Back in the lobby, he could hear the rain coming hard and unyielding - it reminded him of the storm from his childhood, and he shifted his weight off the offended leg as Sanya sketched out her thoughts between them. His gaze followed the routes she spoke, and his tongue traced over his lower lip in thought. He didn't want to admit to not knowing the particulars of courtly politics as well as she, even if it was natural.
But he knew people. "Who's next in line?" A hand went to his brow as it twisted in frustration - he remembered this, or at least he knew that once upon a time, he'd known it. Some class he'd had to take in order to familiarize himself with the workings of the city, with... "The consort? If the King is dead, she stands to lose the most if people believe the headmaster." But would she? Do something like this?
He didn't know her, couldn't say. "But every royal would." Still, the look in his eyes settling on Sanya's said that even he knew now wasn't the time for needling - and that he would trust her to be right about her own house, at least.
His hand slid down over his face, then, as though he could smush some understanding into it. "But..." His instinct still said coup. "North. Even if they aren't acting on their own, they might take him there to hold him."