Page 110 of Eyes of Kings

“Don’t touch it until the coronation,” Galipei warns. “Or it will stick.”

“Technically,” August returns, “I was already coronated.”

“You must do it again. This is the divine crown. The true crown. It will be meaningful for the masses after the days they’ve had.”

Slowly August retrieves a glove from his pocket. Pulls it onto his hand, then crouches beside the object. His palm closes over one of the ridges. Its pulse thrums through muscle. Spirits into his blood and surges around his heart. He feels the power, even with the barrier. Qi that calls to a rightful ruler. Qi that strikes down those who are unwilling. The kingdom believes this, so the kingdom accepts the wearer. For a man born neither Tuoleimi nor Shenzhi, this is how August will not be denied his rule.

August pushes hard. The ridge indents into his palm. Threatens to pierce through the fabric of his glove.

“So,” he says, his back to Galipei, “you did not defect.”

“On all counts, I did,” Galipei replies. “I acted against your orders. I fed information to the enemy.”

“I saw your cell. The blood. The sigil,” August says. He still does not turn around. “You led them on an unnecessary chase.”

Silence. Galipei, deciding what August wants to hear most. August has spent more time with Galipei than anyone in this kingdom. He knows him, can read him by the smallest twitch in his mouth. Understands what it is that he wants most, and August has spent a lifetime resisting in fear of diversion.

“I did what you wouldn’t let me do,” Galipei finally replies. “You feared for my safety. You put me inside a cradle of subservience. But I knew an opportunity would arise. I only had to play it correctly.”

August took the capital back with his numbers. But Galipei gave him his victory. Galipei went out and changed the winds of fate, drew up his own plans rather than asking permission. He acted on his own accord, as an equal would.

As a lover would.

“I see,” August says. “You did not think my instructions were wise.”

“No,” Galipei answers. “It was rather foolish to send me away.”

“You thought I was better served having you close?”

Galipei scoffs. August, picking up the crown, can imagine the manner that befalls his guard behind him. His arms crossed before his chest, his stance wide.

“I have done awful, terrible things for you, August. The only one that will have me is you. The only person I will have is you. Either accept it, or be worse off. I will not be sent away again.”

August reaches into his pocket and pulls forth his kerchief. It is still dusted with sand where he used it in Actia. He places it upon his head. Its two long ends drape over his ears, covering any skin that could be exposed.

Then, he faces Galipei and drops to his knees.

“Crown me,” August says.

Galipei’s expression offers no immediate reaction. Only his silver eyes swivel, trying to make some sense of this image before him, of August offering this divine object to him, eliciting a theatric coronation before they welcomethe kingdom as their audience. Galipei, slowly, accepts the crown with his one gloved hand once more. They are without witness. When he meets August’s eyes, he is seeking an answer about the ceremony he appears to be partaking in.

“Very well.”

His hand is steady. Precise. Galipei sets the crown on August’s head, the edge of his hand brushing the kerchief. Once, a long time ago, Galipei stood over him to bleach the color out of his hair. August remembers it. The sting as it trailed his neck. The burn that whispered down his spine while Galipei worked.

“Long may you reign, ten thousand years,” Galipei says.

August grabs Galipei’s hand as it withdraws. The crown stays poised atop the kerchief. One layer removed from touching skin, from melding to him for the rest of his life, until he is deposed in death.

“Long may you accompany,” August returns, “as king consort.”

Galipei grows very, very still. His eyes are ablaze. They say everything he will not. They are a cacophony while he and August—despite the proposition, despite the emptied room—do not make true contact, both their hands gloved. Anyone else who might have known August in some capacity is dead. They are bound together, he and Galipei. There is no one else who is capable of treating his aspirations with a lenient touch. No one else who is capable of matching it.

Galipei looks down.

He nods.

CHAPTER 55