Damon Iondora was not one who would admit to being a schemer.
Although, yes. He was one. And yes, it was like a fish admitting to being wet, but there was a difference. A distinction that mattered, even if only to him.
Choice and necessity.
Well-meant or ill-meant.
Damon and Angela were schemers of necessity. And well-meaning, insofar as anyone in their position could claim such a thing.
Keeping a rotting empire afloat, an empire whose foundations had been eaten away by decades of neglect and decay and the slow corrosion of power without purpose, meant using the rot itself to stay above the water.
You could not save a sinking ship by pretending it was not sinking. You plugged the holes with whatever was available. Even if what was available was ugly. Even if it was wrong. You did what you had to do, and you told yourself that the alternative was worse.
But Ivy and Isla Cassia—
