Chapter 24: Threats

ZAR EMPIRE CAPITAL CITY:

RUBION’S EYE

Elyvara frowned down at the ledger in front of her. The man standing opposite her held himself with rigid posture — back straight, chin level, every inch the proper minister of commerce. What he lacked was the fear one would expect in the presence of a monarch. If anything, she could see him failing to hide the derision on his face. She smiled.

"Do you think I can’t touch you, Minister Goren?"

The question startled him into blinking several times. "Your Highness?"

Elyvara shook her head slowly. What was it with people lately, forgetting themselves in her presence? Did they truly believe taking a husband and elevating him to power beside her made her weak? Already the whispers had started, the protests building.

Much of the old Black Dragon nobility were nearly up in arms over her plan to bring outside blood into the succession — to dilute their precious bloodline with something they considered lesser. And that was only half the issue. Her competition had been opened solely to the vassal kingdoms, when tradition demanded any prince or princess consort come from other Black Dragon lines, precisely to prevent that kind of dilution. Suffice to say, her decision had ruffled more than a few feathers.

"You’ve placed a ledger in front of me that’s been obviously tampered with. You look at me as though I’m beneath your notice, and you reek so thoroughly of Derava’s influence I can smell her on you from across this table." Elyvara scoffed and reached for a glass of water.

Minister Goren looked distinctly uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop him from lifting his chin further, looking down at her along the bridge of his nose. She chuckled again, then let her gaze fall back to the ledger.

"Tribute from the outer provinces has dropped drastically. I expected some reduction — the unification effort accounts for that — but not within the margin of the seventy-five percent drop sitting in front of me. And I have agents embedded in every structure of importance across this empire that tell me this report is, without a shred of doubt, absolute bullshit." Her voice rose, and the minister flinched. She pressed on.

"And then you have the audacity to walk into my palace, drop this joke on my table, and inform me that my policies have failed — that for the good of the realm, I need to ’do the needful’ to pacify my subjects." Elyvara tilted her head, and something about the motion made her look considerably more dangerous, her purple eyes gleaming with a very clear promise of violence. Goren swallowed audibly, but pressed on regardless.

"Forgive me, Princess Elyvara. I meant no disrespect. I’m only here to report on the current state of the empire’s finances. Your subjects aren’t happy that you’ve effectively declared war on them, rather than our actual enemies. That’s precisely why tax collection has slowed — reports of protests and open revolt are coming in daily from across the empire, especially in the former N’kora lands."

Goren paused, swallowing again. There was something in the way Elyvara watched him now — cold, calculating, the kind of gaze that told him she was only still listening because she’d decided to give him the chance to plead his case. Judgment had already been passed. He simply didn’t know its shape yet. He could only hope his gamble paid off — and if it didn’t, he remained too valuable an asset to the empire, and so did the interests backing him.

"The people need something positive to rally behind. But more than that — the noble houses. Your true people. The old blood worries you’re sidelining them in a bid to consolidate power entirely in your own hands, especially given your decision to marry whichever beast wins your civil war. We fear for the sanctity of the imperial bloodline, and we implore you to take a consort from among the Draconic clans instead. At minimum, a suitable seed donor, so the order of succession remains unbroken and unstained by the unworthy. The gods forbid the winner turns out to be that forsaken Black Lion — your own people would rise up over the prophecy alone."

Elyvara didn’t blink. She didn’t speak. She simply watched Goren, waiting, almost hoping, for him to make an even greater fool of himself. The man felt the pressure building around him regardless — a wave of nameless terror closing in that he couldn’t quite place. Still, he kept talking. Anything less would mean admitting exactly how afraid of her he was, even standing within the same tier of power.

"Give your people, Your Majesty, an heir of proper Draconic blood, and we will do everything in our power to support you against any uprising or enemy that comes. As for the drop in taxes — I’ve already put my best collectors to work, backed by personal guards from my own estate and those of the other dragon clans. We’ll have the kingdom pacified and full taxation restored within two months at the outside. All we humbly ask is that you consider our proposal, Princess Elyvara."

*Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.*

The only sound in the room was Elyvara’s manicured nails against the polished surface of her desk. With each tap, Goren seemed to sink further into his own dread. He couldn’t quite place what it was about this woman — some suppressive weight to her presence, an intimidating aura her father had never carried, not even at the height of his reign. Beautiful as she was, in this moment she looked, and felt, like death itself.

"Is this blackmail? You cut off funding to the projects I’m working on, gut my taxes, and tell me you’ll fix it all — let me phrase this as delicately as I can — only once I spread my legs for," Elyvara leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, silk straining faintly across her chest, "one of your bastard, inbred sons? Or some other clan’s bastard, inbred son? How weak, how stupid, do you actually think I am?"

Goren blinked rapidly. "Princess Elyvara, I meant no disrespect. We — the dragons — are your true people. Two thousand years of ruling this empire, of bringing enlightenment to the degenerate masses beneath us. And you would elevate a beast bloodline above one of the Black Dragon clans that has stood beside your own bloodline since the empire’s founding? That is a betrayal of everything the N’Zar and the Zar Empire stand for." He dropped to his knees and bowed.

Elyvara raised an eyebrow at the theatrics. Dragons — black, white, the fiery reds, the placid blues, every last one of them — were far too prideful to kneel, let alone bow. That gesture was reserved for the "lesser beasts" they ruled over. It was almost impressive that these fools genuinely believed the display would work on her.

"Please, Princess Elyvara, listen to your true people and put an end to this madness. There’s still time — time to do the right thing. We all agree consolidating power under a stronger bloodline is the correct path forward. But to do it the way you’re proposing would be nothing short of blasphemy against your own ancestors. So please, hear us. Give us the chance to prove that only dragons deserve to stand beside you as emperor and empress of the Zar Draconic Empire."

Elyvara left him kneeling there for nearly ten minutes. The pressure bearing down on him only intensified with every passing second, sweat soaking through his robes, until she finally let out a low grunt. Goren lifted his head — just in time for her boot to crash into the back of his skull, driving him face-first into the floor with enough force to crack the polished tile beneath him.

"That was a very cute performance, Goren. Did my sister feed you those lines herself? Doesn’t matter either way. None of it will matter in six months. But you’re right about one thing — it would be unwise to throw away tradition and unity within our own race, especially now, with the other empires gearing up for continental war. You fools do realize that, don’t you? Two thousand years have passed, and the age of divided leadership is ending. Our ancestors’ ancient enemies across the seas will come looking for us soon enough, and you idiots want to waste time playing politics, fracturing my empire further, even as I try to govern all of you fairly." Elyvara ground her heel deeper into the back of his neck. Goren let out a whimper of pain, his whole body shaking, as much from humiliation as agony.

"After six months, I will host a tournament. A small affair — between the winner of my little unification contest, and the Black Dragon clans. Each clan may put forward one heir. That heir, alongside the winner, and any losers still breathing, will compete for the right to father my firstborn.

"If any of you fools had bothered to think this through, you’d have realized six months was never a realistic window for anyone to actually conquer and unify my empire. This was always a test — of resolve, of resilience — to see which of my vassals could become the tip of the spear I intend to point at the other empires. My people, suffering? What a joke. The war coming for all of us will be so monumental that everything currently happening within this empire will look like children playing at war by comparison."

Elyvara lifted her boot, letting Goren scramble upright with a gasp, fighting to catch his breath.

"Know this with absolute certainty, Minister Goren. You, and the rest of the Zar Empire’s dragon clans, will pay for what you’ve done here today. For walking into my home, threatening me, forcing an ultimatum on me, and interfering with the leadership and resources of my own empire. Many of you — and I say this without a shred of humor — many of you will suffer, and many of you will die. You have three days to see the rest of my tribute and taxes delivered to my coffers, in full, where they belong. Now get out of my sight. Your presence disgusts me."

Goren didn’t need telling twice. He fled the office as fast as his legs would carry him. Elyvara watched him go, a frown settling over her otherwise flawless features.

It seemed she had no choice now but to accelerate her plans.

It was time for people to die. And she already knew exactly where to start.