The Emperor was not finished.
"I have heard," he said, and now his tone shifted — lighter, almost conversational, the tone of a man sharing gossip at a private dinner rather than reshaping political alliances in real time, "that the young Count has attracted considerable attention at this gathering. That the ladies of the court find him... compelling."
Laughter — nervous, uncertain, the kind that seeks permission.
"I cannot blame them. A man who fights the impossible? Who walks through the Depths and returns? Who stands before the Shinokishi and does not break?"
The Emperor shook his head with theatrical admiration.
"If I were a young woman, I might find him compelling myself."
'What a fucking drama queen.'
More laughter. Less nervous. The Emperor was giving them permission to relax, and they seized it with the desperation of people who had been holding their breath for too long.
"But I find myself in a difficult position," the Emperor said.
The laughter died.
