Veritas Morte: A Science Fiction Novella by Kingswood Michael

Author:Kingswood, Michael [Kingswood, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: SSN Storytelling
Published: 2017-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

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Ophelia’s dress was black this time, trimmed in grey at the seams and hem, with little swirling designs along the bottom half of her sleeves and below the knees. The jewels at her wrists, throat, and ears were all cloudy-white. Her hair, naturally, was different as well, this time merely going from black to silver-grey to match with her gown. As she floated--as always, the word walk did not do her justice--into the dining room and made a small curtsy of greeting, Lucien was struck yet again by her beauty and poise.

It was hard to remain angry at such a woman as she, but he found he could manage.

“Princess,” he said in as smooth and calm a tone as he could. “It is good to see you well.”

She smiled ever so slightly, but it faded quickly, replaced by a look of…compassion? That couldn’t be right. “Lucien,” she said, and took a step toward him. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your father.” She reached out a hand to him, her fingertips lingering enticingly in the space between them. It would be so easy to take her hand, let his suspicion and anger toward her fade, and just…be…with her, for a while.

Instead, he pulled out a chair and half-turned it toward her, the way a gentleman is supposed to. “Thank you,” he said. “Will you sit? I have servants preparing tea. More of that Earl Grey you gave to my father, since you seem to like it so much.”

She hesitated for just a heartbeat and Lucien thought he saw a sudden flash of fear in her eyes, but just as quickly as it came it was gone. She let her hand drop and accepted the seat with a nod of thanks.

But that brief flash was enough. He was sure now. Got you, you little snake.

“I wish I’d known you gave Ymmersen a crate of the stuff when you arrived,” he said as he took the chair across the great mahogany table from her. “I feel a great fool, being caught by surprise in your chambers.” He rapped his knuckles against the wood of the table, and the servants’ entrance opened. A slight fellow in white-and-purple hurried through, depositing a cup before him and then Ophelia and filling both from a teapot that he left on the table between them when he withdrew from the room.

She lowered her eyes and cleared her throat, not reaching for the cup at first. “No less a fool than I. Lucien, I’m…” She paused, swallowed, then drew a quick breath. “I owe you an apology. I spoke out of turn, in a heated moment.” She half-chuckled and shook her head. “I have never been able to hold back my feelings very well. My father almost did not let me come on this trip because of that. He wanted to send my younger brother; I had to nearly beg to convince him.” Her eyes turned back up toward him. “I’m sorry. I should not have spoken to you that way.

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