Weskham, wisely, made no comment about Regis' hasty retreat from the nursery. He merely followed in his king's wake right up until the point when Regis halted outside the entrance to his own rooms.

Before that moment it hadn't really occurred to him what the full implications were for having a change of clothes. All of his clothes were in that room and so, of course, were Aulea's. Along with everything else that had belonged to her. There was a reason why he had slept in his study that night, and it had very little to do with the princess.

"Sire?"

Regis glanced sideways at Weskham, hesitating still. The steward hadn't been with them, at the time; only Clarus had come along.

Finally Regis shook his head. "I cannot go inside that room again."

Weskham didn't object. He didn't even ask why, didn't press him. All he said was: "The room across the hall is vacant, I believe," as he gestured to the door to their left.

Regis shot him a grateful look and ducked into the unoccupied suite of rooms across from his. They were ostensibly guest rooms, although no one had stayed in them for years. The last person to occupy this particular suite had probably been Weskham himself. It was smaller than the king's, with the hall door opening into the bedroom, which doubled as a sitting room. To the right, pushed into the corner, was a neatly draped bed that matched the Citadel decor: black linens with a gold cast bed frame. Across from the foot of the bed were a pair of armchairs and a small, full-height table. A wardrobe took up the corner to the left, and just past that a doorway opened up into a bathroom. The window in the wall across from the entrance gave a view of the inner courtyard of the Citadel and the beam of light that powered the Wall, sprouting from the Crystal.

It was less homey than the room he had spent seven years filling and settling into—half of that time alongside Aulea—but it suited his purposes much better.

Weskham joined him a moment later to help him don a fresh suit and all of his formal wear for court. It was faster work than trying to do it himself, but it didn't help that usually Aulea stood in Weskham's place. He did an admirable job, all the same.

When he was dressed he, at the very least, looked a little more himself. He didn't feel any better, but it hid well, beneath the crown.

"Breakfast, Sire."

Mealtime was rapidly becoming his least favorite time of the day, but he sat in one of the armchairs and deliberately picked through it, half trying to placate his steward and half because he knew he needed to eat. It didn't taste any more palatable than it had the day before.

"Regis…"

Regis looked up. For all they had known each other two-thirds of their lives, Weskham hardly ever called him by his first name. The only times when he did, outside of the more casual encounters that they shared with Clarus and Cor, were when he was preparing a lecture. Perhaps it had been watching Regis push the same bit of egg around his plate for the twelfth time that had prompted his tone. Whatever it was, the king winced inwardly just at his own name.

Weskham's lectures weren't like the sort a parent or a teacher gave. They weren't about duty and honor and they were rarely, if ever, chiding. All the same, they usually left him with a cold sense of guilt.

"I… would like you to know that I am here for you—all of us are—if you should need anything at all. I know that's my job description, but beyond that… if you should need to talk or to listen, or just to get out of your own head, I'll be there."

There it was. Guilt without the intent to cause it; guilt because they were all standing there hoping he would let them help and he couldn't.

"And I do hope you find some of the light left in this world," Weskham concluded.

Regis dropped his gaze back to his plate and prodded, noncommittal, at his eggs. "I will carry on," he said.

"I know you will, Sire, but that's not quite the same thing."

Regis nodded mutely and settled on another bite of toast. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he didn't.

When he was through pretending to eat, Weskham took his breakfast tray out to the servants—of whom there were several waiting in the hall—and walked with him to court.

The king slowed as they passed the nursery on the way down. The door was still open and sunlight flooded in through the pulled back curtains. A different nursemaid sat in the armchair by the cribs, nursing Noctis.

"Your Majesty. We will be late," Weskham said from beside him, clearly reluctant to to pull him away.

"Yes, I know…" Regis sighed and continued on. It wasn't as if he had been away from them for very long—barely two hours and he could see them again, later. Whenever there was time.

For now they carried on: the council and Bastien Kurick awaited.

Bastien Kurick was not a tall man, but he held himself that way.

He was young. Younger than Regis might have expected for the man in charge of one of the most influential companies in all of Lucis, and he had a certain presence. Some people had presence like a searchlight in a foggy night. Kurick had presence like a black hole.

"Your Majesty." He gave a low, sweeping bow. If he had been wearing a hat, he would have whisked it from his brow and brushed the floor with it. As it was, he was merely wearing a clean cut and extraordinarily well-tailored suit. "May I just say what an honor it is to stand before you—though, of course, we have met briefly before."

"Is that so?" Regis couldn't rightly recall, but he had no idea whether that was because it had been an uneventful meeting or because his memory seemed to have died with his beloved.

"Yes, Sire: at the Duke of Aquila's celebration of Bahamut four years ago. I would hardly expect you to remember. A great many people were vying for your attention," Kurick said, his smile oozing amenability.

"Indeed," Regis said. He had some vague recollection of such an event, though, at the moment, could not call to mind any of the people he had encountered there. It hardly seemed to matter.

"I should also like to offer my sincerest thanks for being so forgiving of my schedule. I fear everything has been rather hectic, the past few weeks. So many of my people indisposed and yet… the show must go on." He gave a theatrical shrug. Regis noted that he made no admission of guilt, though the accusation was that he was responsible for the loss of his workers.

Regis pursed his lips, knowing full well his expression was hardly visible from where Kurick stood all the way at the base of the stairs—he had gone so far to express his submission to the court that he had not even climbed to the landing where the stairs split in two, but stood well below. For all Kurick gave thanks, he'd been given little choice on the matter. A squad of crownsguards had been sent to ensure that he arrived on time for his meeting with them, that morning.

The question that Regis couldn't answer was whether or not to press the issue. Did it imply weakness on their part to pretend Kurick had been given free will in the matter? Was pointing out that he hadn't incredibly base? And why couldn't he think straight? It was the sort of decision he should have made in a split second. He could have done it, before.

His hesitation stretched only for a moment before Clarus filled in the gaps, just as he had the day before.

"Bastien Kurick, your company, Phoenix Incorporated, is accused of dumping hazardous waste at a warehouse site in the outer city," Clarus said, rising from his seat among the council.

Regis was torn between relief and frustration. On the one hand, Clarus' presence and his keen observance smoothed over the worst of Regis' blunders. On the other hand, he shouldn't have had to. It shouldn't have been so difficult.

Even as he spoke, a silent battle waged in the king's skull. He fought for control of his focus and he wasn't winning.

What does it matter? Muttered that terrible, persistent voice in the back of his mind. They will carry on without and all I want is to be left alone.

I must do something, he told himself, though images of Aulea danced before his eyes.

Clarus was recounting casualties when Regis managed to tune back in: "...were seven hundred ninety three people with symptoms fitting exposure. This does not include the deaths…."

All I want is Aulea.

He couldn't get her out of his head: her beautiful smile, so bright even when her light was fading; the way her black hair shimmered in the sunlight when she sat on the bed and ran a comb through it in the morning; how she looked so small when she was propped up in her chair by the window all day, turning thread into art; the sound of his name on her lips when he returned after an exceedingly long day.

"...a full investigation regarding the persons involved in said dumping," Clarus was saying, with an air of finality.

Regis shifted in his chair. Were they still talking about Phoenix's misdeeds? It seemed whenever he blinked minutes flew past and he hardly noticed. The time was slipping through his fingers like water: no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop it leaking out.

"If you will permit me: accusation is not synonymous with guilt, Master Amicitia," Bastien Kurick said, apparently far from undone by whatever lecture Clarus had just given him.

It was a bold claim, and not one that Regis had anticipated.

I ought to have, he thought bitterly. If only I could think.

If only he could hold onto one little thought for three seconds without seeing her face before his eyes, instead.

Kurick was standing there before them, for all intents and purposes claiming that his company was innocent of the charges levelled at him. Regis could hardly see any indication that they could be innocent, but, then again…

"There is evidence, of course," Clarus said, "And you are free to submit your own, but as I have said there will be a full investigation and we will draw our own conclusions from what is discovered, regardless of what Phoenix Incorporated posits."

In the outer city, people were dying. His people. They were clamoring in the streets for their king to take action against the atrocities committed by Phoenix Incorporated, and yet all he could do was sit there and mope about what he had lost. Had others not lost as much or more? There were those who had lost families and friends, their health, their livelihood. He had only lost his queen.

Only.

"Of course," Kurick said with a little bow. Arrogance seeped from his smile. "I have no doubt that your investigators will get to the bottom of this mess quickly so that we can all get back to work. Furthermore, I have no doubt that, should evidence of such hazardous disposal come to light, that your investigators will be able to draw the connection—without a shadow of doubt—between these poor people falling ill and the waste." He chose his words carefully and none missed the fact. No admission of guilt, just a careful hint—a taunt that they would never be able to pin Phoenix Incorporated down.

Regis gripped the arms of his throne until his knuckles turned white. He should have been doing something. He should have taken that cocky bastard and thrown him in jail on the spot for what he had done. And yet… how could he be absolutely sure that Kurick was guilty, when he was sure of nothing else at all?

Was he doomed to let others make this decision for him, while still more died in hospital?

"I daresay there will be no doubt at all, once all is said and done," said Clarus, with a certain measure of control in his tone.

A glance told Regis that his Shield was nearly as irked with Kurick as he was, but Clarus, at least, did not have the added frustration of not being able to do anything about it. It was like there was a great, impenetrable wall blocking Regis off from everything he should have been able to do. He could pound his fists against it and scream all he liked. It wasn't coming down.

Bastien Kurick gave another low, sweeping bow. "If that is all? I mean not to rush, but I have hundreds of employees to replace, or Insomnia will have to go without her manufactured necessities."

"The committee appointed to investigate Phoenix Incorporated will be in contact with you; you will give them your full cooperation," Clarus said stiffly.

"Of course," Kurick said. "My company is at your disposal."

He withdrew, leaving the council with the feeling that they hadn't so much dismissed him as he had called an end to the meeting, himself. It was an irksome feeling. Worse, still, was the fact that Regis couldn't at all be certain he wasn't overreacting.

Kurick had all but announced his intent to fire hundreds of people due to his own neglect, and, no matter how that angered him, Regis couldn't think of a single thing to do about it. There weren't any laws specifically forbidding it. Perhaps there ought to have been, but there was scarcely time to draft something and rush it through in time to help those people. Surely he was missing some loophole, something that could be done in the meantime.

He tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne and tried to focus. It was a bit like trying to catch a Flan. The harder he squeezed, the faster it slipped from his grasp.

"Your Majesty." Clarus drew his attention and he found that the full council was looking at him. Had something been said that he had missed, or were they just waiting for further instructions? He decided not to worry about which one it was.

"Is there anything we can do for those people, Clarus?" Regis asked, casting his gaze back down the length of the audience hall. "Before every one of them loses their livelihood."

It wasn't right. They were sitting in hospital beds and they should have been focused on getting better, rather than what would be waiting for them when they returned—or what would happen if they didn't force themselves upright sooner than was prudent.

"You could… order a freeze on the company, Your Majesty," Clarus suggested after a moment. "Since the investigation entails the whole of the company and everyone who was working there at the time, you could demand that no permanent changes be made until this is concluded."

"That will only help these people in the short term," Hamon said.

"But it will buy us time," Clarus reasoned. "Enough for a more permanent solution."

Regis nodded, still not looking at any of them. Indeed, he looked at nothing at all. Nothing that was there, in any case.

"See it done," he said. "Draft the order and send it to my desk to be signed."

It was all he could think to do for them. With a sinking feeling, it occurred to him that he might as well get used to feeling that his best was insufficient.