“There’s only so far we need to go with this wedding night thing,” Kiem said. He sat down heavily beside Jainan. “I mean, we can’t get you separate rooms. Press Office has pretty effectively vetoed that, since they say it will get out to the newslogs. But we’re in private here.”
“You don’t want to sleep together,” Jainan said. His lips felt numb.
Kiem’s arm jerked, spilling his coffee on the table. “No! I didn’t say—damn.” He put the cup back gingerly, his elbow brushing Jainan’s. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But it’s—you’re—this is obviously not the best situation, and I can’t imagine you, uh. We don’t have to do anything, is what I mean. I can sleep on the couch.”
Realization hit Jainan like a fist to the gut. He had failed so badly to communicate that Kiem assumed he was rejecting him, assumed Jainan was not even going to try to make the marriage work. Jainan was going to doom this from the start by being too cold, too stiff, too uptight.
He turned to Kiem beside him and put his hand on the back of Kiem’s neck, trying to remember how to do this properly, and kissed him.
After a heart-stopping moment, Kiem responded. Jainan’s heart was hammering so hard it sent a wave of dizziness to his head: he couldn’t tell if it was the relief or the kiss. Concentrate. He didn’t have to be terrible at this. He was focusing so hard that he almost missed the little pleased noise Kiem made when they broke apart, and Jainan stopped in shock when he realized what it was.
Luckily, it didn’t seem to matter. Kiem took a breath and bent his head, kissing Jainan’s neck. It was good—of course it was good, Kiem knew what he was doing—and for a peculiar moment, the constant tension in Jainan’s head disappeared. It was replaced by an odd sense of openness, like light flooding in through a window. Was that the alcohol? Jainan didn’t care. He opened the first few buttons of Kiem’s shirt, shaky with relief. It was working.
Kiem’s hands closed over his. Jainan stopped.
“Is everything all right?” Kiem said. Jainan looked up at his face. Kiem was frowning.
The shaking. Jainan took a deep breath, made himself still. He could do this. This had worked before. “Yes?” He made his voice softer, persuasive. “Do we have to stop?”
Kiem broke into a smile, though it was only an echo of the one earlier. He tried to kiss Jainan again, but Jainan was already on his feet, tugging Kiem up and toward the bedroom. Kiem was suggestible, which made it both easier and harder than Jainan was expecting, but they reached the bed soon enough. Jainan slid Kiem’s shirt off, and Kiem obligingly shrugged his arms out of it and reached for the clasps of Jainan’s jacket.
Kiem’s fingertips were warm. That, of all things, was the most destabilizing sensation. Jainan caught himself on his elbows as he lay back on the bed. He had no time to dissect this sudden strange feeling that had nothing to do with the marriage or the treaty and everything to do with Kiem’s fingers on his chest. The pounding of his heart started to change cadence. He pushed himself up on his elbows. He had to concentrate, he had to control himself, Kiem would notice if he wasn’t concentrating—
Kiem pushed away. The air that had been too hot around Jainan was suddenly too cold. Jainan opened his eyes, a flash of panic rising, and then he saw Kiem’s disconcerted expression. The panic crystallized into dismay, a dismay that ran through him like mercury, no less unpleasant because he knew it had been inevitable. Jainan had failed.
He should have sat up immediately and reached out. He should have acted surprised that Kiem might want to stop. But instead he just lay there as a wave of numbness swept over him. And in that moment, he saw Kiem’s expression harden.
“I’m sorry,” Kiem said. His voice was quiet. Jainan apparently wasn’t the only one who could change his voice to hide his feelings. “I’ll go.”
Jainan opened his mouth to say, Don’t, and then he shut it again. He couldn’t dictate who Kiem wanted to sleep with. He’d thought he could hurry them both into it and hide the sliver of ice inside himself that made him disappointing, but he’d been wrong. The problem isn’t someone’s type. The problem is you. He couldn’t force Kiem to be attracted to him.
“I’ll go,” Jainan said, instead.
“No,” Kiem said, almost violently. Jainan held very still, but Kiem wasn’t looking at him. He was on his feet, opening drawers at random until he found some sort of cloth—a bedsheet. “Never mind. We’ll sort something out. I don’t—make yourself at home. I’m sorry.” The door slid open, and while Jainan was still pushing himself up, protests on the tip of his tongue, Kiem had left.
The door slid shut before Jainan could reach it. He stood frozen in front of it, his hand just outside the reach of the sensor trigger, the blank, white surface only inches from his face. He could go through. It wasn’t locked.
But what would he say? There was no way to fix this.
He turned away. Kiem had made his intentions clear: Jainan had the whole room to himself, and Kiem would make his own arrangements. Jainan looked at the bed. Everything in him recoiled. He briefly entertained the thought of sleeping on a chair, or on the floor, but dismissed the idea as ridiculous. He was not someone who made dramatic gestures. He was practical, and discreet, and a dependable partner. He didn’t have to be liked.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the white ceiling. Sleep would come. It always did.
CHAPTER 5
“I’m going to geo-tag you,” Bel informed Kiem when he came through the door the next morning. “I checked all your usual breakfast spots and couldn’t find you. I even checked the janitors’ canteen. Answer your messages.”
“Sorry,” Kiem said, swallowing the last of his breakfast roll. Morning light streamed through the window, highlighting the folded bedsheet on the back of the sofa more clearly than he would have liked. The bedroom door was still shut. He assumed Jainan was asleep. “I went for a walk.”
Bel gave him a disbelieving look. “By yourself?”
“Yeah,” Kiem said. Bel didn’t lose the skeptical look. He added, “I met a security guard when I was in the Ash Garden. We had a nice chat. Told me about tree borers or something.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Bel said. “I was starting to think you were coming down with something.” She flicked her fingers and sent his calendar to the wall screen. “You’re down to meet the Auditor this afternoon. The Resolution calls it instation, but I understand it’s just an official confirmation of you two as the Thean representatives.”
“Great, great,” Kiem said. He supposed it couldn’t go worse than last night. “I’m ready to be instated. I’m so official and responsible it makes elderly monks weep. What else?”
“You’re still scheduled for a College event this morning. Are you planning to go to it, or has the Emperor given you a new schedule now that you’re married?”
Kiem hadn’t even thought of that. “She didn’t say anything like that.” He looked at the rest of the calendar, which showed the usual roster of events and charity bashes. “We need to show up for the Resolution ceremonies—and Unification Day, of course—but she didn’t give me anything else official. Hren said she wants to keep the whole marriage low-key. Only necessary press.”