The viscount stopped speaking so abruptly he looked as though the sentence had been cut from his throat.
The etherline along the nearest pillar gave a faint pulse, reacting to the Emperor's proximity and the minute rise in ambient ether pressure around him. A subtle shimmer under carved stone, like light moving through ice.
Modernity existed in the Empire.
So did old instincts.
The palace itself knew when its ruler was displeased.
"Harmless," Damian repeated, golden eyes unreadable. "You are discussing my son, Gregoris's daughter, and Max's child as future leverage while standing in front of their families."
The viscount opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, perhaps to die verbally.
Damian did not give him the chance.
"If you have enough idle time to plan marriages for children who cannot form complete sentences, then I clearly need to expand your duties."
Silence hit harder this time.
Max looked delighted again.
