Dragging a headless corpse across an Emperor's bedroom floor is a task that is conspicuously absent from the "How to Rule a Kingdom" handbook.
"He is heavier than he looks," Vexilla complained. She was holding the ankles of the first assassin, dragging him toward the ornate fireplace. "Do humans have lead bones?"
"It's the rigor mortis," Valerius muttered, grunting as he hauled the second body by the belt. "And the fact that they were legally dead before they walked in here. Dead weight is literal in this case."
Princess Elara stood by the window, holding a small vial of the green poison she had scraped from a blade. She held it up to the moonlight, her violet eyes narrowing. "Valerius, stop complaining and open the passage. If the cleaning maids arrive for the morning turndown service and find decapitated zombies, the screaming will shatter the windows."
Valerius dropped the body near the hearth. He reached inside the cold fireplace, feeling for the third brick from the left—the one with the faint carving of a weeping jester. He pressed it.
Click. Whirrrrr.
The back of the fireplace didn't slide open. Instead, the floor beneath the hearth sank two feet, revealing a dark, spiraling stone slide.
"The Laundry Chute?" Vexilla asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The Whispering Gallery," Valerius corrected. "Built by my great-grandfather, Emperor Corvus the Paranoid. It connects every major room in the palace to the sub-basement incinerator. Also, the acoustics are terrible. If you sneeze in the basement, the cook in the attic hears it."
[The Whispering Gallery]
A massive network of acoustic tunnels running beneath Aethelgard Palace. Originally designed for spying on courtiers, it fell into disuse when the cleaning staff realized they could hear the Emperor snoring from three floors down. Now, it serves as the Imperial emergency exit—and garbage disposal.
"Rengar," Valerius whispered.
The Beast Chieftainess was already at the balcony, her nose twitching in the night air. She looked back, her golden eyes glowing.
"The scent trail is fading," she rumbled. "It heads toward the Noble District. West side."
"Duke Kaelen's estate," Valerius nodded grimly. "Go. Do not engage unless necessary. I just need to know where the survivor goes."
Rengar grinned, a flash of white fangs in the dark. "I am a shadow on the wind, Husband."
She vaulted over the balcony railing. They didn't hear her land.
"Elara," Valerius turned to the Elf. "Take the East Wing passage. It leads to the Royal Alchemist's lab. Use the equipment there. Tell no one."
Elara tucked the vial into her sash. "And you?"
"My new favorite wife and I," Valerius gestured to Vexilla, "are going to take out the trash."
He kicked the first body down the slide. It vanished into the dark with a wet thud.
The Predator in the Night
Rengar did not run on the streets. That was for prey.
She moved along the rooftops of the Capital, her claws digging silently into the clay tiles. The wind whipped through her fur, carrying the myriad scents of a sleeping city: baking bread, stale ale, unwashed bodies, and the sharp, metallic tang of dark magic.
The trail she followed was faint—a ribbon of ozone cutting through the mundane smells.
She paused on a gargoyle overlooking the Merchant's Quarter. Below, a cloaked figure was limping through an alleyway. The survivor.
Rengar crouched, her muscles coiling. In the Beast Realm, the hunt was sacred. But here, in the concrete jungle of humans, it felt... dirty.
The figure stopped at a heavy iron grate leading to the sewers. He pulled it open with unnatural strength and dropped inside.
Rengar frowned. Sewers. The Beast Chieftainess hated getting wet.
"For the Treaty," she grumbled, and dove from the roof, landing silently beside the open grate.
The Furnace Room
The bottom of the slide dumped them into a pile of ash and soot.
Valerius dusted off his silk wedding trousers, which were now ruined beyond repair. Vexilla landed gracefully on her feet, barely disturbing a speck of dust.
They were in the Incinerator Room—a cavernous, brick-lined chamber dominated by a massive iron furnace that roared with magical fire.
"Efficient," Vexilla noted, looking at the furnace. "We use lava pits in the Demon Realm. Much more dramatic, but terrible for the indoor heating bills."
They picked up the bodies and tossed them into the roaring maw of the furnace. The magical fire, fed by mana-coals, consumed the undead flesh instantly. No smoke. No smell. Just erasure.
Valerius watched the flames, his face hard.
"You knew," Vexilla said. It wasn't a question.
Valerius looked at her. In the firelight, her horns cast long, devilish shadows against the walls. "Knew what?"
"That the Treaty would be a trap. You didn't marry us for peace. You married us for an army."
Valerius sighed. He sat on a crate of coal, looking suddenly very old for his twenty-five years.
"I have no army, Vexilla. The Imperial Guard is loyal to the Council. The Council is loyal to the highest bidder. Duke Kaelen owns half the generals."
He looked up at her, meeting her burning gaze.
"I am an Emperor in name only. A figurehead to sign tax laws while the vultures pick the kingdom apart. The only power I have..." He tapped his chest. "...is that nobody wants to be the one to kill me openly. Until tonight."
Vexilla studied him. For a Demon, weakness was a sin punishable by death. But she didn't see weakness. She saw a cornered rat that had decided to bite the throat of a lion.
"This Soul Link," she said, crossing her arms. "It binds our lives. Does it bind our power?"
"No," Valerius lied.
[The Soul Link's True Nature]
Valerius lied. The Soul Link does not just share life; it creates a resonance. If the bond deepens, abilities can bleed across the link. He is keeping this secret because if Vexilla knew she could eventually access his [Absolute Charisma], she might keep him as a pet rather than a husband.
"Good," she scoffed. "I don't want your frailty infecting me."
Suddenly, the air in the basement shifted.
It wasn't an attack. It was a pulse.
Valerius doubled over, clutching his chest. At the same moment, Vexilla gasped, her hand flying to her heart.
"What... is...?" Vexilla wheezed.
"Elara," Valerius grit his teeth. "She found something."
The Royal Alchemy Lab
Princess Elara stood frozen over the microscope, her hands trembling.
The Royal Lab was a marvel of glass and brass, filled with bubbling retorts and suspended crystals. But Elara wasn't looking at the scenery. She was looking at the drop of green poison on the slide.
Under the magnification of the Truth Lens, the liquid wasn't just toxic. It was alive.
Microscopic, jagged runes swam within the blood, eating the light around them. They were consuming the glass of the slide itself.
"This isn't poison," Elara whispered to the empty room. "It's Deicide fluid."
She grabbed a reference tome—The Encyclopedia of Forbidden Fluids—and flipped frantically to the back. There it was. A substance banned in the Treaty of the First Age.
Aether-Rot: Created from the distilled hatred of a Fallen God. Capable of severing the link between a soul and its divine origin.
"They weren't trying to kill Valerius," Elara realized, horror dawning on her. "They were trying to sever his soul to make him a vessel."
She had to warn him. But before she could move, a shadow detached itself from the corner of the lab.
"Smart girl," a smooth, cultured voice said.
Elara spun around, magic flaring in her hands.
Standing there, casually inspecting a jar of pickled newt eyes, was a man in a velvet suit. He had a monocle over one eye and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Duke Kaelen?" Elara breathed.
"In the flesh," Kaelen smiled. "Or close enough."
[The Duke's Boldness]
Kaelen didn't wait in his estate. He infiltrated the Palace immediately after the failure, anticipating the investigation. He is not a cowardly noble; he is an active player.
"You are trespassing, Duke," Elara said, her voice icy. "And treason is punishable by death."
"Is it treason to save the Empire from a mongrel king?" Kaelen asked lightly. He glanced at the vial of Aether-Rot. "I see you found my little cocktail. Shame. It was very expensive."
"You are working with necromancers," Elara accused.
"Oh, Princess," Kaelen laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "I'm not working with them."
He stepped forward. The shadow behind him expanded, taking the shape of a massive, weeping eye.
"I am the Necromancer."
Elara fired a bolt of Starlight.
It hit Kaelen's chest and vanished into the velvet like water into a sponge.
"Now," Kaelen said, his eyes turning entirely black. "Let's test this Soul Link, shall we? If I break you, does the Emperor scream?"