"This is not the time for petty grievances that you hold against the loyalist faction, nor do you hold the authority to strike at the loyalist faction. Their fealty belongs to the throne itself, not to the person sitting atop it. Push them too far, and replacing the occupant that is you also becomes a trivial matter."
Those had been the Supreme Elder's exact, unvarnished words.
Remembering them now, the Emperor's face turned an ugly shade of livid ash.
He was the Star Emperor—the sovereign lord of countless worlds! By all rights of empiers mandate, every star system, fleet, and mortal soul beneath the heavens of star empier ought to bend to his singular will. Yet here he was, cornered and dictated to by a mere frontier Marquis and the old bone of elders of his own imperial clan who were already half a step in there graves.
Where the hell is my absolute authority in this?
