Work Text:
The Imperator did not need to look up as the door opened to know who had entered her private chambers; only one of her subjects would be so daring.
“Dux Gladiorum, I do not remember summoning you,” Cerydra mumbles in greeting, without looking up from the piles of papers littered on her desk.
It had been three days since their last battle, three days since their previous failure. A segment of their dispatch had been ambushed while en route to return to Okhema, with only a meager handful escaping the slaughter. Kremnoans had been behind the attack, that was all too clear, and it made the growing friction between Okhemans and the few Kremnoans living in Okhema grow even more heated than usual. This morning, a Kremnoan forge had been looted and burned, and the blacksmith who owned it was murdered. The resulting riots were swiftly stamped out, but matters would obviously worsen. The Imperator could not afford distractions, even from her most beautiful blade.
“Have you come in with a purpose? Or will you simply stand there?” Cerydra pressed, her voice sounding groggy and hoarse despite her attempt at her usual commandeering tone.
It was clear her Helektra saw right through her, but dipped her head respectfully, not bowing, for she knew better than to lower herself past Cerydra’s height.
“Imperator, please accept my apologies. As a humble subject, I know I have transgressed,” Hysilens offered, stepping forward once given permission.
The cup she was holding was placed gently before Cerydra almost as an offering to a god. Cerydra accepted the oblation gingerly, lifting it to her lips and drinking.
“This tea is sweeter than usual, Dux Gladiorum, did you—“
“My heart.”
Cerydra nearly dropped her drink then, weary eyes widening slightly. The sudden casualness caught her off guard.
“Would you care for a song? You’ve always said that my voice alone could ease even the most maddening of your worries.”
The Imperator could only nod sharply, drinking deeply, and she could see Hysilens’ smile from the corner of her eyes. A painfully rare sight, but one that was more than welcome. Cerydra could not focus on that thought for long; already she felt a weight lifting from her, the burden of three days gradually vanishing. Her mind numbed, and lightened, and her vision seemed to blur. The otherworldly voice accompanying her bliss stirred her heart. It did not matter that it had been decades since they had first encountered each other; Hysilens’ voice was nothing short of wondrous. The King felt her eyelids grow heavy, her limbs loosen, and suddenly…
Suddenly, she was awake.
That conniving fish, her deceitful sword, had played her for a fool.
And how sweetly she had schemed, for Cerydra could only assume she was in her bed now, wrapped in the expanse of silky sheets that made her already small body look even more dwarved, because her Dux Gladiorum had tucked her in. There was a pitcher of water at her side, as well as several skewers of roasted fish, still hot. A peace offering surely. The wrath of the King abated at the sight, and she partook of the breakfast quietly.