Killian did not enjoy gatherings of staff.
He tolerated them when necessary, endured them when ordered, and resented them when they should not have been required at all.
This was one of those moments.
The hall reserved for household briefings was full, every rank present, from senior attendants to junior maids, from guards assigned to interior rotations to aides who rarely left the administrative wing. They stood in neat rows, backs straight, eyes forward, the picture of discipline in dark grey and purple.
It should have been enough.
Killian stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, expression composed in the way that had made entire departments reorganize themselves without a word. The purple mantle of his office rested heavily on his shoulders, an unmistakable reminder of where authority began and ended in the imperial household.
The king and his consort were away at the gala.
That fact alone made this discussion necessary.
