All eyes in the grand chamber were fixed upon her. The weight of their collective gaze followed her every movement with rapt attention, their silence thick with anticipation. Each step she took resonated through the vast hall, her crimson heels tapping against the polished marble floor, sending echoes upward to the nobles seated in the front rows.
The imperial guards flanked her, their figures as immovable as statues, their polished armor catching the dim torchlight. They stood not just beside her, but also around the young emperor—silent sentinels to both his reign and her regency.
As Valeria reached her place beside her son, she paused briefly before lowering herself onto the smaller throne positioned slightly behind and to the side of his own.
Mesha cast a nervous glance in her direction. His fingers tightened slightly on the armrest of his marble throne, his youthful face betraying the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing down on him. The boy was overwhelmed, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. A silent plea flickered in his gaze.
Valeria merely stared ahead.
He must learn on his own.
Indecisiveness was a death sentence for a ruler, and she would not tolerate a son who wavered. He would stand alone, or he would crumble.
A faint trace of the burned herbs from the previous week still lingered in the chamber, a ghost of scent clinging to the air. Taking in the moment, she lifted her hand, her movements measured and deliberate, as though she were commanding an army rather than a gathering of nobles. With a finality that brooked no delay, she brought it down.
The first session had begun.
A rustle swept through the chamber as, from the back rows, a figure slowly rose.
Valeria's gaze flicked toward him, taking in his fragile form.
He was ancient, his bald head shining under the torchlight, his face carved with deep wrinkles that spoke of decades— or perhaps centuries from the looks of it —of existence. His body trembled as if even the weight of his own bones was too much to bear. She almost expected a stray breeze to scatter him into dust.
Yet, tradition dictated that he take this walk.
With a cane in hand, the old man descended the steps, his every movement painstakingly slow. Two slaves shadowed his frail form, prepared to catch him should he falter. His cane struck the stone floor with rhythmic finality—thud, step, thud, step.
By the fourth step, he had to stop and catch his breath.
Valeria resisted the urge to sigh.
At this rate, we'll begin by nightfall.
She stole a glance at Mesha, who watched the proceedings with thinly veiled boredom. She did not blame him. This ceremony was a one-time ordeal, a relic of tradition that had no practical value beyond empty symbolism. The role of Senex Arundus, given to the eldest noble in attendance, was little more than ceremonial, meant to uphold order within the council. His only real duty was to strike his cane upon the ground whenever he desired silence.
That is, of course, if he didn't break his hips before making it to his seat.
Valeria fought the urge to wave her hand and command the guards to lift him up and carry him the rest of the way. But no.
This—tedious as it was—was necessary.
She had ensured Mesha's image as the restorer of tradition. And if that meant suffering through this dull spectacle, so be it.
After what seemed like an eternity, the old man finally reached his seat. It was a solitary thing, carved from unyielding marble, positioned between the gathered nobles and the emperor himself. There was no cushion to ease the weight of old bones, no high backrest to grant comfort, no ornamentation to mark its significance—only cold, unfeeling stone.
At last, he lowered himself onto the rigid seat, his frail body trembling from the effort. His bony fingers clutched the cane for support as he drew in a slow, rasping breath, allowing himself a moment to recover. When he was ready, he lifted his cane once more and brought it down against the marble floor.
A sharp thud echoed throughout the chamber, cutting through the solemn hush. The nobles stilled, all eyes drawn to the ancient figure as his brittle voice rasped forth from lips cracked with age.
"By the Authoritas," he began, only to falter, his frail body overtaken by a fit of coughing. His ribs heaved under the force of it, his words swallowed by the convulsions that rattled his frame. Yet, after a moment, he straightened, steadying himself with a resolve that had not yet abandoned him.
"By the Authoritas bestowed upon me by my sacred office as Senex Arundus—" he continued, his voice a whisper of what it once must have been, "—I hereby declare the first meeting of the council wisely reinstated by the ruler of the great empire of Rolmia, Mesha Kantazokounes. May he live to be one hundred."
The chamber remained still. The assembled lords held their silence, absorbing the significance of the moment. And Valeria, ever attuned to the shifting tides of power, sensed the perfect moment to assert her presence.
With a fluid grace, she rose from her throne.
The rustle of her robes against the polished marble was the only sound as she moved, her presence commanding attention without a single word. All eyes turned to her. Even Mesha, seated upon the imperial throne, glanced her way, his hands tightening on the armrests.
She lifted both hands in a gesture of solemnity, her expression composed yet charged with purpose. When she finally spoke, her voice was clear, unwavering—a voice meant to be heard and heeded.
"My esteemed lords," she began, her tone measured, deliberate, "we gather here today in the shadow of loss. A great man has been taken from us—my late husband, and your emperor, Gratios."
She let the words settle, her gaze sweeping across the gathered nobles, watching as they straightened in their seats.
"His strength and wisdom guided this empire through its darkest days. When civil war threatened to shatter the realm, it was his hand that steered it away from chaos. He led with unwavering resolve, holding firm even when betrayal lurked within his own court."
She paused, allowing a note of sorrow to color her voice. "And yet… I fear the tides of history threaten to repeat themselves."
A murmur rippled through the assembly. Valeria's fingers curled slightly at her sides. Good. Let them feel uneasy.
She pressed on.
"Greed. Ambition. The same forces that nearly plunged this empire into madness once before now stir in the shadows once more. I see it in the shifting glances, in the whispers that slither through these halls."
The chamber fell utterly still. The unspoken accusations hung in the air like a blade poised to drop.
Her voice softened then, though the steel beneath remained. "But my heart is not one that seeks vengeance. Nor is my son's. Our emperor, in his boundless mercy, has chosen the path of unity over division."
She straightened, her gaze unwavering.
"In the name of peace, in the name of blood, he extends an invitation to his elder brothers, Prince Mavius and Prince Maesinius. A summons to Romelia itself."
"No harm shall befall them," she continued smoothly. "They are called forth not as enemies, but as sons of the empire. They shall stand before their rightful emperor, not in chains, but in honor. And should they pledge their allegiance, they shall be granted pardon for past transgressions."
Her gaze flickered over the gathered nobles, seeking out those whose loyalties were uncertain.
"They will be gifted lands—proof that unity, not bloodshed, shall define this new era."
Her voice, like a carefully drawn bowstring, held firm until the very last word. And then, as silence stretched once more over the council, she lowered her hands.
Now, she waited.
For the murmurs to begin. For the weight of her words to settle into the minds of those who sat before her.
Immediately, the nobles seized the moment to voice their opinions. Or rather, to perform the expected spectacle of unanimous agreement—who among them would be foolish enough to dissent in front of the emperor and his regent?
"The emperor's mercy knows no bounds!"
"Long live the emperor! May the gods bless him!"
"Shame upon the two princes—may the gods guide them to justice!"
Their voices rose in fervent approval, each declaration punctuated by murmurs of assent and the occasional rhythmic pounding of a fist against the wooden tables before them. The chamber swelled with the sound of their feigned devotion, an empty chorus that filled the air with the illusion of unity.
Valeria watched Mesha intently, her gaze sharpening as she studied his reaction. He sat in the center of it all, basking in their praise, his young eyes wide with wonder. The cheers of the nobles were a new sensation to him—a power unlike any he had tasted before. She saw it in the way his fingers gripped the arms of his throne, the way his shoulders straightened just a little more.
A flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips, though not out of pride. He likes it. That was not good.
An emperor should not crave the affection of his subjects like a hound longing for scraps. Applause was the song of lesser men, of those who swayed to the whims of the masses. An emperor did not listen to rabbits—an emperor devoured them.
Yet Mesha, her son, was young. He did not yet know the weight of a crown nor the fickleness of those who cheered for him now. In time, she would teach him. He will learn, or he will break.
The applause raged on for a few more moments before it gradually settled, and with that, the first session of the Council of the Two Hundred had officially begun.
In the end, for all its grand ceremony, its sole accomplishment was the selection of a messenger. A mere errand-runner to deliver the emperor's summons to his estranged brothers.