Chapter 11
Zane
Unfortunately for Zane, his journey back to Athusia took only a week. At a certain point, he considered that many of the soldiers traveling with him had families they hadn’t seen in quite a while, and it would be unfair to stall their return. It wasn’t their fault he loathed being around his own family. And, contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t an asshole all the time. He considered hiding out at an inn—or a brothel—for a few days before going home, but he knew word of his return to the city would soon reach the castle, whether or not he wanted it to.
Instead, he and Ryunn wandered aimlessly through Athusia to delay the inevitable. Two of his personal retinue rode with him. The people they passed halted their business to bow, then continued on their way. None had ever attacked him within his own city, but he was not under the misguided impression that was because he was respected or well-liked; he was fairly certain he was neither. Emperor Uther ruled with an iron fist, and it was far too easy to be accused of treason—especially within the capital, so close to Uther’s throne. His father delighted in punishing all those he saw fit to. The fucking sadist took any opportunity—be it a minor offense or even a rumor—to torture and murder his citizens. While the practice appalled Zane, and it wasn’t in any way how he would rule the empire, the people lumped him in with his father, assuming him to be cruel. To be fair, he had never given them a reason to consider him otherwise. He committed all the heinous acts his father asked of him, and he made his soldiers complicit as well. If they were anything like him, their deeds kept them up at night, or caused nightmares when sleep did come.
Since his mother died, almost twenty years ago, Zane had been forced to don the persona of an asshole because he’d only had his father. And his father enjoyed abusing his own son just as much as he enjoyed punishing the commoners. Maybe even more. The only difference was that Zane’s father solely hit where the bruises wouldn’t show and never subjected him to the dungeons. Or to his favored pet, Azazel. Even with those small mercies, there were times he was unable to leave his room for days, barely able to move. It was rare, but his bones had been broken before and passed off as a training incident. In order to have some semblance of peace, he felt obligated to go along with anything Uther wanted. If he did everything asked of him, then his father would leave him be until he needed something else accomplished. A person to track, a town to raid, a murder to commit… It all meant no bruises, no threats, no disparaging his dead mother. He could quietly read books in his quarters, go to a museum, invite someone to his room. However, getting people to his room for a dalliance was occasionally difficult. If his choice for that night wasn’t up to his father’s standards, he’d sneak them through an out-of-use servant’s entrance. And then pay them handsomely for their silence.
Hours later, when he felt stalling would only cause him pain, Zane trotted onto the castle grounds. Leading Ryunn into the stables and rubbing him down, which he made a point of doing himself, he asked the stable boy to give him an extra apple. Knowing his arrival had already been relayed to his father, he trudged through hallway after hallway heading towards the throne room. Uther loved to hold court in the throne room, especially with Zane, because it reminded everyone of their place. After a few unsuccessful attempts at rebellion during his teenage years, Zane had finally learned his own place—firmly under his father’s boot.
The interior of the castle was drab and boring, with slab upon slab of dull gray stone. Paintings of previous emperors and battles dotted the walls, but they were few and far between. Windows were rare in this part of the castle, making it dark and musty. Torches along the wall burned constantly, and there were people darting around, making sure they were always full of oil.
Zane remembered running around these halls as a child. There were rugs and bright paintings. His father was softer back then. It was all due to his mother’s touch—the much-beloved Empress Selena. She floated through the castle with a smile and a kind word for all. Selena always remembered the servant’s names and asked about their families. She was the one who had fostered Zane’s love of reading and art, played hide-and-seek with him between his lessons, cleansed his wounds. In times like these, Zane missed his mother fiercely. To him, she had been a bright light snuffed out far too early.
Once he reached the tall wooden doors of the throne room, an attendant announced his arrival. Walking into the large space was always a jarring experience. Unlike the portion of the castle he had been traveling through, this room exuded luxury. A wall full of windows letting in the late afternoon sun was to his right. Banners flanked the stone wall opposite, showcasing the royal crest of a roaring lion on a deep green background. The flooring was a bright white marble imported from the Aisa mountains, and it was always shined to perfection. In the middle of it all, on a raised dais, stood the throne of the Athusan Empire. Ostentatious and massive, made of solid gold, it boasted a plush seat upholstered in the deep green unique to the Holygazer line to cushion His Majesty’s ass. Depictions of men bowing were carved into different facets of the chair, so they were all prostrating themselves to the man currently residing in the seat of power. Zane had always hated that throne. It was the first thing he’d get rid of when he became emperor, melting it down for more practical purposes.
He never broke stride, stopping at the foot of the dais. Standing up straight, hands behind his back, he donned the stoic mask he always wore in front of his father. The loud bang of the doors behind him indicated they were alone. Zane’s guards would be waiting outside; they weren’t allowed in during his tête-à-tête. Should he need to be punished, his father preferred administering the violence himself without witnesses. Zane nodded his head in greeting to get away with as little bowing as possible, then raised his eyes to Emperor Uther Holygazer. His father was a lean but muscular man. It was apparent he continued his training even into his middle age. His now-white hair and beard were trimmed short after the military fashion; something Zane deliberately strayed from, preferring to grow his dark, curly hair down to his shoulders. Uther’s nose was hawkish, with a bump where it had been broken a time or two. All of his features were sharp, menacing, but none more so than his icy blue eyes. At the moment, they were glaring daggers, most likely because of the small show of disrespect.
“Crown Prince Zane,” he drawled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “The prodigal son returns. Pray tell, what in the name of Khonos took you so long this time?”
Zane clasped his hands tightly behind his back, maintaining his emotionless mask. “It takes time to do what you asked, Father,” he said. “Plus, my men are human, like everyone else, and need to rest.”
Uther smiled wryly. “Are you trying to be smart with me, boy?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Zane replied. He clasped his fingers even tighter, the tips going numb.
“Good.” Uther beamed, but Zane was familiar with this expression. There was nothing authentic behind it. “I would hate for you to require punishment.” That was a lie. He would enjoy nothing more than to dole out pain. Zane wanted out of that room as soon as possible.
“The towns and communities you were…concerned about were raided exactly as you predicted,” Zane said, choosing his words carefully. One never knew who could be eavesdropping. “We were just behind the culprits every time, unfortunately.”
“That is indeed unfortunate,” Uther interrupted.
“We posted soldiers along each of the affected sites, and they remain there to guard our citizens.”
“Very good. I am happy to hear they are now protected, and I hope the lives lost were not excessive. I commend their souls to Altea.”
Fucker, Zane thought, knowing full well he didn’t care about any casualties.
“And the small village in Istora,” Uther continued. “What news do you bring of them?”
This conversation was the one Zane had been dreading. During the ride back, he’d spent most of his time thinking of excuses, but he decided the truth would be better. Uther would figure it out one way or another; at least this way he wouldn’t hear it from someone else.
“Imothia, Your Majesty,” said Zane. “We ran into some…trouble there.”
“Trouble?” asked Uther, raising a brow. “How much trouble could one village, as isolated as the nine hells, give the heir to my empire?”
Fuck. This was off to an inauspicious start. “The raid should’ve been successful,” he said, and then hurried along his explanation because he saw the sneer beginning on Uther’s face. “And it would have been. But a fucking shooting star or something impacted nearby. Many of the men were rendered unconscious, and once we assessed the situation, all the villagers had gone. We left it on fire, though, so it wouldn’t surprise me if most of it is severely damaged now.”
Uther’s brow lowered, but not in anger. He appeared curious, his eyes unfocused. Zane kept his surprise reigned in. But he did not relax yet—his father’s emotions were known to be transient. Curiosity could switch to anger in the span of a blink.
“Interesting…” said Uther. “Was there a young woman involved in this, by any chance?”
“There was a woman,” said Zane. Although he was confused, he somehow instantly knew which woman was important. “But all she did was shout during the raid. She didn’t fight or interfere in any way.”
Uther nodded, stroking his beard, still lost in thought. “I need you to bring her to me. I trust you’d recognize her?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, but I don’t understand—”
“You’re dismissed,” his father interrupted, waving his hand towards the door.
Now Zane was truly shocked, but he wouldn’t question his father’s motives. He’d take the boon and run. Nodding his head again and relaxing his fingers, he swiveled back towards the doorway. Maybe he’d go lay up in his room for the rest of the day—take a bath and read a good book. Then he would head out again as quickly as possible. On his way to the door, he tripped over something. Looking behind him, he saw his father’s gray tabby cat, Cain. Fucking cat, he thought. Cain continued to walk into the throne room as if he owned the place. And, honestly, Uther treated the cat better than he did Zane. Not wanting to linger any longer than he already had, he slipped out the doors. His personal retinue fell into step behind him, and he let out a breath of relief. This time, he had escaped unharmed.
Uther
Cain jumped into Uther’s lap, and, purring, curled into a ball. Stroking his fur absentmindedly, the emperor of Athusa smiled wickedly.
A star had fallen in Arinem.
Finally.