"I am to be married in September, myself. But I do care for the Grand Duchess; I am sorry for—this."
"I love the Grand Duchess," said Marya quickly. "And the Regent has been most good to me. Where they go, there go I."
Allard winced even in the approving smile he sent the pale young maid of honor, so hard it was to hear Stanief's fall predicted and discussed.
Iría recovered herself almost immediately and brought her gold-and-topaz eyes back to those of the Emperor.
"I would like to go, if I may, sire," she said.
"Are you offended with me, cousine?"
"Certainly not, sire."
He watched her fold the gleaming embroidery, tapping his fingers restlessly on the arm of his chair.
"You would go, and Allard," he mused aloud, "each after a duty, a love, an aim. I wonder if there was ever but one who centered all such thoughts in me, who made me the axis of his world?"
"You think of Baron Dalmorov, sire?" she ventured.