Mikhail walked through the palace corridors until he reached a balcony high above the city.
It was crafted from white marble, ornate and grand. From here, most of the Great Empire stretched out below—towers, walls, streets winding through the capital like veins.
He stood at the railing, staring into the distance.
Within minutes, footsteps approached from behind.
Maria's voice was soft, measured.
"I heard you were looking for me, my Lord."
Mikhail didn't turn.
"Maria. What were you doing?"
"Just as you ordered. Looking into your subjects."
He sighed and turned to face her.
"And what did you find?"
Maria folded her hands, her expression calm.
"Gwenllian Valecrown. Daughter of the noble Valecrown family. Despite her young age, she is exceptionally talented with a sword. Top cadet in her class. That's why she's the leading candidate to become the next Vice Commander."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed.
"Valecrown, you say?" He muttered the name under his breath. "Rowan Valecrown..."
Maria continued.
"Yes. Retired Elder Rowan Valecrown of the Holy Knights. A war hero. One of the most powerful among all the Elders." She paused. "Gwenllian is his granddaughter."
Mikhail let out a long breath.
This is bad.
Maria tilted her head slightly.
"My Lord, do you know the history of House Valecrown?"
"What about their history?"
"Valecrown—or Vale, as they were known hundreds of years ago—was not born noble. They achieved their status through generational mastery of the sword. A lineage of warriors. Bodyguards." Her voice was clinical, detached. "When a previous Emperor granted them noble status for their value in combat, they swore undying loyalty to the Crown."
She met his eyes.
"So your assumption that she might be a spy? It's wrong."
Mikhail's expression went cold.
"You think I don't know that by now?" His voice was quiet, bitter. "I was about to kill her."
Maria smiled faintly.
"If she had to prove her loyalty with death, so be it." She paused. "But my Lord, you don't need to worry too much. Mistress Miyako still stands by your side."
Mikhail stared at her.
"You're cold, Maria."
Her smile widened just slightly.
"I try my best, dear Lord."
Mikhail scoffed and turned back toward the view.
"And... what about Lancelot?"
"Just as he always is. Standing still for hours. Ordering the priests of the Church. Praying." Maria's tone was flat. "Sometimes I forget he's a living being."
Mikhail's voice dropped.
"No. You're mistaken."
He looked back at her, his eyes dark.
"He's death wearing a armor."