The Empress' Descent

Chapter 48 - The Plan Fails

[Derek]

For centuries, the sovereigns of Solaria had the tradition to keep five advisers to whom they may consult for guidance. They were wise people, each of them an expert in a certain political field. They offered wisdom and recommendations, curated specifically to form a critical approach on a certain issue. Solaria's ruler would heed their suggestions, consider it and think on it thoroughly. But one fact remained the same. No matter what the advisers believed to be the solution, the Emperor or Empress had the final word. The advisers could not intervene with the sovereign's decisions, all they did was advice. Because that's what they do.

Until now, that is. In Emperor Kazriel's reign, the tables had turned. The advisers did not merely influence his decisions, they stopped him from making them. They had managed to tie a noose around his neck, trapped him like a mouse in a cage. The advisers had the upper hand rather than the Emperor.

How was that possible? How was it that five people who had sprung out of nowhere had successfully obtained absolute sway over Kazriel? Derek was familiar with Lord Miller, the other four however, not so much.

Only one person could have achieved such a feat. The Grand General assigned them in their positions. Not by himself, no. In the Emperor's early days, Ethan made him believe that these people were the right choices should he want to strengthen his rule. Through Kazriel, Ethan gained the perfect advisers. Perfectly controllable ones. For these people had loose morals and could easily be blinded by the promise of power and riches. Indeed, Ethan had given those to them for the last two years.

What did the Grand General hope to get by doing this? Power was one thing, but somewhere deep in his guts, Derek knew there was something else at play here. It was also not possible for Ethan to pine for the throne. Solaria's crown was bound by ancient magic and therefore could only be worn by a person of royal blood. The entire court, as well, would never recognize a ruler that was not in any way royalty.

Derek had told Clary that he'd return shortly, as opposed to what he believed. His instincts were telling him that this was going to take long. Once, he'd sought out the advisers regarding matters of the East. They did not do as much as acknowledge his presence. What could they possibly want that they had to do the painstaking act of talking to the peasant-born Duke?

The advisers were huddled in front of the feasting table. Their conversation stopped short when Lord Miller took note of Derek's arrival. Though the other four went on with their talk, offering Derek an uninterested glance.

"Ah, the Duke of the East." Lord Miller set down his wine glass onto the table. "How is that Grand Duke of yours faring?"

The four men busied themselves with each other, leaving Lord Miller to converse with Derek. None of the disdain could be seen on them, though. So it was not that they didn't want to face him. As Derek walked toward them, he could see that Lord Miller stood inches farther than the four. This one was isolated from the group, as though he was not privy to the deeper secrets these four held.

Derek schooled his expression into authority and calm, shoulders straightened and chin held high. Like how a Duke would look.

"The Grand Duke." Derek clasped his arms at his back. "Wants the same. He seeks an audience with the Emperor."

A haughty chuckle came from one of the advisers. They were not completely uninterested after all, Derek thought.

"It has been a year since the Eastern Grand Duke requested such a thing," said one adviser, built big and tall. Derek caught a hint of an accent. "I see that he is quite determined. That is unfortunate."

"Unfortunate," Derek repeated, incredulous.

Another adviser replied with the same breathy accent. Though it was not noticeable if you hadn't been exposed to different kinds of accents—more particularly, to war.