“Now’s not the time. The world knows you’re at the heart of this. They’re hungry for an excuse to prosecute you, or lynch you. Think of the consequences for your fellow Blacklaws. It’s hard enough fighting Cook’s Eighth Law motion with set-sets involved in O.S. If you draw any more attention the Nurturists will turn on Blacklaws in a heartbeat, and many will turn with them.”

The surprise in Madame’s voice might have been genuine. “You think they’ll use our Jehovah as an excuse to take away Blacklaws’ children?”

“They won’t have to, they’ll use Dominic, and Ganymede and Danaë, and Heloïse, don’t forget Heloïse ran into the Senate in a nun’s habit, and that’s not the worst of it. When people put it together that a Blacklaw started all this—”

“Merion Kraye started all this.”

“You started Merion Kraye,” he answered flatly. “What about the real Eighth Law? You haven’t just angered the Leviathans, you’ve set us all on fire! Don’t pour salt on the burns. It’s a wonder the other Blacklaws haven’t already called a lynch mob down on you.”

“I’m not a Blacklaw anymore.”

“What?”

Madame blinked, as if surprised at his surprise. “I registered a few hours ago. I’m a European now. And a Spaniard.”

The Emperor turned on the king, slightly too quickly. “You’re going through with it?”

Fatigue made His Majesty’s soft voice softer. “We are.”

“You’re actually getting married.” Caesar had to hear it out loud, even if in his own voice.

“It is the honorable thing.”

“Honorable? Honorable is doing your duty by your Hive and nation. Do you honestly think your people believe that taking responsibility for a bastard is worth abdicating at a time like this?”

“No, I don’t.” Isabel Carlos did not meet Caesar’s eyes.

“But you’re going to abandon them anyway?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Then you don’t intend to abdicate?” MASON’s tone grew night dark, almost urgent. “You told me a King of Spain can’t marry a prostitute. You promised me!”

Madame smiled. “We took a poll. Seventy-something percent of Europe wants His Majesty to keep the crown after the wedding, including ninety-something percent of the Spanish nation-strat. It’s heartening having such a warm welcome from my new people.”

Caesar does not curse, not even under his breath. “Spain, you know Madame only wants this so they can visit the graves of Madame de Pompadour and whatever other famous royal mistresses, and gloat about becoming a real queen.”

Spain’s gentle eyes met MASON’s as he corrected, “Empress.”

“What?”

What should we call the emotion that made His Majesty’s lips tremble so? Apology? “You know the Senate has ordered Europe, as well as the Humanists and Mitsubishi, to present a draft for the correction of our government after O.S.” A weary breath. “Popular support is for an imperial system, based on yours. They will, I expect, choose me.”