It was the head steward with two attendants. He bowed punctiliously. “Your Highness, the contract is prepared for signing in the West Solarium. Are you and Count Jainan ready?”
Kiem felt mutinous. “Are we?” he said, casting a glance at Jainan, who was probably about as unwilling as he was. But Jainan was already standing, which shamed Kiem into pushing himself to his feet. He offered Jainan his arm.
The moment he’d done it, he froze and wished he could take it back. He hadn’t meant to put Jainan on the spot. But before he could turn the movement into anything else, Jainan was moving over to him and slipping a hand through the crook of his arm. His touch rested lightly and securely. Was he forcing himself? Kiem couldn’t tell. The skin beneath Kiem’s uniform jacket felt hotter than it should.
“Your Highness,” the steward said again.
“We should go,” Jainan said, quietly enough to reach only Kiem’s ears. He was looking ahead.
Kiem forced his eyes away from Jainan. “Yes, right,” he said. “Look at us, punctual from the start. Oh, hey, Hren.”
The chief press officer nodded at him. “Memorized your press statement yet?”
“I thought I’d just improvise,” Kiem said cheerfully, to make Hren twitch. But Hren only glared at him, and for some reason Jainan’s grip shifted on his arm. “I mean, yes,” Kiem said. “Know it back to front.” He stopped trying to make conversation.
The walk up to the solarium was enveloped in a silence that felt almost funereal. Kiem would usually have tried joking with the attendants, but it would be rude to start talking to anyone who wasn’t Jainan. But whenever he thought of something to say to Jainan, he remembered that Jainan was being walked into a forced marriage with the only person in the palace who could possibly be tactless enough to call his late partner an axe murderer, and Kiem bit his tongue. He experimented silently with several phrases but couldn’t find one that might fix things. At the top of the sweeping marble stairs, just before the last corner, he gave up and muttered, “Sorry.”
“For what?” Jainan said. The door slid open, and Kiem lost the chance to reply in the flash of lenses.
He squinted through the first couple before automatically raising his free hand. “Hi, good morning—” There was a barely noticeable increase of pressure on his arm. Jainan had stopped. Surprised, Kiem tried to pause as well, but now Jainan was moving again, and Kiem wondered if he’d imagined it.
The initial flurry of flashes died down. When Kiem moved his arm a fraction, Jainan removed his hand immediately and stepped a little away. Apparently he’d been steeling himself to be near Kiem. Kiem tried not to show he’d noticed.
“Your Highness! How’s it feel to be married?”
Journalists. Kiem relaxed—journalists seemed like the least difficult thing to deal with right now. He grinned and shook a couple of hands. “‘Morning. I’m not, yet. Hi, Hani—any tips? You got married last year, didn’t you? Your partner took that shot of me falling in the canal a couple of days ago.”
“Yes, which is why she didn’t get credentials for this, isn’t it?” The polished woman with silver eye implants tilted her head. “How long have you known Count Jainan?”
Kiem spread his hands disarmingly. “I don’t make the press lists. And we’ve met a few times—we’re, uh, getting to know each other.”
“How does he feel about your lifestyle?”
“Hey, aren’t you guys supposed to be the sympathetic part of the press corps?” Kiem protested. “I don’t do that anymore. I’m responsible now.” He was almost starting to enjoy himself by the time he glanced over at Jainan.
Jainan was holding himself stiffly; a reporter stood in front of him about half a pace too close. Jainan shook his head and said something. He wasn’t moving away, though, so Kiem was about to turn back to the others when he heard the reporter say, “—Prince Taam—”
All right, that was enough. “Oi, Dak, who let you in here?” Kiem said, cutting across Jainan. “Weren’t you behind that piece on the Emperor’s brother needing plastic surgery?”
“What?” Dak said, turning without batting an eyelid. He was a solidly built, middle-aged journalist who worked for one of the larger aggregators. “That’s quite an accusation there, Your Highness. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Yeah, well, it was your phrasing,” Kiem said, by no means sure about that. “So you’re on thin ice. Show some bloody respect for the deceased. Taam’s off the record, as is this conversation. Jainan, I think we’re starting?”
Jainan gave him a look that was no less blank than the one he’d directed at the reporter. “Of course,” he said. “Excuse me.” He gave Dak a polite bow of his head and bypassed him. Kiem put himself on the side next to the reporters and blocked any more questions with a friendly wave, strolling up to the antique desk they’d dug out for the signing.
The West Solarium was a large, hexagonal room, filled with pale light from the windows set into its dome-like ceiling. The metal ribs of the dome were brushed with pale, butter-yellow highlights, so it was one of the more cheerful rooms in the palace. Kiem took that as a good omen.
The ceremony was sparsely attended. Guests stood around in loose groups; not many of Kiem’s relatives were there, given the short notice, but he saw a couple of his cousins and waved. Many of the guests were minor Iskat dignitaries in high-collared, richly colored tunics. There was a scattering of people in formal Thean tunics or robes, with jewels embroidered into the fabric rather than set into Iskat-style belts. There were fewer Theans than Kiem would have expected; fewer, in fact, than the military officers in dress uniforms, who stood talking in their own groups without so much as glancing at the other guests. They must have come for Jainan’s sake, since he and Taam would have moved in military circles. Kiem felt a moment’s guilt that he didn’t recognize any of them. Bel was sitting at the side next to a minor steward, wearing a pristine formal tunic and a poker face; Kiem caught her eye and felt fractionally better about the whole thing.
The head steward was in top form. “Ah, good. Your Highness, over here, please—and Count Jainan, this side…”
“Was that all right?” Kiem muttered to Jainan, just before they parted. “You looked like you didn’t want to be in that conversation. I—uh—there’ll be a chance to talk to the press after, if you want.”
“No,” Jainan said. “Thank you.” An aide bobbed up like a tugboat and piloted him to a pile of documents.
Kiem reluctantly turned to his own separate pile. There was a goose-feather quill beside it and a pot of red ink. Kiem eyed them with misgivings. Handscribing was bad enough at the best of times, and adding pots of ink into the equation wasn’t going to make it any better.
A small knot of people at the back parted for a purple-robed judge and the Thean Ambassador beside her. The Ambassador bowed to Jainan. Jainan gave him a startled glance and then looked down at the documents, not responding.
Kiem squinted at the Ambassador, a tall and bony man in a patterned Thean tunic whom Kiem didn’t think he’d met. What was wrong there? Kiem tried a friendly smile. The Ambassador took a moment to adjust the wooden bracelet on his wrist before he acknowledged Kiem with a shallow bow, his expression cool. “Your Highness.”