The ritual chamber hummed with anticipation as Emperor Tiberius stood before the assembled nobles.
Gold-trimmed marble pillars soared overhead, their ancient runes pulsing with power. High Priest Darius stood to the side, his ceremonial robes unable to hide his trembling hands as he prepared the sacred implements.
"Rise, Duke Draconus," the Emperor commanded, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Face the judgment of the throne."
The defeated mage rose unsteadily, his magnificent robes still bearing the marks of battle. Despite his loss, he maintained his dignity, meeting the Emperor's gaze without flinching.
"You have challenged the Eternal Throne and been found wanting," Emperor Tiberius began. "While you fought with honour, there must be consequences for such presumption. These are our terms."
Darius stepped forward, his voice quavering slightly as he began the Chant of Imperial Judgment.
The ancient words seemed to hang in the air, each syllable laden with power. Mikhail noticed how the priest's eyes darted nervously between the Emperor and the Duke.
"House Draconus," the Emperor proclaimed, "shall pay a tithe of one hundred thousand premium mana crystals per year for the next century."
Gasps echoed through the chamber. Such a sum was staggering - enough to fund the Imperial Academy for a decade. Even House Draconus's vast resources would be strained to their limit.
"Furthermore," the Emperor continued, "they shall surrender one-third of their annual magical research findings to the Imperial Academy. Their wyvern breeding programs shall fall under direct imperial oversight indefinity."
Mikhail watched the nobles' reactions carefully. Houses aligned with Draconus wore expressions of barely concealed horror, while imperial supporters nodded in savage satisfaction.
The neutral houses were already whispering among themselves, no doubt recalculating alliances.
"Aurelius Draconus," the Emperor's voice grew harder, "step forward."
The former Duke approached the throne. Imperial guards materialised around him, their weapons charged with containment magic.
"For your presumption in challenging the throne, you shall bear the Mark of Submission." The Emperor gestured, and Master Runewright Chen emerged from the shadows, carrying an ornate brush and pot of shifting silver ink.
"No..." Valerie whispered from her place among the nobles. Mikhail saw her hand tighten on her research journal, knuckles white with tension.
The Runewright began his work, inscribing complex patterns across Aurelius's face in quick, precise strokes. The silver ink began to glow, then burn, sinking into the flesh as the former Duke gritted his teeth against the pain.
"For fifty years," the Emperor declared, "your magic shall be bound. The Mark will ensure compliance."
"However," the Emperor continued, his voice softening slightly, "in recognition of your house's long service and the valour displayed today, your bloodline's privileges regarding wyvern breeding and magical research shall continue, albeit under imperial supervision. The Duchy of the Western Reach shall remain without formal leadership for ten years, after which time your daughter, Valerie Draconus, may petition to assume the title of Duchess of the Western Reach."
Next, the Emperor turned to domestic matters. "Recent events have shown us both strength and weakness within our own house. In light of Prince Bartholomew's... condition, changes must be made to the Imperial Council."
Mikhail kept his expression carefully neutral, though his heart raced. This hadn't happened in his previous life - this was new.
"Prince Mikhail shall assume Bartholomew's seat on the Imperial Council," the Emperor declared. "His recent display of power has shown him worthy of such responsibility."
The chamber erupted in shocked whispers. Mikhail felt dozens of eyes turn to him - some calculating, others outraged. A fifteen-year-old on the Imperial Council? Unprecedented.
Empress Camilla's face remained perfectly composed, though Mikhail caught the slight tightening around her eyes. Beside her, Lyanna's hand tightened imperceptibly on her sword hilt before relaxing.
"Step forward, my son," the Emperor commanded.
Mikhail approached the Emperor, and bowed deeply. "I am humbled by your trust, Father. I shall serve the empire to the best of my ability."
"Rise, Councilor," the Emperor said, and Mikhail thought he caught a glimmer of genuine pride in his father's eyes.
High Priest Darius stepped forward with the Chalice of Reconciliation, his hands shaking so badly that the sacred wine nearly spilled. "The... the final rites must be observed," he managed, his voice thin with strain.
The Emperor took the chalice, raising it high. "Let these proclamations be sealed in the traditional way." He drank deeply before passing it to the marked and bound Aurelius, who did the same.
The ceremony concluded without apparent incident. As the nobles began to disperse, Mikhail found himself surrounded by courtiers offering congratulations - some sincere, most calculating.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Hours later, on the imperial mana train returning to the capital, Mikhail and Valerie sat in a private cabin. Her egg pulsed softly in its sling as she stared out the window.
"Father accepts his punishment with dignity," she said softly. "But fifty years... his magic bound for fifty years..."
"Your house will survive this," Mikhail assured her. "You'll make an excellent Duchess when the time comes."
"How can you be so certain?" She turned to him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Everything's changing so fast. The tithe alone will drain our resources for generations."
"Because I believe in you," Mikhail said, and felt a stab at how she lit up at his words.
Their conversation was interrupted by heavy boots in the corridor. The door slid open with a bang, revealing a squad of Imperial guards, their expressions grim.
"Lady Valerie," their leader announced, "you are to come with us immediately. The Emperor has fallen gravely ill. All members of House Draconus must be secured until the investigation is complete."
"What?" Valerie stood, colour draining from her face. "But we didn't- Mikhail, please!"
Mikhail rose, drawing himself to his full height - unimpressive for a fifteen-year-old, but now backed by the authority of an Imperial Councilor. "On whose authority do you act?"
"The Empress herself, Your Highness," the guard captain replied stiffly.
"As a member of the Imperial Council, I require proof of these orders," Mikhail declared, his voice firm. "Lady Valerie is under my protection until such proof is provided."
The captain hesitated, clearly torn between competing authorities.
But then another figure appeared in the doorway - Crown Princess Lyanna herself. "The proof you require, little brother," she said smoothly, producing a scroll bearing the imperial seal. "Though your dedication to proper procedure is... admirable."
Mikhail read the orders, his hands clenched to hide their trembling. Everything was properly documented, every seal in place. He had no grounds to interfere further without revealing knowledge he shouldn't possess.
"I'm sorry, Valerie," he said softly. "The law must be followed."
"Mikhail, please," Valerie begged as the guards took her arms. "You know we're innocent! You know me!"
As she was led away, her last look of confused hurt struck Mikhail to his core.
"A difficult moment," Lyanna said, watching him carefully. "But you handled it well. The Council needs members who understand that duty must sometimes overcome personal feelings."
As his sister left, Mikhail sank back into his seat. Aurora stirred within him, but remained silent.
The train continued its journey toward the capital, its smooth motion belying the chaos erupting throughout its carriages as news of the Emperor's collapse spread. In the distance, thunder rolled - or perhaps it was the sound of the old order crumbling, making way for the new.
[System Alert: Major political upheaval imminent. Previous timeline experiencing significant alterations.]
[Warning: Host's actions creating cascading changes in multiple possible futures.]
Mikhail closed his eyes, forcing himself to review the pieces in play rather than dwell on Valerie's expression. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Just not necessarily his plan.