Lucian stood alone at the top of the palace steps and waited to die.
The courtyard below was empty. He’d dismissed everyone—the guards, the advisors, the courtiers who’d clustered around him since his father’s death. All of them gone, sent away with orders not to return until summoned.
They’d protested, of course. Captain Varen had been particularly insistent.
“Your Majesty, General Corvain returns with his army. You need protection. At least let us—”
“No.” Lucian’s voice had been calm, final. “Leave me. All of you.”
Because what was the point? What could a handful of palace guards do against the Undefeated General and the army that would follow him to hell itself?
Nothing. Except die, and drag the Empire down into civil war.
Better this way. Cleaner. One man’s death instead of thousands.
So Lucian stood alone, wearing the crown his father had worn, the robes his brother should have inherited, and waited for the man who would almost certainly kill him.
Three Days Earlier
The news had split the realm like a crack through glass.
General Matthias Corvain was coming home. After eighteen years at the borders, eighteen years of conquering, defending, bleeding for the realm—he was finally returning. With his army. With the legions who were more loyal to him than to any Emperor.
And the realm was tearing itself apart under the weight of what that might mean.
In the capital’s taverns, people whispered. In the noble houses, they conspired. On the streets, crowds began to form, some cheering, some silent with dread.
“The General will set things right,” some said. “He’ll give us a true Emperor.”
“Treason,” others hissed. “The young Emperor is our rightful ruler.”
But the most dangerous words were those whispered in the halls of power, where ambitious men smelled opportunity.
Count Aldric was the first to say it openly.
“The realm needs strength,” he’d declared in the Crown Council, his voice oily with false concern. “And with all respect to His Majesty… General Corvain has eighteen years of victory to his name. He’s held the borders, conquered provinces, defeated every enemy who stood against him.”
A calculated pause for maximum effect.
“If the General desires the crown… who could deny him?”
The words hung in the council chamber. No one contradicted. No one defended Lucian.
Why would they? He was the second son. The spare. The one who was never supposed to rule. His brother Marcus—strong, brilliant, beloved by all—should have been a great Emperor. But Marcus was dead, fallen in the same hunting accident that killed their father.
And so the crown fell to Lucian. Unprepared. Unwanted. Inexperienced.
Of course the realm would prefer a conqueror to a second son.
Lucian had sat in his study that night, listening to the reports that flooded in.
The northern provinces had declared for the General. Lord Kastor had raised his banners with Corvain’s crest. In three cities, riots had broken out—fighting between those loyal to Lucian and those demanding a “true Emperor.”
The realm was splitting. Just as Lucian had feared.
And the worst part? He couldn’t even blame them.
What was he, after all? A scholar who preferred books to swords. A man who’d grown up in the shadows of his father and brother, who’d never led a battle, never governed a province. Who’d been unimportant for thirty-one years.
General Matthias Corvain, on the other hand, was a legend. The man who hadn’t lost a single campaign in eighteen years. The commander whose soldiers would follow him into death itself. The strategist his father had called “the greatest military mind in three generations.”
Of course the realm wanted him as Emperor.
Lucian had lain awake that night, considering his options.
He could fight. Could try to gather loyal troops, organize resistance. But the thought of plunging the realm into civil war—brother against brother, province against province, everything his father had built going up in flames—was unbearable.
He could flee. Could give up the crown, disappear somewhere no one would find him. A simple life in obscurity.
But that was cowardice. And it would throw the realm into chaos anyway—different factions supporting different claimants, and without a clear ruler, everything would collapse.
Or…
Or he could make it easy for the General.
The idea had lodged in his mind like a splinter. Dark. Terrible. But somehow… logical.
If one of them had to die for the realm to survive, it should be the one who was worth less. The second son instead of the legendary General.
One death. Clean. Quick. And then the realm would have the Emperor it deserved.
Lucian had worked out the plan with the same methodical care he’d once applied to his studies.
He would send all the guards away. Would make himself completely unprotected. Would wait on the palace steps where everyone could see—no witnesses who might later speak of murder. No resistance that might ignite a civil war.
The General would come. Would see how easy it was. Would do it quickly.
And the realm would survive.
The Day of Arrival
The message came at dawn: the General was an hour away.
Lucian had dressed with trembling hands. The imperial robes felt foreign, too large, as if made for a bigger man. The crown—his father’s crown—sat heavy on his head, a weight he was never meant to bear.
He looked at himself in the mirror one last time.
Pale. Far too young. The eyes of a man who knew he’d be dead in an hour.
“Your Majesty.” Captain Varen stood in the doorway, his face tight. “The guards are ready. We’ve fortified the gate, posted archers on the walls—”
“Send them away.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Send everyone away.” Lucian’s voice was calmer than he’d expected. “Every guard, every soldier, every servant. I want no one in the palace or courtyard when the General arrives.”
“Your Majesty, this is madness! You need protection—”
“I need to avoid a civil war, Captain.” Lucian turned to face the man. “The General has ten thousand soldiers. We have a hundred. If it comes to fighting, we all die, and the realm descends into chaos. Is that what you want?”
Varen swallowed hard. “No, Your Majesty, but—”
“Then follow my order. Everyone leaves. That’s an Imperial command.”
The Captain had looked at him for a long moment, his face a picture of anguish and duty. Then he’d nodded slowly and turned to leave.
At the door, he’d hesitated.
“It has been an honor to serve you, Your Majesty.”
The words of a man saying goodbye.
Lucian could only nod, unable to speak.
Now, an hour later, he stood alone.
The palace was eerily silent. No guards marched on the walls. No servants hurried through corridors. No courtiers whispered in halls.
Only Lucian, in his too-large robes and too-heavy crown, standing at the top of the steps, waiting.
In the city below, he could hear the murmur of crowds. Thousands had gathered to see what would happen when the Undefeated General met his Emperor.
Would there be a coronation? An execution? A battle?
Lucian felt a strange calm settle over him. He’d made his choice. There was no going back, no other way.
He would die with dignity. That was all he had left.
Then he heard it.
The thunder of hoofbeats. Thousands of them, like distant thunder growing closer.
His hands wanted to shake. He forced them still, clasping them behind his back where no one could see.
The gates opened.
And the army came in.
It was overwhelming—a flood of steel and flesh, horses and men in perfect formation, their armor glinting in the sunlight. Banners flew, the Empire’s crest beside the General’s personal standard.
Ten thousand men. Maybe more. All battle-hardened, all loyal, all ready to die for their commander.
They filled the courtyard, a precise military machine. Orders were called, men dismounted, ranks formed. All in perfect silence except for the clank of armor and stamp of boots.
Lucian stood motionless, watching his execution organize itself.
Then the crowd parted.
A single rider came through the ranks, his horse moving at a steady walk. When he reached the center of the courtyard, he dismounted.
General Matthias Corvain.
Even from a distance, he was imposing. Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man born to command. He wore traveling clothes, dusty from the road, but it did nothing to diminish his presence. A sword hung at his hip.
The sword that would end Lucian’s life.
The General looked up.
Their eyes met across the vast space between them.
Lucian forced himself not to look away, not to flinch. He was Emperor, if only for moments more. He wouldn’t die a coward.
Matthias began to walk.
The silence was absolute. Ten thousand men watched, waiting to see what their General would do.
The entire city held its breath.
And Lucian stood alone on the steps, unprotected, defenseless, waiting for the man who held his future in his hands.
Each step the General took echoed in the silence. Closer. Ever closer.
Lucian’s heart hammered against his ribs. His throat was tight. The crown felt like it was crushing him.
He thought of his father. Of his brother. Of all the great Emperors who’d come before.
They would never have allowed this. They would have fought, would have resisted, would never have surrendered without a battle.
But Lucian wasn’t them. Had never been them.
He was just the second son, trying to do the right thing, even if the right thing was his own death.
Matthias reached the foot of the steps.
He paused, looking up at Lucian, and for a moment the professional mask slipped. Something flashed in his eyes—surprise? Confusion?
Then his hand moved to his sword hilt.
Lucian’s breath caught.
This was it. This was the moment.
He wouldn’t run. Wouldn’t beg for mercy. He would stand here and accept it, because it was the only thing he could still do for the realm.
Matthias began to climb the steps.
Each step was slow, deliberate. The General’s eyes never left Lucian’s face, and his hand now gripped the sword’s hilt.
Lucian stood frozen. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to call for guards, to do something—anything—except stand here waiting for death.
But he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
This was the only way. One man’s death to save thousands.
Matthias reached the middle of the steps. Kept climbing. Coming closer.
Lucian could see the details of the General’s face now—the lines years of war had carved, the scars battles had left, the cold, calculating eyes of a man who’d dealt death ten thousand times.
Those eyes were fixed on him now.
The General kept climbing.
Lucian’s heart raced. The world seemed to narrow until there were only the two of them—the Emperor and the General who would overthrow him, the ruler and the man who would replace him.
Ten steps separated them.
Then five.
Then three.
Matthias reached the top step.
They stood face to face, close enough that Lucian could hear every breath the General took, see every detail of his expression—or rather, the lack of expression. That professional, military mask that revealed nothing.
The General’s hand tightened on the sword.
Lucian looked into his eyes and tried not to show fear, tried to die with dignity—
Then something changed.
The General’s eyes widened slightly. His gaze searched Lucian’s face, and for a moment, that professional mask cracked.
Understanding. Shock. Something that looked almost like horror.
And Lucian realized, with cold dread, what the General was seeing.
Fear. His fear. The terror he’d been trying so hard to hide, the absolute certainty of death that he couldn’t quite keep from his eyes.
The General knew. Knew that Lucian expected to die. Knew that the Emperor stood here alone not out of confidence but out of desperation—making himself an easy target so the army wouldn’t tear itself apart in civil war.
For a frozen moment, they stared at each other.
Then Matthias drew his sword.
The rasp of steel leaving its scabbard echoed in the silence. Lucian’s breath stopped. His entire body tensed, waiting for the strike—
But the General’s next motion wasn’t an attack.
He reversed the sword, catching the blade with his left hand. His movements were sharp, decisive—and then he dropped to his knees with a force that made the impact audible.
The sword extended across both palms, hilt toward Lucian.
Matthias bowed his head.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” his voice rang clear across the silent courtyard. “I am your servant. I have always been your servant. I will always be your servant.”
A pause, and then, with an intensity that struck Lucian to his core:
“My sword is yours. My life is yours. My loyalty is yours. Everything I am, everything I have, everything I command—it is yours to command. Today and forever.”
Silence.
Absolute, total silence.
But Matthias wasn’t finished.
“I know what they’re saying.” His voice carried across the courtyard, meant for Lucian but loud enough for the army to hear. “I know there are lords who want me on the throne. Provinces that have declared for me. Men who whisper that I should take the crown.”
His grip tightened on the blade he held.
“I have refused them all. I have told them I serve my Emperor, and that anyone who speaks otherwise is a traitor.”
He lifted his head slightly, just enough that Lucian could see his eyes.
“But I understand, Your Majesty. I understand the position you’re in. The realm is splitting. Civil war threatens. And I—” his voice caught slightly, “—I am the cause of it. Not by choice, not by desire, but by simple fact. My existence, my army, my reputation—it’s tearing the realm apart.”
Another pause, heavy with meaning.
“So I offer you the only solution that will preserve the peace.”
Matthias raised the sword slightly, still offering the hilt to Lucian.
“Take my life, Your Majesty. Execute me here, before the army, before the city, before the realm. My death will secure your throne. The lords who support me will have no figurehead to rally behind. The provinces will return to your rule. The threat of civil war will end.”
Lucian stared down at him, unable to move, unable to breathe.
“I offer this freely,” Matthias continued, his voice steady despite what he was saying. “Without resentment, without fear. If my death is what the realm needs, if my blood is what secures your throne—then take it. I would die gladly for my Emperor. A thousand times I would die before I would raise my hand against you.”
The words hung in the air.
The General—this legendary warrior, this man who could have taken everything—knelt before him with his life openly offered, without conditions, without demands.
Offering to die for him.
Their eyes met, and in that moment, both men understood the terrible mathematics of power.
Kill the General, and Lucian’s reign would be secure. The army would be leaderless. The rebellious lords would have no one to rally behind. The civil war would never happen.
It was the logical choice. The strategic choice. The choice that would save the realm.
All Lucian had to do was take the offered sword and drive it through the heart of the man kneeling before him.
Matthias slowly closed his eyes and bowed his head lower.
Accepting. Waiting. Ready.
And Lucian saw it—saw the slight tremor in the General’s hands where they gripped the blade. Saw the tension in his shoulders. Saw the rapid pulse beating in his throat.
The General was afraid.
Matthias Corvain, the Undefeated, the man who’d stared down death a thousand times on a thousand battlefields, who’d never flinched from any enemy—he was afraid now.
Not of death itself. The General had never feared death.
But of this death. This moment. Kneeling here, defenseless, waiting for his Emperor to end his life.
And he couldn’t run. Couldn’t save himself. Because running would plunge the realm into civil war. Running would make everything worse.
So he knelt. Waited. Offered his life.
Just as Lucian had stood here offering his own, for the same reason.
Both of them, Lucian realized with sudden, overwhelming clarity, had been willing to die to save the realm.
The Emperor who’d dismissed his guards and stood alone, waiting to be killed.
The General who now knelt with his eyes closed, waiting to be executed.
Two men, both terrified, both certain of death, both willing to sacrifice themselves because it was the only way to prevent thousands from dying in civil war.
Lucian looked down at this remarkable man—this legendary warrior who commanded armies, who’d never lost a battle, who could have seized power with a word but instead offered his throat to the blade.
And he decided.
Never.
He would not kill this man. Would not be forced to execute someone whose only crime was being too loyal, too capable, too much what the realm needed.
Yes, there were nobles who wanted to follow the General instead of him. Yes, the realm was splitting. Yes, Matthias’s death would solve the immediate crisis.
But the General’s loyalty was beyond question. He’d just proven it in the most absolute way possible—by offering his life without hesitation, without conditions, with nothing but service and devotion.
And if that loyalty was real—if it was as absolute as it appeared—then together they could prevent the civil war. Together they could hold the realm. Together they could make the rebellious lords understand that there would be no coup, no change, no opportunity for chaos.
The General’s loyalty was the foundation. And foundations weren’t meant to be destroyed—they were meant to be built upon.
Lucian had been so focused on the threat that he’d missed the opportunity. Missed the gift he was being offered.
Not just a servant, but an ally. Not just a soldier, but a shield. Not just loyalty, but absolute, unwavering devotion that would make his reign possible.
And he’d nearly thrown it away out of fear.
Matthias knelt with his eyes closed, head bowed, waiting for death. His hands trembled slightly on the blade. His breathing was controlled but shallow.
He expected to die. Was certain of it. And despite eighteen years of warfare, despite facing death a thousand times, he was afraid.
The absolute certainty of death. The knowledge that in moments, his Emperor would take his life and the realm would be secure.
He wanted to run. Every instinct screamed at him to stand, to fight, to save himself.
But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Because running would doom the realm to civil war, and he was a man who put duty above all else.
So he knelt. Waited. And prepared to die.
He didn’t know what Lucian was thinking. Didn’t know that the Emperor was staring down at him with something like awe, seeing him clearly for the first time in decades.
He only knew that any moment now, the blade would fall, and it would be over.
The General had faced death before. But never like this. Never helpless. Never waiting for someone else to deliver the blow.
His heart hammered against his ribs. His throat was tight. The fear was almost overwhelming.
But he kept his eyes closed. Kept his head bowed. Kept offering the sword.
Because this was duty. This was service. This was what it meant to truly serve—to give not just your strength, not just your skills, but your very life, freely offered, without reservation.
If his Emperor commanded it, he would die.
And he would die knowing he’d done his duty to the end.
The silence stretched. Every second felt like an eternity.
Matthias waited for the blow that would end everything.
Lucian reached down with shaking hands—but not to take the sword.
Instead, he gently pushed the blade aside and placed both hands on Matthias’s shoulders.
“Rise,” he said quietly. “Please. Rise, General.”
For a moment, Matthias didn’t move. Couldn’t process the words.
Then slowly—so slowly—he opened his eyes.
He looked up at Lucian, and the Emperor saw naked shock in his face. Disbelief. Confusion.
He’d been certain he would die. Had accepted it. Had prepared for it.
And now—
“Rise,” Lucian repeated, his voice stronger now. “I will not kill you, Matthias Corvain. Not today. Not ever. Your loyalty is beyond question. Your service is beyond price. And I would be the greatest fool in the history of the Empire if I destroyed the very foundation upon which my reign could be built.”
Matthias stood slowly, like a man in a dream. The sword slipped from his hands, clattering on the stone steps.
They stood face to face, and Lucian could see the General trying to understand, trying to process what had just happened.
“But the realm—” Matthias’s voice was hoarse. “The civil war—the lords who want me—”
“Will learn,” Lucian said firmly, “that you are my General. That your loyalty is to me, absolutely and without question. That anyone who seeks to use your name to rebel against the throne is committing treason—not just against me, but against you as well.”
He met the General’s eyes steadily.
“We will face them together. You and I. Emperor and General. And we will make them understand that the realm is not splitting, the throne is not changing, and that the only path forward is unity under the rightful Emperor—with the Undefeated General at his side.”
A pause, and then Lucian added, more quietly:
“I have spent my entire life believing you looked down on me. Believing you saw me as inadequate, as lesser. I was wrong. And I nearly let that fear cost both of us our lives and the realm its peace.”
He bent down and picked up the fallen sword, offering it back to Matthias.
“This is yours. Earned through eighteen years of service. Proven through loyalty I didn’t deserve but received anyway. Take it. Wield it in my name. And help me be an Emperor worthy of General Matthias Corvain’s service.”
Matthias took the sword with trembling hands. For a long moment, he just stared at it, as if unable to believe he was still alive to hold it.
Then he looked up at Lucian, and something broke in his face—the iron control, the professional mask, all of it shattered.
“Your Majesty,” his voice was thick with emotion, “I would die for you a thousand times. But I swear to you now—I will live for you as well. I will serve you with every breath, every skill, every resource I command. Not because you spared my life, but because you are my Emperor, and that has always been enough.”
From behind them, from the courtyard, a single voice called out: “Long live Emperor Lucian!”
Then another. And another. Within moments, the entire army was chanting it.
“Long live the Emperor!”
“Long live the Empire!”
“Long live Emperor Lucian and General Corvain!”
The sound swelled, rolled out through the gates, into the city where fearful crowds had gathered. Relief replaced terror. Celebration replaced dread.
The execution everyone feared would never happen.
The coup everyone expected had been refused.
Lucian looked out over the cheering army, the celebrating crowds, and felt something unknot in his chest.
He’d stood here prepared to die. Had dismissed his guards, sent away his protection, made himself vulnerable because he’d believed it was the only way to save the realm.
And the General had climbed these steps prepared to die for exactly the same reason.
Both of them willing to sacrifice themselves. Both of them putting duty above survival.
And now they stood together, alive, united.
Matthias stood beside him, sword back at his side, his face composed once more—but Lucian could see it now. The loyalty that had always been there. The devotion he’d been too blind to recognize. The foundation upon which he could build a reign.
“Thank you,” Lucian said quietly, meant only for Matthias. “For not making me face this alone. For giving me something I didn’t know I needed—a reason to believe I can do this.”
Matthias glanced at him, and something like a smile touched his lips—brief, barely there, but genuine.
“You’re my Emperor, Your Majesty. You’ll never face anything alone. That’s what this means.” He gestured to the army below, still cheering. “Not just my loyalty, but yours to command. We stand together, or we fall together.”
Simple words. A simple promise.
But Lucian felt their weight settle over him like a mantle, heavy but oddly comforting.
He had an Empire to rule. A realm to govern. Rebellious lords to face. A civil war to prevent.
But he wouldn’t face it alone.
The Undefeated General stood beside him, and that loyalty—that absolute, unwavering loyalty that both men had just proven with their willingness to die—would be his foundation.
They stood together at the top of the steps, Emperor and General, ruler and servant, looking out over the celebrating crowds.
And for the first time since his father’s death, since the crown had fallen to him, Lucian felt something other than fear.
He felt hope.
Not because he was particularly brilliant or capable or worthy.
But because the man standing beside him was all those things, and had chosen—freely, absolutely, without reservation—to serve.
Lucian had come here expecting to die.
The General had climbed these steps expecting to die.
Instead, they’d both found something neither expected.
An ally. A foundation. Perhaps, eventually, even friendship.
And together, they would save the realm.
That Evening
The celebrations had finally died down. The army had been quartered in the city, the crowds dispersed, the lords and advisors sent away with assurances that the realm was stable, unified, secure.
But Lucian knew better.
He stood in his private chambers, still wearing the crown that felt too heavy, the robes that felt too large. Through the window, he could see torches burning throughout the city—celebrations continuing in taverns and streets.
They thought the crisis was over. They thought the General’s public oath had solved everything.
But Lucian had seen the faces of men like Count Aldric. Had seen the calculating looks, the barely concealed disappointment. The lords who’d declared for Corvain wouldn’t simply accept defeat. They’d probe, test, look for weakness.
And they’d find it. Because the truth was simple and terrible: the General commanded absolute loyalty from the army. Lucian commanded… what? A title? A bloodline? Fear of civil war?
It wasn’t enough. Not in the long term. Not when ambitious men started whispering again, started wondering if the General might be persuaded to reconsider, might be convinced that duty required him to take the throne “for the good of the realm.”
Lucian had spent the afternoon in council meetings, watching the lords’ reactions. Some were genuinely relieved—they’d feared civil war and were grateful it had been avoided. But others… others wore their disappointment poorly. And worse, he’d seen them watching Matthias, calculating, wondering.
How long before they approached the General again? How long before they argued that his oath could be set aside “for the good of the realm”? How long before they pointed out that nothing truly bound him to the throne except words—and words could be reconsidered?
The door opened without a knock.
Lucian turned to find General Corvain standing in the doorway. He’d cleaned up since the morning—fresh clothes, though still simple, practical. His sword hung at his hip.
“Your Majesty.” Matthias’s voice was formal, controlled. “Forgive the intrusion. But we need to speak. Privately.”
Lucian nodded, his throat suddenly tight. “Close the door.”
Matthias did, then crossed the room. He moved with that same military precision, but Lucian could see the tension in his shoulders.
“I spent the afternoon with the army,” Matthias said without preamble. “Ensuring they understood their orders, organizing the quarters, dealing with logistics.” He paused. “And listening to what people were saying.”
“And what were they saying?”
“That the General’s oath is a temporary thing. That loyalty can change. That given time, circumstances might… shift.” Matthias’s voice was carefully neutral. “Count Aldric in particular has been speaking to various captains. Not openly treasonous. Just… probing. Testing. Seeing who might be swayed.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “I see.”
“Your Majesty, I have been thinking about this all day. About what happened this morning—what we both were willing to do to prevent civil war.” Matthias met his eyes. “We both understood that something irrevocable was needed. You were willing to die. I was willing to die. We both saw that half-measures wouldn’t be enough.”
He moved closer, his expression intense.
“This morning, we were both wrong about who needed to die. But we were right about the fundamental problem: the realm needs something binding. Something that can’t be undone by whispers or promises or political maneuvering.”
“What are you suggesting?” Lucian asked, though he could feel where this was going, feel the weight of it settling over him.
Matthias took a breath. “The lords see me as an alternative to you. As long as I remain unmarried, unbound to the throne by anything more than words, they’ll keep seeing me that way. They’ll keep hoping. Keep planning. Keep working to drive a wedge between us.”
“So you’re saying you should marry,” Lucian said slowly. “Bind yourself to some noble house, create alliances—”
“No.” Matthias’s voice was firm. “That would only make it worse. Whichever house I chose would become the most powerful in the realm overnight. And their ambitions would become my problem. They’d push me to take the throne ‘for the good of the realm and our children.'”
A pause, heavy with implication.
“There’s only one marriage that would solve this, Your Majesty. Only one bond that would make it impossible for the lords to see me as an alternative emperor.”
Lucian’s breath caught as understanding crashed over him.
“You and I,” Matthias said quietly. “An Imperial marriage. It would bind me to the throne irreversibly—not as a rival, but as a consort. Part of the Imperial family. The lords couldn’t approach me without committing treason not just against you, but against the united Imperial household.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Lucian stared at him, his mind racing through the implications.
It made perfect political sense. A marriage would create a bond that couldn’t be dissolved by second thoughts or changing circumstances. The General would become part of the Imperial family—no longer a potential rival, but family. The rebellious lords would lose their figurehead. The threat of civil war would end not through death or degradation, but through an alliance so public, so binding, that it couldn’t be undone.
It was brilliant.
It was also a sacrifice. For both of them.
“You understand what you’re proposing,” Lucian said slowly. “This wouldn’t be… this would be a marriage of state. Political. There would need to be heirs—I would take concubines for that purpose, women who could bear children. But the marriage itself would be real, binding, public.”
“I understand,” Matthias said. “And there would need to be… more than just a ceremony. The realm would expect consummation. Proof that the marriage is legitimate, not just a political fiction.”
Lucian felt heat rise to his face, but he forced himself to think clearly, strategically.
“The wedding night,” he said carefully. “And… there are fertility ceremonies. Four times a year, traditionally. The Emperor and his consort are expected to… to participate. To bless the realm’s prosperity.”
It was an ancient tradition, one that hadn’t been observed in his father’s time—his mother had been the Empress, and the ceremonies had been private, symbolic rather than literal. But with a male consort, with a marriage that needed to be seen as legitimate and binding…
“I understand,” Matthias repeated. “Four times a year, plus the wedding night. A duty. Something we would both endure for the sake of the realm.”
“Endure,” Lucian echoed, and something in his chest tightened at the word.
This wasn’t how marriages were supposed to work. This wasn’t romance or desire or choice. This was strategy. Necessity. Two men willing to bind themselves together—physically, legally, publicly—because it was the only way to save the realm from tearing itself apart.
Just like this morning, when they’d both been willing to die.
“You’re certain,” Lucian said quietly. “You understand what you’d be giving up. The freedom to choose your own spouse. To marry for love, or politics of your own choosing. Children of your own bloodline. This would be… permanent. Binding. There’s no undoing a marriage to the Emperor.”
“I understand,” Matthias said for the third time. “And yes, I’m certain. This morning I was willing to give my life. Tonight I’m willing to give my freedom. Both for the same reason—to prevent civil war, to secure the realm, to ensure stability.”
He met Lucian’s eyes steadily.
“And this is better than death, Your Majesty. We would both live. We would both serve the realm. We would face the future together rather than having one of us die for it.”
Lucian looked at him—really looked at him. This man who’d been willing to die this morning, who was now offering to bind his entire life to Lucian’s. Not out of love or desire, but out of duty. Out of that same absolute loyalty that had brought him to his knees on the palace steps.
And Lucian realized he was being offered something extraordinary.
Not a sacrifice this time, but a partnership. Not death, but life—complicated, difficult, politically necessary life, but life nonetheless.
“If we do this,” Lucian said slowly, “it has to be real. Not just a ceremony and a legal document. We would be bound to each other—in public, in private, in every way that matters. I won’t dishonor you by making this a mere political fiction. If you’re willing to give up your freedom for this, then I owe you the respect of taking it seriously.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Matthias said quietly.
They stood looking at each other, and Lucian felt the weight of what they were deciding. Two men, both willing to sacrifice for the realm. This morning it had been death. Tonight it was this—a different kind of sacrifice, but no less real.
“Then I’m asking you,” Lucian said formally. “General Matthias Corvain, will you accept an Imperial marriage? Will you become my consort, bound to the throne and to me, for the sake of the realm’s stability and peace?”
It was the strangest proposal imaginable. No romance, no courtship. Just two men choosing duty over personal desire, choosing the realm over themselves.
Matthias knelt—not in submission this time, but in acceptance.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will marry you. I will bind myself to you and to the throne. I will be your consort in all ways required—publicly, legally, and…” he took a breath, “…physically, when duty requires it. I offer this freely, as I offered my life this morning. For the realm. For peace. For the future we’re trying to build.”
Lucian reached down and took Matthias’s hands, drawing him to his feet.
“Then we’re agreed. We’ll announce it tomorrow—give the lords no time to maneuver or object. A Imperial marriage, immediate and binding. Within a week, before anyone can organize resistance.”
“It will shock them,” Matthias observed.
“Good,” Lucian said firmly. “Let them be shocked. Let them understand that you and I are bound together now, irrevocably. That there’s no driving us apart, no approaching you with offers and schemes, no civil war to be had.”
He squeezed Matthias’s hands.
“This morning we were both willing to die for peace. Tonight we’re both willing to live for it—in a way neither of us expected or chose. But it’s the right answer. The only answer that solves this without blood.”
“A marriage instead of a funeral,” Matthias said, and there was something almost like dark humor in his voice. “I’m not sure which would have been easier.”
“Neither am I,” Lucian admitted. “But at least this way we both survive to see if we can make it work.”
They stood there, hands still clasped, two men who’d agreed to bind their lives together not out of love but out of duty. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t comfortable. But it was honest, and it was mutual, and it was—perhaps—the foundation of something that could work.
“I won’t pretend this will be easy,” Lucian said quietly. “The wedding night will be… awkward at best. The fertility ceremonies will be public, ritualized, strange. We’ll have to share chambers sometimes, maintain the appearance of a true marriage. And neither of us chose this.”
“No,” Matthias agreed. “But we’re both choosing it now. Consciously. Two adults who understand what we’re agreeing to and why. That’s more than many political marriages have.”
“And more than we had this morning, when we both thought we’d be dead by sunset,” Lucian added.
Something passed between them—acknowledgment of how far they’d come in a single day. From expecting death to planning marriage. From seeing each other as potential enemy and victim to seeing each other as partners in survival.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Matthias said. “I’ve never… the wedding night won’t be something I have experience with. I’ve spent eighteen years in military camps, focused entirely on duty. I don’t know how to be a husband, even a political one.”
“Neither do I,” Lucian admitted. “I spent my life expecting to remain the spare prince, perhaps married off to some minor noble for political alliance. I never expected to be Emperor, much less to marry my General to prevent civil war.”
They looked at each other, and despite everything—despite the strangeness and the political necessity and the uncomfortable future ahead—something almost like a smile crossed both their faces.
“We’re both terrible at this,” Matthias observed.
“Completely,” Lucian agreed. “But at least we’re terrible at it together.”
“Together,” Matthias repeated, and this time the word had weight. A promise. Not of love or passion, but of partnership. Of two people choosing to face something difficult as allies rather than enemies.
Lucian released Matthias’s hands and stepped back.
“Tomorrow we’ll announce it. Tonight… tonight I think we both need to process what we’ve just agreed to. This has been the longest day of my life, and I suspect it’s been the same for you.”
“Agreed,” Matthias said. “Though I should warn you—the army will have opinions about this. Strong ones. Some will approve of anything that secures stability. Others will be… uncomfortable.”
“Let them be uncomfortable,” Lucian said firmly. “They’ll adjust. The realm will adjust. And if they don’t—well, they’ll still obey, because you and I will stand together and make it clear this isn’t negotiable.”
Matthias nodded slowly. “Then I’ll take my leave, Your Majesty. We both need rest before tomorrow. It will be… a significant day.”
“Matthias,” Lucian called as the General turned to go.
Matthias paused, looking back.
“Thank you,” Lucian said quietly. “This morning you offered your life. Tonight you’re offering your freedom. Both are extraordinary sacrifices. I won’t forget that. And I’ll do everything I can to make this… bearable. For both of us.”
Matthias’s expression softened slightly. “You refused my life this morning because you saw a better way. Perhaps this marriage will prove to be another better way—not perfect, not what either of us would have chosen, but survivable. Workable. Perhaps even, eventually, something we can both live with without constant regret.”
“I hope so,” Lucian said.
After Matthias left, Lucian stood alone in his chambers, staring at his reflection in the window.
In one day, he’d gone from expecting to die, to preparing to kill, to agreeing to marry. The realm had been on the brink of civil war this morning. Now it would be secured by a marriage no one expected, between an Emperor and his General.
It wasn’t a fairy tale. There would be no romance, no passionate love affair. Just two men, both willing to sacrifice for duty, choosing to bind themselves together because it was the only way forward that didn’t end in death.
The wedding night would be awkward. The fertility ceremonies would be strange and public and uncomfortable. They would have to learn to share space, share a life, share a bed when required—not out of desire but out of necessity.
But they would both be alive. They would both serve the realm. And perhaps, over time, they might even find a way to make it bearable.
Lucian touched the crown on his head—still too heavy, still too large.
But tomorrow, when he announced his marriage to General Corvain, he would wear it with more certainty. Because he wouldn’t be wearing it alone.
He would have a consort. A partner. Someone bound to him by choice and duty and political necessity—but bound nonetheless.
It wasn’t the reign he’d imagined.
But then, nothing about today had been what he’d imagined.
And somehow, they’d both survived it.
Tomorrow they would face the lords together and announce a marriage that would shock the realm.
But tonight, Lucian allowed himself a moment of quiet acknowledgment: he’d been willing to die this morning. Matthias had been willing to die. And instead, they’d both chosen to live—and to build something together that neither had expected but both understood was necessary.
It wasn’t romance.
But it was partnership.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
Ten Years Later
Lucian stood by the window of his private chambers, watching the last light fade from the sky. The city below was celebrating—ten years since the Imperial marriage that had saved the realm from civil war. Torches blazed, music drifted up from the streets, and somewhere in the distance, fireworks burst in brilliant colors.
Ten years.
It felt like a lifetime. It felt like yesterday.
He touched the crown that no longer felt too heavy, wore the robes that had finally become his own. The Emperor he’d been terrified of becoming had somehow, impossibly, become simply who he was.
And so much of that was because of the man who would soon walk through that door.
The chambers were different tonight. No priests waiting to sanctify. No witnesses to observe. No ceremonial incense or ritual wine. Just candles—dozens of them, casting warm light across the room. And flowers, because Matthias had mentioned once, years ago, that he missed the wildflowers that grew near the northern border.
Lucian had remembered.
His hands were shaking slightly. He forced them still, then gave up. Let them shake. After ten years, Matthias knew all his tells anyway. Knew when he was nervous, when he was uncertain, when he was trying to hide how he felt.
The door opened.
Matthias stood in the doorway, and Lucian’s breath caught the way it still did sometimes, even after all these years.
The General—though he rarely used that title anymore—had aged well. There was more silver in his dark hair now, lines around his eyes that came from laughter as much as from old battles. He’d retired from active military command five years ago, when it became clear the realm was stable, the borders secure, his presence no longer needed on distant battlefields.
He’d been needed here instead. By the realm. By their children.
By Lucian.
Matthias wore simple clothes tonight—no formal robes, no military dress. Just a shirt and trousers, as if this were any other evening. But Lucian could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he moved. He was nervous too.
“The children are asleep,” Matthias said quietly, closing the door behind him. “Marcus wanted to stay up to see the fireworks, but Elena convinced him that tomorrow’s celebrations would be even better.”
“She’s good at that,” Lucian said, smiling at the thought of their daughter—nine years old and already displaying the diplomatic skills of an empress. “She gets it from you. The tactical thinking.”
“She gets her stubbornness from you,” Matthias countered, but there was warmth in his voice. “And Marcus gets his curiosity from both of us, which is why I found him in the library this afternoon trying to read military histories meant for adults.”
They stood looking at each other, and Lucian felt the weight of the moment settle over them.
Ten years ago, they’d stood in a temple surrounded by hundreds of witnesses and spoken vows that were dutiful, necessary, political. They’d consummated that marriage because it was required, with priests waiting outside to confirm it had been done. Four times a year for ten years, they’d come together for the fertility ceremonies—public, ritualized, uncomfortable unions that fulfilled their obligations to the realm.
And it had been difficult. Especially at first.
Those early ceremonies had been awkward, mechanical, something to be endured. They’d been polite to each other, considerate, but it had been duty, not desire. A necessary part of the political bargain they’d both agreed to.
Then the children had come. First Marcus, with Lucian’s eyes and Matthias’s determined chin—born to a concubine but raised by both of them as their heir. Then Elena, fierce and brilliant, who’d wrapped both of them around her tiny finger from the moment she was born. And little Alexander, only three, who followed Matthias everywhere and called Lucian “Papa Emperor” because he couldn’t quite separate the two concepts yet.
Raising them together had changed things. Late nights with colicky babies. Early mornings teaching Marcus to ride. Afternoons in the garden watching Elena chase butterflies. Quiet evenings reading stories to Alexander.
Somewhere in all of that, between the ceremonies and the children and the years of ruling side by side, something had shifted.
They’d become partners. Real partners, not just political ones.
They’d become friends.
And then, slowly, carefully, so gradually that Lucian couldn’t point to a single moment when it happened—they’d become something more.
“I keep thinking about that first night,” Matthias said quietly, still standing by the door. “Ten years ago. How terrified we both were.”
“You weren’t terrified,” Lucian said automatically, then caught himself. “Were you?”
“Absolutely.” Matthias moved closer, into the candlelight. “I’d faced down armies, survived eighteen years of warfare, never flinched from any battle. But that night, knowing what we had to do, knowing there were priests waiting outside…” He shook his head. “I was terrified.”
“I thought I was the only one,” Lucian admitted. “You seemed so calm. So controlled.”
“That’s what eighteen years in the military teaches you—how to hide fear.” Matthias stopped a few paces away. “But I was afraid. Afraid of hurting you. Afraid of making it worse than it had to be. Afraid that you’d regret choosing this instead of letting me die on those steps.”
Lucian’s throat tightened. “I never regretted it. Even when it was difficult. Even when the ceremonies felt like… like something to be survived rather than shared. I never regretted choosing life with you over death without you.”
“Neither did I,” Matthias said quietly. “But I won’t lie—there were times, especially in those first years, when I wondered if we’d made the right choice. If binding ourselves together out of duty was fair to either of us.”
“When did that change for you?” Lucian asked. “When did it stop feeling like just duty?”
Matthias considered for a moment. “Do you remember when Marcus was two, and he got that fever? We both stayed up for three nights, taking turns holding him, trying to get the fever to break.”
Lucian nodded. He remembered the terror of those nights, the helplessness.
“The third night,” Matthias continued, “around dawn, you finally fell asleep in the chair next to his bed. And I looked at you—exhausted, worried sick about our son, still wearing yesterday’s clothes—and I realized something.”
“What?”
“That somewhere along the way, you’d stopped being my duty and started being my family.” Matthias’s voice was soft. “Not because of ceremonies or obligations or political necessity. But because we’d built something real together. A life. A home. Children we both loved. And I looked at you holding our son, and I thought… I thought I was glad I was alive to see it.”
Lucian felt tears prick his eyes. “For me, it was watching you teach Marcus to ride. He was four, and so determined to do it by himself, and you were so patient with him. Taking him around the paddock again and again, never losing your temper when he fell, always encouraging him to try again. And I realized I loved you.”
The words hung in the air between them.
They’d never said it before. Not in ten years. Not through all the ceremonies, all the years of raising children together, all the quiet moments of partnership and friendship.
Because saying it made it real. Made it something more than duty or convenience or political necessity.
Made it a choice.
“I love you too,” Matthias said, and his voice cracked slightly. “I have for years now. But I didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know if you’d want to hear it. We’d built something good, something that worked, and I was afraid that saying it out loud would… would change things. Make them complicated.”
“Things are already complicated,” Lucian said with a small smile. “We’re two men who married to prevent a civil war, who’ve spent ten years fulfilling our duties, who have three children and an empire to run. It doesn’t get much more complicated than that.”
“No,” Matthias agreed. “But this—” he gestured between them, “—this is the simplest thing I’ve ever felt. I love you. I want to be with you. Not because I have to. Not because of ceremonies or obligations. But because you’re the person I want to wake up next to. The person I want to share my life with. The person who makes me glad I climbed those steps ten years ago instead of turning around and leaving.”
Lucian crossed the distance between them, took Matthias’s hands in his own. They’d held hands countless times over the years—in public ceremonies, in private moments with the children, in the aftermath of difficult council meetings. But this felt different. More intimate somehow.
“I asked you here tonight,” Lucian said softly, “because I wanted to do something we never got to do ten years ago. I wanted to choose you. Not as a political necessity. Not as a way to prevent war. But as the person I love. The person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
He squeezed Matthias’s hands.
“Ten years ago, we made vows in front of hundreds of witnesses. Vows that were true and binding, but that were also about duty and sacrifice and saving the realm. Tonight, I want to make new vows. Just between us. No witnesses. No ceremonies. No obligations except the ones we choose freely.”
Matthias’s eyes were bright in the candlelight. “What kind of vows?”
“The kind that matter,” Lucian said. “Matthias Corvain, I choose you. I love you. I want to be your husband not because politics demands it, not because the realm needs it, but because my heart needs it. Because you’ve become the center of my world, and I can’t imagine facing another day without you beside me.”
He took a breath.
“Will you choose me? Will you be my husband not out of duty, but out of love?”
Matthias’s hands tightened on his. For a moment, he couldn’t seem to speak. Then:
“Yes. Gods, yes. Lucian—” and it was rare that he used Lucian’s name without the title, rare and precious, “—I choose you. I love you. You’re not just my Emperor or my duty or my political obligation. You’re the person who makes me laugh, who challenges me to be better, who gave me a family I never thought I’d have. You’re the father of our children and my partner in everything that matters. And I want to be your husband because I love you, because I choose you, because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you.”
They stood there, holding hands, and Lucian felt tears slip down his cheeks. He didn’t try to hide them.
“Then we’re married,” he said softly. “Really married. Not just legally or politically or ceremonially. But married in the way that matters—two people who love each other choosing to build a life together.”
“Married,” Matthias echoed, and then he smiled—that rare, genuine smile that Lucian had learned to treasure over the years. “Again. For the first time.”
Lucian laughed through his tears, and then Matthias was pulling him close, and they were holding each other the way they’d held each other countless times over the years—but different now. Charged with something new. Something chosen.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Matthias murmured against his hair. “Wanted to hold you not because it was required, not because there was a ceremony to complete, but just because I wanted to. Because touching you feels right. Because being close to you is where I want to be.”
“Then stay close,” Lucian whispered. “Not just tonight. Always. Let’s stop counting ceremonies and start counting moments. Let’s be together because we want to be, not because we have to be.”
They pulled back slightly, just enough to see each other’s faces. Matthias’s hand came up to cup Lucian’s cheek, thumb brushing away tears.
“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” Lucian admitted. “But not the way I was ten years ago. Not afraid or uncertain about duty. Just… nervous because this matters. Because you matter. Because I want this to be good for both of us.”
“It will be,” Matthias said with quiet certainty. “Because we love each other. Because we’re choosing this. Because we’ve had ten years to learn each other, to become partners, to build trust.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Lucian’s.
“And because,” he added, softer, “I’ve spent ten years watching you, learning what makes you happy, paying attention to every small thing. I know you now, Lucian. I know what you need. And I want to give it to you.”
“I know you too,” Lucian said. “Know that you’re gentler than you think you are. Know that you’re careful with the people you love. Know that you’ll make this good because that’s who you are—someone who takes care of the people who matter to him.”
They kissed then, soft and careful, and it wasn’t the first time they’d kissed—there had been public kisses, ceremonial kisses, even a few quick, almost unconscious kisses over the years when one of them was leaving for a trip or coming home after a long day. But this was different. This was a kiss between two people who loved each other, who’d chosen each other, who were starting something new even after ten years together.
When they pulled back, both breathing slightly harder, Matthias smiled.
“So,” he said, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. “Do we… should we…”
“Yes,” Lucian said, understanding what he was asking. “But not like the ceremonies. Not mechanical or obligatory or something to get through. Just… us. Taking our time. Learning each other in a new way.”
He took Matthias’s hand and led him toward the bed—the same bed they’d shared ceremonially four times a year for ten years, but which felt different tonight. New, somehow. Full of possibility instead of obligation.
They undressed slowly, helping each other, and there was tenderness in it. No rushing, no sense of duty to be fulfilled. Just two people who loved each other learning how to be together in a way they’d never quite managed before.
When they came together, it was different from every ceremony that had come before. Slower. More intimate. Full of whispered words and gentle touches and the kind of attention that came from really seeing each other, really caring about each other’s pleasure and comfort.
Matthias was careful, patient, asking what Lucian wanted, paying attention to every response. And Lucian found himself relaxing in a way he never had during the ceremonies—found himself able to touch back, to express what he was feeling, to be fully present instead of just enduring.
It wasn’t perfect—there were still awkward moments, uncertainties, things they had to figure out together. But it was real. Honest. Full of love and care and the intimacy that came from truly choosing each other.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, both breathing hard, both overwhelmed by the weight of what they’d just shared.
“That was…” Matthias started, then seemed unable to find words.
“Different,” Lucian finished. “So different from…”
“From duty,” Matthias agreed. He pulled Lucian closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “That was us. Really us. Not performing for witnesses or fulfilling obligations. Just… being together because we wanted to be.”
“I never knew it could be like that,” Lucian admitted quietly. “I thought… I thought the ceremonies were what it was supposed to be. I didn’t realize how much difference it makes when you’re doing it because you love someone, not because you have to.”
“Neither did I,” Matthias said. “I mean, I’d heard that, of course. But knowing it intellectually and actually feeling it are very different things.”
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, just holding each other, listening to each other breathe. Through the window, Lucian could still hear distant sounds of celebration—the city marking ten years of stability and peace.
“Do you ever wonder,” Matthias asked softly, “what would have happened if we’d made different choices that day? If you’d killed me, or I’d refused your offer of marriage, or we’d tried to fight the civil war instead?”
“Sometimes,” Lucian admitted. “But then I look at our children, at the realm we’ve built, at this—” he gestured to encompass the two of them, tangled together, “—and I can’t regret any of it. Even the difficult parts. Even the years when it was just duty and obligation. Because it all led here.”
“Here,” Matthias echoed. “To loving you. To being loved by you. To having a family and a home and a life I never imagined possible when I was climbing those palace steps, certain I was about to die.”
He tightened his arms around Lucian.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For refusing my life that day. For choosing this instead. For giving me ten years I never thought I’d have. For giving me children to love and a partner to build with and now, finally, this—the chance to be with you not out of duty but out of choice.”
“Thank you for offering,” Lucian replied. “For being willing to sacrifice for the realm. For accepting the marriage even though neither of us knew how it would work. For being patient through the difficult years. For becoming not just my consort but my friend, my partner, my love.”
He shifted to look up at Matthias’s face.
“And thank you for tonight. For being gentle. For making it good. For showing me what it’s supposed to feel like when two people who love each other choose to be together.”
Matthias smiled and kissed him again, slow and sweet.
“We have the rest of our lives to keep learning,” he said. “No more waiting for ceremonies. No more counting the calendar and marking off obligations. Just… being together when we want to be. Which, for the record, I suspect will be quite often.”
Lucian laughed softly. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” Matthias said firmly. “We wasted ten years doing this only when duty required it. I don’t intend to waste any more time. From now on, I plan to be thoroughly, enthusiastically devoted to my husband—not out of obligation, but because I love him and want him and can finally admit that without feeling like I’m making things complicated.”
“Things were always complicated,” Lucian pointed out. “But I think I like this kind of complicated much better.”
“So do I,” Matthias agreed.
They settled back into comfortable silence, Lucian resting his head on Matthias’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Outside, the celebrations continued, but here in their private chambers, everything was quiet and warm and perfect.
Ten years ago, they’d made vows out of necessity. Tonight, they’d made new ones out of love. And Lucian thought that somehow, impossibly, everything that had been difficult and uncertain and painful about those first years had been worth it to arrive at this moment.
They’d both been willing to die to save the realm. Instead, they’d learned to live—and somewhere along the way, they’d learned to love.
It wasn’t the story either of them would have written if given the choice. But looking at Matthias’s face in the candlelight, feeling the warmth of his embrace, knowing that their children slept safely down the hall and their realm was at peace and they had years still ahead of them to keep building this life together…
Lucian couldn’t imagine wanting any other story.
“I love you,” he said again, because he could now. Because it was true. Because after ten years of duty, he’d finally earned the right to choose.
“I love you too,” Matthias replied, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “Today and always. Not because I have to. But because I want to.”
And really, Lucian thought as he drifted toward sleep in his husband’s arms, that made all the difference.