“Yep,” Hren said. “Congratulations on getting hitched.”
At that moment, Bel came out from the study and said, “Another room? Oh—Hren Halesar. Good morning.”
“Let’s try that again,” Hren said, ignoring her. “Congrats on your marriage.”
“Thanks?” Kiem said.
Hren sat down on the chair opposite the couch and pushed up his shirtsleeves. “So you haven’t memorized your press statement.”
“I have a press statement?”
“I’m afraid we’ve only just received it from your department,” Bel said coolly. “I was coming now to inform his highness.”
“Get it on his damned wristband, then,” Hren said. “Five minutes ago. We’ve talked about this. First thing you do in any event is—”
“I know, get the lines to take, I know.” Kiem hated being given press statements. You weren’t only supposed to use them with the press but with everyone who asked you a related question, and it made him feel like a robot. But crossing Hren never went well. “Go on, Bel, what are they?”
“There are two pages of various statements,” Bel said. “Here it would be that you accept congratulations and are proud to continue the alliance in memory of your revered cousin Prince Taam.”
“What about Jainan? Shouldn’t it mention Jainan?” said Kiem. “Some kind of compliment, maybe?”
“Kiem,” Hren said patiently. “He’s a diplomatic representative, not one of your groupies.”
“I just thought—”
“Listen, Jainan knows this is a political arrangement and isn’t going to expect flattery. I’ve talked to him.”
Kiem winced at political arrangement. He probably shouldn’t be visualizing his oncoming marriage as a hostile council meeting, but once he had the image, it was hard to get it out of his head. “Right.”
“Your persona needs to change now that you’re married, you understand?”
“I’m reformed,” Kiem protested. “It’s not a persona thing.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Hren said. “Heard it when you and your friends flooded your school with the ice machine.”
“I was fifteen,” Kiem said defensively.
“Then again when you lost six months’ allowance betting you could climb the dome on the shrine, and your friend told the press.”
“I was seventeen,” Kiem said, but realized it wasn’t helping his case. “I didn’t really understand money yet.” That sounded even worse. He’d been properly hauled over the coals for that one, both by the media and by the Emperor, which had been somehow more painful than his fractured ankle. “Look, I know I’ve screwed up, but those were all years ago.”
“Then you auditioned for that game show while you were at the College, and we had to force the media house to wipe the footage.”
Kiem didn’t have a defense for that. Hren jabbed his thumb in Kiem’s direction to emphasize his point. “No more tell-alls. No more blow-by-blows of your latest hangover. You’ve got just under a month to sell the public on this marriage before Unification Day. The bloody Resolution takes public sentiment into account when they audit the treaty. And on the same topic, you’re going to have to start taking more care over the charity groups you work with, understand? No politics.”
“That’s charity fundraising. Not politics.”
“I’ll tell you what it’s not, it’s not smiling at the bloody camera,” Hren said. “Even if the Thean logs felt warm and fuzzy about us—which they don’t—a death and a quick remarriage would still be a tough sell. I need something that doesn’t give the fringe outlets any traction. What’s this about another room?”
It took Kiem a moment to recall what he and Bel had been talking about. “Nothing important,” he said. “Jainan’s going to need his own room, but I know it’ll look bad if we don’t live together. We’ll just do some remodeling in here, add a bedroom—” He broke off at the look on Hren’s face.
“Add a bedroom?” Hren said. “Did you agree to this marriage or not? You want the Thean press to run stories about it falling apart before it’s a week old? They can get some nice mileage out of that, link it to the weaknesses in the Thean alliance, find some of those fucking teenagers who’ve decided unification protests are the new big thing. No construction work.”
“I—what? You can’t expect him to sleep with me.”
“Don’t like the look of him? Too bad. Suck it up.”
“That’s not it!” Kiem said. “He’s just lost his partner, I’m pretty damn sure he’s not going to want to! Marriage, fine, but not sleeping together.”
“You start putting in new bedrooms, some contractor’s going to tell the newslogs,” Hren said. “That’s out. Thanks to you, your friends, your old housemates, and everyone down to your College halls cleaner, I have detailed cuttings about every starstruck airhead you’ve ever jumped into bed with—”
“Hey,” Kiem said, “none of them were like that.”
“—which is the only part of my work-based knowledge I want to carve out of my head with an industrial laser, but you set yourself up for this. The newslogs expect to know about your sex life. You’re fair game. Do what you want once the bedroom door shuts, but you’re going to pretend to everyone else that you and the Thean are happily married.”
“Everything in my rooms is private,” Kiem said stubbornly. “Nothing’s going to leak. And this isn’t your business anyway.”
“This palace has more leaks than a sewer pipe on a junk ship.” Hren looked at Bel, just a glance.
Kiem’s eyes narrowed. “Bel’s more discreet than any of your press office staff.”
“I can always find you someone more reliable,” Hren said, and Kiem realized he was being blackmailed. Hren had enough of the Emperor’s ear to have some pull over hiring decisions and Bel was technically paid by the palace. Prince or not, Kiem didn’t have the leverage. He didn’t have to look at Bel to know that she knew it too. Hren had never gone this far before. Kiem hadn’t been worth blackmailing. Kiem felt, with some uneasiness, that he had stepped over an invisible line into a different political world from the one he’d occupied yesterday.
“No construction work,” Kiem echoed. “Right.”
“Right. I’ll release your press statement to the journalists.” Kiem considered protesting that he hadn’t even read it yet, but he could recognize when he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Hren got to his feet. “Have it memorized by tomorrow. I’ll see you at the signing ceremony.”
Kiem saw him out. It wasn’t until the door had shut that he turned to Bel, threw up his hands, and said, “How is everything somehow worse?”
* * *
It continued to get worse. The head steward came early the next morning with a program for the ceremony and a mind-numbing list of details for Kiem to sign off on. No sooner had Kiem dragged himself through that than the congratulatory calls started coming in.