They were all traitors, every last one of them.And they knew it.
Each man present had spat upon the Imperial Law, the same law they had once sworn their swords to defend, and instead thrown their lot behind the serpent they had nursed since his youth, the prince they'd raised under their own roofs, taught their customs, and fattened with their hospitality.
Not that their betrayal was without reason. Between the three sons of the War Emperor, it was almost a matter of arithmetic. The eldest, Maesinius liked to play with his snow and ignore everything.
The youngest, barely out of his milk's years , would have needed a regent for eight more, which meant rule by proxy, a dream for schemers and for nobles, except for those that were too distant to take advantage of that.
And then there was the middle son.
Mavius Romelia.
The darling of the East.
