Page 85 of The Uncrowned Prince

The throne had been carved untold centuries ago from red jasper, its arms and back decorated with scenes of violence and victory. And from its polished, uncushioned seat, the unquestioned rulers of the known world had changed history countless times, through never-ending calls for war and conquest.

The might of the vast Zulleri Empire had not been challenged in over a millennium, and for good reason. When the plains below the mighty iron gates swarmed with troops—hundreds of thousands of them gathered beneath the shadow of the dragons’ wings—the sight was enough to strike fear even in the hearts of their allies and turn their enemies’ bowels to water.

And yet, tonight, it was the woman on the jasper throne whose heart was stirred by the first hints of fear.

Her nails—brittle now, but still filed to points and tinted crimson—tapped the arms of the throne in an unbroken rhythm, their clicking the only sound beyond the howling of the wind outside the walls.

She had little time left, and the jackals of the imperial court were already circling, watching for the tremors in her wrinkled hands, awaiting the moment that her shriveled heart would finally fail. Smirking, as they anticipated the day when she would finally admit that she had lost everything, and the dynasty of the Myrn Draguris emperors was at last coming to an end.

Fools, all of them, but her long ago ancestor had been well-prepared for fools. The palace walls boasted a sufficient number of spikes on which to display her enemies’ heads once her heir had returned to Zulle and the succession was secure.

“One battalion,” she said at last, her voice steady and harsh with command. She could show no weakness now, not even in front of her most trusted commanders. “That is all you will need.”

“Understood.” The looming, dark-haired form of Urquadi, her Third General, bowed low. “And will we be accompanied by combat mages or scouts?”

Perhaps it would be wise. The degenerate traitors had long permitted magic to run wild on their shores, threatening the safety and stability of the very haven they attempted to create.

“A single company.” Urquadi would be more than capable of commanding that many. “And an advisor, from among the adepts of the Enclave.” Madame Inci would be her Empress’s eyes and ears, her hidden blade, and her insurance against accidents. She would also be the only one who was aware of the true task they were being sent to perform.

“And Urquadi…” The old woman lifted her head and fixed him with a serpent’s stare out of narrowed golden eyes. He was too well accustomed to her presence to flinch, but she knew the power of her own gaze. “I will also be sending the dragons.”

This surprised him, but no matter how he felt, Urquadi would never display unease in her presence, let alone question an order. Imperial servants who permitted such weaknesses to flourish died young.

But even the stoic Urquadi would understand what this order portended. The war dragons were an instrument of fear—an unmistakable declaration of power. They proclaimed that the Empire was capable of destroying her enemies at any time, in any place. Their handlers’ control was tenuous, true, but it was more than enough to sow terror and discord.

“You wish for a demonstration?” he asked. “Or full destruction?”

“Whatever is required, my general, to accomplish my purposes, which will be conveyed to you by my chosen representative once you have embarked.”

“As you command.” Urquadi bowed once more and signaled to his seconds that this interview was nearly at an end.

“And when would you have us depart, Your Eminence?”

“Three days.” The Empire’s troops should require no more than that to prepare. “You will land on the southern coast where the anchorage is good and make your way towards the center from there.”

“And our key strategic points?”

“You may deal with the inhabitants as you see fit, my general,” the Empress replied. “I wish them to know that their treason has not been overlooked, and that sooner or later, all of their lands will belong to me.”

She would reclaim her heir while striking a blow that would never be forgotten. The lands of Abreia would live in fear of her return until such time as her nearer enemies could be dispatched and stability returned to the halls of Myrn Draguri.

There was no room in her mind or heart for failure. Before she breathed her last, this dynasty would once more be placed beyond the possibility of challenge, and those five pathetic upstart Thrones would learn the folly of challenging the might of the Empress of Zulle.

And if it was necessary to destroy every tree and brick and stone of Abreia in the process?

Then that was exactly what she would do. Her armies would swarm their lands and her dragons darken their skies until the sun no longer shone, and they would rain down fire and destruction until the traitors no longer drew breath.

Urquadi bent his head and withdrew, and as the torches burned to nubs and the shadows began to reclaim the hall, Empress Phaedrin Myrna Draguris leaned back in her throne, closed her golden eyes, and smiled.

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