"Mr. Sandman, the Custodes are the Emperor's personal guard. Everything else is secondary. If one day My Lord no longer wished to rule the Imperium, we would naturally retire alongside My Lord. It is simply hard to say which of My Lord's twenty-one sons he would pass it on to." Valdor first made his position clear, then subtly implied that even if the Emperor stepped down, it would not necessarily be Number Nineteen's Legion that took the throne.
"Ah, I meant hypothetically. Hypothetically." Sandman poured Valdor a cup of Ceylon black tea, the kind Lord of the High Tower used to entertain distinguished guests.
"Thank you." Valdor politely prepared to end the conversation.
"Mr. Valdor, then what do the Custodes think of the Astartes Legions?" Sandman had failed to grasp Valdor's meaning.
At the same time, Valdor had misunderstood Sandman as well. Pouring him water had not meant that he should wet his throat and take a break from talking; it meant they should have a drink and keep chatting.
"Hmm??" The Custodes' stern gazes instantly returned to the wariness from before. Some of the more extreme Custodes even began considering whether they should find a chance to quietly eliminate this fellow.
This was a slide no one could touch!!!
A large portion of the Custodes believed that the Astartes were mass-produced weapons crudely made by the Emperor to meet the needs of the Great Crusade, and that they would most likely be purged once the Great Crusade was over.
They knew that very well.
The question was, could something like that be said out loud in public?
"This question is the same as the one Mr. Sandman asked about the Primarchs earlier. If there is nothing else, I need to begin my work." Valdor remained patient, but a trace