by L A Warren
"I'm not hungry, Emperor." And she wasn't sure how she felt about being trapped inside with him considering his men guarded the only exit.
His brows pressed together. "Please, call me Gregor."
"Honestly, I'm uncomfortable using your first name."
She crossed her arms, trying to put him off, but really, it was to silence the pounding of her heart. This man did things to her body. Never had she responded to a man like this. The way he tracked her down should have creeped her out. Instead, his interest excited her.
"Vendel do not have first names. Gregor is my given name."
"What about Ulysses? Is that a middle name then?"
A full smile warmed his face. "Ulysses is my public name, but you should not use it. And, before you ask, I can't bear for you call me by rank or title. We should not be formal when by ourselves."
He sat in one of the wing-back chairs, and regarded her with clear interest while she struggled to find her breath. Only when he uncorked the wine and poured did she suck in air. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like he was dissecting her under a microscope. She didn't have the strength to match that stare.
She should walk out, but her grandfather would be angry. There was no way to avoid insulting the Emperor if she left now. The obvious choice was to join him and make small talk until she could find some polite way to excuse herself.
All the questions rolling around in her mind, like what was a public name to a Vendel, and why was it something she should never use, faded beneath his intense scrutiny. She wanted to flee.
"I should get back. My grandfather is probably worried."
"Director Comwell knows I came to find you." He shifted in his seat. "In my culture, it's common for a vlor' to bestow a welcome gift to a woman of your station. I thought nothing of touching you the way I did. In retrospect, I may have crossed a line. Given the way you rushed out, it concerned me. I meant no offense." He gestured to the chair. "Please, allow me to make amends. Have a seat."
She flicked her gaze to the door and back to the chair. It was clear he would not let her leave, at least not unless she made a scene. With a defeated sigh, she slipped into the chair. Before she had settled herself, he handed over the drink.
He lifted his glass. "Shall we toast?"
No, but she lifted her glass and tried to keep sarcasm out of her tone. "To successful trade between our peoples."
A frown marred his elegant features. "An appropriate toast, but more suited to diplomats. It's just the two of us." He studied her. "Perhaps we could drop the formalities and enjoy a moment of each other's company? These can be difficult times, but I hope we navigate our way through them."
She refused to respond. If he didn't consider her a diplomat, then what role did he see her fulfilling?
"A toast to the true treasure of the Earth?" He lifted his glass in salute.
"You already used that one," she replied with a prim smile.
He searched her face and countered after a momentary pause. "A toast to you then? An unexpected treasure. I sense a connection between us. I'm hopeful that means we have a bright future ahead of us." He sipped and placed the glass of wine back on the table. "You're not going to toast?"
"No, Emperor."
"Hm, you still insist on formalities. I've made my wishes clear." He let his hands fall to the armrests. Silence descended between them. "Names are important in Vendel society, perhaps this is not the case on Earth?" As his brow quirked up, the tattoo over his brow quivered.
Names were names. "What's with your tattoo?"
"My what?"
She wiggled her fingers at the angular whorls over his brow. Only now, they were static and dark. "The tattoo over your left eye."
"Ah," he said, tilting his head back. "The imperial mark designates my birthright."
"Well, Emperor… I've never seen a tattoo that moves."
"Please, Elise, do not call me Emperor. I wish to be less formal." He leaned forward, surprising her with his speed. The warmth of his hand encased hers and his voice lowered. "I must insist you use my given name."
Her eyes widened at the touch. That odd electricity returned, muted from before, but undeniably present. She wasn't certain if he felt it, because he didn't react, but her skin hummed with the contact. However, what was clear was he didn't like being denied.
She swallowed. "Do you always get what you want?"
"Only if you toast with me." His intense focus fixed on her. He lifted his glass and waited.
Raising the glass to her lips, the wine tasted sweet and crisp. She licked her lips as she considered him. "Aren't you supposed to be giving a speech or meeting with the dignitaries? Won't you be missed?"
"The High Councilors will make sure they make the proper speeches. And I'll have plenty of time to circulate with the crowd later. As I said, I was afraid I offended you. High Tender vlor'Vardhal says I can be overbearing, and he reminded me of the cultural gap separating our people. It would be horrible if I'd offended the granddaughter of our host during our first official state function. I had to apologize if I made you uncomfortable back there."
"That was considerate of you, but unnecessary." And as for making her uncomfortable, what did he think was happening now?
"Nevertheless, you feel fine? No sniffles or sneezes?"
That seemed off topic. Why did he care about sniffles and sneezes? "No, I just needed to work on my thesis assignment."
He waved toward the console in the corner. "Am I to assume visitors from space are less interesting than discussing neural chemistry with your professor? What was it now—defining the mind versus the brain? Neural modeling in sub-dimensions?" He made his voice soft, interested even.
How long had he been listening?
"Neural processing. Not chemistry. My thesis is about how the mind uses the physical framework of the brain to work. And it's not that I find you uninteresting, but rather, I was excluded from the general conversation. My grandfather does that at these events, and as you've pointed out, I'm not much of a diplomat. I wanted to stretch my legs and check up on a few pressing concerns of my own." She gestured to the dark console. "Such as semester grades."
"I see. Even during what some might consider the most exciting moment of our lives, the mundane tends to pull us back to reality."
"Well, exciting would have been if you were green, three-eyed aliens with tentacles, but…"
His smile seemed genuine as he inclined his head. "Are you saying that since we're human, we're boring?"
"Not boring, just, not what I was expecting. I'm interested to see what your culture is like. After two thousand years, I'm curious to see how far it's diverged from ours."
"I think you'll be pleased to find we're quite similar, but also vastly different. Two thousand years is a long time." The tone of his voice turned serious, warning her of something.
"Different how? Do we have reason to fear you?" A spark of fear flared in her gut.
His eyes narrowed. "Elise, there is always a reason to fear, but you must trust me when I say I have nothing but humanity's best interest at heart." He pushed a dessert plate toward her. "You have not tasted the dessert."
"Neither have you. Do you include Earth as a part of humanity, then? If we’re similar yet different, that leaves a lot of room for interpretation."
"You intrigue me. I'm not used to being challenged by a woman." His silver eyes bored into her. "But yes, we are all human."
"I noticed there are no women in your party. Where are they?"
He lifted his glass. "Not only intelligent, but wise. Perhaps that's why I find you so refreshing."
"You deflect my questions the same way you deflected my grandfather's at dinner. Why won't you answer my question about your women?"
"You're not put off by my position."
"Well, that's because I grew up around my grandfather. Power doesn't affect me like other people. He's always been Gramps first. I'm sure he'll have something to say about showing proper respect later
though. Like your High Tender what's-his-name, my grandfather often tells me I speak before thinking."
That comment bought another genuine smile. It reached up to his eyes, making them sparkle in the subdued lighting. Neither of them spoke for a time.
He broke the silence first. "Honestly, I find it refreshing." He twirled the wine glass between two fingers examining the golden liquid inside. "And his name is High Tender Marcus vlor'Vardhal, although you will refer to him as High Tender Marcus."
At his words, her heart beat faster, her stomach knotted, and her breathing came just a little too fast. In trying to put the man off, she'd only drew his attention. "Emperor—"
He tilted his head and regarded her with that cocky grin. His eyes lit with amusement as he shook his head. "Ah, please Elise, call me Gregor."
Names meant more to the Vendel than she'd thought. It followed she shouldn't offend him by continuing to refuse his request. Ugh, her grandfather was so going to owe her after this state dinner.
"Gregor," she corrected and watched him settle back in the chair. "If I've offended you, I'd like to offer my sincerest apologies."
"No apologies required… Elise." The way he said her name sent shivers up her spine because of how he savored it, rolling the two syllables around in his mouth almost as if he was tasting them.
She rubbed her neck, feeling self-conscious. With every breath, she could see her chest rise and fall, acutely aware of her low-cut gown and exposed cleavage. What she wouldn't give for a shawl to cover up. Gregor's eyes spent way too much time focused there rather than on her face.
"I am hopeful you will consider our cultural exchange program. Your grandfather speaks highly of your skills."
She blushed. "Perhaps he's too vocal."
Gregor dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "He's proud of his granddaughter. What man wouldn't be?" He pointed to the console. "Take, for example, your thesis paper."
Her thesis paper? "What about it?"
"You'd be interested in our computer systems. Our technology is more biological than Earth's, but we use the sub-dimensions you mentioned with your professor in the framework of our computers. It will be easy for you to adapt to our technology." He arched a brow and waited for a response.
Again, she wondered how long he had been listening before making his presence known. More shocking was that he understood any of it. She tipped her glass to her lips and took a deep swallow.
He leaned forward to refill her wine.
"Do you think you would be interested?"
Despite her misgivings, she had to admit an interest. She'd been excited to be awarded a spot on the Jupiter mission, but knowing aliens existed, and other star systems were now within grasp… well that would be hard to pass up.
She nodded. "Exactly how much did my grandfather say about me?"
Gregor laughed. "He is very proud of you. The two of you seem close." His eyes pinched at that comment for some odd reason.
Another sip of wine. Her glass was empty and her head spun. She set the glass down, unwilling to drink anymore. And her inner wrist still itched. She rubbed at the faint trail of fire flickering up her forearm.
He leaned forward, his attention focused on her scratching. "What are you doing after dinner? We could discuss plans to bring you on board the Gambit." His eyebrows quirked up, but she refused to acknowledge the blatant proposition.
She stared down at the thick carpet. Heat blossomed in her cheeks with his proximity. A peek through her lashes revealed just how close he was. His crisp, clean scent rolled off him making her want to press forward for a kiss. There was something else there too, an underlying spice that had her head spinning. The heat flaring in her wrist shot up her arm, breaking her trance.
She bolted upright and shook her head. How did one say no to an Emperor? "Um… I don't think—"
The door eased open and one of the large gladiator guards poked his head inside. "Sire, High Tender vlor'Vardhal requires your presence."
Gregor turned toward the door with a resigned sigh. "It has been pleasant chatting with you, Elise. Perhaps another time. That is, if you're feeling well."
She cringed, heart thundering in her chest. He should have scared her half to death, instead, she'd been leaning toward him, nearly begging for a kiss. What was wrong with her?
Chapter Four
Thursday, February 3, 2035:
Elise woke the following morning with a lazy stretch and rolled over to gaze out her bedroom windows to look upon her private garden. Memories of last night flitted through her thoughts and churned her stomach.
It was time to face her grandfather. After that conversation with the Emperor, she never returned to the banquet, but went home and straight to bed. She rolled out of bed and went in search of her grandfather, steeling herself to face his disappointment. He wasn't in his study, or anywhere else. She queried the house computer who informed her he was not at home. Confused, she sent a request to his virtual assistant to locate him.
Moments later, bleary eyes peered back through the holo-mist. "Good morning, Elise."
Good morning? Was that it? No yelling? No stern look of disapproval, or worse, disappointment? "Gramps, where are you?"
He rubbed puffy eyes and squinted into the screen. "I'm at Commodore Armstrong's house."
"You look tired."
"I've been up all night."
"Why?" Before he could respond, she added, "Gramps, I'm sorry I left the banquet, but…"
"I'm tied up at the Armstrong's right now. Can we do this later?"
"Yes, um… Why?"
"Something happened. Elenor's sick. The doctor is with her now."
"What's wrong?"
"She can hardly breathe. She's spitting up blood, and when she cries…" He averted his eyes. His voice cracked with emotion. "Her tears are red. The doc doesn't know what's wrong."
"I'll come right over."
"I don't know about that."
"Gramps, it's Elenor."
The woman had raised her, and Elise had taken part of her name from Elenor, or at least that's what her mother had said. There was no way he could keep her away.
"I'm coming. I'll be there in thirty minutes."
He vented a heavy sigh. "She might appreciate that."
She cut the connection and had their driver, Mark, take her to the Armstrong's house. Two hours later, thanks to a massive wreck closing the roads, they pulled up to Armstrong’s residence. Parked outside was an official coroner's van. Her gut clenched at the sight. She raced inside, heart pounding, hoping what her eyes were telling her couldn't be true.
Her grandfather sat on the living room couch. A glass of Scotch hung in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing inside. He had his head cradled in his other hand and tears streaked down his face. Another cup of Scotch sat on the coffee table, untouched.
"Dale's upstairs." He downed the contents of his glass. He waved outside, sloshing alcohol on the carpet. "The medical coroner's team arrived just before you."
Boots shuffled behind her. She turned to see two men in white coveralls navigating the broad staircase with a black body bag. They placed it on a waiting stretcher. Dale descended the stairs behind the men. He walked them to the door, eyes staring vacantly ahead.
She watched, stunned, as they loaded the bag into the white van and drove off. The entire scene was too surreal. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real.
Dale came into the room, brushing past her, unseeing, and grabbed the glass on the table. He collapsed into the overstuffed rocker. The two men sat in stony silence. The Commodore of the Global Corps Space Agency, her future boss, hunched back further into his chair and drank, looking as if his world had ended.
He sneezed and wiped his nose.
"Dale, I'm so sorry." She cringed at how pathetic the words sounded the moment they spilled from her mouth. What a fool. His wife just died. Elenor was dead? None of this made sense.
His gaze crossed hers momentarily before moving back down to
the floor. She glanced at her grandfather, who shrugged and shook his head. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed.
Dale downed the last drop of the Scotch. She took the glass from his shaking hand. After she poured him another two fingers of liquor, she refilled her grandfather's tumbler. The movement kept her busy and her mind from thinking about Elenor.
She gazed out the window and tried to process what had happened while the two men dealt with their grief and she struggled to find hers. A numbness settled over her shoulders.
Dale spent much of the morning and early afternoon drinking himself into a deep stupor. He passed out just before dinner, and Gramps stumbled off to the internet console to work.
She went up to Elenor's room, her movements wooden and jerky. Sorting through Elenor's closet gave her something to do. She wanted to find the perfect dress for the burial. When her grandfather found her a few hours later she was curled up in a corner of the closet, sobbing into an expensive silk scarf. He sat beside her and hugged her tight.
"Come, we need to head home. Help me pack a bag for Dale. I don't think he should be alone tonight." He sneezed.
She jumped with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Oh dear, excuse me. I seem to be catching a cold." He pointed to his forehead. "Sinuses blocked." He stood and offered her a hand up. Together they found what they needed and descended to find Dale stirring on the couch. With the help of Mark, they loaded Dale into the car and headed back to the Comwell Estate.
Unease settled over her shoulders as a memory tickled. What had the Vendel Emperor said? Perhaps another time. That is, if you are feeling well.
A coldness settled over her chest. With a shudder, she wrapped her hands around herself. Were the Vendel responsible for what happened to Elenor?
She glanced at her grandfather, and then to Dale. Other than an occasional sneeze they both looked fine. And her grandfather suffered from allergies, but Elenor had sneezed at the banquet.
She leaned over to her grandfather and whispered into his ear. "Gramps, I think they did this."