“Good to see you here, Your Excellency,” Kiem said, half an eye on Jainan. Jainan didn’t seem to have many friends, did he? Come to think of it, there really weren’t many Theans here. Kiem was sure when Prince Helvi had married her Eisafan partner the room had been half Eisafs, though of course Eisafan was a much more populous planet and a much more important relationship. The Iskat minister for Eisafan had been in the front row of that ceremony. Kiem said without thinking, “Have you seen our Minister for Thea?”
“Ah,” the Ambassador said. His expression wasn’t exactly a smile. “You’re a little late there, Your Highness. Your Minister for Thea retired last year. Your side hasn’t been able to agree on a replacement yet.”
“Your Worship, may we begin?” the head steward said to the judge.
Kiem wanted to ask who was dealing with Thean affairs if Iskat hadn’t appointed anyone, but before he could say anything, the Ambassador gave him a brisk, impersonal nod and stepped back to join the other spectators. Jainan was still looking intently at his contract, as if wanting to get the whole thing over with. The judge made a careful gesture over her wristband.
The sound of a gong rang through the room. All thoughts of Thean politics fled Kiem’s brain as the judge started a rolling declamation of the standard wedding spiel. Kiem swallowed hard.
He’d never been the focus of a ceremony before. The sound of a gong heralded things like the arrival of someone important, or a marriage, or an official appointment. Kiem had screwed up enough exams and had a bad enough reputation with the Emperor—not even counting the nightclub scandal—that nobody had ever considered giving him an important post. He’d always thought that had been for the best, but here he was, and there weren’t only his own concerns at stake. He heard the Emperor’s voice in his head: I have very little appetite for another war.
Half the press corps had cameras up. Kiem tried to look appropriately solemn but felt it came out as something of a grimace, so he settled for normal. He sneaked a look at Jainan to see how he was managing it. Jainan’s face was still pleasantly blank. Kiem wondered how he did that.
In spite of the clear solarium roof, no sunlight made it through the muted gray of the clouds. The judge’s voice was a sonorous rumble. Traditions from the foundation of the Empire, valued alliance with Thea and so on, until finally she reached the end and wound up with some nondenominational blessings that wouldn’t offend anyone’s sect. She solemnly folded her hands on the table in front of her and said, “Your Highness, Your Grace, you may now agree to the terms and seal the contracts.”
Kiem grabbed his quill and leaned over to dip it in the inkpot, offering Jainan a quick smile. Jainan wasn’t looking at him. Instead he reached for the inkpot himself—nervous and too fast—accidentally nudged Kiem’s hand, and knocked the pot over.
A flood of red splattered over the table, pooling on both the documents. “Shit!” Kiem said, blocking a rivulet with the side of his hand in a helpful gesture that on second thought was no help at all. The pot itself rolled, smearing a dark crescent of red over wood and paper. Jainan lunged after it. It hit the carpeted floor with a faint thud.
That broke up the frozen moment among the onlookers. “Careful!” the steward said, bustling up with even less idea of how to be helpful than Kiem. Two junior stewards came up to do more practical damage reduction with handkerchiefs and pieces of paper. Kiem extracted his hand with only a moderate amount of red ink smeared on his sleeve. The judge, annoyed, waved at the press corps to stop the suddenly frantic photo-taking, and Kiem abruptly had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. He looked around for Jainan.
Jainan had knelt to pick up the inkpot. He was still crouched on the floor, the pot clutched tight in one hand, frantically dabbing at the carpet with his handkerchief. He glanced up at Kiem. “S-sorry,” he said. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”
Kiem crouched down, sobering up. “Don’t worry about that, they’ll get it cleaned up later. Here, I’ll take the pot—it’s going all over your hand.” He nearly had to pry it out of Jainan’s grip. “Are you all right? Get much of it on you?” He stood and offered Jainan a hand.
“I’m fine,” Jainan said. He took the hand. “I’m sorry for the disruption.” His grip was warm, with callouses on the fingers, and for a moment Kiem was distracted. But when Jainan was on his feet, he tried to pull his hand away as soon as politely possible. Kiem let go hurriedly. A steward offered Jainan a wipe for his hands.
Kiem jumped as Bel tapped him on the shoulder. She passed him a handkerchief. “Don’t say anything,” Kiem muttered.
“Just try not to get it on your face; the press will think you broke your nose again,” Bel murmured. She gestured to two of the stewards, who had magically produced a tablecloth to hide the stains. A third laid out a fresh set of contracts, which Bel straightened then stepped back with a meaningful look at Kiem that said, Try not to have any more disasters.
“We resume the ceremony,” the judge said.
“Right,” Kiem said. He tried to ignore the after-impression of Jainan’s hand on his, like a ghost touch. Before there could be any more accidents, he grabbed the quill and signed his name with only a minor blot. Beside him Jainan dipped his own quill in the remaining pot of ink, taking great care. His hands were shaking. That must be adrenaline; it hadn’t been that embarrassing.
There was a round of polite applause. Jainan set the quill back and straightened, turning to Kiem.
Oh shit. Kiem had managed not to think about the fact he was going to have to kiss him, whether Jainan wanted it or not. All right, he told himself, taking a wary step away from the table. Just keep it impersonal. Jainan stepped in, and Kiem’s gaze was caught by the unconscious elegance of the movement, by his dark eyes and the slight natural crookedness of his mouth.
No, Kiem told himself. Just because Jainan was his type didn’t mean Kiem couldn’t act poised in front of the cameras.
Jainan took another step and closed the distance, his hand coming up to rest on Kiem’s chest. Desire sparked across Kiem’s skin like a current. His breath stopped under the touch, and before he could think about it, his hands came up to clasp Jainan’s waist—but no, what was he doing? Jainan was in mourning. Kiem managed to stop himself from instinctively pulling their bodies in closer. Jainan froze in response, staring at him from a couple of inches away as if wondering what had gone wrong. Jainan clearly decided after a moment that Kiem wasn’t going to take the initiative; he tilted his head and leaned in dutifully. Kiem gave the whole thing up as a bad deal, leaned forward, and had the most excruciatingly awkward kiss he’d ever had with a person he was extremely attracted to. They both tried to draw back at the first contact then realized their mistake, and Jainan’s nose bumped against Kiem’s clumsily, and they both drew back again. And despite all that, even the light pressure of Jainan’s lips had Kiem’s heart beating off-rhythm in his chest.
Jainan stepped back. Kiem dropped his hands back down as if he’d been burned. He managed to catch Jainan’s eye with a grimace of apology. Jainan only looked blank.