9 Midnight Maneuvers #3
“Thank you, Captain. And thank you for showing me the traitors within my midst. I’ll make certain they are swiftly dealt with. You need not worry about any further attacks,” she said. Her Emperor mask was back on. She wasn’t Astrid anymore.
I put down my teacup. “I don’t want anyone else to die for me.”
“Then what do you want?” she demanded. “Money? Land? I can offer any reparation you desire.”
“I want the last twelve years back. I want the girl I fell in love with,” I thought, wondering what I could possibly say to such an offer.
The Emperor’s face went perfectly blank. “I’m afraid neither of those requests are within my power to give.”
Oh, shit. Had I spoken out loud? I was truly losing it. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m very tired, and don’t know what I’m saying. At your leisure, I think we should continue this conversation in the morning when we’ve both had time to rest.”
“The Levar I knew hardly needed rest,” the Emperor countered. It was the first time she’d referenced our Academy days.
“Yes, well, ten years of war takes a toll on a body,” I said, acid in my voice. How dare she bring up our romantic past now?
“Come now. I must make this right. How can I make amends? Would you like Count Gretsky’s lands and titles? His position at court?”
I stared at her, not comprehending. “I cannot betray my country to become a count in your bloodthirsty court, Your Majesty. If that is what you brought me here to do, then you must be even more exhausted than me.”
“Do I get no gratitude for saving your life?” the Emperor asked, her chin raised, lips twisting.
“I suppose I should thank you for dissolving the illusion of civility surrounding this soiree. I’m glad to know I’m still on the battlefield, pretty costumes aside.” I regretted saying it immediately, but was too exhausted to not speak my mind.
“Don’t be an ass, Levar. This isn’t war, it’s politics,” Astrid said, flopping back in the haughty, disdainful way I knew so well from school when she glared down a society soph trying to embarrass her with superior manners.
I was less easy to intimidate than those pre-war dandies. “What do you expect when you killed one of your own in front of me?”
“To save you. I killed him to save you.”
I don’t know why I was so combative that evening, but I replied, “I thought this was about protecting the peace conference. You wouldn’t have saved any of the others?”
“I don’t love any of the others.”
Astrid’s response was immediate, thoughtless, pure reaction.
She froze after saying it, eyes wide for just a moment, showing the Astrid I knew twelve years ago, the Astrid worried about making the wrong step in society, worried about somehow driving me away before she found her self-assuredness and realized I loved her.
Then her face flattened out, her eyelids drooping, mouth forming a neutral non-smile as the Emperor’s mask returned.
I willed my fingers to unclench from the carved wooden armrests. “If you loved me, you would have let me know you were alive before my nation’s military intelligence informed me you were Emperor.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you were dead.”
Astrid’s proclamation punctured the balloon of my swelling righteous rage.
I clamped my mouth shut. I couldn’t misspeak if I did not speak.
Astrid chose to fill the silence. “After the first assaults, I sent a spy to ascertain your whereabouts. They returned with a casualty report, with your name on it. Flight Lieutenant Levar Boylan, Killed in Action.”
My jaw unlocked. “I was MIA, presumed killed, but only because your blitz shattered our expeditionary force. I was separated from my cavalry wing during the retreat and fought alongside an infantry division for three months until the bureaucracy caught up and reassigned me back to my original unit.”
Astrid’s eyes were wide, glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “Fall, if I’d only known…”
“If you’d only known, then what? You’d have ended the war? Declared peace to bring me back?”
Astrid opened her mouth, then shut it again, silent.
“I see.” I stood. “Good night, Your Majesty.”
“Halt!” she commanded. I ignored her, turning towards the door. “Stop!” she shouted, her voice full of empowered rage, the anger of a powerful person denied. I walked forwards, reaching for the door handle.
“Don’t go.”
The tone of her voice had changed. It was softer, no longer commanding. She was pleading.
I stopped. “What could possibly make me stay?”
I waited, willing her to say something, wanting her to say anything to keep me there. But Astrid said nothing. She sat silent, as though paralyzed, her eyes wide and glistening, but she could not even muster enough sadness to shed a single tear for our fallen affair.
“Good night, Your Majesty. I will see you tomorrow,” I said. Then I left. I did not want to leave. Every bone in my body screamed for me to return, to rush to her, to beg her forgiveness and kiss her lips.
But my wounded pride kept me walking, and my stubborn feet brought me back to my chambers to spend a fitful night trying to sleep, wondering if I had thrown away the woman I loved all over again, or if she had ever returned for me to lose.