He was so lonely without the old man. There were few people he truly trusted: Cassandra certainly, perhaps Sylissa d’Hart, and of course Theodore. The old man had been like a father to him, had been more of a father than his own father. The old king had been more concerned with his mistress, his true love, had even favored her over Edvard’s mother, a woman chosen as the king’s bride for reasons of state, not love. And after the mistress had died, when Edvard was still a young boy, the old king had withered, shrunk, grown suddenly old and frail, until he died a few years later, making Edvard a very young king and emperor. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever really loved his father, wasn’t sure if his father ever loved him. But Theodore had loved him, and that was all he needed. Now Theodore was gone, and his loss brought up so many painful memories. His intercom sounded and he answered it mechanically. “Yes.” “Your Majesty, Duke Abraxa and Archcanon Bortha have arrived.” Edvard nodded, brought the lights of his study up a bit.
