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The last four weeks had been dull to watch unfold, to say the least. Venice's passing, though difficult, was simply too inconveniently timed to allow for any real means of mourning (and, being that they had entered no real, socially recognized type of relationship, his mourning period was very short, if not altogether optional). The circumstances of her death were incredibly unfortunate, of course, and Amery deeply regretted his hand contributed to her death, but what was there to do?

Well, he'll tell you. Plenty of paperwork, that's what there was to do. Had he yet come to understand what it was his job entailed? Not specifically, but he did find, much to his chagrin, that the resulting damage from the Dark Lord's foray into natural disasters (how ironic sounding!) meant that Amery's department had many, many stacks of paperwork, reporting on all aspects of the disaster, to fill out. Replacing his secretary, though vitally important, was still possibly the last thing on his mind, as the only thing he could allow himself to focus on was that his underlings were properly whipped into shape and no one started dogging him about keeping his office in check. Not that anyone really ever dogged him about anything, per se, but there was no reason for them to start now.

A most unexpected voice trilled at him from the door, and he glanced up in surprise, seeing the swell of her stomach before her face. "Rosemarne," he called idly, eyebrows raised but nothing in his tone or words to suggest anything unpleasant. "To what do I owe this surprising pleasure?"