Lord Regret's Price: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 3 (12 page)

But the grandness of his clothing couldn’t detract from the sickly pallor of his face. Even from a distance, she could see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Seated lower on either side of him were the Dowager Empresses, Ci’an and Cixi. The first had been his father’s Empress, the other was his mother. Both held sway over his affections and his court, though Cixi was gaining in power with every passing day. They were both gorgeous, with perfect skin and delicate features, making them look as young as their son, instead of like ladies of her own age.

Ci’an’s hair was silver but Charlotte expected the color was cosmetic and not due to age. She smiled and rose, coming forward to take Charlotte’s hands in both of hers. “Lady Wyre, I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Everyone she’d asked had said Ci’an had a sweet and almost childlike demeanor. Yet when the Empress pressed her lips to Charlotte’s cheek, she was still shocked. Majel would never be so casually affectionate and informal, even with her most trusted Seneschal, Murray.

Shaken off balance, Charlotte returned the woman’s kiss on her cheek, unsure if that was appropriate or not. “Your Majesty, I’m overwhelmed by your graciousness.”

Dowager Empress Ci’an let out a trilling laugh more appropriate for a teenaged girl. “We’re so excited to have you with us. We can’t wait to hear your stories about how you escaped Britannia.”

Carefully, Charlotte tried to express why she couldn’t indulge that request. “I’m supposed to be dead, Your Majesty, though Queen Majel certainly suspects that I am alive and well. If she were ever to have proof…”

Still holding her left hand, Ci’an pulled her toward the other woman with a playful pout. “Cixi, dear, tell her she’s safe with us. I so want to hear about her grand escape!”

Cixi smiled but there was nothing of youth or sweetness in the hard gleam of her teeth. She didn’t rise as they approached, a clear message to Charlotte. Cixi gazed up at her with a piercing cut as though she wanted to crack open her skull and read her memories and knowledge like a book. “Don’t be silly. The last thing we want is Queen Majel’s Ravens arriving in our system searching for the infamous Lady Doctor.”

Ci’an pouted even more, refusing to give up Charlotte’s hand, even though she politely tried to extract from the woman’s grip so she could curtsy properly, because it was clear that Empress Cixi wouldn’t be satisfied with an affectionate peck on the cheek. Finally Charlotte settled for curtsying while holding the other Empress’s hand, instead of lifting her gown as she normally would.

“Mother,” the Emperor said in a plaintive voice even more childlike than Ci’an’s, “it’s not fair of you to bogart our guests’ attentions.”

It took all Charlotte’s years of dealing with her own Queen’s eccentricities to keep her face smoothed of the uneasiness. Her stomach was a roiling mass of acid, much worse than when she’d had to deal with Majel. The Queen was brutal and merciless, but she was a known threat. Charlotte knew how Majel would react to most any situation, and while she had no compunction against wiping out someone who’d wronged her—even their entire House—she had her standards.

She would never whine like a spoiled little brat. In front of guests, no less.

Even more confusing, the Emperor seemed to be referring to Ci’an as his mother, because he frowned at the way she clutched Charlotte’s hand.

Ci’an let out another disturbingly childlike laugh and tucked Charlotte’s hand around her arm, escorting her toward the throne. “Don’t be jealous, Zaichun. I’ll share my new toy. Isn’t she precious?”

Bewildered, Charlotte risked a glance back at Cixi to gauge her reaction. Her lips were compressed tightly, her dark eyes locked on her rival, both for her court and her son. Out of everyone’s reactions, at least Cixi’s made sense to an extent. Charlotte had expected tensions between the two ladies.

“You look confused, my lady,” Ci’an said, sharing another girlish laugh with the Emperor. “We wanted to welcome you like a sister, not like a formal dignitary. That’s why we’re here instead of below in the Hall of Supreme Harmony. We allow no formalities here. You must have many questions, so don’t hesitate to ask.” She lowered her voice and whispered, though loudly enough for everyone to still hear. “We promise answers even if Cixi doesn’t like it.”

Charlotte curtsied as low as she could before the Emperor, determined to retain her pride and breeding no matter how informal and childlike the Empress Dowager pretended to be. For it had to be an act. The woman was at least as old as Charlotte, certainly old enough to be the Emperor’s mother, and he was a grown man ruling an ancient people.

Careful to keep her scrutiny as courteous as possible, Charlotte searched the Emperor’s face to catalogue his symptoms. Up close, his color was even more alarming, his skin a pasty gray tinged with green. They’d tried to disguise his illness with cosmetics, but the false pink of his cheeks merely made his eyes feverishly bright. His cheekbones were taut, the skin pulled tight to outline the skull beneath.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I thought Dowager Empress Cixi was your mother.”

“
Birth
mother,” Ci’an said with a dismissive shrug of her shoulder. “
I
was the Xianfeng Emperor’s Empress Consort, so all of his children are legally mine to claim.”

“I call both ladies Mother.” He gave a fond smile to Ci’an but when he turned his gaze to Cixi, his eyes narrowed and his tone chilled. “Some must remember who sits on the Dragon Throne.”

Cixi smiled back at her son. “I never forget who rules Zijin, Your Majesty, nor who helped put him there.”

Charlotte met Sig’s gaze and read the same dismay in his eyes.
And I thought Britannian politics were bad.

And I thought my family was dysfunctional.

Sig fought not to shake his head with the same heavy dismay as Charlie. At this point, he’d gleefully accept a contract on every Zijin dignitary in the room except Prince Gong.

A clamor from the far side of the room drew everyone’s attention. Sig dropped his hand to his hip, grimacing when he didn’t find his favorite blade.

The guards stepped aside and allowed a young woman into the room, royal by the elaborate gown and headdress. She sailed up the aisle without pause, her mouth held in a broad smile that his instincts flagged as suspicious. She was entirely too young for such a smug look of disdain for her own family.

“I see you decided to carry out this ridiculous charade after all. Forgive my family, Your Grace, for being so rude.”

“Not at all,” Charlotte replied calmly. “No one in Zijin has been rude to us, except the Imperial assassins who tried to kill me in the market.”

The young woman snickered and then covered her mouth as though she hadn’t meant to make a sound. Eyes narrowed, Sig watched her, recording every little move. His gut insisted she was familiar. That he’d seen her before.
My contractor? Possibly. But I can’t be sure.

He flicked his gaze over everyone in the room in quick succession, hoping one of them might betray him- or herself as the person who’d given the order to have Charlie killed. Damnation, they all looked guilty. Maybe that’s why so many of the assassins had attacked her. It hadn’t been a deliberate warning, but rather a disjointed attempt by many to eliminate her. Hopefully they wouldn’t decide to start working together.

“Our sister, Princess Rong’an.” The Emperor let out a long-suffering sigh as though they’d tormented each other unmercifully in the schoolroom. “We have not yet found a husband for her.”

She sniffed with enough disdain to do Charlie proud. “As if I’d marry a man you pick out, First Brother.” She walked over to Charlie and took her hand in a firm shake like a man. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady. Your esteemed party honors us with your visit.”

“Your Highness,” Charlie murmured back, unable to stop herself from a small curtsy in greeting. “Allow me to introduce my companions. Gilead Masters of Queenstown, Americus, and Lord Sigmund Regret.”

Sig swept off his hat and gave a low, dramatic bow. “Your Highness, Your Majesties, thank you for extending the invitation to Xuanyuan.”

Not to be outdone, Masters removed the ugly, beat-up cavalry hat he’d insisted on wearing even though the navy didn’t match his black coat and clicked his heels together smartly. “At your service, Your Majesties.”

“A military man,” the Emperor exclaimed, leaning forward, bracing his chin in his palm, elbow casually on his knee. “Where did you serve?”

“Americus Cavalry, first in the Indian uprisings and then rising to colonel in the Revolutionary War,” Masters replied. “Lastly, I worked as a federal marshal.”

“Not to mention an undercover sheriff,” Charlie added with a hint of reproach. She even reached out and lightly tapped his arm. “He tricked me for over a year.”

He caught her hand and raised her knuckles to his mouth. “For which you made me suffer dearly.”

“I don’t think I’ve yet forgiven you fully, Special Agent Masters.”

Sig knew it was all a game, a carefully choreographed display to entertain and deflect their worries about her research. The same way he pretended to be a blue-blooded lord, even though that aspect of his heritage made his heart go stone-cold heavy every single time he played that part.

While the political waltz might keep them all alive, it left a nasty taste in Sig’s mouth. He’d rather take out his mark and get out of here than bait them into revealing more than they intended.

A gong sounded, drawing everyone’s attention to a group of ministers walking down the main aisle. They marched slowly and deliberately, each carrying an instrument or incense while calling out in their language. The Emperor rose and gestured for his guests to follow. “It’s the dining hour. Do sit beside me, Mr. Masters. I’m most anxious to hear more about your Americus adventures. You say you fought against the indigenous tribes?”

Gil immediately launched into a yawn-worthy description of bows, arrows and hatchet-wielding wild men of the Americus forests. Charlie was trapped between Dowager Empress Ci’an and Princess Rong’an, leaving Sig to escort Dowager Empress Cixi. She lightly laid her hand on his arm and glided along beside him, her dainty, slippered feet barely seeming to touch the floor. He supposed it was some kind of insult for her to bring up the rear, though she didn’t reveal any upset. In fact, she gazed up at him shrewdly, a knowing smile on her lips that made him reconsider who might have hired him.

“Are the legends about you true, my lord?”

“That depends,” he drawled in his most lazy, lordly voice. “Gossip is so tedious I rarely listen to it.”

“They say you’ve killed a thousand marks.”

He yawned. “They lied.”

“Surely not more?”

He merely arched a brow and allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk.

“Do you accept both female and male targets?”

“My weapons hold no bias, whether sexual or racial. I don’t give a damn whether the mark’s a royal or a commoner, a Britannian stablehand or a Razari matriarch. When I accept the contract, the mark dies. Period.”

“Except in the legendary
lady’s case.”

Sig hardened his face and his voice to carry the weight of his conviction. “I never accepted a mark on my lady. And I never shall.”

“Hmmm,” Cixi said with a small smile of her own that made his hackles rise. “Every man has his price. What’s yours, Lord Regret?”

“I have no price.” He said each word slowly and carefully, keeping his head high and his gaze locked on Charlie’s gown swishing ahead of them. “Not when it comes to her.”

“We shall see.”

That made him jerk his head around to glare down at the small woman on his arm, but she merely laughed. If she’d been a lady in Britannia, she probably would have smacked him with her fan. Here in Xuanyuan, evidently the custom was to tap one long, lacquered nail on the back of his hand. “I jest, Lord Regret. My, how quickly you rise to defend her honor. I hope she’s as quick to protect you if the need arises.”

“I need no protection.” He tried to keep the disbelief and amusement out of his voice but the coy look she gave him as he seated her at the opposite end of the table from the Emperor told him he’d failed to keep his reactions under control.

Cixi held on to his sleeve, drawing him back down so she could whisper into his ear. “Then what do you need, my lord?”

The way she said
need
made his damaged heart lurch with surprise. Thick, heavy lust echoed in that single word. Her dark eyes glittered in the lamplight, sinking into him like taloned claws. Her eyes said she knew exactly what sort of dark desires twisted inside him. Without answering, he firmly pulled away and gave her an empty, polite smile and nod, as he would have done for his lady mother.

The most cutting insult he could give any woman.

Charlotte had never been to a formal dinner that wasn’t dreadfully boring. Dining with the ruling family of Zijin was no different. If possible, it might have even been worse because not even Queen Majel had ever served twenty-seven different courses. With each course, they all sat watching as the Emperor’s taste-tester sampled the dish and then waited ten minutes to ensure no poison passed his lips. No more than an ancient tradition—certainly not scientifically based—since she could name three poisons offhand that would take an hour or even days to work on its victim.