Chapter 90: As A Team

"Doesn’t really look like I’ve missed much," Vincent muttered as he made his way over, his voice low enough that it barely carried over the strumming of the lutes.

"You should sit and enjoy the evening," Lucian added smoothly, swirling a crystal glass of amber liquor. "Or are you suddenly stiff because you are a married man now? You know, the worst thing people like us can do is get married to those we actually care about. It weakens the resolve. Apparently, some of us seemed to have forgotten about that part."

Vincent offered a crisp, flawless bow to the sovereign, completely ignoring Lucian’s provocation. They were in the presence of the Emperor, and he had no intention of granting the Duke the satisfaction of a reaction.

Once he stood straight, Vincent’s dark gaze drifted back toward the scantily clad dancers in the center of the hall. He watched them not with lust or interest, but with a sudden, calculating curiosity. He was well aware that such decadent, private gatherings took place after grand balls, but as far as Vincent could recall, the Emperor had always despised these mindless late-night distractions.

In fact, the only reason Vincent had agreed to come tonight was because he assumed the Emperor had summoned him for a serious, private discussion on military borders and state affairs—not a soft-lit spectacle of wine and women.

And then there was Lucian.

Why was the Duke of all people lingering here as well? Had the Emperor summoned them both, or was Lucian simply playing courtier? It would not be the least surprising thing that’s happened tonight.

"It’s been years," Vincent finally broke the silence, turning his cold, discerning eyes fully toward the throne. "I see His Imperial Majesty’s taste has also changed with the passing of time."

Those words earned a short laugh from the sovereign, the sound deep and resonant against the soft music lingering in the room, and he turned his graying head toward Vincent.

"I have the high lords of the four kingdoms gathered with me in the palace tonight," the Emperor replied, resting a heavily ringed hand on the armrest of his chair. "Would it not be a shame if I did not spend time with the ones who keep the entire empire running in my name?"

The faint smile on the Emperor’s lips faded, replaced by the grim weight of his authority. He raised two fingers to signal the senior imperial officials standing silently at his side, mutely commanding them to oversee the dancers and keep an eye on the remaining noblemen in the salon. Then, without another word, he rose to his feet.

There was a subtle, unmistakable sluggishness to his movement—a fleeting moment where his knee seemed to betray him before he steadied himself.

Of course, the Emperor was aging, entering the winter of his life where such a physical toll should not have been surprising. Yet, to two seasoned, highly observant military commanders, the slight tremor in his posture hinted at something far more concerning than mere fatigue.

As the Emperor began walking toward the quiet, private chamber adjoining the salon, Vincent and Lucian briefly exchanged a swift, sharp glance. Across all their rivalry and unspoken disdain for one another, their thoughts instantly collided in silent agreement.

The Emperor led them past the heavy velvet drapes into his private study, the thick oak doors closing behind them and instantly cutting off the muffled music of the salon. The room was dimly lit by a single candelabra, the air smelling strongly of bitter medicinal herbs and old parchment.

Without the watchful eyes of his court, the sovereign dropped all pretense. He sank heavily into an armchair behind his grand desk, letting out a breath that sounded far too shallow, far too fragile for the ruler of the four kingdoms.

"I will not waste time with grand speeches," the Emperor began, his voice dropping to a gravelly, exhausted rasp. "You both saw it. My body is failing me, and the physicians give me until the turn of the next season."

Neither Vincent nor Lucian spoke at the sudden revelation, though the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, turning ice-cold and heavy with tension.

"The court believes I am delaying the succession out of pride," the Emperor continued, leaning his head back against the leather rest. He fixed his tired, piercing eyes on the two men standing before him. "The truth is simpler, and far more dangerous. I am paralyzed by choice. My eldest son has the bloodline, but lacks the spine to hold the lords in check. My second has the ambition, but would bleed the coffers dry for his own vanity. And the third... he is too young, a lamb waiting to be slaughtered by the high council."

He paused, resting his elbows on the desk and lacing his trembling fingers together.

"I have trouble deciding on an heir," the Emperor admitted plainly, a confession that could shatter the entire empire if it leaked beyond these four walls. "If I make the wrong choice, the four kingdoms will fracture into civil war the moment my body goes cold. The only reason I share this with both of you is because within the four kingdoms, you two are the only ones I can trust with this information. I need to know where the Marquis of Vandalia and the Duke of Belgravia stand when that crown changes hands."

Vincent’s expression shifted slightly.

Of all the reasons he had believed the Emperor wanted to see him tonight, this was certainly not one of them. The Emperor had been the sole man who had given him a chance at life when he had nothing, a chance to rise, to fight, and to reclaim his honor. Hearing that the sovereign was unwell earned his quiet, genuine sympathy.

"If I am not mistaken," Vincent started, his voice steady despite the gravity of the room. "The firstborn son should inherit the throne. That means by law, the eldest should be crowned next. The least we can do is observe that the future crown prince stays true to his teachings and stays the course."

"I believe there is a future crisis coming our way," the Emperor added softly, leaning forward. "I am not certain, but lately... I keep having these strange, lingering dreams about the empire. My eldest son, Prince Ryan, is disciplined, but he lacks the fierce ambition of my second son. Perhaps my main issue here is that I am thinking far outside the box. Or perhaps it is simply fear—fear of how things will be handled if calamity does eventually strike the four kingdoms."

He lifted his heavy gaze, fixing his eyes squarely on Vincent.

"That is why, before my passing, I shall grant you, Vincent, the title of Duke of Vandalia. It may come off as selfish, and I know you will bear far more responsibilities than you ever asked for, but I am giving you these titles because you have earned them with your blood. I cannot be certain of tomorrow. Who knows if I may be gone before the season? When the storm comes, I need both you and Lucian to work together for once. As a team."