My grandfather rages at me, in private, at least. The small room behind the throne is the perfect place for my dressing down, in his eyes at least. I would prefer this didn't happen at all.

"Against my express orders," he finishes his stomping, pacing tirade, "stirring who knows what interference from the European High Council. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I scowl at him, doing my best to keep my temper. He doesn't yet ...