Chapter 128: His Nephew

Chapter 128: Chapter 128: His Nephew

The summons arrived two days later.

Not unexpected.

Not unwelcome.

Merely inevitable.

Cassian stared at the Imperial seal for several moments before breaking it.

The contents were brief.

As Imperial summonses often were.

No explanation.

No elaboration.

No indication of purpose.

Only a time.

A date.

And an instruction to appear before the Emperor.

For a long moment, Cassian simply looked at the letter.

Then folded it carefully.

And set it aside.

His steward, who had been hovering nearby with all the subtlety of an anxious relative, finally spoke.

"Bad news, my lord?"

Cassian considered.

"No."

A pause.

"Just overdue."

The steward frowned.

That answer explained nothing.

Unfortunately, it was also the truth.

Because this conversation should have happened weeks ago.

Perhaps months ago.

Perhaps the moment everything began.

Instead it had been postponed.

Delayed.

Ignored.

Not through cowardice.

Not entirely.

But through uncertainty.

Through hesitation.

Through the stubborn hope that someone else might solve the problem first.

Now there was no one left.

The Emperor had made his decision.

The proceedings had begun.

The Empire was moving.

Which left only one thing remaining.

A conversation that should have happened long ago.

--

Cassian expected an Emperor.

Instead he found his uncle.

Which was considerably worse.

The audience chamber had been dismissed.

No ministers.

No advisors.

No secretaries.

No witnesses.

Just the Emperor.

Waiting.

Alone.

Cassian bowed.

Properly.

Respectfully.

"Your Majesty."

The Emperor stared at him.

For a very long moment.

Long enough to become uncomfortable.

Long enough to become deliberate.

Then:

"You have caused me an extraordinary amount of trouble."

Cassian blinked.

The Emperor pointed toward a chair.

"Sit."

The tone suggested it was not a request.

Cassian obeyed.

For several moments, neither spoke.

The Emperor simply continued staring.

As though trying to decide whether to be annoyed, angry, or disappointed.

Eventually he settled on all three.

"Do you know what your greatest mistake was?"

Cassian considered.

Briefly.

"There are several candidates."

To his immense surprise, the Emperor laughed.

Once.

Against his will.

"At least you’re aware of it."

The amusement disappeared almost immediately.

"You should have spoken to me."

The words landed heavily.

Cassian immediately understood.

Not the Emperor.

His uncle.

"You knew."

The Emperor folded his arms.

"You knew exactly what this would become."

Another pause.

"You knew who Adrian was."

Another.

"You knew who I was."

The room grew quiet.

Cassian lowered his gaze briefly.

"Yes."

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed.

"Yet you said nothing."

There was no answer to that.

At least not an easy one.

Because it was true.

Cassian had spoken to Marian.

To Duke Valmort.

To practically everyone who mattered.

Except the one man who could have ended the matter immediately.

His uncle.

The Emperor leaned back.

"If you had been anyone else..."

The sentence stopped.

For a moment, something dangerous crossed his expression.

Then:

"If you had been anyone else, this conversation would be much less pleasant."

Cassian believed him instantly.

Which was perhaps why he said:

"I know."

The Emperor snorted.

"Do you?"

Then suddenly:

"Why didn’t you come to me?"

The question was sharp.

Direct.

Not imperial.

Personal.

Cassian blinked.

Of all the questions he expected, that one was not among them.

The Emperor continued.

"You spoke to Valmort."

"You spoke to Marian."

"You waited."

"You suffered."

His gaze sharpened.

"And you watched this become a disaster."

Silence.

"So why didn’t you come to me?"

For several moments Cassian said nothing.

Because the answer was embarrassingly inadequate.

And because he had asked himself the same question more than once.

Finally:

"Because I didn’t have the right."

The Emperor stared.

"You are my nephew."

"Exactly."

The answer seemed to irritate him further.

Cassian exhaled quietly.

"If I had come to you..."

He stopped.

Gathered the thought.

"What would I have said?"

The Emperor remained silent.

Cassian continued.

"That I loved the woman promised to Adrian?"

A pause.

"That I wanted consideration before she had even chosen me?"

Another.

"That I wished you to place me above your son?"

The room became very still.

Because that was the heart of it.

Cassian had never believed he possessed that right.

Not as a duke.

Not as a nephew.

Not as a man in love.

The Emperor watched him carefully.

Then:

"If Marian had chosen Adrian?"

The question arrived quietly.

Cassian smiled.

Faintly.

A little sadly.

"Then none of this would have mattered."

The Emperor’s gaze sharpened.

Cassian continued.

"I would have remained exactly where I was."

The answer came without hesitation.

Without resentment.

Without self-pity.

The Emperor believed him.

Which was unfortunate.

Because it made the situation even more complicated.

"The choice belonged to her."

Cassian said.

Simply.

"Not to me."

Silence followed.

Many men would have fought.

Many men would have leveraged family ties.

Influence.

Position.

Many men would have approached the Emperor immediately.

Cassian had done none of those things.

Because before Marian chose—

there had been nothing to claim.

Only feelings.

And feelings were not enough.

The Emperor sighed.

Long.

Slow.

Tired.

"That is a terrible answer."

Cassian almost smiled.

"I know."

"An infuriating answer."

"I know that too."

The Emperor closed his eyes briefly.

As though regretting every decision that had led him to this conversation.

Then:

"Adrian is your cousin."

The words emerged sharply.

"My son."

Cassian’s expression sobered immediately.

"I know."

"You grew up together."

"Yes."

"And somehow, despite all that, here we are."

The room fell silent once more.

Then Cassian answered quietly:

"I know."

No excuses.

No defense.

No attempt to lessen the damage.

Just acknowledgment.

For some reason, that was worse.

Because the Emperor could argue with excuses.

He could argue with selfishness.

He could argue with arrogance.

He could not argue with honesty.

For a long moment neither spoke.

Then the Emperor sighed.

"You impossible child."

Cassian nearly smiled.

Because he had not been called that in years.

The Emperor noticed.

Which only irritated him further.

Then finally:

"Do you love her?"

The question arrived without warning.

Without ceremony.

Without protection.

Cassian didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Immediately.

The Emperor looked away.

Toward the window.

Toward the distant palace gardens.

Of course.

Not even a moment’s hesitation.

Not even an attempt.

Then:

"Enough to hurt my son?"

The room became very quiet.

Cassian’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

The answer mattered.

Both of them knew it.

Finally:

"No."

The Emperor’s gaze sharpened.

Cassian continued.

"Nothing about this was worth hurting him."

A pause.

"Nothing."

The Emperor watched him carefully.

Then:

"But?"

Cassian met his eyes.

"But if you’re asking whether I would choose differently..."

Silence.

"No."

The answer hurt.

Not because it was cruel.

Because it was honest.

The Emperor hated honest answers.

They were always so inconvenient.

For several moments neither spoke.

Then finally the Emperor exhaled.

Slowly.

"Your father would be ashamed of you."

The words escaped before he could stop them.

Silence followed immediately.

Then the Emperor cursed himself.

Internally.

Because it wasn’t true.

And they both knew it.

Cassian’s father had loved too deeply to condemn another man for doing the same.

The Emperor rubbed his forehead.

"Ignore that."

To his surprise, Cassian laughed.

Softly.

"You don’t usually retract statements."

"I am making an exception."

"How generous."

The Emperor glared.

"Do not test me."

For the first time that afternoon, both men smiled.

Briefly.

Only briefly.

Because outside that room, the Empire still existed.

The proceedings still existed.

Adrian still existed.

And none of those things were simple.

Eventually the Emperor rose.

The audience had clearly reached its conclusion.

"You will cooperate fully."

"Of course."

"You will sign whatever is required."

"Yes."

"You will not make me regret this."

Cassian paused.

Then:

"I will do my best."

The Emperor pointed a finger at him.

"That answer alone proves you’re related to your father."

This time Cassian laughed outright.

The Emperor almost did the same.

Almost.

Silence settled over the room.

For several moments neither spoke.

The formal matters had been addressed.

The obligations discussed.

The expectations made clear.

The audience was over.

Or at least it should have been.

Cassian rose.

The Emperor watched him.

His nephew.

His brother’s son.

The boy he had watched grow into a man.

The man who had somehow managed to break the Crown Prince’s heart.

For a long moment, the Emperor simply studied him.

Thoughtful.

The anger had faded.

Not entirely.

Perhaps it never would.

But enough.

Enough that something else had begun to replace it.

Curiosity.

A troublesome thing.

Curiosity.

Because despite everything—

despite the arguments,

the audiences,

the negotiations,

the proceedings—

there remained one question he still could not answer.

How had this happened?

Not politically.

Not legally.

Not socially.

Personally.

He knew Adrian’s version.

He knew Duke Valmort’s version.

He knew what the reports said.

He knew what the court believed.

Yet somehow none of those explanations felt complete.

The Emperor disliked mysteries.

Especially ones that occurred directly beneath his nose.

"Sit down."

Cassian paused.

Blinking in visible surprise.

The audience had clearly ended.

Or at least it should have.

Yet the Emperor was still looking at him.

Not quite as ruler.

Not quite as uncle.

Something else.

Thoughtful.

Suspiciously thoughtful.

After a moment, Cassian resumed his seat.

The Emperor folded his arms.

Studied him for several seconds.

Then asked:

"When did it begin?"

Silence.

Cassian stared.

For the first time that afternoon, he looked genuinely unprepared.

The Emperor almost smiled.

Almost.

"You have already caused me enough trouble."

A pause.

"You can at least satisfy my curiosity."

And for the first time since entering the room, Cassian appeared to have no immediate answer.

--

Tbc

AN: hehe, the emperor being a bit nosy. But this is important.