The Emperor stood before me, his sharp eyes scanning my form with a measured calm.
"I'm fine, Father. Just a little stiffness here and there," I replied, trying to sound casual, though my body still ached in unfamiliar ways.
He nodded, a faint sigh escaping him. "That's good to hear. Go rest in our room. And about your hair... I know you're confused, but don't trouble yourself. Everything will make sense in time. You're smart. I trust you'll figure it out."
He turned to leave, but something tugged at me—a question that demanded to be voiced.
"Father, can I ask you something?"
The Emperor paused and turned slowly, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied me. A cold tingle crept down my spine. Had I slipped up?
"Christopher," he said carefully, "are you... alright? You seem different. Don't be offended, I know my son better than anyone. He's stubborn to the point of danger. Once he decides something, nothing stops him. But the young man standing before me... you seem more measured. As if you're actually thinking before charging. The old Christopher would've leapt from bed, sword drawn, seeking revenge. Yet you're still here. Whatever happened must have shaken something inside you. I like this version of you. Now, ask your question. I'm listening."
Praise? That felt oddly out of place. Maybe misplaced. Still, I continued. "I'll be leaving the palace. Just for a few days."
His face betrayed a flicker of surprise. I half-expected him to take back his words. But instead, he asked, more carefully this time, "Why so suddenly? What are you thinking, son?"
What could I say? That I needed to prepare—to move while the shadows still thought me wounded?
"There's something I need to handle," I said, my tone sharpening. "It may take some time. But when I return, I won't be standing in your shadow anymore. You'll see a son who no longer needs your hand in this game of thrones."
I called him Emperor. Not Father. A deliberate move, one I knew he'd notice.
He studied me for a long moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Learning some tricks, are we? Speaking in riddles like those pompous lords... Still, I like it. Independence suits you. Very well, go."
He turned and left. I made my way to my room and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling, mind spinning.
Leaving would tip the balance. My absence would give my elder brother room to maneuver. But I had left a guard dog behind. A clever one. The real problem... was how to keep that dog from using her head.
Heh. Dangerous thoughts.
"It's survival."
Seducing your way through court politics? How noble.
"She's already in love with me. I just need to... lean into it."
You're going to use her.
"I'm going to survive. And if she gets something she wants along the way, what's the harm?"
You sound like a villain in a cheap play.
"And yet, we're still alive."
The smile curled on my lips without effort. I reached for the bell beside my bed and rang it. A servant appeared.
"Summon the Minister of Magic."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Not long after, Wellesley stood in front of me. Her presence was as striking as ever—sleek black hair, delicate features, curves that would dominate the cover of any magazine back on Earth.
"Your Highness," she greeted with a bow, her eyes filled with concern.
I didn't respond. Instead, I rose, walked to her—and pulled her into a tight embrace.
She gasped softly. "Your Highness..."
"Shh."
I tightened my arms around her. Wellesley froze in my arms, stunned. For so long, she had loved a man who never spared her a second glance. She had waited, hoping he would one day see her—not just as a tool, but as a woman.
And now, with this unexpected closeness, her heart raced. Her world, for a brief moment, paused.
I lowered my head, brushing my nose against her collarbone, inhaling her scent.
Her body flinched.
Too far.
"I missed you, Wellesley."
She didn't respond. Her arms slowly came around me, returning the hug. No words passed her lips, but in that silence, everything was said.
So, what's the play here, Casanova? Make her fall harder so it hurts more when you vanish?
"She's a weapon. A loyal one. Better she longs for me than questions me."
Heartless.
"Efficient."
She'd burn this place down if you broke her.
"Then I better not break her. Just bend her."
A dangerous line. But the rewards...
My thoughts spiraled. I needed to leave. Soon. But she deserved to know something. At least a hint.
Yet the real storm was elsewhere. Had the protagonist arrived? If so, how far along was he? What allies had he gathered? How much time did I have left?
You're playing catch-up in a game you didn't start.
"But I'm not playing blind."
And Wellesley... she wasn't enough. I needed more allies. More leverage. More cards to play.
Time passed. How much, I didn't know. A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. A servant entered, bowing.
"Your Highness, dinner is ready. Shall I bring it here or will you dine in the hall?"
Wellesley and I were still locked in an embrace.
"Here," I answered absently.
The servant bowed again and left us alone.
This war hadn't started yet. But the board was being set—and I intended to play like my life depended on it.
Because it did....