His arse fell heavily into the soft, yielding embrace of the sofa's goose-feather cushions. His eyelids threatened to close entirely, heavy as iron gate-hatches, so Mesha raised his knuckles and kneaded his eyes hard and well until stars danced in the darkness. He had been working like a madman these past few days. Keval was fond of telling him he was doing a magnificent job, but Mesha felt the hollow rot of a boy playing at being a giant.
He did not feel like an emperor at all.Or at least not a good one, it always felt as if he didn't do enough and for that reason alone, little were the reward he was yielding.
He lazily waved a hand to a passing servant.
"Your Imperial Majesty?" she asked in a soft, silk-wrapped tone, her eyes dropping politely to the floor, perhaps mistaking his gesture.
