Chapter 114: Then What?

Chapter 114: Chapter 114: Then What?

The door closed behind Adrian.

Silence followed.

For several moments, the Emperor remained exactly where he was.

Seated behind his desk.

Hands folded.

Eyes resting upon the closed door.

As though he could still see his son standing there.

The room felt strangely empty.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

The conversation lingered.

The words lingered.

The expression on Adrian’s face lingered most of all.

I don’t want to let her go.

The Emperor exhaled slowly.

Then leaned back into his chair.

Outside the windows, the capital continued its endless motion.

Carriages crossed busy streets.

Merchants filled market squares.

Officials hurried between ministries.

The Empire moved forward.

Unconcerned with the private disasters of its rulers.

The Emperor usually appreciated that.

Today he found it irritating.

His gaze drifted toward the stack of reports awaiting his attention.

Tax assessments.

Trade projections.

Military correspondence.

He reached for one.

Opened it.

Read three lines.

Then set it aside.

His thoughts immediately returned to Adrian.

Annoying.

Entirely predictable.

But annoying nonetheless.

The Emperor rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Another man.

Even now, the thought irritated him.

Not as Emperor.

As father.

Another man.

The absurdity of it refused to diminish.

Marian Valmort had rejected his son.

The sentence sounded ridiculous every time he thought it.

Not because Marian lacked the right.

She possessed that right as much as any person.

But because Adrian—

The Emperor’s gaze drifted toward the window.

Adrian was handsome.

Painfully so.

Not merely attractive.

The sort of appearance artists enjoyed painting and mothers enjoyed bragging about.

He was intelligent.

Disciplined.

Capable.

Patient.

A skilled swordsman.

A skilled statesman.

A future Emperor whose qualifications had been apparent since childhood.

The Emperor had spent twenty-one years shaping him.

Teaching him.

Preparing him.

And now they had somehow arrived at a situation where a young woman had looked at all of that and said no.

The realization remained vaguely offensive.

The Emperor could admit that now.

In private.

Not because Adrian was Crown Prince.

Because Adrian was his son.

A father was permitted a certain amount of irrational indignation.

Within reason.

The Emperor intended to enjoy his for another minute or two.

Then he would become reasonable again.

Unfortunately, reason returned rather quickly.

It usually did.

Marian had not acted maliciously.

That was the problem.

Life became much easier when someone was clearly at fault.

If Marian had betrayed Adrian intentionally—

Simple.

If Cassian had acted dishonorably—

Simpler.

If Duke Valmort had attempted political manipulation—

Simplest of all.

Instead, every person involved possessed motivations he could understand.

Which made everything infinitely worse.

The Emperor rose from his chair.

Crossed the room.

Stopped beside the window.

The city stretched endlessly below.

His reflection stared back at him from the glass.

Older than it had been twenty years ago.

Wiser, perhaps.

More tired, certainly.

He folded his hands behind his back.

Then began examining possibilities.

The way he examined every problem.

One solution at a time.

Deny the request.

A straightforward option.

Entirely legal.

Entirely defensible.

The engagement remained valid.

No laws required its dissolution.

The court would support the decision.

Most nobles would support the decision.

The bureaucracy would support the decision.

Even public opinion would likely support the decision.

Simple.

The Emperor stared out at the city.

Then what?

The question arrived immediately.

Annoyingly.

Persistent.

Then what?

Marian remained unwilling.

Adrian remained unhappy.

Cassian remained involved.

The problem remained.

Only hidden beneath paperwork.

The Emperor dismissed the option.

Next.

Pressure Duke Valmort.

Also possible.

The Duke’s position was strong.

Not invincible.

No noble was.

The Emperor possessed enough influence to make life very unpleasant for any man in the Empire.

Including Duke Valmort.

The thought lasted approximately five seconds.

Then what?

Again.

Always the same question.

The Duke might bend.

He might even yield.

The Emperor doubted it.

But perhaps.

Then what?

Would Marian suddenly become willing?

Would Adrian suddenly become happy?

Would resentment disappear?

No.

The Emperor dismissed the option.

Next.

Delay.

The traditional solution.

When rulers disliked a problem, they often postponed it.

A remarkably popular strategy.

Occasionally effective.

Usually not.

Months could pass.

Years if necessary.

The request could disappear into committees and procedures.

An administrative graveyard.

The Empire possessed many.

The Emperor almost laughed.

Then what?

Marian waited.

Adrian waited.

Cassian waited.

Everyone suffered.

Nothing changed.

Another useless solution.

Discarded.

The Emperor sighed.

The problem was becoming irritatingly familiar.

Every path led to the same place.

Every answer produced another question.

Then what?

Then what?

Then what?

The words echoed through his thoughts.

A ruler could command actions.

Not hearts.

A lesson every sovereign eventually learned.

Some simply learned it more painfully than others.

His thoughts drifted toward Cassian.

An entirely separate problem.

And perhaps the most inconvenient one.

The Emperor returned to his desk.

Sat down.

Stared at nothing.

Cassian.

Of all people.

Cassian.

His nephew.

His late brother’s son.

The irony bordered on cruelty.

The Emperor leaned back.

Remembering.

Not his nephew.

His brother.

The resemblance appeared more often than Cassian probably realized.

Particularly when he was determined.

Particularly when he believed himself right.

His brother had possessed that same look.

The same infuriating certainty.

The Emperor smiled despite himself.

A brief smile.

Gone almost immediately.

His brother would have found this situation hilarious.

Until he realized his own son was involved.

At which point hilarity would have become outrage.

Family had always complicated objectivity.

The Emperor knew this better than most.

Cassian.

The problem with Cassian was simple.

He was a good man.

An honorable man.

A capable man.

A loyal man.

It would have been far easier if he were a villain.

Villains simplified things.

One could punish villains.

Remove villains.

Condemn villains.

Cassian stubbornly refused to be one.

The Emperor had watched him grow.

Had watched him mature.

Had watched him shoulder responsibilities with far more grace than most men twice his age.

He trusted him.

Respected him.

Which was deeply inconvenient under the circumstances.

The Emperor drummed his fingers lightly against the desk.

Suppose he transferred Cassian.

A legitimate option.

Several provinces could benefit from competent administration.

Several military positions required trustworthy leadership.

Cassian could disappear from the capital tomorrow if the Emperor wished it.

The authority existed.

The justification existed.

The opportunity existed.

The Emperor considered it carefully.

Then dismissed it.

Because once again—

Then what?

The question returned.

Relentless.

Suppose Cassian left.

Would Marian forget him?

No.

Would Adrian suddenly recover?

Unlikely.

Would the feelings disappear merely because distance existed?

The Emperor had lived too long to believe such nonsense.

Distance sometimes weakened affection.

Sometimes strengthened it.

Human beings possessed an astonishing ability to complicate matters.

No.

Removing Cassian solved nothing.

It merely moved the problem elsewhere.

The Emperor rose once more.

This time he did not sit again.

Because somewhere between the first solution and the fifth, he had arrived at the answer.

Not the final answer.

The next answer.

The only answer available.

The audience.

It was time.

No more assumptions.

No more speculation.

No more reports from intermediaries.

He wanted to hear Duke Valmort himself.

The Emperor crossed the room and rang the bell.

The response was immediate.

The Chamberlain entered moments later.

Silent.

Efficient.

As always.

"Your Majesty."

The Emperor did not waste time.

"Inform Duke Valmort that his audience has been granted."

The Chamberlain bowed.

No surprise crossed his face.

Years of service had taught him discretion.

"At once, Your Majesty."

The Emperor nodded.

The Chamberlain withdrew.

The door closed behind him.

Silence returned.

The Emperor walked back to the window.

The city remained unchanged.

Busy.

Alive.

Unconcerned.

Somewhere beyond those streets sat Duke Valmort.

Preparing his arguments.

Somewhere else sat Marian.

Likely unaware of the conversation that had taken place today.

Somewhere else stood Cassian.

And somewhere within the palace, Adrian waited.

The Emperor looked out over all of them.

Then sighed.

Long.

Slow.

Resigned.

Because one conclusion had become painfully obvious.

This was not going to end cleanly.

Someone would lose.

Someone would suffer.

Possibly everyone.

And for perhaps the first time since returning to the capital, the Emperor found himself wishing this were a political problem.

Political problems were simple.

People were not.

The audience had been granted.

The next move had been made.

Now all that remained was to discover how much damage the future intended to inflict before this was over.