Aaron stood on the dais of the Imperial Throne Room.
The blood of the old emperor was barely dry on the stones beneath the throne.
As the newly declared Regent, his first court was a test.
The air was thick with fear and ambition.
Every noble and minister watched him, their faces a mix of terror and opportunity.
Duke Valerius, a man whose family had served the empire for generations, stepped forward.
He was large, with a face full of fading authority.
"Lord Regent," he began, his voice trying for strength but trembling slightly. "The laws of succession are clear. A mage cannot simply claim the throne. By what right do you stand there?"
Silence fell upon the room.
All eyes shifted from the Duke to Aaron.
They expected an argument, a political debate, or perhaps an order for guards to seize the man.
Aaron just watched him, his expression unreadable.
He let the Duke's challenge hang in the air for a moment.
Then, he lifted a single hand.
He didn't shout or make a grand speech. He whispered a single word of power, a syllable from a language dead for a thousand years.
A faint, grey mist seemed to pull itself from the Duke's body.
Valerius's eyes went wide, not with anger, but with pure, animal terror.
He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
His body simply folded, collapsing to the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
His shell was empty.
The nobles gasped. A few took a step back.
The chilling silence that followed was heavier than any shout.
This was the brutal reality of power Aaron knew so well.
This was his law.
Later that evening, Aaron sat in the emperor's former office.
The room was vast and filled with artifacts of conquest, but it felt cold.
He was reviewing imperial ledgers when a soft knock came at the door.
Before he could answer, it opened.
Empress Isabella entered.
She was a vision in dark silk and shadows, her beauty a weapon she had wielded for decades.
She moved with a liquid grace, closing the door softly behind her.
"Lord Regent," she purred, her voice a low caress.
She glided across the room, the scent of night-blooming jasmine following her.
"The Empire is in your hands. A heavy burden for one man."
She stopped beside his desk, her hip brushing against the carved wood.
"But there are secrets even the emperor did not know. Secrets I would be… happy to share."
Isabella's body swayed closer.
From a hidden tray, she produced a bottle of dark wine and two crystal glasses.
She poured a glass, her movements slow and deliberate.
She offered it to him, her fingers brushing his as he took it.
Aaron felt nothing. No desire, no intrigue.
He only felt the cold calculus of a predator watching its prey.
He saw her play for what it was: a probe, an attempt to find a weakness, a way to control him.
This was a familiar dance.
He'd seen it in countless lives, just with a different partner.
He watched her over the rim of the glass but didn't drink.
A thin, dangerous smile touched his lips.
He set the glass down on the desk with a soft click.
"Empress," he said, his voice quiet but carrying absolute authority.
"Your secrets are now my property. As are you."