"What personal matter could delay the Eagle of Chogoris's flight?" Sanguinius teased.
Jaghatai stroked his beard, putting on an honest expression. It was true that he had worked hard these past few years to manage Chogoris and the White Scars, but he had not been idle in his free time either. Drafts filled several rooms, and without Jaghatai's permission, no one could set foot inside.
"What else could it be? I'm a little worried about Chogoris."
"Once the war is won, you can stay on Chogoris for as long as you like."
"Yes. When that time comes, I want to be a writer. A historian."
"Enough, enough. Stop with the pleasantries." Perturabo impatiently waved a hand, calling his brothers to take their seats one by one. The round table revealed Perturabo's little scheme—after all, his seat was right beside those of the God-Emperor and The Emperor.
The God-Emperor and The Emperor had arrived here. The psychic spell capable of tearing through space and transporting them across immense distances had surely been cast personally by the God-Emperor. A portion of the Adeptus Custodes had arrived with them as well, bringing all the finest equipment from the armory.
Upon seeing the God-Emperor, Konrad Curze, who had been hiding behind Fulgrim the whole time, poked his head out and looked at her eagerly. He took out a list filled with names. These past few years, he had gone madly about purging the Imperium's corruption, hoping only to earn the God-Emperor's praise.
"You have done very well, my child." The God-Emperor glanced over the list, then gently stroked Konrad Curze's head. There was rarely any motherly care or affection in her eyes; there was more recognition and appreciation for a useful tool.
But Konrad Curze did not care about the God-Emperor's coldness toward him.