“Your Majesty?”

The Emperor flinched. Turning away from the empty chair beside him, he slid his eyes to Harrison Ballio.

“May I ask your thoughts on the matter?” Lord Harrison continued expectantly.

A heavy sigh puffed out of him as he pinched the bridge of nose. He hadn’t heard a word he said. Nor did he give the slightest damn about it. “Do as you wish,” Richard muttered with a wave of his hand.

Ballio bowed, a devilish smirk stretching across his thin lips. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Gathered in the Throne Room, Richard looked out at his Imperial Council. They stood in parallel lines with their hands clasped in front, and he didn’t miss the way many members from the Western Faction threw him tensed glances from beneath the raised dais. Slumping down in his high-backed, golden throne, Richard massaged his sore temples with a scowl on his face.

“The following point of order is an announcement from the Minister of Finance,” Lord Maximus announced, placing a new scroll on the large, ornamental desk placed before the Emperor.

Lord Jameson, a heavy-set man with a full copper beard, stepped forward with a grunt. Richard’s eyes were on the verge of rolling to the back of his head before he found himself glancing at the seat beside him again.

All morning, his eyes had wandered to the empty throne.

The Empress’ presence was never a requirement at these aggravating meetings, but just the sight of the barren seat reminded him that days had passed with her silence.

The mere emptiness of it irritated him.

Richard shook his head in abhorrence and looked ahead with his jaw clenched tight.

“Your Majesty,” Jameson bowed.

“Go on,” he sighed.

Tipping his bulbous nose up in the air, he glanced around the room with a spark of haughty arrogance. “After much deliberation, I have decided to resign from my position.”

Immediately, members of the Eastern Faction called out in outraged confusion. Apparently, the news was unknown to them as well. Richard raised a brow. Finally, something of interest had spurred.

“Ridiculous,” Lord Frintle, a small, nasally man with balding blonde curls, bellowed out from the left. “You would dare declare your resignation without consult or approval?”

Jameson barely spared the man a glance. “It has truly been an honor to serve on your Council, Your Majesty,” he began with a flourished bow of his head and a hand on his soft chest. “But in my old age, I’ve been feeling less and less worthy of such an active position. Surely, you can understand the need for someone who can bring justice to the role.”

Taking in the raged expressions from his left and the pleased silence from his right, Richard couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. Jameson, a man still young enough to dally with unassuming voracious ladies, was claiming humility before him now. A better excuse could have been his desire to spend more time with his neglected family in the countryside, but instead, he urged for integrity.

A brief recollection of his Royal Secretary’s concerns surged to the surface. If the speculative rumors held truth, the Minister of Finance was a naturally unethical man. One who was easy to bribe and manipulate. For nobles who enjoyed such dishonesty, a few bags of heavy coins would have been enough to sate his immoral agenda.

Jovine’s accusations echoed in his mind.

“You surprise me, Jameson,” Richard replied. “Minister of Finance is a powerful position. Undeniably one of the more important roles in the Empire. I would think someone like you would be hesitant to give it up.”

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Bringing his thick fingers to fidget with the cravat at his throat, the stocky, red-haired man laughed uneasily. “Even I can understand when my time is up.”

“Is that so?” Richard mused, entertained by his ambiguity. “Going by your complete disregard for protocol, I assume you don’t even have a candidate for your replacement?”

The minister perked up with renewed confidence. “On the contrary, Your Majesty, I’ve prepared one for you now.”

“Your Majesty,” Ballio interjected, stepping forward with a harsh frown indenting his pale face. “I advise you decline this senseless request. We have all vowed commitment to our roles, and no matter how old and unworthy Lord Jameson may be feeling, he has an obligation to this Court!”

“Does it displease you so much to lose him, Ballio?” Lord Jurian Reyes, Prime Minister and Chancellor of Theolos, spoke up in a smooth voice. With his sharp, brown eyes and short, peppered hair, the man held an air of righteous elegance. “Despite Lord Ballio’s outburst, I agree with the proposal, Your Majesty. If the Minister decrees himself to be unworthy of such a position, I also urge you to approve a finer contender.”

Ballio clenched his fists as a scarlet flush painted his cheeks. “You stay out of this —”

“Silence,” Richard snapped. “Jameson, do continue.”

After throwing Ballio a contemptuous squint, Jameson straightened. “Before announcing a candidate, I’d like to briefly go over the profound issues surrounding —”

“Get to the point.”

Lord Jameson cleared his throat and looked behind at the closed entrance, where two uniformed heralds stood with their backs painfully vertical as they waited to announce any approaching guests. At the sight of their still forms, the Minister fidgeted, his fingers curling back and forth over his gray Council robe. “Well, I suppose the timing isn’t to my advantage, but they should be here…”

“For goodness sake, Jameson,” Ballio spat. “Enough with your schemes!”

A prickling weariness tickled up the Emperor’s spine. He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Is that what this is, Jameson? Are you toying for an advantage?”

“No! Not at all,” Jameson exclaimed. “I-I am simply…”

As the squirming Minister of Finance searched for the proper words, a discreet patterned knock — a sound that would slip past most people —doused him in relief. All morning, his ears had been straining to hear the coming arrival. Now, he only had a few seconds.

Jameson adjusted his posture and looked into the Emperor’s devoid eyes with feigned strength. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I bring before you a man of great nobility, influence, and power, but one I have no right to announce myself.”

As the Emperor raised a crooked brow, the heralds clicked their heels and moved for the double doors. “Her Majesty the Empress has arrived for an audience!”

All heads swiveled in the direction of the opening doors as Richard lurched forward in his seat.

Approaching the dais with her sharp click of heels and a flowing turquoise gown, Empress Jovine de Tristaine strode through the room with her shoulders confidently set and a blank stoicism on her face. The room bowed before her in customary deference, but it was short-lived as they realized another pair of black boots stepped behind her in tandem.

Looking up in horror, the ministers of the Imperial Council gaped at the imposing, formidable man with silver hair and blinding golden eyes.

As the Empress and her guest stopped before the dais, Lord Jameson spoke up in a proud voice. “Her Majesty the Empress has come to endorse my candidate.”

Jameson looked towards Jovine and offered the floor to her.

Jovine tilted her chin up and stared into her husband’s livid face. For a moment, he swore he saw a spark of challenge in her exquisite eyes. “Your Majesty. My Lords," she softly greeted.

The room stilled, as if they were all holding their breaths.

"I bring to you an unmatched contender for Lord Jameson's position," Jovine continued.

Richard could barely breathe through the shocked rage.

A small smirk lifted the corner of her lips. "I bring to you...Grand Duke Amon vel Feyras.”

One name, and the Council Room erupted in commotion. One name, and a dark fury seared the Emperor’s throat.

In a chaos of flurry, rebuttals and dissent battled back and forth.

“Preposterous! The Grand Duke has never been allowed entry into the Court before!”

“You must reconsider, Your Majesty. Grand Duke Amon is a threat to the Throne!”

“Without an heir —”

“There is no precedence —”

“Your Majesty! Please —”

Richard didn’t dare break his stare from his fearless wife, who gazed back in cold reserve. “Everyone, out” he muttered hoarsely.

From the explosion of voices clashing, no one heard his unsteady command.

“EVERYONE, OUT!”

A fearful silence descended on the Council.

“Did you not hear me?” Richard gritted through his teeth. “You will all leave. NOW.”

The Council scattered in alarm, the murderous look in the Emperor’s eyes instilling a true sense of terror. But nothing turned the Emperor’s vision more red than when Amon vel Feyras bent to whisper into his wife’s ear. A trembling rage strangled his chest as Richard watched the bastard grasp her arm to pull her away with the crowd.

“Not you, Jovine,” the Emperor bit out. “You will stay.”