~The Wish~

Hermes stood almost two heads taller than Oris, a fact that she noticed the moment her focus shifted from his eyes. It felt odd to only be aware of that now when she was walking quietly behind him.

It was something she ought to have known—she hadn't spent year studying the man for nothing—and there were more important things she should have been thinking about at this moment, but no, her mind was fixated on tbe enigma before her.

Since she came of age, she had not met anyone who she had to crane her neck to look up at.

She and Bren were the same height, for one, and she imagined that Mikeal was only slightly taller than her.

Hermes, on the other hand, made her feel like a dwarf, which didn't make sense because she still came up way past his shoulders.

It was only now that she had her gaze pinned on his back that she remembered that Bren had cut so deep into his arm that the entire sleeve of his robe had turned red.

She supposed she should have remembered sooner but he hid his pain well. When he had been sitting on his throne, he looked nothing like the man Bren had been about to cut down, and with other things to worry about the event had been deemed unimportant and pushed to the back of her mind.

It didn't matter that that day, Hermes had looked like he was on his last legs. Today, he didn't, and if someone had told her that some days ago he had been battling assassins, she wouldn't have believed it.

Though, the same could be said for herself. She barely felt a thing now apart from the occasional flare of pain in her chest. She suspected that she had been given something to keep the pain she should be feeling to a minimum.

Once it wore off, she would no doubt be in agony, but that only served as a testament to how good Hermes' Deádim was at healing.

Thinking back to the elusive woman who had eyes that seemed to be able to pierce through souls was something she did not want to do, so her thoughts drifted to Mikeal who she hadn't seen since he had rushed to help Hermes and Magnus.

Magnus? The name of the royal advisor caused a hiccup in her train of thought but it was a necessary one. He had been injured fighting Bren as well and she hadn't seen him in the Great Hall today. What happened to him? Is he sick. . .or worse?

If he had been around, she was sure that the ministers would have been less unruly. He was the one person she thought would be her enemy but ended up being an ally. If he was permanently taken out of court, there would be one less person to oppose the Empress Dowager.

And that would make things a lot more tricky.

Hermes paused, and Oris managed to stop herself just before she bumped into him. Her eyes flitted up to his hand when he pressed it against the wall in front of them and pushed.

It caved in to reveal a dim, torchlit hallway, and Oris had to clamp her lips shut to stifle the sound of surprise that would have escaped.

A secret passage? she wondered, but Hermes had already started moving and she knew that she needed to keep up with him.

He didn't walk fast, but he wasn't slow either. He seemed to be gliding along the cold stone beneath their feet, but Oris could see the tension he kept in his back.

It didn't take long for her to realize that he was compensating for something, like a cripple who did their best to hide their limp.

He must still be in pain, she thought and began to observe him closely.

Even now, his aura was overwhelming.

That was something she could never perfect—commanding absolute respect with nothing but posture. If she had, her life in court would have been much more peaceful.

But Hermes was an emperor, the first emperor to be recorded in history, and emperors could not be weak, not even if they had been in the fight of their life mere days ago.

Oris was more than aware of how being vulnerable could lead to death, and she more than understood Hermes' situation now after seeing how unrestrained his ministers had been today.

There was no unity in his court, and that was as dangerous for him as it had been for her.

Revealing that he had been injured would have led to something even she wouldn't have been able predict. And without Magnus to restrain them, maybe from eyeing the position of Empress, the ministers would start thinking of how to make one of their own people the Emperor so that they could rule the world.

Oris wasn't sure whether she was worried because of how it could affect her, or whether it was because a part of her could relate to what Hermes was going through.

She did not wish to think on the emotion further.

When he turned left, she followed, feeling herself descend deeper beneath the earth with each step forward.

For a moment she wondered why Hermes was showing her this tunnel when he was yet to trust her, but when they took three more left turns and she looked around, she realized that where they were now looked no different from where they started.

She understood then that the passages were a network of mazes that a stranger could easily get lost in. Even though she constantly memorized the turns they made, at time she still got disoriented and confused her left for her right.

He must have been confident that she would not have been able to navigate the tunnels on her own after just one time of going through them, and he would be right.

She could only imagine how many places the passages led to and how many people had gotten lost and never found because of them.

So far, she had not seen any skeletons, but she could feel the fingers of Death weaving towards her from the shadows the torchlight could not reach.

Dying here, alone, would be terrible for even the strongest man, she thought just as they stopped in front of a dead end.

Hermes pressed his palm against its rough surface and pushed, and just like the wall in the Great Hall, it opened like door.

Oris said nothing when he stepped out of the tunnel, but as the wall was closing behind her, she gave it a small push. It felt as heavy as a trolly full of fell trees and didn't budge one bit.

The fact that Hermes had pushed it so easily despite being injured was commendable since there didn't seem to be a pulley system attached to the slab of stone.

The room they had entered was well-lit and brighter than the tunnels so Oris had to wait until her eyes adjusted to the lights before she could see, but when they did, she found herself in the room she had woken up in.

The first thought that came to her was how easily Hermes would be able to enter the room, given the existence of this passage. The second was that no one could stop him from entering the room in the first place, even if he used the door.

She was already considered one of his women by the law of the land, and as Emperor he could do whatever he wished wherever he wished it.

In hindsight, she realized that she should have been more fearful of spending time alone with a man she did not know. But in all honesty, she would have worried more if she had needed to stay in a room with Faeradaigh for an hour.

It wasn't until Hermes spoke again that she realized how lost in thought she was.

"This room was my mother's," he said.

"Your Majesty?" The words did not fully register in Oris' mind, the thought of Faeradaigh just now fading.

He repeated himself.

"The Empress Dowager lived here?" Oris glanced around the room again and doubted it. There was not a hint of red to be seen, and that seemed to be the woman's favorite color.

"My royal mother, Noble Consort Nian Fey."

Oris looked around again and saw it.

The guess she had made when she had first seen the room had been only half-right. A royal member had once lived here, but she had assumed that the room had been redecorated because the newly crowned owner of the palace worshipped Sūn.

Instead, it had belonged to Aella, the Naritan Queen who ruled King Abbadad's harem in her prime.

"Your former room was once hers as well, so I found it only fitting to bestow this one unto you," he continued, turning to face her. "You have undeniable fate with my birth mother."

Oris looked at him, considered the trap in his words and decided to take a step back by saying, "It is this servants' honor to be connected to Your Majesty's royal mother in such a way."

"No," Hermes objected with a raise of his hand. "Not this servant or Your Majesty. There is no need for formalities."

"Then. . .how shall this," Oris caught herself. "How shall I address you?"

Hermes seemed to think about it for a moment, but shook his head in the end. "However you wish."

"As you say. . ." Oris frowned, all the ways to address a man flitting through her mind.

She had called Faeradaigh milord, so it wasn't fitting. And Hermes' titles were out of the question too since he didn't want them in the conversation.

While she was thinking, he had already moved on to inspect the room. "I have not been here in years but it has not changed," he said.

"I am sure that the maids tended to it well in your absence. . .sire."

When Hermes laughed, Oris felt like eating her words.

"Good choice," he said with a small smile but that didn't make her regret it any less.

"I didn't. . ." she began, but decided it would do her no good to lie so obviously. She had chosen to call him that, knowing that sire could address both a sovereign and a husband.

"I will light the incense," she said instead and walked to one of the candles, hoping that she would find the incense there.

Being in this room now, she should have felt no different than she did in the Great Hall but there was something strange in the air and she could not grasp what.

Maybe the change occured because of what Aella had said, that Hermes might have done horrible things but he was not a horrible man.

Oris found comfort in that explanation. It was better than acknowledging the fact that Hermes' apparent humanity was clouding her judgement.

She relaxed even more when she found a row of incense sticks on the table beside the candelabra.

She picked one up and lit it, let it burn for a while then blew on it and watched it smolder.

After placing it in one of many the incense burners in the room, she turned around and found Hermes lounged in one of the cushioned chairs arranged in the recieving area opposite the bed.

She smiled, just to encourage herself, and was glad that her veil hid the expression.

Aella's room had no walls apart from the one that separated most of the room from the bath. It had a very open design and left little places for shadows, or people, to hide.

It was the ideal living space for someone who needed light to flourish, and seeing it made somewhere in her ache when she thought about how long Aella had spent in the dark dungeon cell, forgotten.

"I would offer you tea," she said after a moment of peaceful silence, "but I do not know where anything is."

"That hardly matters," Hermes said and rose to his feet. "I do."

Oris turned away from him immediately and directed her stare to her hands. Seeing the blood on them was enough to shock her out of whatever stupor she had managed to stumble into.

Remember the plan, she told herself, but repeating it in her head made no difference. Killing the man who killed your sister and killing the man that asked his Deádim to save you were two different things, even if it happened to be the same man.

She walked the dresser and dipped her hands into the basin there. She scrubbed her palm until the blood washed out and her skin turned red.

"I thought your sickness was just a scheme," Hermes commented over her shoulder just as she was pulling her fingers out of the water.

It had taken everything in her not to flinch at his sudden appearance. She lightened her voice and kept her gaze on the floor while replying, "I had just woken up and had less than an hour to prepare before being summoned by the court, how could it be a scheme?"

"I suppose you are right," he said, but there was something about his tone that let her know that he was skeptical. "Meéarine would have healed you if she had known that you were poisoned."

"The Holy One," she assumed that Meéarine was the Deádim's name, "did all that was necessary. Not all lives must be lived to completion."

He said nothing in reply so she continued, forcing her voice to be gentle, "You walk quite silently, sire. I did not hear you coming."

"My mother says the same," he dropped a cloth beside the basin, "but the habit is too old to be changed."

Oris stared at the cloth but did not take it. The gesture had taken her by surprise, and more than that, the fact that he hadn't simply forced it into her hand.

It was hard to focus with him looming over her, but that was all he did: loom. He didn't make any move to touch her or make her uncomfortable, and that only solidified what she had earlier speculated.

The rumors are wrong.

"Growing up on a battlefield," Hermes added to fill in the silence, "you learn to sneak up on your enemies."

"Surely," Oris wiped her hands and turned to face him, not willing to show just how much his words and actions had affected her, "you do not consider me an enemy."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, the words hanging—dangerous—in the air.

Hermes was the first to relent.

He broke the deadlock and took a step back. "Of course not. It is merely a soldier's saying."

Why don't I believe that? Oris clasped her hands and watched him walk around the room, pick things up and examine them. He really just looked like someone who was curious about the room his mother had lived in.

He acted as though he hadn't just accused her of being a traitor.

"You are not the sort of man I imagined you to be," she said, deciding to also put the moment behind her.

"Oh?" He was back in his seat but this time he had a teacup in his hand. "And how was I imagined?"

Oris ignored his odd tone and focused on the cup instead. She had no idea when he had gotten it, but it served as a nice distraction for her.

This entire affair was strange.

On one hand, she hadn't expected Hermes to comply so easily to her wish—and carelessly upset his mother in the process. On the other, she hadn't expected him to be so cooperative after complying.

All of a sudden, she felt as though she had played right into the his hand, which shouldn't have been possible seeing that neither of them could have known what would happen in court beforehand.

With a smile, she walked forward, not entirely surprised to see an entire tea set arranged on a table in the midst of the many chairs and cushions.

"The rumors say that you are cruel. . .and lustful."

"You say that as though it isn't true. Do you have a conflicting opinion?" he asked, again with an emotion she couldn't place lacing his voice.

When she took another step forward, she noticed the brazier by his feet.

Above it hung a kettle heavy with water.

"You saved my life. You are merciful." Oris sat herself in the chair opposite him and tried to look as demure as possible. "I should be the one making the tea, Your Majesty."

He clicked his tongue. It was the only sign of his annoyance because there wasn't a single change in his expression. "Your wish was for us to spend time together, what I do during that time is up to me. And formalities."

"Yes, sire," Oris said.

She rested her hands on her knees and waited.

How she behaved ultimately depended on Hermes, and with him not giving any hints, she didn't know whether to act grateful, shy, coy or indifferent.

They had only seen each other twice but if she had already started to piece together his character, he had to have been doing the same for her.

Acting in a way that didn't align with the behavior he envisioned would only make him suspicious. After all, they didn't know each other, pretending to be familiar would be just ridiculous.

By the time steam started to rise from the kettle's sprout, Oris still hadn't figured out who to be in front of Hermes.

He, on the other hand, was wholeheartedly focused on making tea.

Oris watched patiently as he filled the teapot by meticulously measuring the roasted leaves out of their caddy with a tea scoop.

He did it so fluently that she wondered how a man like him, who had spent almost all his life on the battlefield, had found the time to master such a scholarly art like tea making.

And until the moment he held a teacup out to her, she didn't say a word. She had been fully immersed in the process, surprised that a warlord could manage to look so graceful and elegant while pouring hot water.

"I heard what you said in the dungeons," Hermes said, just as Oris brushed her veil aside to take a sip.

She nearly choked on the tea.

"What I said in the dungeons?" She hummed against the rim of the cup to stall for time.

She would not be the first to put her foot into that muddy river.

"Yes." He set his empty teacup on the table between them. "You mentioned my mother."

"The Empress Dowager?" she asked, just to be sure that they were talking about the same thing.

"Nian Fey."

Oris gulped down the rest of her tea but kept the cup clutched in both hands just to make herself to look busy.

So, she thought, her mind already conjuring up the possible ways the conversation could go, it turns out that it wasn't a guard that I managed to lure into my trap but the emperor himself.

Suddenly, her wish felt a little more deadly, and there was still three-fourths an incense stick left to burn before it expired.

~

This is 3250 words guys, the longest chapter of Queensmen so far (I think). Sorry if there are typos. Ah, Hermes and Oris in the same room talking about normal things🤭

Who guessed that this new room was also Aella's room?

By the way, Nian Fey is a title, not a name. Not sure if this is a spoiler, but Hermes' father loved her so much that he gave her the title in addition to her title of Noble Consort.

It means Beloved One in innoish <3

So many things happened in this chapter. Where's Magnus? And Oris is definitely going through a rollercoaster ride of I must kill this guy, Can I even kill this guy? and Should I really kill this guy?

Lol.