The young nobleman from Morley is bright and charming. He speaks with all proper respect to the Emperor and his daughter. Corvo can find no faults with him, at least none that he can voice.
The Insurrection is still a fresh memory, and tensions continue to simmer under the surface. A display of favor like this, an appearance of unity, would help to soothe old hurts. Jessamine listens stoically as her father explains this and nods when he is done. She will do what is best for her people.
Corvo stands at her side through the ceremony, silent and watchful.
Dark hair has been a distinguishing trait of the Kaldwin line for generations, so no one is surprised when Emily, too, takes after her mother and not Jessamine's fair-haired husband. If the girl's eyes are too dark for either family line, well, few people are allowed close enough to the royal heir to notice such a thing.
There are whispers, of course, of impropriety, but not even the most gossip-hungry of nobles really take it seriously.
After all, the Royal Protector is duty-bound to be at the Empress's side every hour of the day. Even when her husband is not.
The prince consort comes to visit Corvo at his cell. He waves the guards away and puts his hands on the bars, regarding him coldly. There is anger in his eyes, but it is clouded by sorrow, a deep and haunting grief.
"You're guilty of a crime," he says, "but I don't believe that crime is murder."
A key slips from his fingers, clattering and tumbling across the filthy floor to rest by Corvo's boot.
"The guard changes in an hour," he says. "I know Emily is yours, so I know you'll do whatever it takes to bring her back."
