In a small room of the palace, a man—bearded and of imposing stature—was kneeling before another of noble bearing, with long silver hair and pointed ears, who sat carelessly in an armchair.

  “Your Majesty, I sincerely regret that the Prince did not answer our call. I am prepared to take full responsibility for this failure and to suffer the consequences,” the man said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the floor.

  The Emperor regarded him with a severe expression for long minutes, without uttering a word.

  “Captain,” he finally said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Thou art in error.”

  The man lifted his head, startled.

  “How? Could you have seen him?”

  “I did not behold him—no—nor did I perceive his presence. Yet another did so in my stead.”

  “I… I fear I do not understand…” the Captain replied hesitantly.

  “Something appears to have been deeply troubling at the close of the ceremony,” the Emperor answered. “Something that she alone could have perceived. He came, of that I am certain; yet he found a means to render himself wholly unseen, even to me.”

  Incredulous, the man’s eyes widened at this revelation.

  “Your Majesty, why did you not give the order to act? We might surely have been able to find him…”

  The Emperor closed his eyes, thoughtful.

  “It was not the hour to act. To move without certainty, and before so many eyes, would have served only to rouse suspicion or sow panic. Such is the truth, and thou hast naught to reproach thyself for.”

  Silence settled between them. Then he continued, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

  “It would seem he hath advanced. I look forward to judging it with mine own eyes. This solitary journey shall have profited him greatly.”

  He paused, then concluded,

  “Captain, thou didst not fail. Moreover, I have further need of thee. Keep watch over my wife. Forces stir beyond these walls, and it would ill please me should harm befall her. Thou mayest withdraw now.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Very well, Your Majesty. I thank you for the trust you place in me. I will not disappoint you,” replied the man-at-arms, his fist pressed against his heart.

  He rose, turned on his heel, and left the room, leaving the Emperor—smiling—lost in thought about the future.

  ???

  In the capital, the celebrations were in full swing. News of the Emperor’s wedding had delighted the common people, even those who had not attended it. Festivities had been organized for the occasion and were expected to last for days, in honor of His Endless Majesty and his splendid wife.

  According to rumor, the reigning Emperor was the very same man who had founded the Empire centuries earlier. History books might have preserved some record of it, but within living memory, no one recalled such an event ever having taken place.

  Had the Emperor finally yielded to a matter of the heart, or had he sought the ideal match for centuries? No one knew his motivations, but it escaped no one that such a change could not be insignificant.

  And while it lent a touch of humanity to a man regarded as a divinity, it also allowed his enemies to envision new ways of reaching him: a tiny breach in the system.

  Of course, not everyone favored the centralization of monarchic power—especially knowing that the same man had ruled it with an iron hand for over six hundred years.

  He, who had lived in his own world for so long, had never seemed so vulnerable to his opponents.

  ???

  That day, in the streets, a figure made his way through alleyways and revelers, his steps so agile that they made no sound. Beneath his cloak took shape the features of a very young man, whose pale skin and silver hair gave him an almost ghostly presence. He was the very image of the Emperor, whose features were so distinctive that they left no room for doubt.

  Yet he seemed not to care. All who laid eyes on him forgot him at once, his image fading from their minds as though he had never existed. He left no trace of his passage.

  The young man, now seventeen years of age, had heard the announcement of the marriage three months prior. The Emperor intended to wed his mother, Cerena—who was, in truth, his prisoner. He had swiftly understood that it was nothing more than a staging meant to lure him into the lion’s den, a barely veiled trap.

  Since the incident in the village he had been unable to prevent, he had been fleeing his own powerlessness. He had never forgiven himself for having hurt his little sister, nor for failing to protect his mother, who had been forcibly brought back to the palace—the place she feared more than anything in the world.

  He had learned the hard way that the Emperor was always several moves ahead. Each time he had confronted him, he had failed miserably, and it haunted him day and night. Leaving had been the only answer he could find, though he had no certainty that it would prove of any use.

  He had already been traveling alone for fifteen months. Despite the danger, he could not bring himself to ignore the wedding ceremony and chose to attend it.

  Seeing his mother again had been both a relief and a deep heartbreak. The peace and happiness she had struggled so hard to find in the village had vanished, the marriage being nothing more than a humiliating ritual meant to provoke him.

  He had so wished to oppose this farce and prevent the union. But he was held back by his own guilt and his fear of repeating the mistakes of the past.

  Convinced that his mother resented him just as deeply, he had feared meeting her gaze during the ceremony. And so, refusing to abandon her to her fate, he nonetheless decided, before leaving once more, to send a signal that only she could recognize—subtly revealing his presence without betraying his anonymity.

  He would surely return one day, when he felt ready.