In the Emperor's study, sunlight filtered through enchanted windows. Crown Princess Lyanna - soon to be Empress Lyanna - lounged in an ornate chair.
Before her lay two documents, their crisp parchment practically humming with legal and magical authority.
"A full year," she mused, her fingers tracing the elaborate letterhead of the first warrant. "An entire year our dear brother has hidden in the provinces like a coward."
Her lip curled slightly as she pressed the seal of the Crown Princess into the red wax. "Always moving, never staying in one place long enough for proper... communication."
The second warrant received the same treatment, though her hand lingered over Valerie Draconus's name. "Such a waste of potential," she murmured. "Though I suppose 'treasonous' blood will always tell."
Her gaze drifted to the shelf where the Emperor's seal sat in its enchanted case.
Like everything else of true power in this study, it remained locked behind barriers she couldn't breach.
The room's deeper enchantments had proven remarkably resistant to her attempts at access. Even after a year of occupying this space, she remained limited to its most basic functions.
"No matter," she told the empty room. "After the coronation, the seals will open, and the enchantments will recognise their new owner." She smiled, sharp and bright as a blade. "A new era begins."
The preparations for her coronation had consumed the capital for months. Every detail had been arranged to project absolute authority and unquestioned right to rule.
The military supported her, though not completely. The noble houses had fallen in line, recognising the inevitable. Even the religious authorities had been persuaded to overlook certain... traditional requirements.
"Poor Mikhail," she chuckled, rising to pace the study's length. "Did you really think you could hide forever in the provinces? Playing at romance with your little research partner while real power was decided?"
Her reflection caught her eye in a decorative mirror, and she paused to admire the cut of her military-inspired robes. "The empire needs strength. Decisiveness."
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Deep beneath the palace, in a cell crafted from magic-dampening stone, Duke Draconus sat in a perfect meditation pose. A year of imprisonment had left its mark - his once-proud frame had grown emaciated, the Mark of Submission on his face now accompanied by several additional binding runes carved into his flesh. Yet still he maintained his dignity, his back straight as a sword.
The visions haunted him most at night. He'd seen this, all of this, in the fragments granted by the artefact he'd used in his duel with the Emperor. The fall of his house, the corruption of justice, the rise of false strength... it had all been there, hidden in those temporal glimpses.
"Valerie," he whispered to the darkness, his voice rough from disuse. "My brilliant daughter. I should have seen it sooner. Should have protected you better." His hands clenched in his lap, the magical bindings sending jolts of pain through his arms. "Now they hunt you like a criminal, while I rot in this hole, unable to help."
His "show trial" had been brief. The evidence had been carefully crafted, and witnesses thoroughly coached. The public needed their villain, after all. Needed someone to blame for their beloved Emperor's disappearance. House Draconus served nicely as a cautionary tale against challenging imperial authority.
"The visions showed me the fall," he told his empty cell. "But not the aftermath. Not the rebirth that must follow." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "The old stories speak of dragons, waiting for the time of greatest need. Perhaps... perhaps this is what they meant."
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
In her private chambers, Empress Camilla sat with her youngest son, watching him struggle through a particularly complex magical theorem. Aether's face scrunched in concentration as he traced the patterns in the air, his magical energy fluctuating erratically.
"No, dear one," she corrected gently. "The secondary resonance must align with the primary flow, like so." Her own magic moved with liquid grace, demonstrating the proper technique. "See how the energies harmonise?"
"It's so much easier when you show me," Aether sighed, letting his spell collapse. "I wish... I wish I had your gift for magical theory, Mother. Or Lyanna's martial prowess. Or even..." he hesitated.
"Even Mikhail's raw power?" she finished, her voice carefully neutral.
"I didn't mean-"
"It's alright, my son." She patted his hand fondly. "We all have our strengths. Yours lies in study and diplomacy. There's no shame in that."
As she guided him through another attempt at the spell, Camilla reflected on the past year. Things hadn't gone exactly according to her careful plans - Mikhail's disappearance had been particularly vexing. But Lyanna's imminent coronation would secure the succession, and her remaining children were safe. Well, mostly safe.
Her thoughts turned briefly to Bartholomew, still recovering from his shattered core. The healers reported small improvements, but he would never again be the warrior he once was. Still, he lived. That would have to be enough.
"Mother?" Aether's voice broke through her reverie. "Am I doing this right?"
She smiled, pushing aside darker thoughts. "Almost, dear. Here, let me show you again..."
In three different locations, three members of the imperial family contemplated the next day's events.
Lyanna in her stolen study, planning arrests and coronations.
Camilla in her chambers, teaching magic while weighing victories and losses.
And far away, in a carefully hidden caravan, Mikhail bent over his father's healing pod, unravelling the temporal poison while his enemies prepared to crown themselves rulers of his empire.