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Zarkon didn’t often lose his composure while he sat on his throne—especially not during meetings. The throne room was devoid of any kind of distractions, and there was little else to focus on besides his commanders before him, giving reports on their progress.
Well, and Haggar, who stood to his right.
During this meeting, he had been focusing well enough, even if he held little interest in what Prorok was talking about—trying to chase his own glory, perhaps. His focus waned when he heard Haggar shift beside him, uttering an sigh under her breath. It was likely the reason for her restlessness was her impatience and disinterest with Prorok’s droning on about something-or-other.
Not that she was ever interested in what Prorok was saying.
Zarkon flicked his ear, in lieu of turning his head, so that he could listen to her breathing. When she was annoyed or upset, there was a distinct shift. He longed to ask her if something was bothering her, but thought better of it. Most of his commanders already despised the woman, as if she were a scourge on the Empire, rather than the Empress—not that any of them were aware of what she title should have been given.
He would never have insisted upon her taking the title when she couldn’t even remember who she was. He still treated her as well as he had when she did know who she was, of course. It would have been wrong of him to do otherwise. He had tried to jog her memory, of course—several… hundred times over the course of their ten thousand year reign, but he had never succeeded. He thought that perhaps he just needed to make the memory jogs more personal for her, that proximity would aid in his attempts to get her back, but…
When they had first been revived, she hadn’t even recognized her own name.
He had knelt beside her, called her Honerva, but she had only looked at him in fear and confusion. The fear had dissipated with time, of course. He liked to believe it was because what remained of her former self recognized that he was not a threat to her. She had once admitted to him—in private, of course—that she felt there was a closeness between them that she found unexplainable, but he hadn’t wanted to upset her or make her feel obligated to treat him like her husband when she didn’t remember.
“Sire…”
Her voice was low, so it didn’t echo around the expansive throne chamber, but also softer than it usually was. At the sound of her voice, Zarkon automatically leaned to the side just so. To listen to her speak, but also to be close to her.
“Something is troubling you…” she continued, sounding concerned. It was a tone she took more often with him—perhaps only with him. He didn’t keep tabs on it, though. She shifted again, and he heard the sweep of her robes against the floor of the throne chamber as she moved. This time, he actually did look at her—he tried to remain impassive when he noticed how her hands had curled into fists at her sides.
“I am fine,” he said, more curtly than he really meant to, before turning his attention back to Prorok, who had fallen silent when he had noticed that Zarkon’s attention was on Haggar. Zarkon’s gaze narrowed. “Prorok, did I tell you to stop giving your report?”
“You are certain?” Haggar pressed, and he knew that even if she couldn’t sense his shift in mood through his quintessence, she could tell based on the set of his shoulders. For her sake, he allowed his posture to relax.
He knew that it troubled her when something was troubling him, but he never wanted to drag up the past when she didn’t remember. He never wanted to cause his love distress.
“I am certain. All is well.”