The docking bay in the Imperial capital looked like a cathedral made of steel and ambition. As the Nightshade's engines wound down. I could see Admiral Korrath waiting with what looked like half the Imperial Guard.
His posture screamed barely contained fury mixed with military discipline—the kind of stance that said he'd been practicing his lecture for hours.
"Here we go," I whispered to Meus, who looked prepared for whatever was about to happen.
I stepped off the ship with all the arrogance a Crown Prince should have.
Admiral Korrath stepped forward immediately, his face a masterpiece of controlled irritation. Forty years of military service, thirty years of dealing with Imperial politics, and somehow he still hadn't learned to hide his emotions better.
"Lord Raven," he said, each word precise as a laser strike. "The Emperor has been... concerned by your absence."
The way he said 'concerned' made it clear he meant 'absolutely fucking livid.'
Hell, Korrath looked like he wanted to space me personally. In the game, he'd always been a pain-in-the-ass NPC who gave tedious escort missions. But here? Here he was a genuine threat with decades of experience and a direct line to Daddy Dearest. Good thing I had the ultimate cheat code—being the Emperor's only heir.
"Has he?" I replied, letting Raven's natural arrogance bleed into my voice. "I've been handling Imperial business. Successfully, I might add."
"Taking unauthorized action in neutral space without Imperial sanction—" Korrath began, but I cut him off with a gesture that would have gotten anyone else shot on sight.
"Admiral, are you questioning my judgment?"
The docking bay went dead silent. Every soldier, every technician, every pilot suddenly found somewhere else to look. This was the moment—defer to military protocol, or establish dominance like the Crown Prince I was supposed to be.
Behind me, I felt Meus tense. She knew the old Raven would have drawn steel by now, probably killed someone to make a point. This Raven was playing a different game—still dangerous, but surgical rather than brutal.
"I conquered an entire system while you were filing reports," I continued. "The Grokkies now fly Imperial colors and pay Imperial taxes. Perhaps we should discuss who's been more productive with their time."
Korrath's hand moved to his ceremonial blade—not drawing, just reminding everyone he had one. Around us, the Imperial Guard shifted subtly, caught between two authorities.
"My lord," Korrath said carefully, "the Emperor specifically ordered—"
"The Emperor," I interrupted, letting my voice carry to every guard present, "values results. I delivered a system. What have you delivered lately, Admiral? Besides paperwork?"
Someone in the Guard actually snickered before catching themselves. Korrath's face went from red to purple.
I pulled up a holographic display from my wrist comm, the numbers glowing between us. "The Grokkies protectorate will generate five hundred million credits annually in trade tariffs alone. Their military serves as our forward base for three sectors. Tell me, Admiral—is that worth a missed meeting?"
The data was undeniable. Profitable. Exactly what the Empire needed.
Korrath's jaw worked like he was chewing glass. "The protocols exist for a reason—"
"To prevent failure," I finished. "I didn't fail. Next objection?"
For a moment, I thought he might actually draw his blade. The tension in the bay could have been cut with a molecular disruptor. Then, finally, his training won out.
"The proper forms must be observed," he said through gritted teeth, clearly switching tactics. "Your father expects—"
"My father expects victory," I countered. "Which I delivered. Unless you'd prefer to explain to him why you're delaying my report over bureaucratic tantrum?"
That hit home. Korrath's expression cycled through several interesting colors before settling on resigned fury.
"The Emperor is waiting, my lord," he said finally, stepping aside with military precision. "He's... eager to hear about your initiative."
"Then let's not keep him waiting," I said, striding past the Admiral like he was furniture.
As we walked through corridors lined with Imperial banners and weapons that could level cities, Meus fell into step beside me. She moved in perfect formation, checking corners despite being in the heart of Imperial power.
"Nicely done," she murmured, relief barely hidden in her voice.
"Just getting started," I replied, and meant it.
The throne room doors loomed ahead—twenty feet of reinforced durasteel decorated with the Imperial seal. Beyond those doors lay my father, the man they called "the one death fears," and apparently a princess who'd decided to show up early for our wedding negotiations.
No pressure at all.
"ENTER."
The single word hit us like a shockwave before the doors even opened. When the Emperor spoke, reality itself seemed to pay attention. The massive portals swung inward with pneumatic precision, revealing the heart of Imperial power.
But my attention wasn't on the Emperor sitting in judgment on his obsidian throne, or the assembled court watching like vultures circling fresh meat.
It was on her.
The Zephyrian Princess stood beside my father's throne like she belonged there—and that should have been my first warning.
She wasn't just beautiful, though she was that too. Tall, with an hourglass figure that her deep blue diplomatic gown emphasized rather than hid. The fabric looked painted on, flowing over generous curves that belonged in a museum dedicated to genetic excellence. But it was her stance that caught my attention—weight perfectly balanced, hand resting near what looked like an ornamental fan but held like a weapon.
This woman could fight. And from the way she smiled when our eyes met—like a cat spotting a particularly interesting mouse—she knew I knew it.
"Finally," she said, and made that one word sound like foreplay and threat assessment combined.
Fuck, I thought. This complicates everything.
"My son," the Emperor said, and somehow managed to make it sound like both greeting and death threat. "How good of you to finally join us."
He didn't move from his throne. My father was tall, broad-shouldered, with the same red eyes I now wore and an aura of contained violence that made the air itself feel heavier.
I'd faced him down in the game dozens of times, but this was different. This was real.
"Father," I replied with a slight bow. "I came as soon as I finished securing our new protectorate."
"Ah yes." His voice carried across the throne room like winter wind. "The Grokkies situation. Tell me, son—did I give you permission to conduct independent military operations?"
Every courtier in the room leaned forward slightly. This was the kind of Imperial family drama that could end with executions or promotions, depending on how it played out.
"You taught me to show initiative," I replied, letting steel enter my voice. "The opportunity presented itself. I took it."
The Princess stepped forward before my father could respond, breaking protocol with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she made her own rules.
"So you're the infamous Lord Raven," she said. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "I don't like being avoided."
I caught Meus shifting position behind me, maintaining line of sight between the Princess and me. Her hand rested near her sidearm—professional protection or personal interest?
"Your Highness," I said, offering another slight bow. "Forgive me. Duty called."
"Oh, I'm sure it did." She moved closer, and every step was calculated to draw attention to how that dress moved with her. "I hear you've been conquering systems in your spare time. How... productive of you."
"Just keeping busy," I replied. "I hate being idle."
"Wonderful." Her smile turned predatory. "I have so many ideas about how to keep you... occupied."
The way she said it made several courtiers shift uncomfortably. This woman was dangerous in ways I hadn't expected.
I was starting to like her already.
"ENOUGH." The Emperor's voice cut through our exchange. "We have business to discuss. The wedding arrangements—"
"Can wait," I interrupted, and the entire court held its breath.
My father's eyes narrowed to red slits. "Excuse me?"
This was it. The moment where I either established myself as Crown Prince material or got myself exiled to the Outer Rim. Time to go all in.
"The Grokkies conquest changes our strategic position," I said, my voice carrying across the silent throne room. "Three major hyperspace routes now under Imperial control. New mining rights. A tributary system that will pay for itself within two years."
I gestured toward the Princess, trying not to notice how the movement made her dress shift in interesting ways.
"Perhaps Her Highness would like to hear about the Empire's expanding power before we discuss... personal arrangements."
The Princess's eyebrows rose, and for a moment, something like genuine interest flickered in her eyes.
"Actually," she said, "I would. Very much."
The Emperor leaned back in his throne, and I caught the ghost of what might have been approval in his expression.
"Very well," he said finally. "Tell us about your conquest, my son. Leave nothing out."
As I began to speak, describing the tactical brilliance of the Grokkies campaign, I noticed three things:
First, the Princess was listening with the kind of attention that suggested she understood military strategy better than most of my father's generals.
Second, Meus was watching both of us with growing tension, her professional mask starting to crack around the edges.
Third, every time I emphasized a particularly clever tactical decision, the palace's lighting systems flickered slightly in response.
Whatever was happening to me, it was getting stronger.
And I still had no idea what it meant.
But one thing was becoming crystal clear—my simple plan to avoid an arranged marriage and enjoy my new life as a galactic prince was about to get a lot more complicated.
The Princess was smart, dangerous, and apparently as interested in power as she was in whatever physical assets had earned me my reputation. Meus was getting jealous in ways that could turn professional very quickly. And my father was watching all of it with the patience of a spider who'd already caught his prey.
Time to see if this gamer could handle playing against the galaxy's best.
Game on.
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