Page 94 of City of Secrets and Shadows
My hands clenched into fists beneath the desk. “Youthful indiscretion? He cornered her alone, locked the door, and attempted to force himself on her. When she refused, he attacked her. This wasn’t some drunken misunderstanding, Father. It was calculated and premeditated.”
“And how did this... situation resolve itself? Was the young woman injured?”
I couldn’t help the grim smile that formed. “No. She defended herself. Quite effectively.”
A flicker of surprise crossed my father’s face. “Did she? Against Varin? Interesting.” He took another sip of wine. “But if she successfully defended her honour, why involve yourself in this matter at all?”
The question hung in the air between us. Why indeed? I’d been asking myself the same thing since I’d broken down that door. Why had the sound of struggle compelled me to intervene? Why had the sight of Livia — her clothes torn, her knife at Varin’s throat — filled me with such rage that I could barely form coherent thoughts?
I’d never been particularly drawn to the noble-born women at court. They were trained from childhood to be ornamental and politically advantageous, their conversations carefully scripted to avoid any hint of genuine thought or opinion. But Livia was different. Beneath her perfect manners and composed exterior, there was something fierce and uncompromising. Something real.
“Because it matters,” I finally said. “Because the academy should be a place of merit, not a playground where the powerfulprey on others with impunity. Because if we allow this behaviour to go unpunished, we send a message that some are above the law.”
My father’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “My, my. Such passion for justice. One might almost think this Lady Cantius was the victim here. She has made quite an impression on you.”
I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “This isn’t about Lady Cantius specifically. It’s about upholding the standards the academy claims to represent.”
“Is it?” He set down his glass. “Then why not report this incident through official channels? Why come directly to the Emperor himself?”
“Because official channels would bury it,” I replied bluntly. “Because Varin’s father would ensure any complaint disappeared beneath mountains of bureaucracy. Because justice in this empire has become a commodity available only to those with sufficient wealth or influence to purchase it.”
My father’s eyes narrowed. “You tread dangerous ground, questioning the very system you are destined to inherit.”
“I don’t question it. I indict it.” The words escaped before I could temper them. “And I intend to change it when the time comes.”
A tense silence followed. My father The Emperor rose from his chair and walked to the window overlooking the Imperial gardens. For several minutes, he gazed outward, hands clasped behind his back.
“You know what they call you in the palace, don’t you?” he finally asked, his voice oddly subdued. “The Scholar Prince. As if it were some kind of insult. As if an emperor who thinks is somehow less than one who merely conquers.”
I remained silent, uncertain where this unexpected turn in the conversation was leading.
“I wanted a warrior son,” he continued, “because I was raised by warriors in a time of war. But perhaps…” He turned back to face me. “Perhaps the empire needs something different for the challenges ahead.”
This was not at all what I had expected. My father had never spoken to me this way before, with something almost approaching respect.
“Varin Mallistus is a problem,” he said abruptly, returning to the matter at hand. “Not just for what he did to your Lady Cantius, but for the pattern of behaviour he’s exhibited for years, protected by his father’s influence, and for ambitions his father is starting to develop. The family has become a liability.”
I blinked in surprise. “You already knew about Varin.”
“Of course I knew.” He returned to his desk. “I make it my business to know which noble houses are producing potential assets and which are harbouring potential threats. Young Varin has been in the latter category for some time.”
“Then you’ll expel him from the academy? Strip him of his position?”
“I will deal with him appropriately,” my father said, evasive as ever. “But such decisions come with political costs. Costs I am willing to bear — under one condition.”
And there it was. The manipulation I had been expecting from the moment I entered this room. No matter how seemingly personal our conversation had become, with my father, everything ultimately circled back to transaction.
“What condition?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
“When you complete your training at the academy, you will abandon this childish notion of anonymity. You will take your rightful place at court, assume your official duties as crown prince, and begin preparing in earnest for the responsibilities of leadership.”
Just as I had anticipated. My father was using Varin as leverage to force me back into the public role I had resisted for years. The scrutiny, the politics, the endless performance of being the perfect imperial heir — all the things I had escaped by attending the academy under an assumed name.
“The graduation ceremony is in six months,” I said carefully. “I can’t simply reveal my identity before then without compromising my training.”
“I’m not asking you to. Continue your studies as planned. But at the graduation ceremony, you will stand before the empire as Prince Jalend Valorian, not whatever pseudonym you’ve been hiding behind.”
I reached for the wine glass at last, needing something to occupy my hands as I considered his terms. The liquid burned pleasantly as I took a measured sip.
