“Good.” Finn gestured to the chair across from him. “I need you to quiz me on the Westmarch delegation. All of them, not just the primary negotiators.”
They worked through lunch. Finn answered each question with careful precision, correcting himself when he made even small errors. By the time they finished, his throat was dry, and his head pounded, but he’d gotten every single answer right on the final run-through.
“That’s excellent,” Jericho said. “You’ve really got this down.”
“Not enough. There are multiple other delegations to master.” Finn pulled out another set of notes. “Tomorrow we start on the Eastern Reaches.”
“Finn, maybe you should…”
“I can’t afford maybe.” Finn met his brother’s eyes. “Forty percent of our export market, Jericho. Thousands of jobs. I need to be perfect.”
Jericho left looking troubled, but Finn pushed the worry aside. He had work to do.
/~/~/~/~/
Three days later, Finn walked through the east corridor when he noticed the window latch he’d mentally flagged weeks ago. Still broken. His fingers itched to fix it - five minutes with a screwdriver, and it would be done. He could feel the familiar satisfaction of solving a concrete problem with his own hands.
Instead, he pulled out the small notebook he now carried and made a note:East corridor, third window from landing. Latch mechanism failed. Assign to maintenance.He handed the note to Gordon that afternoon with specific instructions for proper assignment through channels.
Gordon looked at the note, then at Finn. “You could have just fixed it, Your Grace. I know you have the tools in your…”
“That’s not appropriate for someone in my position.” The words tasted wrong, but Finn kept his face neutral. “Please ensure it’s assigned to the proper tradesman.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The formal address, previously so uncomfortable, now felt like armor.
That evening, Mrs. Donnelly appeared at his office door to discuss the menu for an upcoming state dinner. The old Finn would have deferred to her expertise immediately, relieved to have one less decision. The new Finn reviewed each course, asked questions about preparation methods and presentation, and made three specific changes to ensure the menu reflected current diplomatic relationships between attending kingdoms.
Mrs. Donnelly approved each change without argument. “Very good, Your Grace. I’ll implement these immediately.”
After she left, Finn felt a grim satisfaction.See? This is what respect looks like. This is what competence looks like.
He ignored the hollow feeling in his chest.
/~/~/~/~/
The summit planning consumed him. Finn created schedules so detailed that they accounted for travel time between meeting rooms and the average length of formal greetings. He developed contingency plans for weather disruptions, last-minute delegation changes, and potential conflicts between attending kingdoms. Every scenario had a protocol, every protocol had a backup.
Helena reviewed his work and nodded approvingly. “This is very thorough, Finn. Well done.”
“It needs to be perfect,” Finn said. “Is there anything I’ve missed?”
“Not that I can see. You’ve covered everything.”
“Good.” Finn pulled out another stack of papers. “I want to run through the seating arrangements again. Make sure there’s no possibility of inadvertent insults.”
They worked for another two hours. When Helena finally excused herself, Finn barely noticed. He had moved on to reviewing the guest quarters assignments, cross-referencing political alliances and historical relationships to ensure no delegation was housed near their enemies or below their appropriate status.
Gordon brought him dinner on a tray. Finn ate mechanically, not tasting the food, his eyes on his notes.
“Your Grace, His Majesty asked if you’d join him for the meal.”
“Not this evening, I’m sorry. I’m working.” Finn didn’t look up from the seating chart. “Please give him my apologies.”
Gordon hesitated. “He’s...concerned about you.”
“Tell him the summit preparations are proceeding well. That should ease his concerns.”
