I am not. My people are not afflicted by mortality. So, while I certainly look like the mortal dead, I never died. My flesh simply ceased to be.

[ There's enough that could be drawn by implication, but this is Fane, so. He just makes it blunt, even if the explanation is dismissive and sarcastic. ]

Spend a few eons without nourishment and I am sure your flesh would all rot away too.

[ ...But, still. There's a kernel of pain there that's deep. He'd managed to use the last of his magic to fall into a slumber so that he could keep his sanity. It had been a wise choice. Yet he'd never forget the first time he'd seen his new face—or lack of it.

It's not something he wants to dwell on. So, he turns to her other question. His spiteful anger is a better thing to hold onto than his feeling of disconnect from his own body. ]

There were. The Lords saw the value of my research and were ready to support me. [ A lie that he didn't know. They'd betrayed him. ] But our King is not like the Kings of mortal men. As Cyrus's death proves, mortality is too tumultuous. Our king reigned eternal, and so there is no question to his will.

[ Bitterly, he adds: ]

A fine system when he is not a tyrant.