Chapter 69-The world best tasting wine #2
The people who taught him were selected for loyalty, influence, or political usefulness.
We would not give our daughters twenty-three opportunities to be used.
Duchess Sera sighed. "Still, the nights must be dreadful."
"Some are."
"I cannot imagine waking that often," the blond woman said. "My son cried every two hours for the first year. I would have gone mad without the wet nurses."
Another woman nodded eagerly. "Twins must be twice as terrible."
"Not always," I said.
They laughed.
I took another drink.
The glass was becoming lighter far more quickly than expected.
Perhaps the servants were pouring less into each one.
That seemed likely.
I looked down briefly to confirm.
The wine remained at the halfway point.
Interesting.
Lady Marielle smiled sympathetically. "You must be exhausted."
"Sometimes."
"His Majesty must permits the nurses to handle the night feedings?"
The question sounded harmless.
It was not.
Nothing involving my husband habits was harmless at court.
I chose my answer carefully.
"He usually handles them."
The women went still.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Duchess Sera blinked. "His Majesty?"
"Yes."
"The emperor?"
I looked toward Achille.
He remained trapped across the room, now listening to a foreign king describe something with great enthusiasm. Achille's gaze had wandered back toward me again.
He noticed the women.
He noticed my glass.
He noticed, because he noticed everything.
I smiled at him.
His expression became more suspicious.
"The emperor," I confirmed.
Lady Marielle's surprise looked almost childlike. "He wakes for the princesses?"
"He is a light sleeper."
That was true.
Achille woke at the smallest sound.
A cradle creaking.
A blanket shifting.
One of the girls sighing in a way he considered unusual.
There had been nights when I opened my eyes only to find him already standing beside the cradle, half-dressed, hair disordered, one hand resting protectively against a daughter's back while she slept peacefully beneath his inspection.
During the weeks after the birth, when moving still hurt and exhaustion pulled at me like illness, he handled nearly everything at night.
He warmed bottles. Changed cloths. Walked the halls with a crying infant pressed against his bare chest.
Returned her to the cradle only after checking that she remained breathing.
"They respond better to him at night," I said.
The auburn-haired woman looked stunned. "Truly?"
"Especially Elowen."
The warmth beneath my skin had reached my cheeks now. I could feel it whenever I smiled, though the air in the ballroom remained cool.
"She is her father's child," I continued. "Sometimes she cries until he comes."
Several women laughed softly.
"She recognizes him?" Duchess Sera asked.
"Immediately. She can be furious with everyone else, then he walks into the room and she begins giggling as though she was never upset."
The women exchanged glances.
I recognized the expression.
They found it difficult to reconcile the stories they had heard about Achille with the image I had given them.
That was understandable.
Most people preferred simple monsters.
It was easier to fear a man if one believed he possessed no tenderness. Easier to hate him if one imagined his cruelty reached into every room, touched every relationship, poisoned every gentle thing.
People did not know what to do with a tyrant who warmed bottles.
I drank again.
For a few moments, the conversation felt almost ordinary.
Women discussing their children.
Sleepless nights.
Difficult feedings.
Husbands who proved unexpectedly useful or utterly helpless.
A duchess confessed that her son once fell asleep in a laundry basket because no one realized the nurse had placed him there temporarily.
I listened.
I laughed.
I enjoyed them.
That did not make them my friends.
The distinction remained clear even as warmth loosened my shoulders and made their company easier to welcome.
They would not have crossed a ballroom to comfort Ophelia, the unwanted Kyrian princess.
They came to speak with Empress Ophelia.
Queen of Elysium.
Wife of the most feared ruler on the continent.
Every smile carried hope.
A place near me.
A future invitation.
A daughter appointed to the nursery.
A son considered for a council position.
A family name spoken favorably in front of Achille.
Perhaps some affection was sincere.
Court relationships were rarely built from only one thing.
A woman could genuinely like me and still use that closeness to advance her household. She could admire my daughters while imagining her own child beside them. She could feel sympathy for my exhaustion while quietly wondering whether weakness made me easier to influence.
I did not resent them for it.
I simply refused to forget.
Lady Marielle touched my forearm lightly. "It is admirable, Your Majesty. Truly. I do not believe I could have managed with so few people."
"You would manage if you wished to."
"I am not certain."
"We endure more than we expect when something matters enough."
The blond woman beside me smiled politely before before asking "Have Your Majesties selected their tutors yet?"
"We haven't," I answered simply.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face.
"Not yet? Isn't that rather late?"
I couldn't help the small crease that formed between my brows.
"They're only six months old."
"It is never too early to begin preparing their education," she replied with an experienced smile. "I know an exceptional tutor. He has served my family for years. I'm certain he would be an excellent choice for your daughters."
My fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around my glass.
"We are more than capable of choosing their tutors ourselves when the time comes."
The words left my mouth before I had the chance to soften them.
Silence settled over us.
The women exchanged quick, uncertain glances before lowering their eyes.
Only then did I realize how cold I had sounded.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders.
"I apologize," I said gently. "That came out harsher than I intended."
Their attention returned to me.
"Our daughters will have tutors when they're old enough to understand what they're being taught."
My smile softened as I thought of the twins.
"For now, they need stories before lessons, scraped knees before etiquette, and parents before instructors. There will be plenty of time for duty when they're older. I'd rather let them enjoy being children while they still can."
Lady Marielle's expression warmed immediately.
"Of course, Your Majesty," she said with a respectful incline of her head. "That is a wonderful way to look at it."
The others agreed.
Too quickly.
I took another sip.
My face felt warmer, my laughter easier, but every word around me still carried shape. I knew where the danger lived. Knew when sympathy became inquiry. Knew which questions could be answered and which should be redirected.
They could know Achille fed his daughters at night.
They could know Elowen adored him.
They could know I enjoyed raising the twins with a small household.
They did not need names.
Schedules.
Weaknesses.
Who slept in which room.
Which maid the girls recognized. Which guard held the nursery key.
Warmth could be given without access.
That lesson had taken me years to learn.
I looked down at my glass.
Empty.
That was unexpected.
I did not remember finishing the final sip.
A servant appeared nearby with another tray.
I considered it.
Lady Marielle began another sentence, something about how refreshing it was to see the imperial family so devoted to one another.
I listened.
Smiled.
Answered carefully.
But the ballroom had begun to feel warmer than before.
The crystals were brighter. The music seemed nearer even though the musicians had not moved.
My body remained steady, yet I found myself pressing my tongue lightly against the inside of my cheek before speaking, making certain every word arrived in the proper order.
Perfectly sensible.
Entirely normal.
I looked toward the corridor leading back to the private wing.
The girls would still be asleep.
Or perhaps Elowen had awakened.
Perhaps Lysandra had discovered Elias nearby and begun tormenting him.
The thought made me smile.
I offered them the same warm expression I had given when they approached.
"Ladies, you will have to excuse me."
Lady Marielle bowed her head. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"It was a pleasure speaking with you."
"The pleasure was ours."
Perhaps it had been.
Perhaps the entire conversation would be repeated before midnight, each sentence examined for favor, weakness, or hidden meaning.
That was court.
I could enjoy it without trusting it.
I inclined my head, gathered the edge of my gown, and stepped away.
I continued toward the doors.
Slowly.
Not so slowly that it appeared deliberate, but without the urgency my body wanted to show.
The ballroom remained bright behind me, every chandelier scattering candlelight across polished floors and jeweled clothing until the entire room seemed to glitter with movement.
Music swelled near the center of the dance floor.
Laughter rose from one group of nobles and disappeared beneath the sound of another.
Servants passed carrying trays of wine that seemed to refill themselves every time I looked away.
I smiled at a duchess who greeted me.
Nodded to a foreign ambassador.
Paused long enough to answer a question about the twins' presentation.
Then continued.
Only when I reached the final row of pillars did I allow myself to glance over my shoulder.
Achille had not noticed.
At least, not yet.
The men surrounding him blocked his view of the door. One of the visiting kings stepped closer, drawing Achille's attention toward a document a servant had brought. My husband lowered his gaze.
I turned away before instinct told him I was looking.
Relief moved through me quietly.
Not enough to soften my purpose.