I did not sleep.
I lay on the imperial bed while the candles burned low, listening to the palace breathe.
Stone walls expand and contract at night. Servants move more quietly. Guards change shifts with soft clinks of armor and whispered curses. Somewhere far away, a door creaked open and closed again.
Every sound felt deliberate.
Every shadow felt occupied.
My body was exhausted, poisoned, and weak—but my mind refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the bird collapsing. Saw the way none of them reacted.
That image was more useful than fear.
It told me exactly where I stood.
Not at the top.
Not even in the game.
I was the board.
Near dawn, a servant knocked softly.
"Your Majesty," she said through the door, voice low. "The morning council will convene soon."
Morning council.
Of course it would.
They wouldn't give me time to recover. Weak emperors were most useful when exhausted—when decisions slipped, when words came out wrong.
"I'll attend," I replied, forcing a tremor into my voice.
She hesitated. "Should I inform the Chancellor you are unwell?"
"No," I said quickly. Then softer, as if embarrassed. "I don't want to trouble him."
Silence.
Then footsteps retreating.
Good.
Let them think I was eager to please.
By the time they dressed me, my hands were steady again. The poison had not finished its work—but it had failed. I remembered enough from the memories of this body to know it was a slow-acting toxin, meant to stop the heart in sleep.
They would be recalculating now.
I was escorted through the corridors with twice the usual guard.
That, too, was telling.
They weren't protecting me.
They were containing me.
The council chamber doors opened, and the noise washed over me—voices layered with false respect, arguments dressed as concern.
When I stepped inside, it quieted immediately.
Dozens of eyes turned toward me.
Ministers in layered robes. Nobles with carefully neutral faces. Military advisors stiff with pride. And at the far end, beneath the imperial sigil, Chancellor Kross already seated—comfortably, like a man at home.
Everyone bowed.
Not deeply.
Not sincerely.
I forced my legs to keep moving. The throne felt heavier today, though nothing about it had changed.
I sat.
"Begin," I said.
My voice did not crack.
That alone earned me a few subtle looks.
Kross stood. "Your Majesty, before matters of state, we are relieved to see you recovered. Yesterday was… unfortunate."
Unfortunate.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I was frightened."
Some smiled at that.
"We must discuss the eastern garrisons," Kross continued. "Reports indicate unrest among the border lords. They request additional funds and authority."
Authority.
I glanced toward General Hale, who stood with his arms crossed, already bored.
"What kind of authority?" I asked.
Kross replied smoothly, "Expanded conscription rights. Emergency taxation. Independent command decisions."
In other words, a private army.
My fingers tightened against the armrest.
This was how emperors disappeared. Not overnight. Slowly, piece by piece, until they were ceremonial ornaments in their own halls.
"I see," I said. Then hesitated—on purpose. "Is that… normal?"
A few nobles exchanged looks.
General Hale spoke, tone patient, almost condescending. "In times of instability, flexibility is required."
"I'm not very experienced," I admitted. "So I'll trust your judgment."
The relief in the room was immediate.
Kross smiled. Hale nodded once.
"But," I added softly, "I'd like something in return."
Silence again.
Kross's smile thinned. "Your Majesty?"
"I want a full audit of the eastern garrisons. Supplies. Soldiers. Commanders." I looked at Hale. "If I'm granting authority, I want to understand who I'm trusting."
Carefully worded.
Reasonable.
Hard to refuse without exposing intent.
Hale's jaw tightened slightly. "That could take time."
"That's fine," I said quickly. "I'm in no hurry."
A lie.
Kross studied me now, really studied me. "Of course. Transparency builds confidence."
Yes.
And confidence could be weaponized.
The meeting dragged on. Taxes. Grain shortages. A dispute between two dukes that had been "temporarily unresolved" for six years. Every issue came with a proposed solution that conveniently transferred power away from the throne.
I agreed to some.
Delayed others.
Asked simple questions that forced them to explain themselves—slowly, patiently, as if to a child.
I let them underestimate me.
By the end, they were relaxed.
That was when the Empress Dowager arrived.
She entered without announcement.
The room rose to its feet instantly.
My mother wore mourning black, though no one had died. Her veil was thin enough to see her expression—calm, composed, perfect.
She bowed to me.
"My son," she said warmly. "I was so worried."
I stood—too quickly. My head spun, and I nearly stumbled.
She reached out, steadying me.
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
A mother supporting her fragile emperor-son.
How touching.
"I'm fine," I said, swallowing hard. "Thanks to you."
Her fingers tightened, just slightly, on my sleeve.
"You should not push yourself," she murmured. "You are… delicate."
She guided me back to the throne and turned to the council. "The emperor needs rest. This meeting is over."
No one argued.
That, too, told me everything.
Later, in my private chambers, she dismissed the servants with a single look.
We were alone.
She stood near the window, back to me. "You scared me last night."
"So you sent poison?" I asked calmly.
She did not turn.
"You were never meant to wake," she said. "It would have been kinder."
I exhaled slowly.
"Why?" I asked. "Why crown me at all?"
She finally faced me.
"You are weak," she said, not cruelly, but honestly. "The empire needs a strong hand. You would have been… transitional."
"A corpse," I corrected.
"Yes."
Silence stretched between us.
"Are you going to try again?" I asked.
She smiled then, sadly. "That depends on you."
She stepped closer, adjusting my collar like I was still a child. "Be obedient. Be quiet. Let the right men rule. And you may live a long, comfortable life."
I looked into her eyes.
And smiled.
"I understand," I said.
She kissed my forehead and left.
That night, I received my first gift as emperor.
A sealed letter, delivered without a name.
Inside was a single sentence:
The poison was not meant for you.
My blood ran cold.
Because that meant only one thing.
Someone else had been the target.
And I had survived by mistake.