33: First Meeting

Looking at the woman sitting in front of me, I was both impressed and angry. She was ruining all my plans. I took slow, deliberate breaths to compose myself. She smelled of roses, just enough to notice, but not overpower. It was a carefully crafted scent, measured, calculated and deceptively soft.

Her beauty, however, had no moderation. It hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

“You wouldn't happen to have mind reading abilities, would you, Your Majesty?” I half-joked, hiding my unease behind humor.

“If only I did,” she laughed lightly. A melodious sound that made my heart flutter. “Life would be so much simpler. No, Your Excellency,” she stretched those words slowly, as if to mock me. “There were reports of a certain Viscount who led five thousand refugees out of Nanon and into the Bog. His death was never confirmed. I sent someone who could recognize that missing man, and he did.”

Of course she did, I thought as I avoided her gaze. Not that it should matter. If I was going to work with her, I couldn’t keep Jack’s, now my, identity hidden forever. Future me would have to deal with the aftermath of the Battle of the Bog in Nobart; Present me had to survive these negotiations first.

She continued, “Your performance at the battle of the Bog was… astonishing. We didn’t believe the initial report and sent another set of investigators to verify it. Imagine my shock when it all turned out to be true.” She leaned back, studying me openly. “More than half of Zock’s men dead, and you couldn't have had more than a few hundred soldiers hidden in that forest.”

There was honest admiration in her voice.

I couldn’t help but smile. She was a true pragmatist; no whining about how vile foreigners killed the innocent noble sons of the land. That made her dangerous, but also likable.

My smile also hid satisfaction. She didn’t need to know that we had defeated a force of six hundred with only a hundred on the front-lines. We hadn’t even needed to fully deploy the reservists. I wasn't going to tell her how strong we truly were.

Not yet. Not without need.

Suddenly, she bowed deeply to me. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving the lives of my envoy and her men. I can tell from their recounting that they would have perished without your help.”

“No need to thank me, Majesty. It is the duty of any civilized person to help another.”

She smiled faintly at that. “Indeed. Alas, the burden of leadership demands that we discuss graver matters.”

Then, her demeanor changed. A coy smile played on her lips, as she said in an almost sultry tone, “I'm willing to overlook that… little border incident between our realms, if you agree to provide us with your miraculous weapons and training.”

She leaned forward, clearly tempting me to look into her ample cleavage. Struggling again my base desires, I kept my eyes glued to hers.

Clever stupid-hot vixen, I will not turn into your pet.

My gaze flickered, betraying me, then snapped back. I took a long breath before addressing her.

“I suspected that was the reason why you addressed the killers of a Count so cordially in that letter, but I really don't want to provide your people with our weapons and training.”

“Why not? You will be paid very handsomely,” she murmured, her full lips carefully curling around those words, making me gulp.

“It's not about the money.” I managed to speak out.

I couldn't say out loud that if we lost our technological edge, even the weakest of her vassals could run us over. Heck, they could do it without it too, if they only knew how few we were.

Seeing the state of our prisoners of war and the commoners in the city had given me another reason to not empower her vassals. Looking at those intelligent eyes, I decided to be frank with her.

“I dislike the foundations of your society, and don't want to empower it further. To be specific, I don’t want to empower your vassals. The stratification of society based solely upon birth, where a five year old child is considered the better of a fifty year old, just because who his daddy is, has created this awful civilization, where most people live terrible lives. And have little to no chance of improving their lot in life, ever.”

She looked at me, brows knitted in confusion. “You speak as though you stand outside of it. This is the way of the world, and you are a noble yourself.”

“I'm quite sure my father had disowned me, so not anymore. We don’t have these social divisions in Chadom.”

“I can reinstate you, or grant you any boon that is within my power. Name your price.”

I had a price in mind and knew for sure she would reject it, but asking couldn't hurt. Also, the more ridiculous my initial ask, the more reasonable subsequent offers should sound. Sales 101.

“Help me remake the foundation of this society.”

She looked at me as if I had asked for the moon. Then her face hardened into that of a monarch.

“I could send a far larger force to your border. A well prepared one, led by a competent commander,” she said with an edge in her voice.

“Wouldn't make a difference. The terrain and our weapons give us too much advantage.”

“I could have you arrested for killing Count Zock. Your own father.”

“We have contingencies in place. You might not like the outcomes,” I bluffed. “Also, who would trust the words of an oath breaker in the future? I made sure to let it be known that you had promised me safe conduct.”

We held each other’s gaze, her anger simmering, mine steady. Finally, she exhaled sharply and looked away.

“How did you become the leader of a realm, anyway?”

She was quite smart but even she did not assume that a bunch of refugees and a single noble could defeat a force of six-hundred this easily by themselves. One small victory for me.

“They were overcome by my good looks and humility beyond comprehension.” I said with a straight face.

That made her chuckle.

God, even her laugh is beautiful. Damn her.

She quickly schooled her expression. “I can see why you got along with Reshma, but now is not the time for levity. I should have asked you earlier; why did your father attack you? Did you not try to stop him?”

I exhaled. Time to ripoff the band aid. “I tried, but he would not budge. This is the reason.”

I took out the document from a pocket with barely controlled hands and presented it to her, along with a deciphered version.

“It’s a letter thanking a certain Lord Ox for providing sensitive information about the royal court, in exchange for some rewards. It's possible this information might have contributed to your father's death.”

Her jaw fell, as did the document from her hands. The world went still.

I broke the silence. “Count Zock pretty much proved that he was Lord Ox when he came to retrieve this document himself, with a sizable force. Then attacked us, presumably to make sure no one who might know about it would be left alive.”

She stared, rigid, as the truth crushed her composure.

“How long have you had it?” she whispered.

“We came across it two months ago, when we rescued two boys from a group of brigands. I doubt they had any inkling to its importance. It was clear from their haul that they had recently raided a nobleman’s convoy.”

Her face contorted in grief and fury. “Why didn't you inform us sooner? My father might still be alive had we known we had traitors this close among us!” her voice rose, uncontrolled.

“I had no way of contacting you. Nor did the document say what specific information he was passing or what its purpose was.”

“No way of contacting?” Her voice rose an octave, “Disowned or not, you are a Viscount of Nanon! You had contacts!” she almost screamed at me.

“When I helped the Cha escape, I was gravely injured and was in a coma for days. When I recovered, my memory of my life before were… fragmented. I didn’t remember anyone who I could contact.”

I hid my trepidation as I saw her barely hold herself together. I had come here trusting in her rational nature, and her response would either prove me right or all of Chadom would be in serious trouble.

“I'm truly sorry about your loss, Your Majesty,” I said gently. “If we had any inkling this document could have stopped such a heinous crime, we would have made sure it reached you.”

She remained silent, just staring at the documents.

“Perhaps we should discuss our trade deals tomorrow?” I added softly.

She glared at me, then made a motion to leave, which I promptly did.

---

Some time later, Laira wiped away the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

She pushed her anger and sorrow aside, went to her office and decoded the letter herself.

It didn’t take her too long, and it turned out to be identical to the Viscount’s version. She read it, again and again, and worked very hard to not tear it to bits. Appalled by her brother's inadequacies, she had worked hard to bolster their information network; recruiting beggars, whores and innkeepers throughout the kingdom. And yet she had failed to save her father's life. Her idiot brother had mocked her for using ‘unchivalrous’ ways. Maybe he had been right.

A part of her wanted to blame the Viscount, but there was nothing specific in the letter that would point to the timing of the matter, the people involved and what was to be done with the information. The traitor Count Zock was dead, but his friends were still alive.

The threat of Zoran Empire still loomed over her like a monstrous storm on the southern horizon.

She needed his weapons, desperately.

Exhausted from the emotional turmoil, she put the document in a locked box, got up and dragged herself to her bedroom without bothering to change.

The dinner had been completely forgotten. She rang a bell and told a servant to deliver it to the “Supreme Leader’s” chambers. She would fulfill the duties of a host, even though she hated his guts at the moment.

Reshma arrived and froze at the door the moment her eyes fell on Laira.

Before Laira could explain, the taller woman had crossed the room in long strides and enveloped her. In the embrace of those reliant arms, the Queen let go of all that she had kept in control, letting the floodgates open.

Reshma pulled the sobbing woman onto the massive bed. She pressed Laira tight against her bosom, letting her pour out all the grief she had to tried to bury under duty and diplomacy.

She stroked Laira’s back until her tears dried up, and her breathing grew soft.

Only then she whispered softly, “Sleep.”

Laira, exhausted beyond measure, finally did.