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Upon reflection, Cliopher hadn’t had such a perfect day in a long time.
Not that long, he corrected himself. He tried to be diligent in following the priest wizards’ orders and to avoid thinking about time, but surely it had only been a few years since the fateful holiday in Navikiani with his Radiancy and his household. A few years since he'd had the privilege of listening to his lord play music, of seeing the inner man emerge from behind his usual serenity, and of watching his beautiful golden eyes sparkle as he took in the beauty of Cliopher's home. These were precious, perfect memories.
But still, Cliopher couldn’t quite believe his luck.
He'd woken up with the sunrise as usual, only to find his breakfast already laid out on his bedside table. Shoänie liked to do that sometimes, when she wanted to surprise him or when she took it upon herself to snare the Lord Chancellor and Viceroy-to-be of Zunidh in his bed for a few more minutes.
He'd brought the warm cup to his lips, eyebrows shooting up when he'd inhaled the aroma: his usual coffee, but with a hint of chocolate and hazelnut—an indulgence of his, though not many people knew that he favoured it. The drink had been accompanied by an assortment of small and colourful pastries, and he'd nearly had to suppress a moan when he'd bitten into one. They’d tasted like orange blossoms and spices he did not know the names of, the exact same flavour as the ones that the Collian diplomat had brought with her a few months prior, and which had had Cliopher raving about for days. He'd wondered how Shoänie—or possibly Rhodin, who had been the one subjected to said raving—had managed to obtain the recipe and ingredients.
Smiling fondly to himself, he'd sat up in his absurdly grand mattress, settled comfortably against his absurdly fluffy pillows, and eaten this enchanting breakfast in bed.
~
He'd indulged himself for as long as he had possibly dared, which had probably not been very long since the quarter-hour hadn't yet chimed when he'd finished the last of the pastries. He'd left his bedroom only to run into a beaming Franzel, who'd told him that his latest costume was ready, and that if sir was amenable, sir could perhaps try it on now.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes—he had more than enough court costumes as it was!—he'd nodded and let himself be drawn to the Lion room, and put into Féonie's small but expert hands.
He had been bracing himself for another long and complicated dressing session, but was pleasantly surprised to realise that the costume in question was much simpler and to his taste than what his tyrannical costumier usually had in store for him. His breath had caught when he'd slipped on the cream tunic and trousers, finely woven and of exquisite quality but made of a kind of fabric that felt exceptionally soft against his skin. The deceptively simple ensemble was topped with a magnificent robe in an aquamarine so vivid that it seemed as if he could reach out and dip his hands into the warm waters of the reef around Loaloa.
And then! Then, he'd gone to his appointments secretary, who'd complimented him on his outfit and announced with a smug smile that the Council of Princes had been postponed. He had stared at her, gobsmacked.
The Council of Princes was never postponed.
He had listened intently to Tully's explanation, something about the Grand Duchess of Damara falling sick but not—she amended quickly, probably noticing the look of alarm that must have crossed his face—anything too serious, just enough to prevent her from attending a session that was supposed to be centred around a new agricultural development that was to be tested first in Old Damara. The last three sessions of the Council had been so difficult that Cliopher hadn't had the heart to insist on having this one meet anyway without the Grand Duchess. Apart from the minor diplomatic complications such a decision could cause, he had in fact, found that he was in no hurry to confront Prince Rufus and his moustache any sooner than was absolutely necessary.
There had been an uncharacteristic lightness in his step as he'd trodden to the Tower, and to the heart of the Imperial apartments. His good mood might have been contagious, for a lot of the guards had bidden him good morning with unusual cheerfulness.
His Radiancy had been– well, seeing his Radiancy always brightened Cliopher's days, and this one was no exception. After complimenting Cliopher profusely on his new outfit—which, Cliopher pointed out with burning cheeks, he had nothing to do with—the Lord of Rising Stars had dismissed his current secretary almost immediately. Cliopher had shot Zaoul an apologetic smile, and had waited until the young man had left the Study before immediately taking his old seat at the now empty secretarial desk.
It had felt so good to resume their old routine. He'd listened to his lord's melodious and steady voice and put his words to paper until the rhythmic sound of his Radiancy's pacing had seemed to echo the very beating of Cliopher's heart.
Occasionally, Cliopher had glanced up to admire the striking contrast between his lord’s long and graceful hands against the blinding white of his sumptuous robes, or the beautiful golden swirls painted around his eyes and brow. At times, probably sensing Cliopher's eyes on him, his Radiancy had looked back, and smiled at him with such warmth that Cliopher had been forced to dab discreetly at the embarrassing moisture in the corner of his eyes.
Cliopher must have been imagining the melancholy he could have sworn had been mirrored in his Radiancy's eyes when the noon bell had tolled.
~
He had hesitated over what he was supposed to do next. The Council of Princes usually lasted well into the afternoon, which meant that he did not have to wonder about the closest and quickest way for him to have lunch because, well, lunch usually didn't happen then.
Fortunately, he had crossed paths with Rhodin as soon as he'd left the Imperial Apartments. His friend had taken one look at him, asked if he would like to join him, Ludvic and Conju for lunch, and had started towing him down the stairs without even waiting for his answer.
The four of them had shared a wonderful lunch in the botanical gardens. Luckily, Ludvic had brought enough food—simple things that they could eat with their hands if they wanted to—for four people. They’d squeezed together on the largest of the stone benches, nestled below the cascading branches of a great fig tree. Even Conju had seemed unperturbed by this unusual arrangement, though he had, Cliopher noticed, brought his own plate and cutlery.
It had been months since Cliopher had found the time to visit the gardens. Several species of fruit trees were blooming, and the garden looked especially lovely. The setting and company had been so enjoyable, that Cliopher had actually taken the time to eat a whole meal, without worrying once about the time or what urgent tasks would await him in the afternoon.
~
His spirits still lifted after his lunch with his friends, he had entered the main offices of Kiri's department with what must have been an unusually cheerful expression, for Kiri had looked stunned for a few seconds. She’d recovered quickly, and announced that they had just received a special dispatch from the Tower. She’d handed him a thick envelope secured with a yellow wax seal, which meant that whatever it was, the envelope’s contents were to be dealt with before anything else. His heart had sunk, though he’d been bracing himself: this curious streak of good fortune had to end eventually.
“It's the budgets, sir,” Kiri had said, her smile widening.
Once a year, all the departments submitted a summary of their proposed budgets, which the Offices of States then had to review and synthesise for the following meeting of the Helma council. It was a painstaking, highly repetitive task that required absolute focus as well as a good grasp of mathematics and of the purview of each and every department.
Cliopher loved it and he secretly looked forward to receiving this particular envelope all year long. He hadn’t been expecting it for a few more weeks at least, but it seemed that all the departments had miraculously decided to submit their proposals earlier than planned.
The room he’d used for a long time as a makeup office for when he needed to avoid interruptions was free, so he’d settled on the old battered chair. He’d spent the afternoon hunched over thick stacks of papers, juggling numbers and going over budget after budget with the quiet and satisfying feeling of doing something useful, and doing it well and efficiently.
No one had interrupted him, except for the four separate times when Inkstone had scratched at the door to ask to be let in, then immediately out again, until Cliopher had capitulated and taken him in his lap. Far from distracting him, the sound of the cat’s purring had only added to the sense of calm that reviewing budgets always seemed to bring out in him.
He was so absorbed in his task that he’d physically startled when, with a sharp knock, Conju had announced that his Radiancy was offering for them to dine together, unless he had other plans.
(Conju had said that last bit through gritted teeth, obviously repeating what his Radiancy himself had told him to say. It was clear that Conju thought that a personal invitation from the Sun-on-Earth would obviously and always supersede any other plan that Cliopher might have had.)
Cliopher's evening was free, and even if it hadn’t been, he would have made time for his Radiancy, not because he was his lord and Emperor, but because he– Well. Because, if he was being honest with himself, there was no one in all the worlds he would rather spend time with.
~
He couldn't believe that this incredibly, impossibly perfect day was culminating with a private dinner with his Radiancy.
It was absurd. It was wonderful.
The weather was unusually warm for the season, which meant that they were able to dine on his Radiancy’s terrace. The sun had already set—Cliopher must have spent more time reviewing the budgets than he’d realised—but the awning had been adorned with hundreds of small mage lights, sparkling and jewel bright, that illuminated his Radiancy’s features and made him look even more ethereal.
The dinner was splendid, and his exchanges with his Radiancy even more so. It wasn’t that they never dined together, but it had never been quite like this.
His Radiancy asked him about the budgets, and his lunch in the gardens. They traded jokes about the Council of Princes and Prince Rufus, and Cliopher, shyly, asked if his lord knew the name of the exceptionally soft fabric that Féonie had used for his costume. They spoke animatedly about Aya’s latest book, and compared theories about who they suspected had murdered the mysterious train driver.
Cliopher was in the middle of an argument about why the brother’s alibi couldn’t possibly be confirmed when dessert was served and—
He froze.
“Is there something wrong, Kip?”
Cliopher frowned at the platter that had been placed between them, in the centre of the table. “This is a pineapple upside-down cake.”
“Yes?”
“It’s– It's my favourite cake.”
His Radiancy nodded. “I know.”
“But,” he started, thinking about his next words. “My lord, I don’t think you can eat this.”
“Indeed I can't,” his Radiancy said, unperturbed.
Cliopher’s frown deepened. ”I don’t understand.”
His Radiancy studied him in silence for a few seconds, before giving a very unimperial shrug. “You know Kip, we all took bets about you today.” He gestured at someone behind him and Conju appeared and started cutting the cake into slices while his Radiancy kept talking. “Rhodin thought that your lunch picnic would work. Saya Kalikiri said that all the budget proposals coming in early for the first time in nine hundred years would be too big a tell.” His Radiancy made a face that, on anyone else, could have been accurately described as a pout. “I thought that the cake would definitely do it, but it seems that you were right as always, Conju.”
Conju gave a short bow, but Cliopher could see a smug smile tugging at his friend’s lips.
“I don’t understand,” Cliopher said lamely.
Conju turned to him and fixed him with a familiarly sarcastic look. “I said that you would not remember unless someone said it to your face.”
Cliopher blinked. “Said what to my face?”
“Oh Kip,” his Radiancy started, and the fondness in his voice made Cliopher feel like he was floating. “My dear Kip. My invaluable Hands, my superlative Lord Chancellor.” He paused, and added, in a warm but quieter voice. “My friend.”
Conju deposited a slice of cake—Cliopher’s favourite cake—in front of him with an audible clink. Cliopher looked up again, and his breath caught when his Radiancy’s benevolent expression broke into a dazzling smile.
“Wh–What–”
The Sun-on-Earth’s eyes crinkled.
“Happy birthday.”