For a while after they first crowned Emily, Corvo expected trouble.
There was no way they could place a child on the throne and not run into resistance, and he knew he was not the only one concerned.
“She’ll need advisors, you know, and soon.” Callista told him again the day before the coronation, pushing her frazzled hair behind her ears after she finished talking with some of the servants.
“Maybe not a Lord Regent, after everything, but the people aren’t going to trust a ten-year-old to lead on her own, rightful Empress or not.”
“Can I choose my own?” Emily piped up from her place at the table by the window, bent over with some paints she had wrangled from Sokolov.
Callista glanced at him in consternation, but the unmistakable crash of someone dropping something delicate in the next room had her moving off to investigate.
“Only, mother’s advisors were so boring. I want somebody exciting. Maybe some sailors, or some of the watchmen!”
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