Jainan’s head gave another stab of pain. There was always some negotiation around the terms of the vassals’ treaties before the Resolution agreement set everything in stone for the next twenty years. Thea was not a significant political force and did not have the leverage to negotiate more favorable terms. It was the smallest of the Empire’s seven planets; it clung to its allied province status and the independence it brought. Jainan needed Prince Kiem on his side. He had made an appalling start today.

It wasn’t really a surprise that Jainan had made a poor impression. Prince Kiem was confident, charismatic, and as good-looking as Taam had been. Like Taam—like any Iskat royal—Kiem would expect his public and personal life to go smoothly. He had clearly been doing his best to conceal his disappointment in his marriage that morning. Prince Kiem was at least less naive than Jainan had been.

Enough. Jainan rose to his feet. This was self-pity. He had only one duty now

—to keep up appearances in his new marriage—and even if he could never be liked, he could at least be agreeable. He wouldn’t cause inconvenience by delaying his packing.

He moved mechanically around the familiar rooms, gathering his possessions and fitting them into the chest. He’d always been neat and he’d tried to keep it that way. It surprised him, though, how little space everything packed down into.

His devices, toiletries, and shoes filled only a fraction of the chest. The clothes took longer, as he pulled them out of the wardrobe one by one, trying not to touch Taam’s uniforms that still hung there. He’d meant to send someone a memo about them. His head was all over the place these days.

He had run a superficial search on Prince Kiem when he’d first been given his name. The results seemed hopeless: Prince Kiem at parties, Prince Kiem with a string of partners, and one report where he was apparently tipsy and balancing on a statue in Arlusk’s main square. Jainan knew there was nothing he could do to appeal to someone like that. The only glimmer of hope had been something buried in a long profile by a gossip log: Prince Kiem says he’s easygoing, it said.

He likes to enjoy life. Ask him about his career, and he’ll only tell you he didn’t join the army because it sounded like too much hard work. You certainly won’t catch him advising the Emperor.

Jainan hadn’t read further. If Kiem liked things to be easy, Jainan could at least manage that.

The rooms’ storage units were concealed cunningly in the Iskat style, slotted gracefully into the curved white pillars and walls, their handles invisible until you touched the right spot. Jainan opened them all, checking he had missed nothing of his among Taam’s possessions. He didn’t touch any of the contents.

But in the lowest unit in the corner, which only opened halfway because of Taam’s desk, he found a box at the back with Thean scribing on it.