The shift in mood as they enter the tower is palpable, but Percival is ready for it. With all the elegance and grace of a scion of Whitestone, he sits in one of the chairs. Back straight, he watches Essek drift toward his desk. His heart is beating faster, but he remains outwardly steady. Essek is beautiful sitting across from him, and Percy thinks he might be seeing a fraction of what his husband is capable of when he has a mask in place.

It takes everything not to allow the faintest smile. Essek's polite but firm authority is something Percival has exercised--gods, too many times to count. He's used it to quell argument and to cut down people who have offended him. He's seen his husband deploy it before, but this is the first time it's been leveled at him. He takes a deeper breath, bearing the weight of Essek's scrutiny. The subtle shift in his expression lights something in Percival's chest. The doubt, the hint that he's found his match wanting, only makes Percy want to prove otherwise. He is already on the hook and he knows it.

Percy adjusts his glasses, then folds his hands.

"Yes, of course," he says with warm ease, the same veneer of civility. He has no doubt his will crumble long before Essek's does. "Clearly this was an oversight and should be corrected."