Preparing to visit an abandoned conservatory should have been simple. One gathered soldiers, reviewed the map, identified entry points, checked for hidden wards, then proceeded to break into the place with enough dignity to make trespassing look like lawful inspection. That was the proper order.
Unfortunately, my current household had become determined to turn every practical matter into a conference.
The Crown Prince, unconscious less than half a day ago and only recently graduated from broth to breathing without looking like an elegant corpse, insisted on participating. The Empress disagreed. His personal knight disagreed with the visible desperation of a man who wanted to disagree more forcefully but liked keeping his head attached. The physician disagreed loudly enough that I almost respected him.
My mother disagreed without speaking. That was the most effective one.
