Dunseny, the Emperor's long-serving personal attendant who had moved from the Great House to the palace at the Emperor's request, delivered the Great House's monthly ledgers, bound under House Mollari's seal. Dunseny laid the ledgers on the Emperor's desk. He frowned at the lack of his mistress's notes, which had become shorter and shorter over the past several months until, finally, none had been attached at all.
Since arriving at the palace, Dunseny had observed that the Emperor had been avoiding the matters of his own House. Before he became Emperor, Lord Mollari had kept a semi-regular monthly routine of visiting his House to check in on its affairs. To the servants' great relief, the overall tension in the Great House had diminished when Lady Daggair and Lady Mariel left, and after their departure, Dunseny and the other servants noted a change in the tension underlying Lord Mollari and Lady Timov's relationship. There was still tension, without doubt, but between the unruliness of Lord Mollari's unscheduled monthly visits, his tepid complaining, and their habit of incessant bickering, both the Lord and Lady of the House seemed to take some sort of pleasure in the periodic presence of the other. Whether this pleasure was caused purely by the joy of antagonizing of the other or by genuine buried affection was a constant source of gossip among the House's servants. In any event, the divorce of Lord Mollari's other wives had taken the embittered edge off of their relationship, even if it had not cured the situation. However, their détente in relations had cooled again when Lord Mollari had ascended to the position of Emperor, notably due to the absence of any communication at all by His Majesty.
Over the past few months, Dunseny delivered the ledgers, now apparently the only form of communication between the Emperor and his wife. In the mornings when Dunseny returned to His Majesty's office to tidy up his desk, Dunseny would retrieve the ledgers which had broken seals as if the Emperor had, in fact, riffled through them at length. Dunseny noted that they were often open to the pages detailing the Empress's personal accounts, and, curious, Dunseny had glanced at the open pages. The Empress had detailed several notable expenditures. It appeared that she was sending a great deal of money to the Legionnaire's Academy, the most notable military academy on Centauri Prime. Its graduating legionnaires were reputed for their fighting skills and their academic prowess, and they were almost as loyal to each other as a formal noble House. But why she might do so was beyond the old man's imagination. Dunseny folded the pages closed again, and retrieved the ledger for filing, clearing His Majesty's desk for the inevitable onslaught of plans, papers, and proposals that the Emperor was brought for his review on a daily basis.
Dunseny had keenly noted that His Majesty was looking ever wearier, his stride growing heavier with each passing day, and exhaustion hung like a weight over his shoulders. The ministers called on the Emperor at all times of the day and night, and the Emperor received them with annoyance written across his face, but he did not send them away unseen.
Dunseny had heard that Turhan's palace consisting of over 7,000 courtiers and servants had been run with clockwork precision, but Cartagia's reign had eviscerated most of the proficient palace staff. The Regent fared little better than his predecessor, for once ineptness crept into a body, its sickness slowly took hold. Notably, the last Master of the Household had come to a swift and bloody end under Cartagia's knife, and he had never been replaced, much like the Emperor's telepaths, who had also perished under Cartagia. Likewise, the Lord Master of the Door, the executive guardian of the Emperor's harem, a coveted position usually entrusted only to a eunuch, had not been named in decades. The palace, which under more lavish Emperors had boasted upwards of 15,000 servants had dwindled to paltry a skeleton staff of just over 3,000 servants and courtiers. In light of the crumbling of the palace's traditional positions, the household had become far less orderly. Where once trusted advisors and courtiers had provided the Emperor with executive advice, now the ministers picked up the slack, using it as a convenient opportunity to consolidate their own power and plot their own ascension to the throne.
Dunseny, himself, had been named Esquire of the Body, a notable and influential position, indeed arguably the most influential position for a servant in the royal household, but even Dunseny would not approach the Emperor about the countless positions that had gone vacant since Cartagia's reign or the growing problems within the palace itself. Dunseny sighed, wishing he were back at House Mollari, his home for eight decades. The changes the Empress had made over the last few years had turned the House into a well-oiled machine, and each cog knew both its place and its importance in the overall machine. He wondered if his young grand-nephew, Palco, was aware of his luck in dodging the palace's chaos.
Palco's figure traced a breathless path as he ran through the Great House until he found his mistress. "Your Majesty," he said as he thrust a note into her hand with trembling fingers.
Reading it, Timov's face changed abruptly. "Get the carriage," she commanded Palco as she gathered the folds of her dress.
"Eh, Your Majesty…" one of her newly appointed soldiers stepped to her side, "we will need an hour to get the security arranged. If you will allow me to…."
"Get out of my way," Timov snapped. "You can catch up to us when you've made your arrangements. In the meantime, you may find me in the Capital City." She waved to Illyia who joined her stride. "You will contact me directly if the palace rings here." Illyia nodded her understanding just as Timov reached the door of the Great House.
The soldier's jaw hung loosely for a moment before he waved his fellow soldiers to quickly follow the retreating figure of the Empress.
By the time she reached the nearby landing pad, House Mollari's private carriage was ready to depart. Less than ten minutes later, the Empress was bound for the Capital City, and for once, she did not gaze at the countryside or count the ways in which the government had failed to improve the infrastructure in the last year. Instead, she sat primly, her face drawn, her hands clasped. Only her whitened knuckles gave away her thoughts as the minutes passed.
Londo's hands curled over the edge of the small table he was sitting on. He frowned at the chaos unfolding in the overcrowded room in front of him, and he waved one of his guards over. "You detained her?" he asked solemnly.
"She is downstairs, Your Majesty. Would you like me to bring her up?"
"No," Londo shook his head with weariness. "Is she hurt?"
"A few bruises, Your Majesty. Nothing serious."
Londo sighed, "All right, take her to the palace. I will have a word with her there."
The soldier bowed his head and retreated from the small room buzzing with activity, slipping his way past the crowd as he made his way to the small transport tube. On his way there, he snapped his heels to attention as the diminutive figure of the Empress flew off the transport tube in front of him.
Timov passed the flock of Londo's personal guards, making her way past a throng of people, and as she entered the room, the crowd peeled away to allow her a path. She rushed to her husband's side. "Gods, I thought you were dead!"
"I didn't know you cared," he said aloofly, giving her a strange look.
Timov took an abrupt step back as she straightened her shoulders, "Of course I care."
Londo stared at her silently for a moment before responding. "It is just a scratch. You see?" Londo ripped the small bandage from the back of his head, bringing away the small scab that had already formed.
"Londo!" Timov exclaimed, seeing the blood dripping from his bandage. She put a hand on his shoulder, trying to peer around his head on her tippy-toes as she motioned to the doctor who was inspecting the wound. But as she leaned around the table, she saw that it was, indeed, only a scratch. She took a moment to calm her hearts before she addressed him again. "They said there had been an attempt on your life."
Londo grunted, "'Attempt' is a rather strong word for what, in fact, occurred."
Timov glanced at the chaos in the room. "The news is reporting that it was serious."
Londo threw up his hands, "All lies, as you can see. But it was a plot worthy of a Refa."
"A Refa? What do you mean?" Timov queried her husband. "Antono is dead, and I understand his wives died in the bombings as well."
"His daughter is not dead. She got her hands on a replica PPG. I suspect it was intended to lure my soldiers into killing her. It would have caused quite the controversy."
Timov was taken aback. "Senna Refa? Senna Refa tried to shoot you with a PPG?" Timov couldn't quite believe her ears. "She can't be older than 14 now."
"No, she did not try to shoot anyone." Londo shook his head, upsetting the doctor's attempts to replace the bandage. "She tried to get my soldiers to shoot her."
"Whatever happened, the news gave me quite a scare,' Timov blinked back unexpected tears. "It wasn't even the palace who informed me."
Londo looked at her quizzically for a moment.
Timov continued, "Considering that you and her father were once quite good friends, she might have gotten wind of those rampant rumors that you were involved in plotting his murder and causing the downfall of House Refa. Perhaps she felt you smeared her family's honor." Timov carefully observed Londo's response, but his face gave nothing away as to the veracity of the rumors.
Seeing Londo sway slightly as he listened to her, Timov glanced over Londo's head to the physician behind him. The physician's mouth was moving back and forth but nothing was coming out. "Oh for the love of the gods," she turned to Londo's guards. "Will you clear this room already? I can barely hear myself think." She turned back to Londo, "This entourage is absurd. Is this how you travel everywhere now? Including the residential districts?"
Londo glanced at the guards, and he nodded, dismissing everyone from the room.
As the door closed behind the last of them, Timov sighed, "I didn't mean that the physician should leave."
"I needed the quiet anyway," Londo replied. "I have a raging headache, and the physician is trying to send me to the closest clinic to ensure I don't have a concussion."
"Well," Timov straightened Londo's imperial sash. "That sounds almost sensible."
"I do not want a medical scan," Londo said with an intensity and forcefulness he rarely displayed in casual conversation. "Anyway," his voice softened. "I feel fine." He stood up for a moment before he started to sway again. "I'm just a bit…" he put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself, "dizzy." He took a few deep breaths before he reconsidered his wife's presence, "You are looking well."
"Your eyesight must be getting worse," she replied as she helped him sit back down.
"Perhaps," he managed a half smile. "In any event, I have been expecting you. Not here, specifically, nor today, but I thought you might eventually make your way to the palace."
"Oh really?" Timov pursed her lips as she still hung on his hand. "Did you forget to send my invitation to your coronation?"
Chagrin crept into Londo's eyes. "The courier must have gotten lost on his way to you."
Timov sniffed her disapproval, "He must have gotten very lost, since you invited no one at all."
"As I explained in my speech to the people, a festive occasion was not appropriate considering the circumstances."
Shrugging off his explanation, Timov replied, "I am not here to debate your coronation choices."
"Ah, so you are aware I am Emperor, then?"
"No thanks to you, husband. Would you like to know how I found out? An army of armed men appeared on my doorstep claiming to be my new security contingent."
Londo snorted, "Maybe I should trade mine for yours as you seem to be in one piece."
Ignoring his comment, Timov continued, "There's a camp of people at the doorstep of the Great House. You wouldn't believe what I've had to put up with lately."
Londo's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Tell me."
"I've been approached by several - several, Londo - families wondering if His Majesty was yet looking for vessels."
"Vessels?" Londo seemed perplexed, "What sort of vessels?"
"Vessels," Timov said pointedly, "to carry your heirs."
At that, Londo laughed heartily. "You?" he chuckled, "They are approaching you with wedding proposals for their daughters?"
"What did you expect would happen?" Timov said, with less humor than usual. "Your years are advancing, and everyone is quite displeased at the non sequitur state of the monarchy."
"Tell me," Londo pulled Timov closer, though they were the only people in the room. "Did you get a good look at any of them?" he whispered in her ear.
"No, I did not." Timov said coldly, knowing he was prepared for a stinging hand, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of doing exactly what he expected. "Now let me go so I can call the physician back in, since I see you have lost your mind if you think I will entertain wedding proposals on your behalf."
"Timov," Londo's voice hardened, stopping her, "I have some things to talk to you about. We will discuss them back at the palace when I have a free moment, after I take care of all of this," he gestured to the waiting throng.
Timov bit her lip. "I think I know what you have to say already."
"Yes," Londo said under his breath, "I'll bet you do."