How do I mind my own business

chapter 5

As Claude departed the Silver Stag Inn, the weight of his responsibilities as emperor settled back upon his shoulders. He knew he had to return to the palace and address the pressing matters of state, but his mind lingered on Ceasar and the mysterious circumstances surrounding the young boy.

As he entered the palace, the familiar opulence and grandeur enveloped him, but his thoughts remained with Ceasar and Lyra. He couldn't shake the feeling that their lives were intertwined, that their fates were connected in ways he had yet to understand.

Upon reaching his chambers, Claude found Nyx waiting for him, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Claude, where have you been? The guards reported you sneaking out of the palace again."

Claude sighed, knowing he had to confront Nyx's suspicions. "I went to the city, Nyx. I had to see the people, to understand their struggles."

Nyx's eyes narrowed. "And what did you find?"

Claude hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "I met a young boy, Ceasar. His story... it resonated with me, Nyx. I feel a connection to him, a sense of responsibility."

Nyx's expression softened, her voice gentle. "Perhaps this is what you need, Claude. A reminder of why you became emperor in the first place."

Claude nodded, knowing Nyx spoke the truth. His encounter with Ceasar had reignited his passion for justice and his desire to protect his people.

As the night wore on, Claude and Nyx discussed the affairs of state, their conversation punctuated by the occasional mention of Ceasar and Lyra. Though the mysteries surrounding the young boy remained unsolved, Claude felt a sense of hope, knowing that he had found allies in his quest for truth and justice.

Claude's eyes followed Altrea as she brushed past him, her maid's attire a stark contrast to her true status as Empress. He sighed, feeling a pang of guilt and regret. Their marriage had been a political arrangement, a union meant to solidify peace between their nations, but it had only brought pain and resentment.

He remembered the day she arrived at the palace, her beauty and grace captivating him, but also her anger and hurt palpable. He had tried to reach out, to understand her perspective, but she had shut him out, her bitterness and resentment a wall he couldn't breach.

As he watched her disappear into the depths of the palace, Claude knew he had to try again. He couldn't let their marriage continue like this, with both of them living in a state of unhappiness and resentment.

He took a deep breath and followed her, determined to confront the issues between them and find a way to heal the wounds of their past.

"Altrea," he called out, his voice echoing down the hallway. "Please, wait. We need to talk."

She stopped, her back still to him, her shoulders tense. "What is there to talk about, Emperor?" she asked, her voice cold and detached.

Claude approached her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Our marriage, our relationship... we can't continue like this. I want to help you heal, to find happiness together."

Altrea turned, her eyes flashing with anger, but also a glimmer of sadness. "You want to help me? You, who have done nothing but ignore me and my pain? You, who have perpetuated this farce of a marriage?"

Claude's heart ached, knowing he had failed her. "I know I haven't been the husband I should be. But I want to change that. I want to listen, to understand, and to support you."

Altrea's expression softened, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to believe you, Claude. But it's hard to trust when all I've known is pain and betrayal."

Claude nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I don't expect forgiveness overnight. But I promise to earn your trust, to be the husband you deserve. Let's start anew, together."

The hallway was silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the two individuals, the weight of their past and present hanging in the balance.

She took in deep sigh, shook her head and walked away. Thoughts of death were more pleasing than a life with him. The man her parents sold her too like a commodity

As Altrea disappeared into the darkness of the palace, Claude felt a stinging sensation in his chest. He knew he had hurt her deeply, and that his words, though sincere, had come too late. The weight of his failures as a husband and emperor crushed him, and for a moment, he wondered if he was truly worthy of the throne.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, and Claude turned to see one of his guards approaching. "Your Majesty," the guard said, his voice low and urgent. "We have a problem. There's been a attempted assassination on your life."

Claude's thoughts snapped back to the present, his mind racing with the implications. "Who was it?" he demanded, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

"A group of rebels, Your Majesty. They were caught and brought to the dungeons, but... but there's something else. A note was left behind, addressed to you."

The guard handed Claude a small piece of parchment, and he unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents. The words were few, but they sent a chill down his spine:

"You will never be the emperor your father was. Your reign will end in blood and fire," Claude muttered, his voice growing louder and more menacing with each repetition. His anger and frustration simmered, threatening to boil over.

Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the nearby table, making the guard jump. "Find out who wrote this!" he bellowed. "I want to know who dares to threaten me!"

The guard nodded hastily and scurried off to carry out the emperor's orders. Claude paced back and forth in the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of vengeance and retribution.

As he walked, the parchment crumpled in his hand, he couldn't shake the feeling that the words were more than just a simple threat. They were a reminder of his own inadequacies, a taunt from the shadows that he would never measure up to his father's legacy.

His anger turned inward, Claude's thoughts grew darker, consumed by the fear that he was indeed doomed to fail, that his reign would end in catastrophe.

The sound of footsteps approached, and Claude's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with intensity. "What news?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

The guard returned, his face pale. "We've identified the writer, Your Majesty. It's... it's one of your advisors, Lord Ravenswood."

Claude's eyes narrowed. "Bring him to me. Now."

As Claude's anger and frustration reached a boiling point, the air around him began to shimmer and distort. The flames that erupted from his fingertips were not just any ordinary fire - they were a manifestation of his inner power, a testament to his namesake as the Sun God Emperor Rha.

With a flick of his wrist, the flames danced and swirled, consuming the parchment and the table it lay on. The guard watching from a safe distance felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized that Claude's touch was not just destructive, but utterly annihilating. Whatever he touched was consumed, leaving no trace of its existence.

The flames died down as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind a smoldering ash and a faint scent of ozone. Claude's eyes still blazed with intensity, his chest heaving with restrained power.

"Bring Lord Ravenswood to me," he repeated, his voice low and deadly. "I will show him the true meaning of power."

The guard nodded hastily and scurried off to fetch the advisor, knowing that to fail would be to invite the same fate as the parchment and the table. As he disappeared into the depths of the palace, Claude's gaze never wavered, his focus fixed on the fate that awaited Lord Ravenswood.