“I can see you have little concern for important business,” Santosh said, with no subtlety whatsoever to disguise his disdain, which made sense, Vikram supposed wearily. Subtlety was cultivated out of necessity, by people who knew that power needed to be treated with care—who understood how easily it could be stolen or taken. Santosh had the emperor’s ear, and the emperor’s crude belief in the supremacy of Parijat and Parijati blood. He had no need for such things as subtlety. “But I am at the forefront of imperial politics, Prince Prem, and I can’t simply act as you do.”
“You’re at the forefront of politics, and Emperor Chandra sent you here?” Prem’s forehead creased with puzzlement, even as he continued to smile. It gave his expression a rather mocking edge. “You’re very far from Parijat here, Santosh! Besides, it isn’t politics that brings people to Ahiranya.” He grinned as he lifted his wine. “It’s pleasure. The brothels are very fine.”
Santosh’s expression was slightly concerning, his sneer taking on an edge of cruelty. So Vikram intervened, saying, “Lord Santosh graciously accompanied Princess Malini on Emperor Chandra’s behalf. A great honor that he fulfilled admirably.”
Prem’s smile twitched slightly, but even he seemed to see the sense in avoiding commenting upon the princess. Santosh purposefully turned, excluding Prem from the conversation. To Vikram he said, “Speaking of Princess Malini and her—contemplation—there are things you and I must discuss, General Vikram. Just as Emperor Chandra is keen to see his sister reflect on her choices, he would like his most difficult nation to learn to be more biddable. I have many suggestions to make on his behalf. I know the emperor’s mind on this matter extremely well. We spoke of Ahiranya often.”
Vikram did not allow his anger to show on his face, but Prem seemed to have no such control. The prince’s eyes had already narrowed at Santosh’s slight against him—the slight of a mere highborn lord of Parijat against a Saketan of royal blood—and Santosh’s casual boast of closeness with the emperor had only served to goad him.
“You’re right, you’re right, what interest do I have in politics?” Prem announced, overloud. “It was my uncle who always cared for politics—and he was removed from his treasury position by the emperor only a month ago, wasn’t he? Or was it three months? Numbers aren’t my strong suit as they were his, but I do remember that when he complained he was executed. Put to death, just like that,” he said brightly. “A real scandal.”
“Prince Prem,” Vikram murmured, but there was no stopping the man.
“I can’t rightly remember who took his place—ah.” A click of his fingers. “One of your cousins, I think. Congratulations.”
Vikram lowered his own glass. “Lord Prem,” he said. “You are inebriated, I think.”
Santosh’s jaw was trembling with fury.
“You drunk sot,” he said, in a tone that suggested he would be using far worse words—or perhaps his blade—if not for the disparity in their status. “When Emperor Chandra finishes cleaning up the imperial court and this forsaken hole of a country, I’ll be sure to direct him to Saketa. You need to be reminded of your place.”
Prem lurched to his feet. Vikram rose more sedately to his own.
“Let me escort you out for some air, Prince Prem.” Without waiting for a response, Vikram took the man by the shoulders and led him from the room.
Prem did seem unsteady on his feet. One of Vikram’s servants in the hall beyond gave him a questioning look, asking without words whether Vikram would like the prince taken off his hands and gently escorted to a room to convalesce. Vikram did not respond to it. No matter how things had changed, Prem was important enough to receive his full attention. The last thing he wanted was an angry letter from the high prince’s scribes, on top of everything else.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Prem.
“No need, my lord.”
“How long is he staying?”
“As long as Emperor Chandra wills,” said Vikram. “And you?”
“As long as my coin allows,” Prem replied with a laugh. “I’d hoped we’d be able to talk alone. The last time I came we played an excellent game of pachisa. I’d like to do that again.”
“You’re always welcome,” Vikram assured him, slapping his back with fake joviality. You should be careful, he considered saying. The prince was young. An older man’s advice could not harm him. Things weren’t as they once were. A man who did not recognize that would not live long.