Matthias had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his mind during the long march back to the capital. Each scenario had ended the same way—with his death. He’d made peace with it. Had written letters to his wife and children, hidden away where they’d be found after his execution. Had prepared himself for whatever punishment the new Emperor would devise.
He deserved it. All of it.
He’d spent thirty years being better than Lucian at everything. Better with a sword, better with strategy, better with people. He’d won battles while Lucian studied in libraries. He’d commanded armies while Lucian managed ledgers. He’d stood at the old Emperor’s right hand while Lucian—the second son, the spare—had been relegated to the shadows.
And Matthias had known. Had seen the resentment growing in Lucian’s eyes year after year. Had watched the boy become a man who looked at him with barely concealed hatred.
How could he not? Matthias had taken everything that should have been Lucian’s—the glory, the respect, the Emperor’s favor. Not intentionally. Not maliciously. But the result was the same.
The second son had grown up in Matthias’s shadow, and now that second son wore the crown.
It was only a matter of time.
So Matthias had requested this private audience. Had sent the formal letter through proper channels, his hand steady despite the knowledge of what he was doing. Better to control it. Better to offer himself willingly than to wait for the axe to fall.
And better—far better—to spare his family the consequences of the new Emperor’s wrath.
Now he knelt in the private study, head bowed, forehead nearly touching the cold marble floor. The Emperor sat somewhere above him. Matthias could feel his gaze like a physical weight.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Matthias’s voice was steady, controlled. He’d trained for decades to keep emotion from his voice. “I come before you to beg for mercy.”
Silence.
Matthias pressed on. “Not for myself. I deserve no mercy. But for my family. My wife, my children—they are innocent of any offense against you. Whatever punishment you deem fitting for me, I accept it willingly. Gladly. But I beg you, Your Majesty, do not let your justified anger fall upon them.”
Still silence.
Matthias lowered himself further, pressing his forehead to the floor, his hands spread flat against the marble. “I know I have wronged you. I know I have taken what should have been yours—the glory, the recognition, the respect. I was born a commoner, raised at your father’s court out of charity, and I repaid that charity by overshadowing you at every turn. I am guilty of hubris. Of taking more than my station warranted. Of forgetting my place.”
His voice cracked slightly, the first break in his control. “If you wish me to suffer, I will suffer. I will make my death as slow and painful as you desire. I will debase myself however you command. I will endure any humiliation, any torture, anything—anything at all—if you will promise me that my family will be spared the consequences of my failures.”
The silence stretched on, unbearable.
Matthias’s heart hammered against his ribs. He didn’t dare raise his head. Didn’t dare look at the Emperor’s face to see the hatred he knew must be there.
“Please,” he whispered, the word torn from somewhere deep inside him. “Please, Your Majesty. Punish me, but spare them. They never asked to be tied to the man who made your life a misery. They don’t deserve to pay for my sins.”
He heard movement. Footsteps. The rustle of silk robes.
This was it. The Emperor approaching to pronounce judgment. To tell him exactly how he would die, how he would suffer.
Matthias braced himself.
But the footsteps stopped directly in front of him, and then—impossibly—he heard the Emperor kneeling.
Hands touched his shoulders. Gentle hands, not striking, not pushing him down further into the floor.
“Rise,” the Emperor said quietly. “Matthias, please. Rise.”
The use of his name, without title, without formality, shocked him almost as much as the touch. But he obeyed. Had to obey. He raised himself back to his knees, though he kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor between them.
“Look at me.”
It was a command, soft but absolute.
Matthias forced himself to obey. Forced his eyes upward, past the silk robes, past the hands still resting on his shoulders, until he met the Emperor’s gaze.
And found—
Not hatred. Not fury. Not the cold satisfaction of revenge about to be enacted.
Instead, the Emperor’s expression was… sad. Profoundly, inexplicably sad.
They knelt there, facing each other, and Matthias felt his carefully constructed control beginning to crack. This wasn’t what he’d expected. Wasn’t what he’d prepared for.
The Emperor reached up slowly, giving Matthias time to flinch away if he wanted to. But Matthias held still, frozen, as the Emperor’s hand touched his cheek with unexpected gentleness.
“You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you, Matthias?” the Emperor said softly.
The words hit like a physical blow.
“But I don’t want your death.” The Emperor’s thumb moved slightly against his cheek, the gesture almost unbearably tender. “I don’t want to punish you. Can you believe me when I tell you that it never even occurred to me to move against you?”
Matthias stared at him, unable to speak, unable to process what he was hearing.
“You think I hated you,” the Emperor continued, his voice still quiet, still sad. “You think I resented you. You think that all these years, I was watching you, waiting for my chance to destroy you.”
He paused, and something that might have been a smile—painful, wry—touched his lips.
“You’re right that I resented you. But you’re wrong about everything else.”
The Emperor’s hand fell away from Matthias’s face, but he didn’t pull back. They remained kneeling face to face, close enough that Matthias could see the lines of exhaustion around the Emperor’s eyes, the weight of the crown he’d never expected to wear.
“I resented you,” the Emperor said, “because you were everything I wanted to be. Everything I tried to be and failed. But I never hated you, Matthias. I hated myself.”
The words hung in the air between them.
“I hated that I wasn’t brave enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t good enough. I hated that my father looked at you with pride and looked at me with… disappointment. Or worse, with nothing at all. With indifference.” The Emperor’s voice was steady, but Matthias could hear the old pain beneath it. “But none of that was your fault. You didn’t ask to be raised at court. You didn’t ask to be brilliant at everything you touched. You were just… yourself. And I was jealous of that. Poisonously, bitterly jealous.”
Matthias found his voice, hoarse and uncertain. “Your Majesty, I—”
“But I grew up,” the Emperor interrupted gently. “Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, between resentment and resignation, I grew up. And I realized something.”
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense now, demanding that Matthias understand.
“I realized that you were the best thing that ever happened to this Empire. That my father’s greatest achievement wasn’t his conquests or his policies—it was finding you, raising you, giving you the training and opportunities to become who you are. You’ve saved thousands of lives. You’ve protected our borders. You’ve served with absolute loyalty and absolute excellence for thirty years.”
The Emperor’s voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. “How could I possibly hate you for that? How could I want to destroy the man who’s given everything to protect what I now rule?”
Matthias felt something hot behind his eyes. Couldn’t be tears. He was a general. He didn’t cry. Hadn’t cried since he was a boy.
“I don’t need to punish you, Matthias. I need you.” The Emperor’s hands returned to his shoulders, gripping them firmly. “I need you desperately. I’m terrified, if I’m being honest. I never expected this crown. Never wanted it. My brother should be sitting here, not me. He would have known what to do. He would have been brilliant at it.”
A pause, heavy with vulnerability.
“But he’s dead, and I’m here, and I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. And the only thing—the only thing—that makes me think I might possibly survive this, might possibly not completely destroy everything my father built, is knowing that you’re out there. That the Undefeated General still serves the Empire. That if I’m making terrible decisions, you’ll find a way to minimize the damage. That if I fail, you’ll be there to catch the pieces.”
The Emperor’s grip tightened. “So no, Matthias. I’m not going to punish you. I’m going to ask you—beg you, if necessary—to stay. To serve. To help me figure out how to be the Emperor this realm needs when I feel completely inadequate to the task.”
Matthias was shaking now. Couldn’t stop it. Thirty years of rigid control, of perfect discipline, crumbling in the face of this impossible kindness.
“I thought—” His voice broke. “I thought you’d want revenge. For all the years I overshadowed you. For taking what should have been yours.”
“You took nothing from me,” the Emperor said firmly. “My father gave you what you earned. You deserved every honor, every recognition, every moment of glory. And I’m grateful—so grateful—that you’re here. That you exist. That you’ve served so faithfully for so long.”
A breath.
“Don’t leave me to do this alone, Matthias. Please.”
And there it was. Not a command. Not an order. A plea.
The Emperor—the man Matthias had been certain would destroy him—was asking him to stay. Was looking at him not with hatred but with something that looked almost like hope.
Matthias felt the tears spill over, hot against his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his throat was too tight.
The Emperor pulled him forward, and suddenly Matthias found himself embraced, held tightly by the man he’d been so certain wanted him dead.
“Your family is safe,” the Emperor murmured against his shoulder. “They were always safe. I would never—could never—hurt them. Or you. You’re not my enemy, Matthias. You never were.”
Something broke open in Matthias’s chest. All the fear, all the guilt, all the certainty of doom—it shattered, leaving him gasping against the Emperor’s shoulder, shaking with the force of relief he hadn’t known he could feel.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out. “I’m so sorry. I should have—I should have known—”
“How could you have known?” The Emperor’s voice was gentle. “I never told you. Never showed you. I was too busy nursing my own wounds, too caught up in my own inadequacy to see that you thought I hated you.”
He pulled back slightly, enough to meet Matthias’s eyes again. “We’ve wasted years on this, haven’t we? Years of mutual misunderstanding. Years where we could have been allies instead of… whatever we were.”
Matthias nodded, unable to speak.
“Well.” The Emperor managed a genuine smile now, tentative but real. “We’re not wasting any more time. I need you, General Corvain. Not just as a military commander. As an advisor. As someone I can trust to tell me the truth, even when it’s difficult. As someone who cares about this Empire as much as I do.”
He squeezed Matthias’s shoulders once more before releasing him and standing, offering his hand to help Matthias rise.
Matthias took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. They stood face to face, and for the first time in thirty years, Matthias saw not the resentful second son but simply… a man. A frightened, determined man trying his best to fill shoes that were far too large.
“I’ll serve you,” Matthias said, his voice rough but steady. “With everything I am. With everything I have. Not because I fear you or because I have to—but because I want to. Because I believe in you, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor’s smile widened. “Lucian,” he said quietly. “When we’re alone, you can call me Lucian. I think we’ve moved beyond formality, don’t you?”
Matthias felt his own lips curve into a smile—shaky, uncertain, but genuine. “Lucian,” he repeated, testing the name. It felt strange. Felt right.
“Good.” Lucian turned toward the window, looking out over the city. “Now, since you’re not spending the rest of the day planning your own execution, perhaps you could help me with something.”
“Anything.”
“The northern border. There are reports of raiders. I’ve been reading the intelligence, but I’m not sure—” He glanced back at Matthias, something vulnerable in his expression. “I’m not sure I’m interpreting it correctly. Would you look at it with me? Tell me what you see?”
And just like that, they were working together. Standing side by side, looking at maps and reports spread across the desk, Lucian asking questions and Matthias answering them, offering suggestions, explaining tactics.
It felt natural. Felt right.
Like something that should have been happening all along.
Hours later, when Matthias finally left the study, he felt lighter than he had in months. Years, maybe. The weight of expected doom had lifted, replaced by something he’d almost forgotten the feel of.
Purpose. Trust. Hope.
He’d come here prepared to die.
Instead, he’d found something he’d never expected.
Not just a ruler to serve.
But a partner. An ally.
Perhaps, eventually, even a friend.
Behind him, still in the study, Emperor Lucian stood alone and allowed himself a long, shaking breath.
He’d been terrified. Had spent the entire audience terrified that he’d say the wrong thing, that he’d fail to convince Matthias of his sincerity, that he’d lose the one man whose service he desperately needed.
But he’d done it. Somehow, impossibly, he’d done it.
The Undefeated General would stay.
And for the first time since his brother’s death, since the crown had fallen to him, Lucian felt like maybe—just maybe—he might actually survive this.
Not alone.
Never alone.
With Matthias at his side, he might even succeed.
The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
But as Lucian looked down at the maps they’d been studying together, at the notes Matthias had written in his efficient hand, he felt something settle in his chest.
Not confidence, exactly.
But something close to it.
Hope.
Pure, unexpected, precious hope.
And that, for now, was enough.