The assassin's corpse had not yet cooled, and already the palace was drowning in whispers.
I walked through the marble halls, past servants who dared not meet my gaze. The torches burned low, casting long shadows as I made my way to the War Council Chamber.
They were waiting for me.
The generals. The nobles. The men who would either be my greatest weapons—or my greatest threats.
Tonight, we would see who truly served the empire.
---
A Room Full of Wolves
The War Council Chamber was a vast, circular hall. A grand map of the known world lay upon the stone table, its surface marked with golden lion sigils—symbols of the territories under my rule. For now.
I took my seat at the head of the table. No one spoke.
Then General Hadrian leaned forward, his weathered face unreadable. He had served my father for twenty years. A warrior. A loyalist. Or so I had believed.
"An assassin in the palace." His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with accusation. "What do you intend to do about it?"
I met his gaze. "Find who sent him. And make an example of them."
Across the table, Darius Septimus smirked. The Regent. The snake. "A bold promise, young Emperor. But vengeance is a poor substitute for leadership. The people demand stability, not blood."
"Then they are fools," I said flatly. "And I do not rule fools."
A silence fell over the room. Some of the men shifted uncomfortably. Others smirked, entertained by the boldness of my words.
Hadrian exhaled sharply. "If we do not address the assassin, there will be more."
"Then we shall start by looking inward," I said.
Eyes narrowed. Suspicion thickened the air.
"The assassin was no foreigner. He was trained. Precise. He knew the palace. Someone within these walls allowed him entry."
I let the words settle. Let them squirm. Let them wonder if I already knew who the traitor was.
Darius sipped his wine, unbothered. Hadrian clenched his fists.
Then Lord Varro, a younger noble, spoke. He was ambitious, eager to prove himself. "Perhaps the assassin was sent by the Kingdom of Varyon," he suggested. "They have long envied our position. Their High King worships the Storm God—he would see us burn."
A convenient enemy. Too convenient.
"Perhaps," I said. But I did not believe it.
Hadrian, ever the warrior, leaned forward. "Then let us march to war. The army waits for your command, my Emperor."
A challenge. A test. Would I be a ruler of words or of iron?
I smiled.
"Then let us prepare for battle."
---
A March to War
The council dispersed, but the real work began that night.
I met with Commander Lucius, my most trusted soldier. He had fought at my father's side for years. A warrior of brutal efficiency.
"How many men can we mobilize?" I asked.
"Fifty thousand within two weeks," he replied. "More if we strip the garrisons."
"No," I said. "We do not weaken our borders. Only a fool fights one war while inviting another."
Lucius nodded, pleased. "Then we strike fast, before they expect it."
Hadrian would have called it reckless. Darius would have called it dangerous.
I called it necessary.
Varyon would be our first target. But it would not be our last.
This was only the beginning.
The beginning of an empire that would never fall.