By nineteen, Frederik had learned that the most dangerous part of most rooms was not malice.
It was the assumption.
Malice, at least, had the dignity of intention. It arrived armed. It usually made itself known in the end. Assumption was lazier, duller, and therefore far more common among men with titles, offices, and enough age to mistake surviving their own mediocrity for wisdom.
Today's example wore a departmental crest, a silk tie too expensive for his face, and the kind of smile that had likely spent twenty years being tolerated by people obliged to remain polite.
The Imperial Academy's eastern research branch had been polished to within an inch of sincerity for the visit.
That was expected.
