The Diplomat
Authors: Sophia French
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Synopsis
Royal Envoy Rema is determined to broker a successful marriage between her master, Emperor Ormun, and a young princess of neighboring Danosha. The Danoshans need protection and Ormun wants their unwavering loyalty. The sanctity of a royal wedding would resolve many diplomatic issues.
Upon arriving in the Danoshan court, Rema does not discover a biddable young princess in awe of the high honor being accorded to her and her family. Princess Elise instead proves a woman of many surprises.
As her acquaintance with Elise grows, Rema’s arguments for the common sense of the marriage sound weak even to her own ears. Her duty is clear, and what belongs to her master cannot ever be hers…
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Copyright © 2015 by Sophia French
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2015
eBook released 2015
Editor: Shelly Rafferty
Cover Designer: Judith Fellows
ISBN: 978-1-59493-437-7
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
About the Author
Sophia French lives in Hobart, Tasmania.
The Diplomat
is her first novel.
Dedication
for Li
Part One
Chapter One
Rema loved every weave and fiber of her uniform, but most of all she enjoyed tightening the silver clasp that sealed its high collar. Even after thirteen years, the triumphant final touch still evoked her pride at becoming the first female diplomat in the history of the Empire.
She admired her reflection in the cabin’s mirror. The trousers still fit snugly about her narrow hips, and the coat, which shone a vibrant purple in the morning light, added length to her shoulders and drew tight at her waist. She swept her bangs from her eyes and ran a comb through the tangles of her dark red hair. It had grown over the journey to rest just above the collar. Time soon for a trim.
With a dampened cloth, she wiped her face clean while feeling the sharp curve of her cheekbones. A woman in trousers was an oddity, and Rema’s angular features and boyish figure often caused her to be mistaken for a beautiful young man. Fortunately, she enjoyed the attention.
Three short raps sounded on the cabin door. “Come in,” Rema said, adjusting her collar.
The door opened to reveal the sweat-soaked face of the first mate. “My lady, we’ve docked.”
“Evidently.” Rema gestured to the window. Beyond its wooden frame, the city was visible, a sprawl of stone buildings beneath plumes of chimney smoke.
“You’ll be wanting an escort to the royal palace. This is a rough city, especially for a woman on her own.”
“I have diplomatic immunity. Surely the muggers and rapists will respect the authority of our Emperor.”
The sailor tilted his head. “Are you joking, my lady?”
Rema smiled. “If you want to send some of the crew with me, it would be appreciated.”
He nodded, gave her an inexpert salute and left. Despite their initial reservations, the crew had warmed to Rema over the voyage. She had won over harder hearts than those of a few cranky seamen, and despite being a woman alone among men, she’d never felt threatened. Diplomatic immunity might be worth little on foreign streets, but these men had family in Arann, the imperial capital.
Rema waited, her gaze on the city, until three large sailors arrived in her cabin, their heads bowed in bashful reverence. No doubt they had been chosen for the terrifying tattoos on their forearms, one of which featured a skull devouring a snake—surely an uncommon occurrence.
One of the sailors reached for her luggage, and she raised her hand. “No, that’s fine. I can manage it myself.” She took the handle of her ornate wooden trunk, which had seen most of the world with her. It was a unique and inventive design—a chest with wheels attached and a long handle, perfect for a roaming emissary. Though its polish had long worn off and each wheel had been replaced at least twice, the chest remained intact, and Rema was convinced that if anyone else touched it, it would immediately fall apart.
She followed the sailors through the narrow halls of the lower deck, trundling the luggage behind her. As she ascended onto the deck, the stench of the docks pried open her nostrils and settled in her stomach. It was a rancid mixture of decaying fish, sweat and city sewage, the characteristic perfume of dockyards everywhere.
The sun gleamed bright against the water, forcing Rema to squint as she gazed toward the docks. Innumerable small boats and large ships cluttered the crescent sweep of the bay. Upon the cobbled shore, men and women dragged crates and pulled squirming nets. A breeze swept across the deck, and Rema shivered. She’d never become accustomed to these eastern chills.
The captain marched across deck. “My lady. A good journey, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’ve had many worse. My thanks to you and your crew.”
“We’ll be here for the week.” He scratched through his beard and flicked a wiggling insect from his fingernail. “If that’s not long enough, another ship’ll be here in fifteen days.”
“That’s more than enough time. Thank you.”
The captain walked away still digging at his whiskers. Rema gestured to her escorts, crossed the creaking deck and followed the thin gangplank to the shore. The sailors whispered behind her, impressed, it seemed, by her balance. The wheels of her luggage hit the cobblestones with a shudder, and she weaved immediately to avoid a pile of fish guts drying in the sun. One of the sailors wasn’t as vigilant, and she smiled as he let loose a stream of profanities.
“Excuse him, my lady,” said another of the sailors, who had a dolphin tattooed on his cheek. “He shouldn’t use language like that in front of you.”
Rema laughed. “If there’s a sailor’s cuss I haven’t yet heard, I’d like to know about it.”
The docks were crowded, and Rema moved cautiously to avoid heavy crates and jutting elbows. As she passed through the tumult, the dock workers stared at her. “That’s a bloody woman,” said a squat man gutting a fish, heedless that he was spilling the mess on himself. “Look, she’s dressed as a man.”
Rema paused in her march. “It’s better than being clad in fish guts. You should take more care with your work.” She resumed her measured pace, leaving the fisherman speechless.
The dolphin-tattooed sailor walked beside her. “Be careful. It might not be wise to talk back to folks like that. Some’s pretty rough.”
“If I didn’t talk back, I wouldn’t be much good at my job.” As Rema spoke, a woman sorting fish heads cast an admiring glance up Rema’s body. She blushed as their eyes met. Rema winked, and the woman found an intensified interest in her work.
The group continued through the city streets, leaving the salty stench behind them. A crowd pressed close, composed of slow-moving travelers, impatient merchants and lumbering wagons. Swarms of children menaced travelers by running about their feet. Even the houses lining the streets were tightly clustered, and their thatch and slate roofs competed for space.
A horse strutted by while relaxing its bowels, and the unfortunate sailor who had trodden in the fish guts managed to further ruin his boots. His curses withered the air. “How I’d missed dry land,” said Rema.
“This is one of the poorest capitals on the continent,” said the sailor with the dolphin. “What’s a fancy diplomat like you doing here?”
“Fancy diplomacy.” Rema waved to three farmers who had dropped their bundles in the street to stare at her. “Are you interested in hearing about it?”
“You can talk all you like,” he said, and Rema chuckled. No doubt the sailor was only interested in the sound of her voice, which was low, smooth and accentuated with lyrical subtleties. A diplomat’s voice was her weapon, and Rema’s was lethally honed.
“Danosha is a backward kingdom, ruled by a King and Queen born with the proper blood but not much imagination. I doubt there’s been an agricultural or military innovation here in centuries.” Rema stepped over a wandering cat. “They’re presently at war with Lyorn, a plutocratic realm that’s rich, expansive, well-armed and with no shortage of fine military minds.”
