather three-piece suite and every pair of curtains she owned.
Nevertheless, even I have to admit that I can see the attraction in the kitten. No animal should have quite that degree of winsome charm.
Its clear confidence of meeting with kindness reminds me with a slight pang of Beans, ex-General Reed's cat. It wasn't that she and I interacted all that often, but she frequently roamed the station getting into places she had no business being, and now and again that included places where I happened to be. When that occurred, she had no hesitation in greeting me joyfully, and it has to be admitted I usually spared the time to tickle her on the head or stroke her back, feeling absurdly complimented by her pleasure in seeing me. She even brought out the gentler side of her owner, one which few would have suspected to exist; I remember, too, the training/discipline session which he asked me to help with when he caught several of Tucker's engineers teasing her when she got her head stuck in a box, and some of the scenes that spring to mind are enough to force me to hide a grin.
'Beans'. What a ridiculous name for an animal.
It would be quite superfluous to ask if this one has been checked by qualified veterinarians to ensure that it has neither disease nor pests. But however aware I may be that the old belief that cats sit on babies' faces is a myth, my staff will be told that neither this animal nor any other will ever be allowed onto or into any cot that my children are sleeping in. If Hoshi wishes to allow it to sleep on her bed that is her prerogative, though servants will naturally change the bedding first on evenings when I join her.
Those issues aside, I have no objection to the arrival of this new member of the household, even if I haven't been consulted or even informed of its existence; and in the meantime, I'm seeing a rather new side of my wife, who is thoroughly occupied with petting it and talking to it in that highly specific voice many Humans – females in particular – adopt when addressing a very young animal.
"So what will you call him, her or it?" I inquire, sitting down again.
"It's a boy," she replies, tickling the kitten under the chin, which results in a purr I can hear from where I'm sitting; it sounds like a distant motor. "And I thought you might have some ideas for a name for him."
I'm slightly taken aback by this suggestion, in view of the fact I had nothing whatsoever to do with the creature's presence.
Ironically, it feels like the sort of exchange that might take place in what might be called a 'normal' relationship. But then our relationship is not normal and probably never will be, and so this evokes a surge of initial suspicion.
Hoshi retained single-handed rule of the Empire for the best part of two and a half years after the Triad's effective demise. That in itself indicates that she's neither stupid nor lacking in deftness. If it's a ploy, it's a clumsy one and I'm faintly disappointed; but I'm not sure what else it could be. Having not even been consulted about the arrival of a cat, she surely can't seriously expect me to be engaged with it simply by being allowed to choose its name.
Did she perhaps think I would deny her the privilege of owning a pet? If that's the case, why didn't she come to me first and negotiate an arrangement? Surely she should realise by now that I'm a reasonable man. She's a grown woman, fully capable of ensuring that the animal receives the proper care, attention and training. Beyond that, so long as it doesn't interfere with my work or compromise my security, she could keep a Shetland pony in the palace for all I care.
On the other hand, we are still cautiously establishing what this 'relationship' of ours is going to consist of. It goes without saying that it will require obedience on her part, exactly as she promised during our wedding vows, but that doesn't mean her being reduced to the status of a slave. She is, within limits, allowed autonomy – which should emphatically embrace her being allowed to own a cat if she wants one. She can have fifty cats if she wants them, as long as someone cleans up all the shed hair and I don't get a whiff of a litterbox. Still, she doesn't know me well, she has every reason to be wary of me and this might be more genuine than I think it is. I suspect it may have been at least partially an act of defiance, presenting me with a fait accompli to demonstrate that she doesn't always have to ask my permission, but I don't think that's all it is. There's something faintly saddening in the way she's cuddling and stroking the animal, as if it's supplying something she's missing. It could, I suppose, be an indicator of her maternal instincts awakening now she's pregnant, but I'm not sure that's the whole story either.
If we were a normal married couple and I was heterosexual, it would probably make me rather jealous. As it is, neither of those conditions apply, so I'm not. But that doesn't mean that I'm not aware that my wife has needs, which are currently not being met.
The reasons are perfectly sound. She has to be treated with extreme care – it's still far too early for the pregnancy to be considered safely established, though the scans have indicated all is well so far. But though there's no getting around that, along with the fact that I have no intention whatsoever of having anyone 'whispering in my Empress's ears' until my dynasty is firmly planted in power, I can understand that her current situation may be a little lonely. And I understand that, because so is mine.
It's ridiculous, isn't it? As the lord of the whole Empire, there isn't a soul in it whom I couldn't summon to my bed and have refuse me. And yet since the day the crown was pressed onto my head, I've slept alone. When it comes to sexual partners, I'm so hemmed about by circumstance and potential consequences that I'm effectively celibate.
I could use a slave, one of those whom I've declared deserve to have rights (but not just yet and presumably not when I want sex). It would be the easiest thing in the world to obtain the services of one of the 'employees' of one of the upper-tier comfort houses, who have already politely indicated their eagerness to supply me with suitable companionship, but then the same problem applies. Indentured servitude is still bondage, and ever since the time I spent in the workhouse I've believed that people who have committed no crime deserve their personal freedom. Since children can be sold to the comfort houses by their parents on a five-year contract at age fifteen, I'd have to have a way of verifying a comfort house worker was there voluntarily; and though one of my greatest responsibilities now is upholding the dignity of my rank, it's hardly possible for me to go about asking that kind of question without causing an absolute blizzard of remark and speculation.
Ironic as it may be considered in a man who's essentially forced a woman to marry me, I'd infinitely prefer someone who would choose to be with me rather than someone letting me have them out of fear of refusing the Emperor.
When exactly was it that I began to care so deeply about this personal freedom thing? It's hardly a Pack characteristic, and it's certainly not making my life as easy and as pleasant as it would be if I didn't.
Maybe I could troll for dates under a false flag ... have Jignesh or Georgiou net someone for me, arrange a date in a nice hotel, and then bait and switch, while assuring the partner he was free to say no. Though it's depressingly easy to predict how impossible this supposed person would find it to do any such thing once they found out my real identity, as well as how much of a risk there would be of the incident becoming public knowledge, with even more damaging consequences to the Imperial dignity. A much more risk-free alternative would be to arrange the date with a suitable 'escort' and have me wear a mask such as the luchadores of Mexico wear; it probably wouldn't be ideally comfortable but it would certainly disguise my identity, though it would be best if I didn't speak during the encounter. My voice is already becoming familiar to my subjects, and even the most discreet individual might make an educated guess and come to the conclusion that they had a very profitable scandal on their hands.
Then again, being the new Alpha, I could theoretically have any of the Pack, male or female, that I want. I don't think it would be a good idea to try anything with Jignesh though, as good-looking as he is; being heterosexual, he'd endure the encounter at best. As it stands now, he's probably the biggest threat to me, at least within the Pack. To force him to accept that kind of dominance would breed the kind of hatred and resentment that would turn a big dog who's likely to bite one day if the right opportunity presents itself into a rabid dog that will tear me apart the first chance he gets.
Silently I heave a sigh. I knew, of course, that becoming the Emperor would have its downsides, but I never imagined this would be one of them – quite the opposite, in fact, though I don't have the sort of sex drive that compels me to have something in my bed every night because I can't sleep without it. But now it comes to it, I find that apart from Pack sex, it's important to me to have a partner who wants to be with Austin Burnell, not one who's afraid of refusing (or wanted the prestige of being with, or the possibility of influencing) the Emperor. And quite where I'm going to get hold of one of those in a hurry, I'm not absolutely sure.
It looks like my right hand and a bottle of lube will be my best friends for a while longer.
While I've been distracted by this rather dismal train of thought, Hoshi has been waiting for an answer. The silence has gone on for longer than it would normally have done, so she must have assumed that I was irritated enough by the new arrival to have decided I wasn't going to answer. She's no longer looking at me but at the kitten, which is pawing at a jade pendant hanging on a gold chain around her neck, and the silence is rather uncomfortable.
"Do you have any preferences for what sort of name?" I ask at last.
She's not quite deft enough to hide the slight relaxation of her posture. "Well, it has to be rather an exalted name, don't you think?"
"A number of Siamese kings were named Rama," I advise. "It doesn't get much more exalted than that."
"Rama." She tests the name, looking down into the kitten's suddenly much more purposeful face as the pendant slips enticingly across the smooth silk beneath it. She could ask whether that wasn't the name of an Indian deity too, but religion is very much a taboo subject these days, so I'm quite relieved when she doesn't. "Rama!"
Cat-like, the recipient of this new and exalted name pays not the slightest attention to it but decides to explore. He slides awkwardly down her thigh and lands on the sofa, where he begins inspecting the cushions, his small tail upright with curiosity.
At this point I'd leave him alone to get on with it, but Hoshi continues to stroke him. Frankly I'm rather surprised by the degree of affection she's displaying; I hadn't realised she wanted a pet so much.
Maybe I'm really not the only one who's rather lonely these days…
"I'm sure you've already made arrangements for him to be cared for," I observe, my tone deliberately mild. "Had you made any decisions as regards where he'll sleep?"
Rama wanders near the edge. He peers over it, seeming to recognise that problems will ensue if he keeps walking.
"On my bed, of course," she replies, and now I pick up an extremely complicated tone. There's definitely something going on, though whether it's defiance (minor and therefore relatively harmless, but defiance nonetheless) or a challenge, I'm not absolutely sure.
"That could be perceived as foreclosing one of your options."
If we were on a tennis court, this would be the softest of soft lobs. She only has to step forward and lift her racquet to hit it, but where the ball goes when she does will be immensely revealing.
Needless to say, she realises this. There's quite a significant pause, which she fills by fussing with the kitten. At last: "He doesn't have to be there every night."
I'm working on my PADD, or at least my eyes are fixed on it. "That's an interesting piece of information."
"I wasn't aware that you'd find it that interesting."
I lay down the PADD. The faint shadow of bitterness in her voice is a danger signal and I must deal with it. "I believe we've already discussed this issue, but it would appear that some further discussion would be beneficial. Are you prepared to do this now, or would you rather wait until you feel more comfortable?"
"What's there to discuss?" she flings back at me, and her anger would be more convincing if she didn't snatch Rama up and start cuddling him. "You're gay and I'm pregnant. You made it absolutely clear that I'm here to produce your heir and that until you have the appropriate number of children, by me or whatever surrogates you choose to use, I'm basically forbidden from having sex."
"You're forbidden from having sexual liaisons with other men," I correct her. "Frankly, Hoshi, I think you understand perfectly well that there can be no question whatsoever that my offspring may not be mine, and I'm not prepared to wait for the results of a DNA scan to establish whether they are or not. Once that point is reached, I've already told you I'll turn a blind eye to whatever you choose to do as regards sexual activity, as long as you're discreet about it and produce no illegitimate issue.
"As for me, yes, I'm gay. I don't find women's bodies sexually attractive, though I can perceive female beauty just as well as I can male beauty. But you already know that I can penetrate you when the situation calls for it."
That wins me a sour look. "I suppose the idea of establishing yourself as the Emperor of All the Conquered Worlds was enough of a turn-on."
I sigh. "Hoshi, I can't change my sexual identity. I won't pretend what I don't feel. But just because I don't desire you doesn't mean I can't learn how to give you pleasure when you want it."
She's been looking down at the kitten, but at that she looks up to throw a scalding glare. "Do you have any idea how insulting that sounds? Like I'm being … just obliged?"
"So if I can't offer you what you would obviously and naturally prefer, does that mean you're going to reject anything I can?"
Put that way, it sounds logically unreasonable not to take advantage; as my mum was fond of saying, 'Everyone wants steak, but if there's no steak you'll eat bread and be thankful'. But on the other hand, I'm aware there's far more than logic in operation here. And it doesn't help that I can understand where she's coming from; haven't I just acknowledged that what I'd most want from a sexual encounter was to be wanted for who I am, rather than being pandered to because of what I am?
If she wasn't the calibre of woman who's run the Empire more or less single-handed for the past few years I'd guess she's not far off tears. And even so, given that she's pregnant and subject to all kinds of new and often quite overwhelming hormones, she may not be that far off, regardless.
"If the idea really doesn't appeal to you, we won't mention it again," I say quietly. "It was an offer, not a mandate."
Her hair is caught up at either side in twin hair-slides of freshwater pearls and sapphires. One strand keeps escaping from it, much to little Rama's fascination, and I wince internally as he climbs up her breasts in the effort to bite it; so much for the pale blue Triaxian silk dress with its exquisite embroidery.
I suppose it might be thought odd in me to care, seeing that we're wealthy enough for her have new dresses morning, noon and night. But those months in the workhouse had a profound impact on me as regards waste and the poverty it leads to, and I have to admit that having some vague idea of the amount of labour that must go into producing every metre of that fabric, it seems a terrible pity for it to be ruined because a small kitten doesn't understand the damage its claws do.
On impulse – something I very rarely give in to – I stand up again, cross the room and sit beside her on the sofa. Gently I take hold of the kitten and use my free hand with care to detach his claws from the material.
As I've said, he's unfairly cute. But right now I don't want the distraction and I don't want my wife's extremely expensive dress ruined for want of a bit of sense. When there's just the two of us and there's no requirement whatsoever for her to try to appear alluring for my benefit, there's no reason why she can't wear something rather more practical; it doesn't have to be ugly or cheap, just a bit more robust and a lot less of a waste when it gets threads pulled out of it.
"You just go back in your box for a minute. I'm talking to your mum." Disregarding his imperious complaint, I deposit him back in the box and put the lid on; he wastes no time in letting it be known he doesn't approve, but for the time being he can just sit in there and howl.
Hoshi is clearly not pleased by this development either, but I think this situation has the potential to develop into a running sore and unless she actually refuses to participate in any discussion at all it's best to get the wound searched right now.
She's sitting there very much on the defensive, eyes narrowed and mouth tight, but I go on anyway. Maybe some of what I have to say will resonate, maybe it won't, but words that aren't uttered are never heard. The prospect of adding additional and perhaps unnecessary resentment and misery to a marriage that's already going to be difficult enough is quite sufficient reason for me to try.
"Listen. I am not trying to 'humour' you, I'm not trying to indulge you or insult you in any way. I'm offering you a service that as a human being you probably need.
"I appreciate that we hardly know each other, that we probably don't like each other very much at the moment, and that in an ideal world I would be able to tell you honestly that your body excites me, that I desire you and that I can't wait to make love to you. Unfortunately, I can't. I haven't lied to you yet and I'm not starting now.
"But that doesn't mean there's no possibility of each of us providing some kind of … service to the other. I can understand that it's not a particularly attractive idea to have someone pleasure you who doesn't find you attractive, who isn't driven by his own needs. But you don't refuse to eat unless the chef's hungry too, do you? You eat because you have a hunger that needs to be satisfied and the chef knows how to provide food that will do that."
"What does it matter to you?" she spits. "You're the Emperor now. You crook a finger and someone comes running. I've been there, remember."
"Yes, you have," I nod. "And it's hard, because things have changed – for the worse, as far as you're concerned. But I'm absolutely certain that on many occasions you've accepted the services of a masseur who was never obliged to pretend to love you, who would actually have probably lost his tongue if he'd been impertinent enough to say any such thing. I'm telling you now that many masseurs are gay, and that makes no difference to how well they can perform their duties. On those occasions you could separate your emotional needs from your physical ones. Is there any significant reason why you can't now?"
She tucks in her jaw and stares hard at me. "You haven't, have you? Not since the wedding."
I have my pride, and it urges me to tell her that that's none of her damn business. But for all that our marriage was essentially a business transaction rather than a love match, she is my wife. If anyone has a right to know it is her. And pride is a bloody bad reason to refuse honesty, anyway. "No."
"So you're suggesting that we 'service' each other? That it could be that simple?"
"To begin with, it could, if both of us were willing. I'm hoping that eventually, perhaps, given the right circumstances and a lot of luck, we may develop some kind of warmer feeling for one another. It won't be love, but I don't think affection's totally out of reach. I'd like that, though I'm not counting on it." I send her a rueful smile that I've been told is charming. "I like to think I'm that much of a realist."
I've said my piece, and to elaborate further would feel far too much like pleading. I open the box again and rescue Rama from durance vile, noting as I do so that he's signified his displeasure by widdling on the cushion. The first of many such accidents, no doubt, but it seems unnecessarily churlish to remark on it at this present moment; Hoshi is as fastidious as I am and there's no doubt that arrangements will be set up very quickly to clean up after the kitten and house train him. In the meantime I daresay it won't kill me to exercise a little patience, though he'd better not find his way into my room and have any 'accidents'.
Hoshi hasn't made any reply to my last speech, but at least she isn't looking daggers at me any more. She takes Rama back and within moments the kitten is purring away, delighted to be the centre of attention again.
"You can sleep on my bed most of the time," she tells him, while his sapphire eyes squeeze shut with pleasure at her hand stroking from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail. "But now and again you're going to have to put up with your bed being in the corner over there, right?"
I rather doubt if he quite grasps the concept, though he continues to purr unabated. But whether he gets the point or not, I certainly do. My wife has established a way of indicating that other company than that of a kitten is required in her bed.
It's probably best if no-one else ever gets to find out that I rank rather a distant second behind a cat in my wife's regard, but I'm prepared to regard it as a necessary evil. In due course we may even think about a corresponding signal as regards the empty half of my bed, but let's take this in slow steps as and when.
I'm not going to be able to rebuild the Empire in a week. I shouldn't expect to work miracles in my marriage either.
If you have been enjoying this story, please consider leaving a review. What do you think of their marital relationship so far? Things certainly could have gone much worse for Hoshi, but could they have gone better? Do you think Austin is right that they could develop some kind of affection for one another, or is he a fool for hoping?
