Something was wrong.
Something was incredibly wrong. He had been polite. Kind. Courteous. He had engaged in light topics and shown appropriate interest in the crown princess. Yet, the result was beyond his understanding.
The tilt of her lips, her half-glazed eyes, the way she kept refilling her wine glass as he spoke... she was humoring him.
Several looks of pity had been directed his way, and he had seen his mother forcibly send Sander away halfway through the evening before he did something that would threaten the treaty.
He wasn't humiliated. He had expected such a response. Believing that someone who added marriage as a condition to an alliance between nations would be serious about said marriage was ridiculous. He had presumed the marriage to be a political farce. Perhaps, the admiral was removing herself out of some annoying arrangement back home. He could use such a thing to negotiate on his role as her consort. But this woman's reaction? He hadn't expected that.
Her amusement and drinking? He could deal with that. It wouldn't be his first time manipulating someone of privilege into giving up power to their lesser, pretty thing of a spouse.
But when he had touched her hand, he hadn't felt amusement. He hadn't felt the haze of alcohol-addled emotions. He had felt rage. Cold, violent rage. The only reason he had not responded to her touch shrieking as if face slapped was that he had frozen. Entirely. For a good second, the icy anger had numbed him so greatly that he blanked out as his limbs fell asleep.
Even as he spoke with her in a semi-private setting on the balcony, he couldn't help the shivers that kept racing down his spine. What the fuck was that?
He hadn't done anything abhorrent. Why would she feel such anger here? And why was no one else feeling it? Hours had passed since that unfortunate greeting, and he could still feel her rage beneath the layers of indifference and leisure.
Had no one touched her since her arrival? That seemed quite improbable. And what were those empathic specialists doing? How could they not feel what was happening when they were in the same room as the admiral?
"While discussing your hobby for gardening is quite enthralling, I wonder why you are really here, Mr. d'Aville," the admiral asked.
Heru's lips twitched before spreading out in an even softer smile. He had merely complemented the arrangement of the flowers on the rails. What gardening hobby? "I am afraid I don't understand your question, your highness."
The admiral took a slow, irritating gulp of wine before continuing, "Well, I am here to feast my eyes on the most beautiful creature on this part of the galaxy. And you?"
"I am here to meet my future spouse," he answered.
She looked at him idly, but he could feel the rage flare-up under her skin. "Are you really? I wouldn't have guessed."
What was her play here? She had asked for him, and here he was. What was she fishing for?
He had endured her disinterest and indecorous behaviour all night. Maybe it was time to show some spine lest she think him ever-so-compromising.
"I do not believe I have given you cause for contempt. In fact, I have stood here weathering your emotions for hours. If you find me unfitting," he made a gesture toward the open doors, "my mother and the president are right inside. I am sure they'll gladly find someone to your liking."
In lieu of a response, the admiral took a few steps into his personal space and leaned so close on his face that he could feel her breath on his skin, as she took her time staring into his eyes. Unwilling to step back, he returned her stare, while maintaining the same polite smile he had worn all night. Moments later, she moved back, her emotions curling warm and breezy in the air, covering the ice beneath slightly. She did not, however, walk back to where she had been reclining against the granite column, preferring to remain closer to him as she whispered her next words. "Unfitting? Maybe if I had asked for the most intelligent or the most charming, but I asked for the most beautiful. And you, my dear fiancé, are certainly something for the eyes."
Her passive insults rang empty. If he couldn't feel the bright satisfaction and the background rage, he may have truly believed she found him wanting but now... It was curious. Why was he so in tune with her emotions?
"Do you expect me to be outraged at your insults or do you think me stupid enough to not notice them?"
She seemed to deliberate on her words, before deciding to speak them regardless. "Certainly not stupid, no. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I was wondering whether you were wise enough to ignore them. I have that question answered now. Along with a great deal of others."
He frowned. It felt as if they were speaking two completely different conversations, and he wasn't privy to either of them. "You think me ambitious enough to endure verbal abuse from my future wife for... for what? Status? Power?"
"I wouldn't say ambitious."
"Then what would you say?" he bit out. He was getting irritated at the play for semantics when he was so obviously missing something important here. Something she had learned upon meeting him, and he couldn't see what it was. "Narcissistic? Selfish?"
"Selfish?" she choked out an amused laugh. "How about selfless?"
"Selfless?" he repeated, blankly, as if unsure of the meaning of the word. "I did not think I gave that impression tonight."
She chuckled some more. "You haven't, but looks go a long way into making that choice for you."
His smile slid off. It didn't seem like she was speaking of his angelic features.
The admiral finally stepped away from him and made way for the ballroom. After she escorted him back at his parents' side, she kissed his hand in goodbye and whispered, "I shall see you on our wedding day, my fiancé." before she signaled for her aides, greeted the president's circle, and left the reception hall.
Shaking the ice-cold numbness of her touch away, he wondered whether she had lost something on the way, for the hollowness to linger on her skin so.