The usual lunch at the Tower's headquarters took place in the great hall overlooking the inner courtyard—the Emperor's security above all. Usually, some officials have lunch together, and when I say usually, I mean for almost two hundred years. Theo sat at the center, his expression tense, but maybe only I noticed a deeper, pensive crease between his brows, slower gestures. I regretted being harsh with him this morning—so much had fallen onto my dear boy's shoulders.
When I look at him, I see all the emperors and empresses I have loved—strong, relentless, commanding, ruthless, sometimes even cruel. But I forget that he does not remember all those versions of himself. He is simply a twenty-year-old boy burdened with all of this. The weight of the Empire.
The Emperor signs all executive decrees, commands the army and intelligence (at least on paper), and allocates resources through the Council… Theo is well-educated, but all these new responsibilities must be overwhelming for him.
Theo was spreading butter on his bread when I felt such a surge of tenderness toward him that I wanted to embrace him right then and there. Even though he doesn't remember, I believe that, at some point, his past experience always kicks in. But for now, I just want to see him as the same boy who once chased me through the cornfields of Zios.
Gustav Ravenmar was carefully turning his wine glass in his hands, Tibald Haargrim was calmly picking at his food, and all of them were quietly discussing the mining unrest with Theo—the miners were demanding increased rations for their families on Orbiscane and Retgaron, but Zios insisted it had no surplus supplies. Of course, the farmers were lying, hoping to profit from the reserves, and the Empire always allowed them to do so in exchange for loyalty. Theo frowned; I could see that it troubled him greatly. The officials, too, looked serious.
Perhaps I had lost my sense of reality, my sense of high stakes—in the last seven iterations, each time I died, I was preparing to be reborn, and everything had turned into a twisted, perverse game where you and I were doomed to die.
Osmond's words still echoed in my ears—how to kill those like you. Those like me. Plural. Could there really be others like me?
The Zeilmark couple, Klaus and Victoria, arrived late. Their presence shifted the discussion somewhat, as they were both from Zios. I knew nothing more about them. Victoria took the empty seat beside me.
"Well, Your Grace, have you adjusted to your new circumstances?" Her voice was pleasant, even slightly warm.
"Step by step," I replied, watching Theo out of the corner of my eye.
"The Tower holds many secrets," Klaus Zeilmark added softly. "Perhaps, one day, you will discover some of them."
"I already know some," Mira responded, and for a second, silence fell over the table.
Theo glanced at her sideways, his lips twitching into the barest smile. Victoria laughed—not loudly, but her laughter had something of Zios in it—sunlit, green, crisp—just enough to bring warmth into the cold room.
Theo shifted the conversation from official matters to something neutral, and the men began discussing mundane affairs. The consort usually does not idle in the Tower either; they oversee education, knowledge preservation (oh, my access to the libraries—how much time I spent there before realizing it was futile), and certain diplomatic channels. But so far, the Council Secretary had not briefed me, and I was in no rush to push my way in. Still, matters of the Empire always interested me.
Now that the serious discussions had ceased, I had the chance to observe Victoria Zeilmark more closely.
Victoria was the kind of person who seemed simpler than she actually was. Her ease carried a touch of calculation, and her warmth was not without sharp intelligence. She looked at me as if we had known each other for a long time, as if I had always been a part of her world, just lingering at the edges. And I liked that.
"Your Grace, I have the impression that you have not yet had the chance to properly acquaint yourself with the City," she said, tilting her head slightly. "The Tower is not all of Noctemar. The City has its own life—its streets, its squares, its people—it is worth seeing, too. I could arrange a tour for you. With guards, of course."
Klaus, seated beside her, shot her a brief glance but did not object. I took note of that. Victoria had her own space within their alliance.
"That is a generous offer," I paused, as if considering it, but in truth, I just wanted to make her wait a little. "Do you have favorite places in the City?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were deciphering me.
"Certainly. There is a gallery I own. It is rather modest, but within its walls are works by the finest artists I have been able to find. I think you would like it. And I also have a café there, where they serve the best tea with Ziosian special verbena and lemon honey."
"You are tempting me with aesthetics and comfort," I smiled, feeling a spark of intrigue awaken within me. "Now I'm curious—who are your favorite artists?"
"Oh, there are many," Victoria laughed again, that warm, slightly crisp laugh. "But if you are truly interested, I promise to show you the hidden gems of our art scene."
I studied her more carefully. Was it just my imagination, or did I hear a note of challenge in her voice?
"All right," I leaned back. "I accept your invitation. A tour of the City and your gallery. But you still owe me that tea."
Victoria bowed her head slightly lower, her eyes glinting.
"Of course, Your Grace. I wouldn't dare offer anything less than a proper welcome."
And as Theo re-engaged in discussion with his advisors, I realized that Victoria Zeilmark was someone worth keeping an eye on. She could be an ally. Or not.
Back in our chambers, half an hour before the next meeting, Theo removed his epauletted coat, unbuttoned his collar, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired, tense, exhausted by all of this. I felt a sudden urge to support him—after all, consumed by the drama of our trap, I kept forgetting that I was his consort, and I was meant to help my boy bear the crown and the Empire, no matter how fractured it was in our hands.
I stepped closer, sat beside him on the bed, and lightly touched his wrist.
"You take on so much, Theo," I whispered, tracing my fingers over his palm. "Let me help."
He looked at me in surprise. I slid my hand across his chest, then lower, even lower, past the buckle of his belt with the House crest, and meeting his gaze, I slowly sank to my knees.
His fingers gently threaded into my soft hair, lingering there. I heard his breath hitch when my lips brushed against his skin just above the waistband of his undergarments. Warm, alive, real. In this moment, even if only briefly, I could take his tension away, return something to him beyond duty—the feeling that he was not alone in this storm.
As I slowly pulled down his undergarments, I could already feel him hardening under my delicate touch. My sweet boy.
When I took him into my mouth, hot and firm, I thought about how much I had missed this. I sucked him off for the entire Empire, gagging and slurping just a little, for everything we owed it, for everything I couldn't stop.
When he finally leaned back, buttoning up his shirt again, his eyes had softened. He touched my chin, tilting it upward, and smiled—a real, grateful smile.
"Thank you, Mira. You truly know the way to an emperor's heart."
"You've taken to calling yourself emperor rather quickly," I said.
I felt better, too, though still somewhat aroused, but there was no time for indulgence—Victoria was already waiting for me with her tour of the City.
I rose, lightly brushing my fingertips over his chest.
"Go on, your meeting won't wait. If they start without you, they might just sell the Empire to the Temporans."
He leaned in, pausing for a second near my ear.
"After that—it's my turn."
I watched him go, and once the door closed behind him, I took a deeper breath. Time to hurry.
Stepping up to the large mirror, I took in my reflection. For my meeting with Victoria, I had chosen an ensemble in deep emerald tones—a long velvet dress with a thigh-high slit, a high collar that accentuated the line of my neck, and a fur mantle draped over my shoulders, nearly black with a subtle silver sheen. My hair was swept up into an elegant style, with a few loose strands left free.
Yes, now I was ready to meet Victoria and conquer the City of 4599—one I had never seen quite like this before.