May, for her part, was protesting like an angry squirrel.
She stormed into the Emperor's study without waiting to be announced and demanded to know why he had gone and published a marriage to the entire empire without so much as holding an engagement ceremony first.
"This," she informed him, "is a breach of contract."
Reheim, without looking up, reminded her that an engagement ceremony had never been any part of their agreement.
Which was, unfortunately, true.
May refused to back down regardless. "Then if not a ceremony, a royal banquet. And it has to be held within three days."
"For someone who was scheduled to die a few days ago," Reheim said, "you're remarkably demanding."
May sulked at him from the other side of the desk. It was one banquet. Holding one banquet was not even difficult.
"I can't have the palace organise a banquet purely for your convenience," he said. "But if what you actually want is to attend a ball, that I can arrange."
That cheered her up immediately.
His solution was simple enough. He would ask his godmother — Marchioness Sarah Celigard, a considerable power in high society and an old friend of his late mother. And conveniently, the Marchioness happened to be hosting a masquerade ball that very night.
There was one condition, though.
He leaned in close to say it, close enough that May's whole face went hot, and what he said made no sense to her at the time.
It would make sense later.
On the night of the masquerade, May arrived in a light yellow gown that suited her better than anything she had ever owned, looking genuinely stunning and entirely terrified.
The ballroom was packed. Reheim went over his instructions again at the foot of the stairs.
She was never to reveal her identity. She was to protect her mask at all costs. And if anyone asked who she was, she was Alicia March, the Marchioness's niece.
It was only then that May understood how difficult the evening was going to be — because Reheim had deliberately put out the rumour that his fiancée would be attending this ball.
So the entire room was hunting for May Averil, and May Averil had to spend the night pretending to be someone else.
She laughed a little, awkwardly. She did not understand why he would do that to her.
Reheim patted her on the head. "Don't overthink it. Consider it a test."
Then his expression changed. Something over her shoulder, or beyond the lamps at the gate, had caught his attention, and whatever it was, he did not like it.
"I'll explain later," he said. He took her hand, gently, and turned her toward the doors. "Go inside first. Without me."
May blushed to the ears and looked back. "What about you?"
The warmth vanished from his voice as though a shutter had come down. "Why does it sound as if I need your permission?"
That alone was enough to send May into full flight. She bolted for the entrance, calling over her shoulder that she would see him later, and vanished into the light and the music.
The moment she was gone, Reheim and Gail were surrounded.
Several of the evening's guests had come to the Marchioness's masquerade with exactly one purpose: killing May Averil.
Perhaps that was why there had been no engagement ceremony after all.
Inside, May had just finished a long and pleasant conversation with Lady Rosalyn. The second the lady turned away, she slipped a small notebook out and began scribbling.
It was exhausting work. Everyone was masked, which was the entire point of a masquerade and a catastrophe for her purposes; she had to approach people one at a time, coax a name out of them, and match it to a face she could not see.
Then a hand came over her shoulder from behind and took the notebook out of her fingers.
May nearly left her own body.
"What," Reheim asked, turning a page, "have you been writing so seriously all evening?"
Her heart was still trying to climb out through her ribs. He flipped through the pages with visible lack of interest, then closed it.
"Useless," he said. "I don't understand why you're bothering with any of this."
But this was exactly her plan.
"I've done my part," May told him calmly. "Now it's Your Majesty's turn."
The names written in that notebook were the weeds.
Every noble slowly eating the empire from the inside. Every hidden traitor. The whole crop of them, listed in a girl's handwriting in a book small enough to hide in a glove.
That was the real reason she had insisted on coming to a ball.
Because earlier that evening, moving from group to group with a smile fixed on her face, May had used her ability and read the titles floating above the heads of the nobility one by one. She had gone through them methodically — every lady, every escort, every quiet man by the wall — and identified everyone attached to a villain's role.
What Reheim was holding now was a complete list of his enemies. She had found them all in a single night.
As expected of a tyrant, he did not hesitate for a second.
Every noble whose name appeared on May's list was arrested and thrown into prison. The problem was that not one of them had been formally charged with anything.
That did not sit well with the prime minister at all.
He confronted the Emperor directly and demanded to know how His Majesty could imprison so many peers of the realm without solid proof.
Reheim did not blink. "They are corrupt officials, chewing through this empire from the inside. Exactly as written in my mother's secret will."
"And is Your Majesty certain," the prime minister said, "that you are not being misled by someone?"
Reheim's tone sharpened. "Are you attempting to insult my adorable fiancée? The future Empress of this empire?"
That silenced the room for a moment. It did not silence the prime minister.
"Nearly half of those arrested," he said, "are meritorious nobles who helped Empress Agnes — your mother — rise to power. The late Empress would never approve of what is happening now."
He inclined his head and turned to go.
Before he had quite reached the door, Reheim spoke to his back.
"I wonder," he said, "whether it is truly my mother who wouldn't welcome this. Or whether it's the prime minister who doesn't welcome my reign."
The man left without answering. The tension stayed in the room after him, thick as smoke.
Alone at last, Reheim let out a quiet breath and opened the drawer of his desk.
Inside lay the seal May had handed over to him — Count Averil's seal, the whole worth of a family, surrendered by a shaking girl on a prison floor.
Looking at it lifted his mood considerably.