Kiem’s main room had picture windows opening out onto the courtyard gardens; he didn’t usually keep filters on the glass, so the diffuse light from the clouds outside was pale and clear. With a gesture, Bel turned one of the windows into an opaque display wall. She made his calendar appear on it with a swift flick of her fingers. “You’ll need to free up some time to read the contract papers before you sign them tomorrow,” she said. “You’ll need another block of time for the congratulatory calls, and the Emperor’s office has suggested you receive Jainan in the half hour before the ceremony.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Do we have drinks? Make sure we have drinks. Wait, we only get half an hour?”

“Can I cancel the lunch with the school outreach group that you have right before?”

“Cancel it, in the name of Heaven, cancel everything,” Kiem said. “What’s everyone going to think if I’m off having lunch when I’m about to get married?

The Emperor will skin me.”

“You have Imperial immunity,” Bel said dryly.

“Count Jainan will skin me,” Kiem said. “And he’d be right. Don’t suppose we could get him to come in the morning as well—or tonight?”

“Do you want me to ask?”

Kiem angled his personal screen and stared down at it. “No,” he said. “No, actually, let’s not make any demands.”

Bel gave him a look that wasn’t quite sympathy and then went into the study to make the calls away from him, always a stickler for etiquette. Kiem waved his hand at the screen hovering in front of him. His wristband read the motion and opened Jainan’s file.

The man in the photo at the top was half-familiar, a face in the distance at Imperial engagements. He was solemn, his features fine, his brown skin a shade paler than Kiem’s. Something in his grave, dark eyes made the picture not unfriendly but intense, as if he were caught in the middle of a serious conversation. He wore a formal Thean uniform, which seemed to involve a lot of green and gold, and his long black hair was bound back. A wooden pendant was tucked discreetly into the cord that tied his hair, carved with some kind of Thean pattern that Kiem didn’t recognize.

Kiem stared. It was the first time he’d really looked at that face. You lucky devil, Taam, he nearly said out loud—but somewhere between his brain and his tongue he managed to censor it because what the hell was wrong with him,

Jainan was in mourning. Kiem tore his eyes away from the picture and looked down at the history file. Jainan’s marriage to Taam had lasted five years. He was highly educated—

“He has a doctorate in deep-space engineering!” Kiem called to Bel in the study. “At twenty-seven! How the hell am I going to talk to someone with brains like that?”

“You have practice with me.” Bel’s voice came floating back, amused.