“First, I want you to call me Cheran,” Cheran said. Despite her confident words, the more time he spent with her, the more he picked up on her discomfort. She did not like the dress she was wearing, or the room they were in. She didn’t even like the tea she was served. She was a cornered animal with higher intelligence. Unless she was a supreme actress, she wanted none of the riches around her or the power she now wielded.

  “I shall try,” the princess said. Now she seemed even more ill at ease.

  “When you’re comfortable doing so,” he said. “And as for what I want, we can talk about that later.”

  She stiffened. He wished he could be like her and give her simple requests. Access to the library was not a request at all. Unfortunately, he had harder things to ask of her. No matter how much she appeared to not want to involve herself in politics, she would never be able to avoid it. If she wanted to survive, she would have to pick a side, gain allies and supporters.

  There was more he had to ask her. Soon everyone would start expecting a royal heir. Cheran ran a hand through his hair. Everyone would be expecting a child from a woman who had come an inch away from becoming a priestess and dedicating her entire life to prayer and study. He wasn’t sure of how monasteries worked in Noumin, but the ones he knew of had a strict segregation of the sexes.

  “I’d like to spend some time together,” he said. “I would like us to become friends.”

  Them appearing to like each other would gain her some advantage in the court.

  “Alright,” she said. “I would like that also.”

  She didn’t look like she did. Cheran clapped his hands, motioning for the servants to come back in.

  “What kind of tea do you like?” he asked. “This one doesn’t seem to your taste.”

  “I like hickory tea,” she said. Cheran cocked his head. He’d never heard of it. Seeing his confusion, she continued, “I also like black tea, peppermint, chamomile, dandelion…”

  “You heard the princess. Please bring her any of the teas she just mentioned,” he said.

  “Without sugar or milk, please,” she added, to the servant. Cheran smiled at her saying ‘please’. They did not request things, they demanded them. She would get used to her new station in life with time.

  “Yes, your highness,” the servant said, offering her a bow. When they were alone again, Cheran leaned against the back of the diwan.

  “So, what do you like to do?” Cheran asked. He knew it was a stupid question the second the words were out of his mouth. Those in monasteries woke up at dawn, prayed, farmed their monastic fields, and in general lived lives of penance for other peoples’ sins. She liked to read, but even the seeking out of knowledge was deemed a godly venture. He compared her possible answers to how he would answer the question. He spent his nights wandering the streets of the city, getting drunk, enjoying his time with various courtesans, listening to musicians, buying art. He was a hedonist married to an ascetic.

  “I like reading,” she ventured. “I like learning new things. I like gardening.”

  He was not surprised. “You would like our gardens here, I think. I can give you a tour of them if you would like. You could plant some hickory, if we don’t have it.”

  And he kept digging his grave deeper. He never said foolish things. Over the years, he’d learn to first ape and then later skillfully imitate his father’s manner of speech and behavior. He spoke little, and people assumed that he was at least of average intelligence. If he had taken active part in politics, he might have earned a false reputation of being his father’s son. However, usually his father left him no work to do, and even if there was, his father ended up improving on whatever he did. He had no idea what hickory was, from her expression.

  “You can call me Vayu,” she said. “If you would like.”

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  “I would like that,” he said.

  Before he could say more things to embarrass himself, he stood up. “Would you like to see the library now?”

  It had been years since he visited the library. His private tutors had liked taking classes in the library, but since he had completed the level of education his father deemed adequate, he learned more in court. Practical learning, as he thought of it. Sometimes his father references historical battles and treaties, but so far Cheran had been able to piece together an understanding of what his father meant through context.

  “Actually, I might start reading myself,” he said. It would be nice to actually know what was going on during the war meetings instead of nodding along and pretending. It would also be nice spending some time with the princess. They left his manor and made their way to the main castle, where the royal library occupied two floors.

  “What kind of books do you like to read?” he asked.

  “History, philosophy,” she said. “But I will read anything I find interesting. What do you like?”

  “I’m the same,” he lied. He hadn’t read a book in the last few years. The empire had conquered two small nations since he’d last stepped into the library. Vayu smiled at him, though, and he decided he would turn the white lie into truth. There was no harm in learning a bit more.

  They walked side by side, a few feet between them. The sky was beautiful. There was a sharp bite of cold in the air, with the approaching winter. Her dress was made of silk, and despite the shawl she wore over her shoulders, she looked cold. She pulled the shawl closer across herself, and Cheran took off his jacket. He placed it over her shoulders, and she flinched away at the unexpected touch.

  “Thank you,” she said. He was cold without his jacket, but he was warm too. She looked good in his clothing, and seemed more comfortable in the oversized jacket than her own dress.

  “Also, we should get some new clothing made for you, for the winter,” he said. “Daivian winters are much harsher than you’d have seen in Noumin.”

  It also would suit her to wear clothing she actually liked. She looked pretty in the dress, with its fluttery sleeves and lace embroidery, but it did not suit her. It was fashionable and meant to be seductive, but he could see that it was someone else’s choice. He imagined that if it was left to her choice, she would choose heavier materials, deeper colors, high-necked blouses and straight lines. It wasn’t usually his preference for how women dressed, but she would be happier in such things.

  Cheran knew he was showing her more kindness, giving her more thought, than was necessary. He felt bad for her, but he’d felt bad for other people and left them to their fate without any guilt whatsoever. He wanted her to be happy. Perhaps it was because of the permanence of their connection. Marriage.

  Marriage was monumental in most peoples’ lives, and they were interacting with each other like the wedding had been just a formality. Short of some nation falling, they were joined to each other until death. The reluctant princess, almost priestess, was his wife. He was responsible for her happiness. Everything else in his life, his father had taken care of, but Vayu was solely his responsibility. Everything he had and everything he was, it was an extension of his father. He was his father’s son, the heir. All the territories he had and the titles he held were passed down from his father and grandfather.

  The librarian stood upon seeing him enter. There were a few scholars in the massive room, poring over books that were not available in the university library outside the castle walls. If it were just him, he would probably spend the day taking one of the horses out for a ride. He wondered if Vayu knew how to ride.

  Vayu seemed to walk slower once she was past the threshold of the library. She handed him his jacket back and headed towards the librarian, inquiring quietly about the organization of the room. The librarian, although initially flustered, escorted her to the aisles that held the history books. Once she had picked out a few books, she settled down at the one of the tables and started reading. Oddly, Cheran felt invisible. Instead of searching for books on his own, he sat opposite her and picked up one of the books she’d chosen.

  The Alchemical Era, he read. He vaguely recalled hearing of the era, but it was history that had no connection the present. The alchemical era existed before Daivia was even an idea. It was an age where magic was still alive, and he personally thought more of the era was fiction than fact. The books and stories told of magic and mythical creatures. He couldn’t imagine such things ever existing in the same world as he did.

  He looked over the top of his book at what Vayu was reading. Her book was more pragmatic, covering the War of Greenbow from a century before. It was a war waged by Daivia against Magra. Magra still existed, but it was now a province of the empire. It was one of the wars that cemented Daivia’s status as an empire. From what he knew though, it was nothing fascinating. It was a story of perseverance bordering on madness. His great-grandfather was ready to sacrifice anything to possess Magra. The books glorified him, called him courageous, and a hero.

  Cheran was sure the common people thought the same. Magra was a beautiful province, and rich. But sitting in war rooms and seeing the numbers lost to war, he knew that the province was paid for in full, with blood and suffering.

  “Do you like books on war?” he whispered. He knew the librarian wouldn’t dare chastise him, but he felt Vayu might.

  She looked up at him, startled out of the book.

  “I like knowing the past,” she said.