The night my father was assassinated, the empire did not mourn.
It was a night of whispers, not wails. The nobles in their marble halls drank to his death, their laughter muffled by velvet curtains. The generals, once loyal, weighed their loyalty in gold. And the commoners—those who had cheered for him in victory—only stared in silence as the banners of my house were lowered.
My father, Cassian Valerius, the Lion of Solmaris, was dead.
And I was to take his place.
But power is not inherited. It is seized.
---
A Throne of Daggers
The Grand Hall smelled of iron and incense. The air was thick with tension, as nobles, generals, and councilors gathered beneath the towering obsidian pillars. I stood before them, dressed in black, my father's golden lion sigil gleaming against my chest.
I was eighteen, yet their eyes saw only a boy.
The Regent, Darius Septimus, stepped forward. He was an aging viper draped in royal silks, a man who had served my father for twenty years. His voice was smooth, practiced.
"The empire mourns the loss of a great ruler. But we must think of stability." His eyes settled on me, unreadable. "Prince Aurelian, the Senate must decide who will lead until you are... ready."
A test. A challenge. A veiled threat.
The nobles shifted, whispering among themselves. Some eyed Darius, others glanced toward General Hadrian, my father's most trusted commander.
The room was filled with wolves, each waiting for a sign of weakness.
I did not give them one.
"The throne does not wait." My voice was calm, but it carried through the hall like a blade through silk. "I am my father's son. And I will rule."
Silence.
Then laughter.
Darius smiled, stepping closer. He was careful, moving like a man who knew poison lurked in every cup. "Aurelian, we all admired your father. But ruling an empire is not the same as fighting on the battlefield. The people need assurance."
I studied his face. He did not fear me.
He should have.
"Then let us assure them." I turned, walking toward the great golden brazier at the center of the hall. The sacred flame of Solis, God of Conquest, burned within it, symbolizing the divine right to rule. My father had once sworn his oaths before this very fire.
I reached into the flames.
Gasps filled the room as my hand touched the fire, but I did not flinch. I did not scream. The flames licked at my skin, but I felt nothing—no pain, no fear, only the warmth of fate itself.
"By the will of the gods and the blood of my father, I claim the throne."
The fire roared, as if the heavens themselves had spoken.
And in that moment, the wolves hesitated.
---
The First Threat
That night, I sat upon the Imperial Throne for the first time. It was heavier than I expected, not just in weight, but in responsibility.
Then the assassin came.
A shadow against the golden candlelight, silent as death. A blade, thin as a whisper, aimed for my throat.
But I had been forged in war.
I caught his wrist before the steel could touch my skin, twisting it with brutal precision. The dagger clattered to the marble floor. The assassin gasped—his eyes wide, shocked.
"Who sent you?" I asked, pressing my knee against his chest.
He struggled, but my grip was iron. He was a professional—no wasted movement, no fear of death. He would not speak.
So I pressed harder.
"Who?" I growled, feeling his bones strain.
"The gods are watching," he rasped, blood trickling from his lips.
Then, before I could stop him, he bit down hard on something hidden in his mouth. His body convulsed—foam and blood spilling from his lips. A coward's death.
I let his corpse drop.
Someone had moved against me on my very first night as Emperor.
And I would send them a message in blood.
---
The Lion Has Awakened
I stood at my balcony, overlooking the vast capital of Solmaris. Fires burned in the distance, the people uncertain of what came next.
But I was not uncertain.
The world thought I was a boy in a man's war. That I would crumble under the weight of power.
They were wrong.
I had learned the truth long ago: A ruler is not crowned by birthright, but by conquest.
And I would carve my name into history with steel and fire.
Let them plot. Let them scheme.
Let them fear the day I march upon their gates.
Because the Lion of Solmaris does not kneel.
He conquers.