“In time,” Henrick continued, “you will understand the importance of a good performance. Particularly if this war continues.” His smile faded. “While you were screaming your lungs raw, my Hell-Bards updated me on the Raider King’s forces.”

Safi’s frown disappeared. She turned a sharp eye on the Emperor. He so rarely mentioned the various war efforts that Cartorra had staked across the Witchlands, and she had no inkling why he might be addressing the war now. She had expected to enter this carriage and be yelled at, cursed at, punished. Instead he was chatting. “And what are those forces, my Emperor?”

Henrick sighed, a long exhale that deflated him. He looked overwhelmed, he looked old, and for some reason that Safi did not understand, he seemed to have shed his masks. In fact, she had no doubt that if she could train her Truth-lens on him, the colors within would not change. Even his crown was absent today, though a forehead crease remained from its golden grip.

This was the real Henrick fon Cartorra, leader of the largest empire in the Witchlands, and he was tired.

It reminded Safi of a different imperial leader in a different empire, and against her will, something soft settled around her lungs. Something almost like pity that she desperately wished would go away.

“Do not concern yourself,” he said eventually.

“What if I wish to concern myself? What if I wish to know the state of this empire I’m meant to lead?”

“Hmmm.” His eyes thinned, and something she thought might be respect mingled in them. He did not answer her question, though. Instead, he changed subjects so completely, Safi’s mind could not keep up.

“If you are using methods of preventing pregnancy, you may stop.”

Safi recoiled against her bench. “My … Emperor?” Outside, the slums were fading, replaced by slaughterhouses and the stench of blood.

“If,” Henrick repeated, a bout of usual testiness returning, “you are using methods to prevent pregnancy, stop. There is no reason to avoid it, assuming my nephew is your only lover.”

Safi had no idea what to say to that. Yes, he is my only lover? Or, I am using methods? Or, Why would you want me to stop? Fortunately, she was saved from asking anything by Henrick’s repeated sigh.

And before her eyes, he aged another ten years. The pockmarks on his cheek turned stark and red against his pallid skin. He scratched tiredly at his jaw. “I have spent two decades grooming Leopold to be the perfect emperor, and for all his seeming shallowness … Well, you of all people must know who he really is.”

Safi’s eyebrows lifted.

“My nephew will be an even better emperor than I, and as I have told you before, I have no interest in replacing him. He, however, will need an heir. As it currently stands, he is the last in the Cartorran line.”