"Curses, I shouldn't have said that." Astana muttered to himself, bracing for a storm he couldn't face. But he didn't expect to hear Damian laugh again; something was different about his attitude. He swallowed hard, preparing himself for whatever Damian could throw at him.

"If that is your belief, there is no reason for you to hold the position. Just so you know, there would be hundreds, if not thousands, of people that would want your job. And yes, I believe there are people better suited to be my personal secretary." Damian's voice was icy cold. He sat at his desk, leaning back in his throne-like chair and unbuttoning his black blazer. His white shirt remained immaculate; he loosened the neck buttons to make himself more comfortable.

"That… That's…" Astana stuttered, but Damian stopped him, raising his right hand.

"Oh, come on, are you getting emotional? Where is all the attitude you had just now? The secretary realized that the Emperor was playing with him; there was no real reason to entertain him. He could easily fire him, or even worse. His eyes widened in terror. What compelled him to say all of that? What made him believe that he could ask for reasons from the fucking Emperor?

"That's not what I wanted to say." Astana could barely speak; there was still time to withdraw and face whatever punishment the Emperor deemed appropriate.

Damian raised his right black, thick eyebrow. "Then what do you want? Because let me explain what it looks like for me. A bratty student that was praised to the moon and back for his academic results. You expected me to praise your hard work and praise you for it." Damian shrugged off his jacket. With no more meetings scheduled, there was no reason to endure the discomfort any longer. Edward would probably scold him, but he had been uncomfortable all day. He couldn't take it anymore.

Astana was out of words. Damian hit every point with a few sentences. It was true, he expected for him to see him.

"Do tell me, Astana. What did you expect of me? To trust you as my advisor when you have no achievement to your name? When you spend all your life in a cage, being sheltered from the world? Do you even know what an advisor does?" Damian threw the blazer over the robe on the chair without moving from his desk.

Astana gritted his teeth. He cursed himself for opening his mouth. All his friends and family were having grand stories behind their backs to tell, but he had nothing even if he worked hard. And now he opened a cursed box by provoking the man he thought was responsible for his underachievements.

Damian's careless attitude made matters worse. He dug his nails into the palm of his clenched hands. He would make everything worse if he opened his mouth.

"You are here," Damian continued, "not because you earned it, but because your father was invaluable to me."

He was wrong and the Emperor was nice enough to give him a reality check. It hit harder than everything until now. True, his father contributed to this, but he was confident that he had passed the exam for the position.

Damian let the silence cover the distance between them; he could see the struggle of Astana to comprehend what was said, what he felt, and most of all, what was real. His secretary head lowered under the weight of his words.

He took his time addressing the young man again, knowing that he would be in the office for longer than he preferred. For once, Damian thought that he should follow Maximilian in Ashmont. Now he was dealing with Astana and tomorrow wouldn't be any better with the department that forgot to do their work. He sighed, wondering when Edward would arrive to announce dinner.

"Do you believe you are the first bright-eyed academy graduate to walk in here, expecting the world to recognize their potential? You're not." He tilted his head slightly.

"It seems like it's not all lost. At least you understand what you did." Damian's word hit Astana like a train; his head snapped to look at him. Damian opened one of his drawers; usually only he and Edward could open them. They were locked with magic.

Did Damian compliment him? Astana was dumbfounded by how the conversation took a 180-degree turn from what he believed would be his last day of work.

Damian smirked as if he sensed the thought. "Don't look so surprised. If I thought you were completely useless, you would be long gone. You should know that I don't waste my time with anyone." He rose from his desk, held a thick folder in his hand, approached Astana's desk, and dropped the folder with a loud thud on the wooden desk. The well-organized documents were scattered across the desk and the carpeted floor upon impact.

"But I won't carry you, Astana. If you want to be more than your father's son, if you want to make an impression, you will have to work your way up like everyone else."

Astana hesitated. "And if I fail?"

Damian laughed softly and darkly. "That wouldn't be my problem, now would it? I give orders with the expectation that they are carried out. Do your job."

Astana stared at the stack, his heart pounding. This was it. A real chance.

Damian cocked his head. "Well, how much do you want to make me expect the report I asked for? I'd hate to tell Edward that I would have to eat here because you made me wait."

"Yes. I will bring it right away." Astana bowed and left the room, against everything that happened he didn't want to get from an evil Damian's words to his butler, Edward. He was unforgiving of Damian's habit of reading documents during his meals. The mere thought of Edward's disapproving stare sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't waste another second and bolted toward the intelligence office.