The Dragon's Bride Ch. 02

DEIDRE -- 03.

The Emperor was very good at burying the lede, she would give him that. The whole presentation had been delightfully polite, up until the moment he threatened to tear her city apart if she refused his demands.

"So, the Dragon reveals his fangs at last," was all she said, turning her eyes to the war table sprawled out in the middle of the dark, stifling tent. The map was littered with a dozen or so small, black dragons, and one larger one at the heart of Draakar--the Emperor's homeland. The striking black drake was the Emperor's personal crest, she had already surmised. The pieces were expertly made, as was the map itself. Though it was large, she could see the slight divisions in the planks where they could be stripped down, to be moved with the war camp as it laid siege to various lands. How many rulers had stared at it, similar to how she did now?

The Emperor's lesser-known moniker, the Golden One, seemed oddly unfitting as Deidre looked upon the army of black dragons and recalled the sea of black-clad soldiers outside. Most depictions of the Emperor and his nation were centered around darkness and shadows. She supposed the Black One implied something menacing that he didn't quite want to embrace, and the Golden One had been outright shunned by his conquered subjects. As far as Deidre could see, the only thing golden about the man was his strange, piercing gaze.

The Emperor appeared to be partial his other nickname, though, the Dragon of Draakar, and she had to admit it fit the strange, looming man. With his chainmail armor and fearsome hooded gaze, she at times found herself wondering if she met with an Emperor or an assassin.

The shadowed corners of the tent seemed to grow larger as the sun sunk behind the hidden horizon, and the evening's brisk chill lowered the temperature of the air. She hated that the Emperor's odd mask hid his face from her; she had not realized until now how much she relied on being able to read her opponent's features when in a discussion.

The Emperor, to his credit, didn't seem upset by her murmured accusation. "My fangs? You mistake me, my Queen. I come to your gates in peace; if I did not, then we would not be meeting here today. I do not wish to war with you, or Abarra for that matter. So long as we can come to an agreement, nothing will happen to your kingdom under my care." His eyes seemed to glow even brighter in the darkness, as if they were lit by some flame behind his obscuring mask. "I give you my word."

His sentiments were well-intended, but Deidre felt her temper rise hot at the simplistic, utopian view of the exchange of her kingdom's control, and she snapped, "Please, do not insult me, Emperor. Do not talk to me as if you are here doing me a favor, or as if you are some 'good man' because you are meeting with me first, rather than simply razing my city."

Deidre looked up at him, eyes trying to make out the face he deliberately hid from her gaze, and she wondered what man lay beneath the cloth. A coward, she decided. Only a coward would threaten her when he already knew he had her. This war was already lost to Abarra, they both knew that, and his pushing only demonstrated to her that he was used to being a bully. What she didn't know, but she was determined to find out, was why was he still pushing?

He had the upper hand, so what did she have that he still wanted?

The Emperor didn't say anything for a moment, but he didn't step back, either. The silence grew like the shadows around them, with neither party wanting to break the tense quiet that had steadily built. He had not responded to her anger, and she counted it as another strike against him. A coward, indeed.

"Why do you do it, Emperor?" she asked, finally, after the quiet had become unbearable between them. The extended stillness had made the atmosphere in the tent shift, becoming strained, and her voice seemed flat in the dull, unmoving air. She looked at the map, at the many kingdoms that had been overrun by the Draakan Empire and its ambitious leader, and she saw Abarra. The last to fall.

"What do you mean?" he asked. His words were quietly spoken and laced with a strange rumble that made his tone a rasp, harsh, and throaty. She had never imagined the Emperor to speak so, but it fit him, oddly enough. He stood so still that he was like a statue beside her, looming and ominous. Her view of him from the carriage as she had ridden into the war camp had not been able to accurately convey his might or his height that was now demonstrated up close.

Deidre had been deliberately vague in her questioning, curious to see where he would take it. He was playing it safe, it seemed, political. "You do not seem like a conqueror, Emperor," Deidre said, picking up one of the black dragon statuettes that dotted the map. Hand-carved, they looked fierce and cruel in the candles' flickering light. Her thumb traced above the gaping maw, and she saw the gemstone eyes glittered with what looked like an internal flame.

Just a trick of the light, but she placed it back, unsettled.

The Emperor chuckled, "Oh? Do I not?"

Deidre looked at him, a trim red brow raised at his response. She'd expected anger or arrogance, but she realized with a start he had come closer while she'd been distracted. A step backward found the war table pressed against her hip, and she glanced up sharply, daring him to press her further. He did not, but she would swear that his eyes glinted beneath the mask. Did he smirk at her? Her heart raced, and she was glad for the dimness of the tent, that it hid the flush that spread through her.

The Emperor put her on edge--around him, she felt as if her entire body was tense, like a frightened fawn before the wolf. Heat seemed to radiate from his armor, as if the man had a small fire burning within the breastplate, and she felt keenly aware that there was something off about the man. His armor hid secrets.

"No, you do not," she said, finally, turning to look at him head-on. "You do not seem like a vain or selfish man, destroying lives and kingdoms for the simple sake of adding on prestige to your Empire. Nor do you seem insane, hellbent on conquering for no reason other than your own bloodlust or insanity. Draakar is rich in resources, and no great winter looms in the near future to threaten livelihoods. So, why do you do it?"

He was quiet, and once again she felt exposed before his contemplative gaze. She did not need to see the outline of his eyes to know that he studied her, and she loathed that he could see every flicker of her lips, every tremble of her fingers. She could hide nothing from his piercing, penetrative stare, and yet she saw nothing of him in return. His armored body was clad head to toe in dark, heavy cloth, so much so that she wondered how he did not swelter in the summer heat. Even his hands were gloved in thick, black leather. There was not an inch of skin that the man showed, and in a primal way, it frightened her.

What did he hide?

She wished that she could have accepted Alric's attempt to join her, as she found that the intimacy within the tent was far, far more difficult to ignore while she was alone with the strange ruler of Draakar.

"Why are you really doing this, Emperor?" Deidre asked, again, forcing herself to not look away from his strange gaze. Strength, Deidre, you need to stay strong. Abarra needed her to keep her wits. "You don't strike me as the type of man who destroys nations and threatens lives for the sake of it, so why? Why has the Draakan Empire suddenly decided that it has the right to crush all beneath its heel?"

Deidre was being too emotional, she recognized that at once, but reining in her emotions was difficult with the cold, masked man who stood opposite her. She had given up everything to bring Abarra back from ruin and war, and now it was simply being stripped from her. And the man who was doing it had the nerve to look her in her face and tell her that he would give her his word that everything would be okay.

As if his word meant anything to her.

The Emperor spoke, saying, "You are right, Queen Deidre, I apologize." He 'apologized?' What good did that do her? It placated his guilt, perhaps, but did nothing to assuage her anger. She stayed still, though, allowing him to finish, "I haven't been forthright with you, as I should be. As I must be, if you can ever hope to trust me. I did not intend to insult. Of course, I recognize that any move I make is an act of aggression, considering what I am asking of you."

She stiffened, feeling as if he were insulting her again. Did he think her a fool? How could she ever trust him? But more so, what did it matter if she trusted him? What game did he play at, if any?

He stared at her, and she read hunger in his gaze that had been missing a moment ago, a hunger that grew every moment she felt his eyes upon her. Unease crept through her, and she wished that there was more space in the war tent, more space between herself and the strange, dark man. Anger, rose, too, and she latched onto that to force the worry from her mind. Better to be angry than scared.

"Asking of me?" she repeated, feeling as if he had intended more by the phrase than he let on. She held her hand to her chest protectively, her blue eyes stormy as she met his, "For me to step aside as Queen, and let you take over Abarra? Of course, that is an 'aggressive' move by any standards."

Rulers had been executed in similar situations. In truth, Deidre expected to hear him announce her execution or exile shortly, perhaps it was even the reason he had summoned her here in the first place. For all she knew, the Emperor was simply exceptionally morbid and wanted to deliver the order himself. Or carry it out. She had heard worse rumors about the Dragon of Draakar. Who said they weren't true?

The mask hid his face, but his words were twisted with dark humor as he said, "When did I say that I wanted you to step aside, Queen Deidre?"

His eyes glinted as she looked at him, gauging him, and she was certain he held some sort of knowledge from her that would change everything. He dangled it before her as if it were salvation when, in fact, he had placed her in this situation in the first place.

"Stop with the games, Emperor," Deidre snapped, her hands clenching into fists at her side. "If you are not here to depose me, then why?" She didn't understand, but she knew that he very clearly did, and he enjoyed his position of power over her.

"We all have our reasons for our pursuits, Queen Deidre," was what the Emperor said, finally acknowledging her initial question, though his answer was just as infuriatingly vague as they had all been. "My reasons may be my own, but know that I do not intend the people of Abarra harm. Their way of life will hopefully not have to change as a result of the transfer of power, and they will not be forcibly conscripted to join my army. If you agree to my terms, of course."

The shadowed Emperor had looked to the map as he spoke, and her gaze followed his, noting that his eyes lingered on the kingdoms who had most recently fallen to his Empire's might. Three within the last year alone, one peacefully and the other two through warfare and assassination. She had known the assassinated Queen--she had been a stern woman, one incapable of bending the knee.

The Emperor was certainly not afraid of employing underhanded means in order to bring his Empire to fruition, and she was keenly aware that his brief comment had been meant as a warning, reminding her of why they were speaking. The Emperor was not a subtle man by any means.

"If you are not here to depose me, then why?" Deidre repeated, not allowing the Emperor to sway her thoughts. He was very good at guiding the conversation, feeding her half-truths to keep her on her toes.

"I have not come to dethrone you and cast you to the wolves, Queen Deidre," he said, his voice once again that gentle, almost chiding reprimand. There was amusement there, too, as if the idea was preposterous and she was silly for having possibly considered it. Gods, was the man not the most infuriating one she had ever met? "To put it simply, I have created an Empire of nations who wish nothing more than to be separate. They are unified only in their hatred of me, which will get them and myself nowhere. I need someone at my side who is capable and adept at ruling in a way that inspires allegiance, adoration."

His eyes sought hers once more, the flickering shadows of the candlelit tent giving them the illusion of being lit by flame, and he stepped forward, closer. Her breath caught, and she had to stop herself from backing away. Every inch of her screamed to run. He was a large man, and the tent felt stifling as he stood beside her.

The Emperor's voice was softer than before as he spoke, a murmur in the night that still somehow easily carried to the Queen. She could imagine his words rasping over her skin, harsh and hot, "Do you understand what I am saying, my Queen?"

For a moment, the Queen was silent. She didn't need to see his face to know that he studied hers intently, waiting for her response. Even a flicker of her eyes could reveal her true feelings. While the Emperor was the only one between the two of them who wore a physical mask, Deidre did her best to don a mask of her own. Though hers was invisible, it was one that was familiar, one she had worn time and again during various summits and meetings. She was young, but one did not rise to her power without some political savviness.

The Emperor sought a bride.

It took all her years of training to keep her face from showing her sudden terror. Following the cruel, untimely death of her parents, she had avoided marriage by sheer virtue of having nothing, truly, to offer, other than her kingdom's wealth. Many men had approached her, certainly, but she was quick to see the greed in their eyes and had turned them all away.

The Emperor was one man she could not afford to reject so easily.

Still, the denial that formed on her lips was one she couldn't hold back, not even to save herself. "Absolutely not," she said, shaking her head, fighting the fear that suddenly rose inside of her. The Dragon Emperor, her husband? Her partner? The man who she would entrust not only herself, but her kingdom, her family, her future? "You cannot expect or ask something like that of me, not after you've ridden up to my home and demanded it with fists and bloodshed, first. You cannot ask that of me, Emperor, and I will not agree."

His eyes were oddly cold, and as brittle as the citrines they seemed to be carved from, as he said, "And why not?"

Why not. Because she didn't want it--the young romantic girl she had once been, the one who dreamed of love and romance and fairy tale endings, wanted to stamp her foot, to shout that it wasn't fair. Instead, the twenty-four-year-old woman she was now kept silent, and the Emperor took that as the comment that it was.

He chuckled, the sound harsh and rough in the tent, and her humiliation stabbed sharply. "Do not look so upset, my Queen. Is marriage, even to me, not a better outcome than me and my army tearing the walls apart, brick by brick until we overrun your walls and slaughter what little army you have?" His voice was disparaging, and she bristled.

The annoyance she had been holding onto tightly surged into anger as she heard his ill-concealed warning, and she snapped, "You do not have to be macabre. I know that Abarra's military might is no match for your Empire, why do you think I am here? There is no need to attempt to cow me. I will do whatever it is you wish, personally loathsome though it might be for me."

The Emperor fell silent. Her sharp rebuke hung in the air, though she knew it was also an agreement that she would never be able to take back.

He spoke, though, silencing her before the anger she was nurturing could cause her to say something else rash, "You are right, of course, my Queen. I apologize, again, it appears as if I am unwise in the way I phrase things. I am not here to threaten you; we both know what rides on our coming to an agreement. War is preferable for neither of us."

Deidre believed him, surprisingly, but did not lower her guard just yet. He seemed truly contrite, but she didn't grant him a point in favor; instead, she had to withhold a snort, finding his inability to navigate a political discussion elegantly a damning trait, rather than an admirable one. He had been conquering kingdoms for years, and he still struggled to portray his needs without bumbling about, threatening and bullying to get his way? She was half his age and was still far more capable than he at holding a discourse.

Perhaps Abarra would not be so well off in his hands, after all.

Not that she had any true choice in the matter. He was here for it, whether she liked it or not. "Fine, Emperor, I accept your apology, but keep your gilded tongue and honeyed lies from this discussion from here on out. I know the truth of you. I am not a child--do not treat me like one."

The Emperor stilled, and for a moment Deidre wondered if she had pushed too far. Maybe she was being too hostile, she realized with a heated flush. Here she was reprimanding him for acting foolishly, when she was doing no better. She prided herself on holding her temper, but she had lashed out at him twice already, and he had apologized both times. He was a warlord with an army at her door, and she was spitting upon his apology.

"Emperor, it is my turn to apologize--,"

The Emperor held up a gloved hand, silencing her. Her eyes widened, shocked. How long had it been since someone had silenced her? But she let the words fall quiet, recognizing the reproach. The words that came from behind that mask were cold, stiff, as he said, "No, Queen Deidre, you are quite correct. I have been treating you like a child. I will stop, immediately."

The Queen wondered at the strange note in his words, but her wonder was short-lived. A short scream ripped from her as the Emperor suddenly grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her towards him. Her body collided with the cold black chainmail armor, the jolt shocking her. He placed a leather-gloved hand over her mouth, silencing her scream so that the shrill cry became muffled shouts instead.

Panic wrapped around her, suffocating her as neatly as any hands about her throat, but somehow, she kept a clear mind: Alric was outside, just a few feet away, and she would be damned if she would give up that easily knowing that fact. He was her hope. She had no idea what the Emperor wanted from her, but she knew one thing--men never wanted anything good.

The Emperor growled, a sound that she felt echo deep down in his chest, rumbling through her body. A primal, terrified chill crept over her, and she tried again to scream. For a second, she thought the Emperor's hand had slipped, but instead, she found he was merely re-adjusting, forcing his palm and the thick leather protecting his skin from her teeth into her gaping mouth, wedging it open uncomfortably wide and full.

At last, she let the scream die in her throat, lest she choke, but she still grunted and shouted. Her shoulders wrenched side to side, struggling to free herself from his biting grasp, but the Emperor's hand on her wrist was iron-tight, and she couldn't budge him more than an inch. Her free fist flailed, finding only armor, bruising the gentle hands that had been kept carefully callous-free throughout her pampered life.

The Emperor yanked her close to his face, the closest she had been to him, and she smelled a subtle hint of spice and sulfur wafting from his armor. It was not unpleasant, merely shocking, and her eyes shot to meet his.

Slitted golden irises glared at her, burning bright yellow through the fine black mesh of the mask he wore. Inhuman eyes, she realized, though she didn't know what they could be. She'd never seen anything like them before, burning with a fire that seemed lit deep, deep inside. They flickered like flames and were faceted, so that she felt herself becoming lost in them. Distantly, she realized the tent was silent.