Was it wrong to get angry at a dead man?

Culver put down the budget proposal he had been reading and squeezed his eye shut, trying to rein in his anger. It was pointless to be mad at Daniil now. If word about Culver's sexuality got out now and everything he had worked so hard for went to shit, we would have deserved it.

After all, he was the one who had refused to use his influence when Daniil had come to him for help after being unfairly fired from his job. The poor guy had struggled for months to find a job, but when his family reached the point of bankruptcy, he'd asked Culver to get him a job out of sheer desperation. Culver, unwilling to play favorites, had refused.

Embittered, angry and desperate for an outlet, Daniil had then called Daniel and revealed Culver's biggest secret.

"I'm an utter piece of shit," Culver groaned, regret welling up within him for the umpteenth time. "Idealistic fool..."

Still, Culver couldn't get himself to believe that he deserved to have his trust broken like that. Any other punishment he would have accepted - id Daniil had put a gun to his head, he would have willingly pulled the trigger himself. But not this. Not when Daniil knew everything that Culver had at stake.

"You really should be less shocked that he outed you," Daniel had told Culver as they had been loading Culver's car for departure. "I'm sorry to say this when he's gone, but he did lack both filters and brakes when he was in a temper. You knew that."

"I knew," Culver admitted, "But I didn't think -"

"Damn right, you didn't think. I spent all night reviewing every moment I've spent with you two, and now I see how deeply rose-tinted were the glasses you looked at him through. You let him get away with too much."

"How can you say that about your own best friend?"

"Am I wrong, Culver? What else can be said about a man who had witnessed first-hand how unfavourably the current government really looks upon homosexuality and still gave you away? He never even expressed any regret about it!"

At that, Culver had finally voiced his deepest fear since he'd seen Daniil's furious back disappear out his office door two years ago. "Then did he hate me?" he'd asked, timidly. "Did he hate me so much that he outed me?"

"Of course not," Daniel had answered with a sad, nostalgic smile. "He loved you till the very end. The last word to ever cross his lips was your name."

Culver had been so overwhelmed by those words that he'd begun to laugh, terrifying, humorless peals of sheer hysteria that had forced Daniel to drag him indoors and make him stay over an extra night so he could recover. Even now Culver could feel that hysteria bubbling up in him, only now he wanted to scream his lungs out instead of laugh.

The door to his office burst open, letting in the portly owner of Marren & Bosco, the defense firm that used to supply a significant chunk of Mevinje's artillery before Garrix took its place. Took him long enough, Culver thought, watching as his visitor stormed to his desk and slammed a few sheets of paper onto his desk. "What is this?" he thundered.

"The contract we cancelled with your company," Culver answered calmly, picking up his budget proposal again. "Please, take a seat, Mr. Abbott."

"Why is my company paying the price for the army's inefficiency?!"

Culver looked up, his fists clenching and crumpling the paper in his grip. "I said, sit down," he crooned, voice never rising a decibel but displaying rage ten times as potent as Abbott's. So masterful was his voice that Abbott found his knees folding in spite of himself, and he sank into a chair with a scowl.

"I sent you a copy of the military report," Culver told him. "There were multiple survivor accounts of the planes malfunctioning."

"Nonsense. Planes from the same assembly line work perfectly well in other countries we deliver to. You cannot possibly expect me to believe that we were at fault."

"You will address me with my title - we are not that close anymore. Clearly, you did not read the termination notice: I did not terminate the contract because of the malfunctions. We had a deal, Mr. Abbott. When I agreed to invest all those billions in your company, we agreed that any new technology you produced would belong exclusively to Mevinje for eight years."

Abbott frowned. "I don't see how I broke that deal."

"Our men had Weevil B57s. Please explain to me why we recovered wreckage of an Astorian Weevil C9."

Abbott's ruddy face drained completely of colour. His eyebrows twitched, betraying the wild panic he felt even though the rest of his face did not change one bit. "There is no Weevil C9," he said, rather quietly.

With surprising strength for a body that small, Culver slammed his fists into his desk and stood up, bearing down on Abbott with his face twisted with fury. "Do not lie to me," he snarled. "Dozens of our men died that day - men with families and friends. Men who died preventable deaths. If they died because of your greed, I will have you executed for treason in the most painful way possible."

Abbott stood up too, though his outrage was significantly diluted by fear. "Are you suspecting me?" he demanded, and gulped. "Your Highness?"

"You are the only one who has reason to lie."

"Somebody is lying, Your Highness, but it certainly is not me."

Culver laughed in disbelief. "Are you telling me that my men - men who witnessed the carnage with their own eyes - are lying?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I am telling you that. I have empirical evidence that our models were perfect. All you have is eyewitness accounts."

"Are you kidding me? The fact that your planes lost us a battle isn't enough?"

Abbott raised his eyebrows in surprise at Culver's response. Then they sank down into a frown, and as they returned to normal, a grim smile spread underneath them. "I see how it is," he said. "It's about the fact that you lost." With a condescending chuckle, he leaned closer to Culver. "Only bad workmen blame their tools, Your Highness," he crooned. "Sometimes, battles are lost. It happens. It is unbecoming of you to throw a tantrum because your pawns couldn't handle a teensy scuffle."

Culver was sorely tempted to grab the little flag of Mevinje on his desk and shove the flagpole up Abbott's nose. "Get out," he growled. "Go straight to church and pray I don't find anything against you. If I do...well, you'll wish you were dead as many times as the number of casualties before I kill you myself."

Abott gave him a long look, straightened up and turned to go. "You have done me a grave injustice, Your Highness," he said. "One day, when you find yourself alive in Hell, you will remember me. Justice may be delayed on God's Earth, Prince, but it is never denied."

With that, Abbott left. Culver collapsed into his chair and ran his hands through his hair, pulling at them in frustration. The cracks in the world he had constructed were widening, and nothing he would do would stop them. How many people had he messed up with? There was Daniil, obviously. Recently, Daniel had blown up at him too. Then there was Echart, followed by Orion and now Abbott. If the list kept on growing longer, he was going to start losing allies.

That wouldn't do. He knew there were people within the government who wanted to remove the monarchy - not through peaceful political reform, but through bloodshed. He had already lost four family members to that plot. He was not going to allow that number to rise.

The ringing of his phone distracted Culver from his grim musings. "Dr. Deo," he greeted. "How are you?"

"Never mind me," came the doctor's urgent voice. "Is Orion with you?"

Culver's heart skipped a beat. "No," he answered, straightening up in alarm. "We haven't talked since the ball. Why?"

"Ezekiel recruited him to help bust his drug dealer. He went in okay, did his job and got out okay - but he was supposed to meet with Ezekiel after and never showed up. He won't pick up his phone."

"Well, I'm not sure where he could be," Culver said. "I don't know where he lives or works. I think he frequents a bar on Apollo street - Ekkalein or something."

"Alright, thanks."

"Um. Dr. Deo? Can you let me know when they find him?"

"...sure. I'll call you."

Culver spent a very worried two hours waiting. He couldn't get any work done and skipped lunch without realizing it. By the time his phone rang again, he was just about ready to head out and hunt for Orion himself. "What happened?" he asked, without even greeting Dr. Deo.

"It's bad. Really bad."

"But what happened?!"

"They sent cops to Orion's house."

"He got arrested?"

"I wish he had," Dr. Deo groaned. "No, he...he overdosed. Again."

Cold dread pooled in Culver's stomach, accompanied by no small amount of disappointment. "That's the second time since I've known him," he said, sadly.

"Well, it might end up being the last, Culver."

"I don't...hey, don't tell me..."

"I'm sorry, Culver. When they found him, he'd already stopped breathing."