snapped.
Maximillian then devolved into a lengthy series of orders for the new governor regarding resource development, production, guild participation, and who knew what else. Anton jerked back to attention when the Emperor mentioned something about Volen naming guildmasters.
That was supposed to be his privilege. Heâd spent weeks in consultation with Ammertus devising his list of appointees.
Volen mumbled, âI have given no such thing a thought, Your Resplendent Majesty.â The old bastard turned to him and had the gall to say generously, âYou may name a guildmaster if you wish, First Advisor.â
âKenzarr,â Anton blurted. âHe shall be Master of the Slaverâs Guild.â
Volen frowned faintly but nodded his assent readily enough.
It wasnât much. But the appointment would have to be enough. With his man in the Slaverâs Guild, Anton would have access to manpower. A little extra income skimmed on the side. Retainers here and there with specialized skills. And eventually, an army. It was so little in the face of what he could have hadâ
His enraged gaze lifted to Endellian. Two seconds. Had she delayed a miserable two seconds interrupting her father earlier, he would have been the governor of Dupree and not that doddering old fool Volen! Seething fury ripped through him as he stared at the great key now hanging from Volenâs hip, winking at him in the candlelight as if this had all been a great joke upon him. That key should have been his . Overwhelming desire to snatch forth one of his new short swords and bury it in the princessâs bosom roared through himâ
Panic exploded across his brain as the direction of thoughts dawned on him. He revised his murderous thoughts frantically.
âI would, of course, only kill her if the Emperor so wished it and for the greater glory of the Empire of Koth.
Endellian threw him a murderous look that declared him exceedingly lucky to be standing in her fatherâs presence and not hers alone.
Anton was too appalled at his momentary loss of control to hear it. That slip had just cost him years . Cursing himself for being a thousand kinds of fool, he reluctantly conceded that, after revealing such violence to his liege, if anything even remotely suspicious were to happen to the new governorâshould the old coot die of anything other than an unquestionably natural death of extreme old ageâthe Emperor would now suspect him.
Anton turned to face the court and descended the golden steps heavily. The overriding emotion emanating from the sea of faces smirking up at him now was derision. Amusement. He spied his wife near the front of the crowd in time to see her turn her back on him, a look of disgust on her face.
It had all been right there. Moments away from being his. The rage and ambition roiling in his gut formed a poisonous sludge with a life of its own. It took a nameârevenge. Everyone present this night would pay for laughing at his humiliation. He would show them all. He would accomplish in the colonies feats beyond their wildest imaginings and would achieve such wealth and power that they would tear their hair with jealousy.
He cast his contemptuous gaze across the crowd ⦠and caught the eye of one in the crowd who visibly shared his sentiments exactly. Ammertus . Yes indeed. There would be retribution for this nightâs mischief by Maximillian.
The archduke made his way to Anton for a private word, which was not difficult to achieve given that suddenly no member of the court would speak to him.
Ammertus growled significantly, âYou will do your best for the Empire and the Emperor in the colonies, will you not, Anton?â
âOf course, Your Dread Grace.â
âYou and I have both seen the potential of the place. Develop it for the Empire. Exploit it to the fullest.â
The briefest mental image of a storeroom filled to the ceiling with gold, precious gems, and other
Maximillian then devolved into a lengthy series of orders for the new governor regarding resource development, production, guild participation, and who knew what else. Anton jerked back to attention when the Emperor mentioned something about Volen naming guildmasters.
That was supposed to be his privilege. Heâd spent weeks in consultation with Ammertus devising his list of appointees.
Volen mumbled, âI have given no such thing a thought, Your Resplendent Majesty.â The old bastard turned to him and had the gall to say generously, âYou may name a guildmaster if you wish, First Advisor.â
âKenzarr,â Anton blurted. âHe shall be Master of the Slaverâs Guild.â
Volen frowned faintly but nodded his assent readily enough.
It wasnât much. But the appointment would have to be enough. With his man in the Slaverâs Guild, Anton would have access to manpower. A little extra income skimmed on the side. Retainers here and there with specialized skills. And eventually, an army. It was so little in the face of what he could have hadâ
His enraged gaze lifted to Endellian. Two seconds. Had she delayed a miserable two seconds interrupting her father earlier, he would have been the governor of Dupree and not that doddering old fool Volen! Seething fury ripped through him as he stared at the great key now hanging from Volenâs hip, winking at him in the candlelight as if this had all been a great joke upon him. That key should have been his . Overwhelming desire to snatch forth one of his new short swords and bury it in the princessâs bosom roared through himâ
Panic exploded across his brain as the direction of thoughts dawned on him. He revised his murderous thoughts frantically.
âI would, of course, only kill her if the Emperor so wished it and for the greater glory of the Empire of Koth.
Endellian threw him a murderous look that declared him exceedingly lucky to be standing in her fatherâs presence and not hers alone.
Anton was too appalled at his momentary loss of control to hear it. That slip had just cost him years . Cursing himself for being a thousand kinds of fool, he reluctantly conceded that, after revealing such violence to his liege, if anything even remotely suspicious were to happen to the new governorâshould the old coot die of anything other than an unquestionably natural death of extreme old ageâthe Emperor would now suspect him.
Anton turned to face the court and descended the golden steps heavily. The overriding emotion emanating from the sea of faces smirking up at him now was derision. Amusement. He spied his wife near the front of the crowd in time to see her turn her back on him, a look of disgust on her face.
It had all been right there. Moments away from being his. The rage and ambition roiling in his gut formed a poisonous sludge with a life of its own. It took a nameârevenge. Everyone present this night would pay for laughing at his humiliation. He would show them all. He would accomplish in the colonies feats beyond their wildest imaginings and would achieve such wealth and power that they would tear their hair with jealousy.
He cast his contemptuous gaze across the crowd ⦠and caught the eye of one in the crowd who visibly shared his sentiments exactly. Ammertus . Yes indeed. There would be retribution for this nightâs mischief by Maximillian.
The archduke made his way to Anton for a private word, which was not difficult to achieve given that suddenly no member of the court would speak to him.
Ammertus growled significantly, âYou will do your best for the Empire and the Emperor in the colonies, will you not, Anton?â
âOf course, Your Dread Grace.â
âYou and I have both seen the potential of the place. Develop it for the Empire. Exploit it to the fullest.â
The briefest mental image of a storeroom filled to the ceiling with gold, precious gems, and other
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