I texted Felicity Monday after work about the big guy's offer, and she said she'd come in, but I never saw her Tuesday. It seemed like no one saw anything but the FV stream from the Council of High Lords. Work was practically shut down, with everyone gathered around the FV set, even the managers, watching the tie revote. There was a palpable sense of history there; I heard another coworker, someone I didn't know, say it felt like "the entire Empire is holding their breath."

Bleh. That's not why I came to work! But I also didn't come in to be literally the only person actually doing my job; when everyone's glued to current events, not doing so along with them would be the exact opposite of keeping my head down.

So I watched along with them. Watched as every single Preservationist once again cast their vote for Archduke Vansar Chreidor. Watched two Restorationists switch to support Chreidor just to break the tie and try to avert disaster, while the rest of them voted for Queen Jane Alexander. And with Gareth's warning words against Chaos ringing in my mind, I watched two Transformationists switch their votes to Alexander, and the rest of them vote exactly as they had previously.

And I watched it all fall apart at the end.

70 for Chreidor, 69 for Alexander, with Duke Stephen Opeghal, a Transformationist, the last up to cast his vote. We could all feel exactly what was about to happen... and then somebody shot him with a crossbow bolt. On the floor of the Council chambers, broadcast on live FV.

Ophegal staggered backwards, falling to the ground, then slowly got back up, holding the bolt in one hand, the other rubbing at his sore but unbloodied chest. The oculus panned over to the sight of half a dozen security officers swarming and restraining Archduke Yeni Farag, a Preservationist who had apparently been the one to loose the bolt. Farag was raving that he wouldn't allow this provocateur to destroy everything the Empire had spent so much work building, until he was forcibly escorted from the chamber.

Chancellor Rosocress, presiding at the session, banged his gavel multiple times to restore order. "Duke Ophegal, you are well?" he asked.

"I must admit," the Duke said slowly, "I was skeptical when my colleagues advised me to come in here under such extensive abjurations. Surely, in such a critical moment, no High Lord would dare to take actions that would invalidate their vote under rule 31, section 2?"

He looked expectantly at the Chancellor, who gave a weary-looking nod. "Your vote, Duke Ophegal?"

The Duke sighed theatrically. "I suppose it is true afterall, that even the staunchest of defenders of order and laws will break under a surprisingly small amount of strain. It is said that all that is necessary is one truly bad day..."

"Your vote, Duke?"

"Oh, Chancellor," he said in response, "if the very prospect of my vote causes another member of this august body such distress, if it is so clearly unwanted... I must respectfully abstain."

The Chancellor's face flushed crimson at those words. "Abstain, Duke Ophegal?"

"Of course," he said, affecting an innocent tone with a predatory smile and a darkly mirthful twinkle in his eyes. "I would certainly never wish for my vote to cause anguish to my dear colleagues in this Council, or to... 'destroy everything the Empire had spent so much work building,' as the Archduke put it. Thus, to avoid giving offense, I cast no vote at all."

"But you are the tie-breaking vote! You can't simply abstain!"

"Chancellor," the duke chided, "it is my right to abstain per rule 3, section 3. Does it say there, or at any place in the rules of conduct, that this right is abridged as the result of any specific voting patterns?"

"No, but—"

"Then I abstain." He sat down with a certain sense of finality.

Looking like he'd just discovered half a worm in his apple, Chancellor Rosocress swallowed hard, then said, "with Archduke Farag's vote annulled and Duke Ophegal's abstention, the final vote stands at 69 for Archduke Vansar Chreidor, 69 for Queen Jane Alexander. As this matter has proven irresoluble by vote of the Council, we are compelled by the iron law of the High Decrees to instead resolve the question 'through combat between champions, to be resolved with all possible haste.' As the nominees are both present in this chamber today, such resolution should proceed immediately.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Queen Alexander, will you select a champion to represent you, or fight on your own behalf?"

The Queen of Elia, a tall, slender woman in her forties whose dark hair was shot through with streaks of silver, hardly looked like the type to don armor and wield a sword, so it was hardly a surprise when she nominated her guard captain, Marcus Plesu, to fight on her behalf.

"Captain Plesu, do you accept this responsibility?"

Plesu, standing by his queen's side, looking bulky in a way that hinted at low-profile armor underneath his very professional-looking suit, gave a nod of affirmation. "It would by my honor to defend my Queen's claim to the Imperial throne."

"And Archduke Chreidor, will you select a champion to represent you, or fight on your own behalf?"

Vansar Chreidor, Archduke of the Amethyst Gorge, was significantly younger than his Restorationist rival for the throne. His father having died less than a year ago, Vansar was barely older than me, and from what I'd heard his nomination was widely seen as a cynical ploy by Preservationist leadership to install a youthful puppet ruler who would be around running things their way for a good long time.

With a malicious smile, the Archduke stood and said, "In the interests of bringing this difficult time to a resolution with all possible haste, I will fight of my own accord." He raised a hand, and thunder erupted from the FV's speakers as he struck Captain Plesu dead instantly with a conjured bolt of lightning. At least two-thirds of the Council dove for cover in some way, but the Chancellor never flinched. "It is resolved," Archduke Chreidor smirked.

"Murderer!" Queen Alexander cried out, a sob of grief in her voice as she looked down at the crumpled form of her guard. "Bailiffs, arrest this peacebreaker!"

No one moved as Archduke Chreidor called out, "what bailiff would dare lay hands on the Emperor?"

"The contest by combat," Chancellor Rosocress pointedly stated, "is concluded. Long live Emperor Vansar the First." He banged his gavel, and that was when the Abyss broke loose in the Council. Magic started going everywhere, with people teleporting out, people erecting magical barriers and abjurations, and people throwing spells of all sorts. We only got the first three seconds or so before a stray(?) spell hit the oculus and the FV feed abruptly went dark.

We all just stood there, looking around at each other uncomfortably, everyone kind of wondering what had just happened and if that had really been real. About half a minute went by before Kayla (of course) finally broke the silence.

"Well crap. That sucks."

You could nominate that for Understatement of the Age, but in a strange way, it kind of... worked. Everyone was too overwhelmed to really process the full magnitude of what we had just witnessed, but somehow those words spoke to what we were all feeling, in a weirdly simplistic way.

"So what now?" Ampha asked, her voice numb.

Everyone started kind of talking and murmuring to whoever was closest by, while I mostly stepped away and tried to stay out of it. It was pretty clear what had happened — Vansar struck before the combat had officially begun, and the Chancellor accepted this act of blatant murder in a bit of theatricality that sure looked rehearsed. The Preservationists were making an out-in-the-open bid, broadcast worldwide on live FV, to steal a throne they could easily have won fair and square had they simply tried! And with the weight of officialdom behind them, they were probably going to get away with it!

Stupid garbage like this is why I hate politics. Now we were going to end up with an Emperor whose reign would be tainted by illegitimacy from the very beginning.

I was so naïve back then, to think that that would be the worst of the consequences.

"I think," Torrin said slowly, but loud enough to be heard over all the buzz of conversation, "that after an event like this, nobody's head's gonna be in the right place for working. Everyone go home. Take a mental health day. Or a nice deep bottle or three of something strong; Gods know I'm going to! See you all tomorrow." With that, he retreated to his office to take care of a few things before heading out for the day.

Everyone gradually broke up, heading for the parking lot at various speeds, some stopping by their desks or to chat with each other along the way.

Me? I didn't want a bottle, or a day off. My escape from the world was to lose myself in an interesting technical problem. But if I was the only one to stick around after the manager dismissed us all, that would definitely stand out, and not really in a good way. So I just decided to blend in, keep my head down, and head home.

"Brad!" Halfway across the parking lot I turned as I heard a woman's voice calling out to me.

"Joanna? What's up?"

She slowly approached, looking nervous and making sure to stay back a safe distance. "I... is all this freaking you out as much as me?"

Not really. Politicians gonna politician. "Yeah, kinda."

"I..." she began again, hesitating. She looked around, apparently making sure there was no one nearby who would overhear, then said, "I really don't want to be all alone today. Can I... umm... visit you?"

I never signed up to be an emotionally-fragile succubus's teddy drake, but at the same time, she really was looking fragile right now and I didn't want to be the one to shatter her. "All right. I'm about 5 miles from here. Just follow me?"

"Sure. ...thanks."

How do so many people I barely know keep ending up in my apartment the last few days? I really don't want to do this.