Lord Regan said. “At once.” Charity sucked in her breath. Lord Regan was an overweight man with a receding hairline, who couldn’t be bothered to use a charm to freshen the air around him. Merely looking at him made her feel sick. Charity, who had known his daughter while she’d been at school, disliked him on sight. The girl had been a spoilt brat, she’d thought, but she’d clearly been doing very well, given what sort of father she had. “The Emperor is currently resting,” she said, pasting a sweet smile on her face. “May I ask why you wish to speak with him?” “My daughter’s marriage contract has been finalised,” Lord Regan said. “The Emperor needs to stamp his approval over the match before we can proceed.” “I see,” Charity said. She had a feeling that Lord Regan was trying to pull a fast one. There was no legal obligation for a marriage contract to require the Emperor’s approval – although, she had to admit, it had been so long since there had been an Emperor that it was possible there was such an obligation and everyone had forgotten it.
