The Captain of the Guard brought me a formal report. He stood with professional stiffness in my chambers, but I saw the flicker of grim satisfaction in his eyes.
"The Council of Elders has granted a full pardon to the prisoner, Nadim," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Invoked under the Civic Safety Act. Elder Ermias objected, but was overruled."
Nadim. The name sent a jolt through me. Dalia's brother. The boy who had sacrificed himself for a chance to save her. Joy, pure and potent, surged through me, so strong it stole my breath. He had survived. More than survived—he had won. He had faced the corrupt, broken system of our city and used its own forgotten laws to earn his freedom.
The warmth vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a familiar, chilling dread. Nadim was no longer an anonymous prisoner. He was a hero who had publicly shamed Elder Ermias, the King's creature on the Council. My father, and more terrifyingly, Kareem, would not let such an affront go unanswered. They would see his competence not as an asset, but as a threat.
Before I could fully process the new dangers circling Nadim, the Captain's expression hardened. "Your Highness, an urgent council has been called. A scout has returned from the eastern pass. You should hear this for yourself."
The air in the throne room was heavy, the silence broken only by the rustle of silk and the scout's ragged breathing. The scout knelt before the throne, his skin cracked and burned from the sun, the desert dust still clinging to his clothes. The Captain stood beside him, a silent pillar of support.
"Your Majesty," the Captain began, his voice clear and steady. "This scout has ridden for two days without rest. He reports a dust cloud on the horizon that is not a storm. It is an army."
My father, deep in conversation with the Guild Foreman over a set of blueprints, gestured impatiently without looking up. "Tribes," he muttered. "Always squabbling."
"No, Your Majesty," the Captain insisted, his voice hardening. "Not tribes. He was close enough to see their standards. The Eagle and Sun. It is a full Imperial Legion. Ten cohorts, marching in perfect columns. Heavy infantry, cavalry on the flanks, and a siege train. They are not raiding. They are invading. By his measure, they will be at our gates in less than a fortnight."
Kareem, lounging nearby, let out a contemptuous laugh. "The man is a coward, Father, seeing phantoms in the dust. The Legion is likely on maneuvers. To show fear would be to invite aggression."
"To ignore reality is to invite annihilation!" Akram countered, his voice sharp. "Maneuvers do not include a siege train, Kareem. They do not march ten cohorts to our border for a parade."
Kareem waved a dismissive hand. "They are reminding a provincial client-state of its place. A show of our own strength and unshakable confidence is the required response. Not this pathetic trembling."
Buoyed by Kareem's sycophancy, my father straightened, a beatific smile on his face. "Grandeur is the greatest defense," he announced to the room. "We will accelerate the construction of the monument. Divert the funds from the city walls and the soldiers' pay. Let the Empire see our glory and tremble."
The silence that followed was broken by the clatter of ceramic on stone. Akram, who had been enjoying a bowl of chilled figs, had shot to his feet, knocking the bowl to the floor.
"Father, they are not coming to admire your monument," he pleaded, his voice tight. "They are coming to collect a debt. We must send an envoy. Now. With every ounce of gold in the treasury to settle the accounts we have ignored. We must beg for the Emperor's mercy. Perhaps the commander will be kind and we can live"
He took a shuddering breath, his eyes wide with a horror that saw beyond the throne room. "If we do not, I have learned the histories from Elias. I know what happens. They will march us in iron collars down the Via Triumphus in Olympos. The crowds will throw filth, not flowers. They will force us to our knees on the cold marble before the Obsidian Throne, where the Emperor will look down on us not as kings, but as failures. This isn't about strength. It is about avoiding utter humiliation before we are executed."
The King looked at him with cold, heavy disappointment. "You sound as hysterical as your sister," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You have grown soft, Akram. Your pleasures have weakened you. Kareem understands true strength."
The color drained from Akram's face. He sank back onto the divan, his shoulders slumped. Kareem rose smoothly and walked to where the porcelain bowl lay shattered. He nudged a shard with the toe of his slipper, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"Such a vivid imagination, brother," Kareem said, his voice loud enough for the entire court to hear. "It seems you have already rehearsed your final performance. Do not worry. With your fine hair and delicate hands, I am sure the Emperor will find a use for you. Perhaps you can hold the basin while he washes the dust of conquest from his hands."
Akram flinched as if struck, his face burning with a bright red shame. He stared at the shattered pieces of his bowl on the floor, utterly defeated.
After the council was dismissed, I approached my father as he walked toward his private chambers. I kept my voice low, respectful. "Father, please. Akram's fear is not cowardice; it is sense. What good is a monument if the city it commemorates is a ruin? Mother loved this city, its people. She would not want to see it sacrificed for stone and gold."
He stopped and turned to me, his eyes clouded with a familiar, distant sorrow. For a moment, I thought I had reached him. But then his expression hardened, the sorrow freezing into irritation.
"You know nothing of what your mother would have wanted," he snapped. "You are a child playing at statecraft."
My control broke. "Am I?" I shot back, my voice shaking with a rage I could no longer contain. "Or are you a king so haunted by a my mother's memory that you would rather build a tomb for us all than rule?"
The slap was sharp, the sound echoing in the stone hall. The sting on my cheek was a hot, sharp reality, a final answer to a question I hadn't dared ask.
"You will not speak to me of your mother," he hissed, his face a mask of fury. "And you will not question matters of state. One more word, and I will have you confined to your quarters until this 'crisis' you imagine is over. You are a princess. Learn to act like one."
He stormed away, leaving me alone in the corridor. The hope that he could be reasoned with had been a fool's dream. The pain in my cheek cooled, replaced by a hard clarity. The slap had not been a punishment; it had been a release. It severed the last thread of filial duty that bound me. I was no longer a daughter trying to reason with her father. I was a citizen of a city at the brink of destruction, and its king was the greatest threat it faced. My family was beyond saving. The city was not.
My mind began to assess the pieces on the board. The Captain of the Guard, a man of honor. The Council of Elders, weak, but possessing the memory of law. And Nadim. The pardoned prisoner. The fire-tamer. A proven leader.
That night, feigning a desire to pray for the city's deliverance, I gained access to the antechamber of the Council Hall. It was a place of ceremony, but also of record. Along one wall, behind a heavy tapestry depicting the city's founding, was an alcove where the official codices were stored, bound in iron and leather—the city's legal bedrock. While the attending guard stood dutifully by the main door, I slipped behind the tapestry. My hands, slick with sweat, traced the worn spines. I was searching for the law Nadim had used, the _Civic Safety Act_.
I found it near the bottom of the stack, heavy and smelling of dust and time. I unrolled the stiff vellum under the sliver of light from the corridor. My eyes scanned past the article on pardons, searching for something more. And then I saw it. A section detailing the duties of the Council in a time of crisis. It stated that if a monarch was deemed "incapacitated" and thus unable to ensure the safety of the state, the Council of Elders could, by a unanimous vote, temporarily assume executive authority.
The law did not define "incapacitated." But I would. A king who ignored an invading army to build a statue was not merely foolish; he was a danger to every citizen. I had the law. I had the evidence of his madness. What I lacked was the political will to make the Council act, and a leader the people would follow. The Elders feared the King, but the people feared the Legion more. They needed a symbol of competence to rally behind.
There was only one man in the city who fit that description. My father saw him as a thief who had shamed the throne. I saw him as the key to the city's survival. My salvation, I now realized, lay not in the palace, but in the prison.