Mai was a character in a storybook. At least, that was how she felt. She was the princess locked away, and if the story played out, some noble warrior would save her.

Except, the story would not play out. There would be a point of divergence. Emperor Ehajdon would use her for his needs, and then quietly dispose of her.

A man came through the door of her room. The man she had just been thinking about.

Ehajdon.

He closed the door behind him, and then, his first words were, “I am very grateful that Savel brought you here.”

“You know,” said Mai, from the floor, where she sat, cross-legged, “my father would be ashamed of you, right now?”

“Why?” asked Ehajdon, smooth, calculating. No more than a foot before Mai, he sat before her on the ground, cross-legged, a mirror.

But a foreboding mirror.

“You intend to use me, and then you intend to discard me, so that I do not get in you way,” said Mai.

Ehajdon did not deny it. “If there was any other option,” he said, “I would take it. But there is not.”

Mai looked at him, as innocently as she could. He was supposed to be the storybook king, who was wise, and just. Instead, he was sentencing her to death.

“Mai, listen,” said Ehajdon. “Your father would not want his legacy, indeed, the very Empire, to fall into the hands of the barbaric Makini. I only wish to do that.”

Mai spoke a question, a question that had been haunting her for some time now. “If I go along,” she said, “if I speak the words you wish me to speak, why must I still die?”

Ehajdon sighed. “The world, perhaps, is not fair, Mai, but it is not my place to change how things work. According to the Codes of Sara, you should have killed yourself by now.”

“Then what do you want from me?” asked Mai.

“I wish you to give a speech, one that all can hear,” said Ehajdon. “I want you to give a speech in front of crowds. I want you to tell them that the only reason you have spared your own life, for this long, is because you knew, in your heart, that before you died, you had to prevent the Makini from taking the word. I want you to say to the masses, outside the Minsu Palace, and the dignitaries from other Houses, that undoubtedly will be present, that the Roseped Dynasty, my Roseped Dynasty, is the rightful inheritor to the Empire. I want you to tell them that the barbaric Makini must be stopped at all costs.

“And then, Mai,” said Ehajdon, “I want you to tell the assembled crowds that now, with your message delivered, you can finally end your existence. And then, you will take out a dagger that I will have provided for you, and stab yourself in the heart. That is what I want.”

Mai looked at him.

“What can you possibly have more to gain from life?” asked Ehajdon. “The Tachen have fallen, and will never rise again.”

“You cannot force me to do this,” said Mai. “Nothing you can do to me will make it so that I will say those words.”

“And so, I will not try,” said Ehajdon. “I will not try to torture you, until you say the words and perform the action that I wish. If I did, and even if you relented, the assembled crowd would know the words came not from your heart. And the words need to come from your heart, Mai.”

“Why would I have to kill myself at the end of the speech?” she asked him.

“Because according to the codes, according to honor,” said Ehajdon, “you should be dead. Delaying your rightful death to deliver a warning is only noble if…” Ehajdon paused, “…if you do the right thing afterwards.”

“And what if I refuse to go along with this, at all?” asked Mai. “What if I refuse to be your savior?”

“I will give you a week to decide,” said Ehajdon. “And if your answer is no, I will direct my guards to quietly kill you.”

Mai took a sharp breath.

“Death will come either way, Mai,” said Ehajdon. “But in dying one way, you save the Empire, and redeem yourself to Elysium. In dying the other way, you do nothing to prevent chaos from conquering the world, and damn yourself to hell.”

As he spoke these words, he slowly leaned forward, like an uncoiling viper. Then he pulled back, and his voice was kindly almost as if he was the true father that Mai never knew.

“It is your choice,” he said.

Mai knew what she would do. She would wait the week, so that she would have a week left of life, and then, she would say no.

But then, Ehajdon looked into her eyes. His eyes were blue, and pure. Even though it was he who had threatened to kill Mai, it was Mai who found herself looking away, Mai, who found herself involuntarily beginning to sympathize with his cause.

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She tried to shake herself out of what she knew to be a funk, but she could not. She could not.

By glancing away for a fraction of a second, Ehajdon broke the trance. He stood, and for a moment, it seemed he was going to turn, and leave Mai to her thoughts.

But then he extended a firm hand, to help her up.

Mai took it.

“I want to show you some things,” Ehajdon told her. “Some things, that may help you make up your mind.”

And together, oddly, hand in hand, the two walked from Mai’s room, into the hallway.

They walked through the halls, and, as they did so, Mai realized that this would probably be her best time to try to escape. But she kept putting off the moment when she would yank her hand from Ehajdon’s grip, putting it further, and further away.

And then, they had reached where Ehajdon had wished to bring her.

The Minsu throne room.

Above their heads, the light of the great Min shone blue down upon them. Mai looked up at it, for a moment, in wonder, before looking away.

What she saw on the ground of the throne room, on the great expanse of floor lit by the Min, was not what she had been expecting to see.

People were dancing.

Mai had not seen a window in a long time, but she now realized that it must be night. The night of a ball.

Mai was in a story, indeed.

The perfect lines of men and women dancing, of warriors and ladies and lords, all together, was like artwork to Mai’s eyes.

Through the crowds, Mai saw a man come up, to them. She nearly flinched when she saw who it was.

Lin Harsel, the Minsu Adjunct who, so long ago, Mai had thought she could trust with the secret of who she was.

Mai didn’t know how Ehajdon intended to convince her of anything, by showing her the face of a man who had nearly killed her.

Lin came within speaking range of the pair, and gave a slight, shallow bow, in the direction of the Emperor.

“Lin, this is Mai,” said Ehajdon. “And Mai, this is Lin. But I do believe that the two of you have met before.”

“Indeed, we have,” said Lin, with such ease that Mai began to believe that this was a scripted performance.

“What are you trying to show me, except a man who tried to kill me?” asked Mai.

“A variety of things,” Ehajdon gently answered. “I am trying to show you what your sacrifice can accomplish.”

“And how, exactly, are you going that?” asked Mai. With Lin here, her patience was wearing thin.

“Look about you, Mai,” said Ehajdon.

Mai did, and she saw the dancers. They were oblivious to her, Lin, and Ehajdon, and were instead embattled in their own little worlds. There was dancing, Mai saw, but there was also intrigue, and friendship, and love.

On the far side of the room, near a wall, Mai saw a lord kissing a lady.

“Do you know what this is, all about you?” asked Ehajdon. He did not wait for an answer. “This is what it looks like, to see people live. On this night, on the night of this ball, all my subjects put aside their worries about the Makini, and concentrate on petty things. But petty things that make them happy.

“The Makini could end all this. They will end all this, unless you stop them.”

Ehajdon quieted, and Lin’s words sprang forth. The lines are scripted, Mai thought, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real, or true.

“I was at the Battle of the White Walls,” said Lin. “I led an army against the Makini, as I am a general now. But I think you know what happened next.”

Lin paused, for effect.

“We lost. My host was defeated by the armies of that demon-child, Varsis. Our armies lost, and the sages and the common folk then predicted it was only a matter of time before the Makini Council dragged Ehajdon down from his just throne, and began their reign of terror.

“Do you know how evil the Makini are, Mai? Do you know they use demons? Do you know they use golems? Do you even know what a golem is?”

Mai nodded, surprising both Lin and Ehajdon, but they quickly recovered. Ehajdon picked up the speech.

“That is what I am up against,” said Ehajdon. “The Makini are murderers, Mai. The Makini have not professed a desire to reform the Empire under their own dynasty, under their own Emperor. Indeed, they have made it clear that they do not want that. They want to end the cycle of the dynasties, and impose their own tyrannical rule, of their oligarchy.

“The Makini have oft said that their system of government is more fair than having a single ruler, for their Council has five. But to accept that statement as fact, one has to overlook the truth.

“It does not matter if one rules a House, or a thousand, so long as their rule is just,” said Ehajdon. “And the rule of the Makini is not just. I could go on for a century, speaking of all the horrible crimes their House has committed.

“Do you know what they do to their prisoners, Mai?” asked Ehajdon. “They do not give them a fair, clean execution. Instead, they have ships. Carracks, they are called. Prison ships. They put their prisoners on those ships, and, instead of giving their prisoners a fair death, let them languish in tiny cells, until they die of starvation, disease, torture, or even just the horror of it all.”

Mai had not known that, and Ehajdon’s words painted a stark image. She remembered, oddly, that Savel had said that Broken--back when he still had been Broken, and not Casari--had been taken by the Makini. She wondered if he had been put on one of those ships, and shuddered.

And then she remembered that he was a demon, and he had probably already broken out.

“I could go on, Mai,” said Ehajdon. “I could go on.” He paused. “And so I will. The Makini rule over a large amount of territory, some of it hostile. When a town rebels, on occasion, the Makini implement a practice known as decimating. They kill one out of ten people in the town. It doesn’t matter who those tenth people are, whether they are indeed one of the rioters, or whether they are an innocent baby. The Makini kill them. Shall I go on? I will.

“The Makini are a fierce warrior race, but sometimes, they are born with cripples. Instead of tending to the cripple, and making sure that the baby’s life is the best it can be, under the sad circumstances, they decide that they must dispose of those babies. No mother wants her husband to see their child born a cripple, so quite often, when the baby emerges, when it immerges, and it is clear that it is broken, the mother bids her midwives throw the baby out the window, so that her husband, when he comes, will not have to gaze his eyes upon an ugly sight. Shall I go on? I will.

“Sometimes, the Makini fail, Mai. I know it is hard to believe, but on occasion, they do. Do you know what the Makini do to their own officers, who fail to win a battle? They declare that the officer is no longer a man, and--”

“Stop!” Mai shouted, and, for a moment, many of the dancers turned to look at her, before they turned away, and retreated back to their own lives.

Ehajdon looked at her. Lin looked at her.

“So now you know things,” said the Emperor. “Things you wish your ears had never listened to. And I apologize, for speaking of such horrible, terrible things, to you. But the truth remains, Mai, you can stop this madness. You, and only you.”

Mai, who had been so sure in her position before, now faltered.