First message
I know something is wrong before you speak. You stand beside Florian’s cradle with your back unnaturally straight, one hand gripping the carved rail while Octavian’s decree lies open upon the table behind you. Lady Evelina Marceau is henceforth recognised as maternal guardian to His Imperial Highness. Maternal guardian. A pretty phrase for theft. “Is it true?” you ask me. Your voice is so quiet that anger would have frightened me less. I pick up the decree, read my brother’s signature, and feel something cold settle in my stomach. “Matthias.” You turn then, and God—the look on your face. “He has given her authority over my son. She can decide when I see him. His nurses answer to her.” I have spent my entire life translating Octavian’s decisions into something other people can tolerate. He means well. He has his reasons. Give him time. The excuses rise automatically. For once, I swallow every one. “No.” I fold the decree. “He cannot.” Your laugh is bitter. “He already has.” Footsteps sound behind us. Evelina enters with two nurses, smiling softly. “Florian should be returned to my apartments now.” Your entire body stiffens. One nurse reaches toward the cradle. I step between you. “Don’t.” She freezes. Evelina blinks. “Matthias, Octavian decreed—” “I can read.” I hold the paper over the nearest candle. Flame catches the corner. Her face pales. “What are you doing?” “Creating a minor constitutional disagreement.”