"What did you... you say...?"
The Emperor's voice was a reedy, bewildered squeak, his brain short-circuiting like a toaster dropped in a bathtub.
Make babies? With this... this walking, talking, naked natural disaster?
His entire imperial education, filled with poetry, strategy, and the proper way to hold a teacup, had not prepared him for this.
There was no chapter in The Art of Ruling titled 'What to Do When a Crazy Psychopath Consort Proposes a Harem of Two While You're Tied Up.'
Meanwhile, Cassian, the ever-pragmatic Prince Regent, was not wasting his breath on questions.
His mind, a finely honed instrument of survival and strategy, was already working. He squinted, his focus absolute, as the intricate knots around his wrists, began to yield.
A little more pressure, a slight twist of the wrist... freedom was mere seconds away.
