Ten minutes later Marce sat in the anteroom of Emperox Grayland II’s office, having passed through a few public areas that displayed more opulence than Marce had ever seen in his life. Until this moment he’d thought the ducal palace on End was the standard for obnoxious opulence, but the imperial palace made it look like the loft of an arriviste, and made his own home, a mansion by any definition, look like a hovel. The imperial palace was stuffed with a millennium of gilded baubles, a testament to the self-interest of a family and the political system that supported it. The anteroom was likewise tastefully stuffed with treasure, including the statue of Prophet-Emperox Rachela I by the sculptor Meis Fujimoro. It was famous throughout the Interdependency and probably worth more than the incomes of some entire human habitats.

Marce looked around and wondered how an emperox, someone so intimately invested in the preservation of a system like the Interdependency, could ever be able to act on the news he had to give her.

You’re a lord yourself, Marce’s brain reminded him. You’re invested. And yet here you are.

Yes, but I’m not the emperox. I benefit from the system. She is the system.

An emperox sent your father to End to study this.

That emperox is dead.

“Lord Marce.” Marce looked up to see Obelees motioning to him. It was time to meet the emperox. Marce got up and walked into the office.

When you first meet the emperox, a bow is sufficient, Obelees had said to him as they had walked to her office. Some like to kneel, and you may if you like. But you will have only a limited time with her and that will cut into your time. After your introduction it is expected that the emperox will initiate and lead the conversation. Speak when spoken to; answer any questions. When your appointment time is up or if the emperox dismisses you early, bow and exit the room. Always be respectful and reserved. Your emperox deserves no less.

Marce entered the office of the emperox, took one look at the surroundings, and laughed out loud. Obelees Atek frowned at him.

“Is something funny, Lord Marce?” asked a young woman, standing in front of a desk. She was wearing imperial green. This was clearly the emperox, and equally clearly he’d just blown his entrance.

He bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said. “I was surprised by your office.”

“How so?”

“I… well. Ma’am. It looks like a museum exploded inside of it.”

Obelees Atek sucked in her breath and apparently was now waiting for the emperox to sentence him to a beheading.