PART V: The Empress's Demand
Nex woke to the sound of whispers just outside his chamber doors.
He coughed—loud enough to be heard, a quiet reminder that he was awake. The whispers stopped. When he opened the door, the hallway was empty.
Unbothered, he dressed and continued to his morning lessons.
First came poetry with Lucy: reading, writing, reciting. Then came spearmanship with Sarah. At Six years old, Nex already moved like someone far older—quick with the bow, sharp with a blade.
It seemed like any other day.
Until a message arrived.
A summons from Her Majesty the Empress, Alica Garrison—first wife of Emperor Aurelian, and a close friend of Lucy.
On the way to her chambers, Nex turned to the servant walking beside him.
"Do you know why the Empress wants to see me?"
The man scoffed and ignored him.
When they arrived, the servant pushed open the doors and announced, "Nex, son of Aurora."
Nex didn't flinch. He was used to the slight.
But the Empress wasn't.
She raised her voice before the servant could leave. "Kneel," she said, "and apologize to Prince Nex."
The servant gave a dry chuckle—until he saw her face.
"You dare disrespect royalty?" Her voice turned cold as winter stone. "You—who don't even know your father? Raised from the gutters, fed from our kitchens, clothed in imperial silk—do you now think yourself so elevated that you may strip a prince of his title?"
The servant collapsed to his knees. "Forgive me, Your Majesty! I only followed the Emperor's instruction—I meant no disrespect!"
The Empress's jaw clenched. She said nothing more, knowing full well that the Emperor cared less about Nex than he even cared about her.
"Go," she said finally. "And do not forget again."
She gestured for Nex to sit beside her. Offered him pastry, tea, even jokingly extended a cigarette. He declined each with polite distance.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"No need," she replied coolly. "I only did what an empress must do when royalty is disrespected by a servant."
Then, her tone shifted—quietly bitter.
"But none of this is your fault. It's his. The man who elevates gutter-born servants to stand beside nobles. Your father invites chaos into his house, then wonders why order crumbles."
Nex, cautious of traps, remained silent.
After a long pause, she spoke again. "I called you here for a reason."
He straightened. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"I want you to skip the upcoming sparring match with Crown Prince Damon."
Nex blinked. "Why? I've been training for it. I want to show Father—"
"That's precisely the problem," she snapped, before softening. "This match isn't about you. It's about Damon."
She rose and walked toward the window, her voice lower now, shaded with urgency.
"Your father will be watching. So will the nobles. And right now, they're whispering that Damon should be passed over—that the twins are more suited to rule."
Nex looked up, stunned.
She continued: "They say Damon is too old to change. That his dissolute days, his indolence, his violent years can't be undone. That the Emperor abandoned him long ago. And he did."
She turned to face Nex fully now. "But recently... he's changed. And your father, for once, wants to believe in him again."
Her eyes narrowed. "If Damon falters in that match, the court will lose faith for good. If he bruises you—he looks like a brute. If he beats you easily—they'll say he proved nothing, just crushed a 'cursed' child."
Nex nodded slowly, bitterly. "So either way, he loses."
"Yes," she said. "But if you don't appear at all, if you're ill, the match becomes Damon versus the twins—worthy opponents, close in age. And if he defeats them, he'll rise in the eyes of the court. As he must."
Nex swallowed hard. "So you want him to win… so he can be Emperor."
Her jaw tightened. "Yes. Damon is my son. And the only child I have." She paused, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I bore a prince, not a weapon. But in this palace, they don't know the difference."
She walked past him, voice laced with steel. "If he fails, I lose everything. My position, my future. My line dies out with me, replaced by those twins, glutted on power and cruelty. You've seen what they are."
She did not look at Nex after saying it. The words had tasted bitter—more cruel than she'd intended.
But kindness had no place here. If Damon failed, so would she.
And failure was something an Empress could never afford. Not even to protect a child who had done nothing to deserve this game.
The silence stretched between them like a blade's edge. Nex felt the weight of her desperation, the careful calculation behind her request. In this moment, he understood something fundamental about the palace—everyone was fighting for survival, even the Empress.
"I understand, Your Majesty," Nex said finally, barely above a whisper. "I will claim illness. Lucy and Sarah will vouch for me. Damon will fight the twins alone."
The Empress finally exhaled, and for the first time in their conversation, her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Good. I hope your chance comes soon, young prince."
"As do I," Nex murmured.
Back in his room, Nex shut the door gently—then collapsed onto the bed, face buried in his arms, tears soaking the sheets. He made no sound.
The weight of it all pressed down on him: another opportunity sacrificed, another moment where he couldn't prove himself. The careful politics, the maneuvering, the constant reminder that his place in this world was conditional, precarious.
A soft knock came minutes later.
"My prince?" Lucy's voice, warm and worried. "My lovely prince, are you there?"
He opened the door before her second knock landed. His eyes were rimmed red. Without a word, he clutched her dress like a lifeline.
"Oh, my dear," she whispered, folding him into her arms.
He buried his face in her lap. Her fingers wove through his hair, steady and slow.
"Why," he choked out, "why am I not allowed to fight? Why won't Father care for me?"
Lucy held his gaze with a tired, kind smile. "He does care," she whispered. "He just doesn't know how to show it. He appointed me to you, didn't he? That matters."
She held him like that for a long while, letting his breathing steady, letting the storm pass. In her arms, he felt something he rarely experienced in the palace—safety, unconditional acceptance.
From the window above them, a crow perched silently on the tallest tower, black wings folded like secrets.
The night was not yet done with them.
Hours passed.
Then came the clash of steel on steel, sharp and rhythmic—three blades, moving in sequence.
Nex sat upright. From his window, he watched the sparring courtyard below.
Damon vs. the twins.
He leaned closer, analyzing every motion: footwork, angles, timing. He didn't blink.
"Do you think you could beat them?"
The voice came from the shadows.
Sarah stepped into the candlelight—her long white hair spilling loose like feathers, glowing faintly in the dusk. Her honey-colored eyes, sharp and clever like a fox's, gleamed with a quiet intensity.
"I mean all three," she said. "Damon, Alexander, Abigail. One-on-one. Could you win?"
Nex didn't answer right away. Then he nodded, slowly.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Impossible. Not yet."
"I know," Nex said. "But you asked if I think I could. You never asked when."
Her smirk widened. "Clever. So—when? While they're sleeping?"
He chuckled, eyes still on the courtyard.
Down below, Damon twisted the twins' blades together, forcing them to hesitate. As the twins fumbled to separate their blades, Damon raised his sword—just high enough to strike Alexander's exposed shoulder.
But he paused.
Just for a second.
Long enough for the boy to flinch, bracing for pain.
And instead, Damon kicked him back—not hard, just enough to reset the stance. Then continued the match without a word.
Nex's eyes narrowed. Damon could have ended it right there—made a spectacle of it. But he didn't.
Damon had fought a hundred matches in that courtyard, most of them forgettable. But when he raised his sword, something shifted. He looked up—and saw him. The crow-child, the quiet prince, eyes sharp like glass. Watching.
Damon hesitated. He didn't know why. Maybe guilt. Maybe pride. Maybe something else entirely.
Perhaps he truly has changed.
Nex's gaze shifted to the balcony above—where Emperor Aurelian stood.
Others saw a stoic mask. Nex saw more.
When Alexander nearly struck Damon, the emperor's jaw tightened. When Damon stumbled, Aurelian's fists clenched—white-knuckled behind his back. And when Damon finally disarmed both twins with a final flourish, the emperor exhaled, shoulders relaxing.
Nex saw the ghost of a smile flicker—and vanish.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. His father did care. Not just about Damon, but about all of them. Except for him.
Where he showed worry about Damon and even happiness about the twins losing he showed no emotion at all towards Nex.
"Six years," Nex whispered.
Sarah turned to him. "What?"
"I'll beat them. All of them. In six years."
She studied him for a long moment. She had watched his siblings at his age. Damon had been cruel and careless. The twins—violent but undisciplined. None of them had possessed this quiet intensity, this methodical patience.
He might be right.
"What are you watching so intently?" she asked.
"Father," Nex replied, eyes locked on the balcony.
Sarah ruffled his hair. "You see too much for your own good."
She turned to leave as the courtyard erupted in applause. Damon stood victorious, breathing hard but triumphant.
Among the clapping nobles stood Alica, the Empress.
She looked up toward Nex's window—met his gaze. And for a moment, something in her expression shifted. Not gratitude, exactly. Something more complex. Recognition, perhaps. Or warning.
But when Damon turned for her attention, she looked away to smile at her son.
When she looked back, the window was empty.
Nex had already withdrawn, already sketching out Damon's and the twins' footwork from memory. In the quiet of his room, he moved in silence—recreating the fight, piece by piece.
The next battle had already begun.
Not with sword or blood.
But with memory.
And time.
And the patient cultivation of power that would one day be his to wield.