Aerwyna climbed the inner keep stairs faster than her legs liked. Two guards at Ezra’s door snapped to attention and opened it without question.

  Her son’s room: small, strange, and kept too quiet.

  “Evan,” she said, letting strain roughen the words. “The Rex is here.”

  Sir Evan stood from his post by the window so fast his back popped.

  “His Majesty is here?” he blurted. “The—the Emperor? I thought Lord Blackfyre had fallen from his grace.”

  Ezra looked up from the book propped awkwardly in his lap—a geography primer he’d bullied her into giving him.

  “I saw him,” Ezra said. “I felt him, too.”

  Aerwyna shut the door carefully and crossed to him, voice lowered.

  “Then you understand why I came. That was the courtyard. This is the hall. He’ll be closer.”

  Ezra’s eyes followed her.

  “Hm.”

  “That’s… interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Aerwyna arched a brow.

  He knows more than he’s saying.

  She shelved it.

  “Call it mother’s intuition,” she said, “but I think he’s here to see you. Not the ceremony. You.”

  Evan swallowed.

  “Milady, surely—”

  “How good are you at hiding your aura?” Aerwyna asked.

  “Pretty good,” Ezra said, bracing his throat with mana.

  Aerwyna let out a slow breath. “Then we find out if it’s good enough.”

  The Rex Imperia was an imposing figure, he was taller than most—broad-shouldered, hard-eyed. Even with his bulk, he moved like a man who had worn armor longer than most men had been alive. His gait alone turned heads.

  Presence settled around him. The kind that made space without asking.

  The reception stilled.

  His banners caught the sun: the Twin Fires. Red on black—a black flame left, a red flame right, a black lion centered.

  Deep auburn hair, darkened with age. High cheekbones. Straight nose. A mouth set to stern when he wasn’t speaking.

  He was an overbearing presence.

  A second figure walked beside him in plainer plate—slimmer, quieter, guarded. Same bone structure. Same carved-stone calm. Fewer flourishes, no sealed ring. He stayed half a step behind, never ahead, eyes sweeping the perimeter.

  Primus Praetorian.

  First of the Rex’s personal guard. Shadow to the light.

  Black-and-crimson-cloaked guards split around them. The courtyard—lords, vassals, household guard—leaned inward as the pair advanced.

  A ripple went through the crowd.

  Then the Primus Praetorian spoke. Mana reinforced it; the command hit like a hammer.

  “SUBJECTS OF THE REX IMPERIUM—KNEEL!”

  “BEHOLD YOUR EMPEROR, THE REX IMPERIA.”

  “His Majesty, Kaizer Friedriech Regaladeus.”

  Pressure rolled over the audience. Sharp, controlled. The air itself seemed to demand compliance.

  Knees hit stone before the last word finished.

  Ezra felt it even from Aerwyna’s arms.

  It read as neither heat like Reitz nor cold like Aerwyna.

  Gravity, slightly strengthened.

  Aerwyna’s grip tightened on him. Not painful. Possessive.

  The Emperor strode to a kneeling Reitz.

  “Rise, Earl of Fulmen.”

  “Your Majesty,” Reitz said, head bowed. He stood in a measured motion. “We did not expect you to honor us with your presence.”

  A low chuckle echoed over the courtyard.

  “If I wanted to see you kneel, I’d have you back in the Rexasticus, drilling with the rest of the Augmenti for a campaign.”

  Reitz dusted his knees, head still lowered, eyes lifting.

  The Rex stepped in close—personal space treated as a privilege.

  “Not expect me?” One brow rose. “You sent an invitation. did you not? Or do you send letters to every peasant in the Empire—each with an official Blackfyre seal intact? Ha!”

  Laughter—short, nervous—broke through the crowd.

  Reitz met the Emperor’s eyes.

  Warmth sat there. Almost fatherly.

  “When can I see the boy?” the Rex asked. “I ride all this way, my joints ache, the roads are garbage, and I expect at least a glimpse of the troublemaker.”

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  Laughter came louder this time.

  Reitz’s throat worked.

  “Surely you jest, my liege.”

  The Emperor answered with a broad grin.

  Everyone knew the apex of the Aufstiegfrieden aged slowly. The higher your rank, the more mana you could condense; the more circles you could control, the less time took from you. The Rex was likely older than Reitz’s father would have been, yet he moved like a man in his prime.

  “Your Majesty,” Reitz said, “the formal ceremony is set for this afternoon. Ezra is being prepared. We had not… fully arranged the order of presentation.”

  The Rex snorted.

  “Is he awake? Having a fit?” His gaze shifted, already finding Aerwyna. “Oh, there's with that Riverrun lass.”

  Reitz kept his face composed. At that peak, the Rex’s senses would catch Ezra within the castle easily. This was small talk.

  “I’ve seen more Days of Introduction than I care to count,” the Rex went on. “Once had a little lordling vomit down the front of my robes during the blessing. Whole hall smelled like sour milk for three hours. Hilarious in retrospect. Less so at the time.”

  He grinned—white teeth in a beard—then clapped Reitz on the shoulder. Gauntlet on leather rang like a shot.

  “See that your boy is healthy and presentable,” he said. “No one faints on my watch. I’m staying three days. If your cooks have declined since the campaign, I’ll have you drilling again before the next one.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Reitz said.

  Sweat slicked his hands inside his gloves.

  He’d expected an envoy.

  A banner.

  A dagger.

  A hound.

  This.

  “The guest rooms will be made ready at once,” Reitz added, signaling the steward with a sharp chop. “I set aside rooms for a royal envoy, but they’re unfit for your station. We will—”

  “Reitz.” The Rex dropped his tone an octave.

  “If your people start hauling furniture because of me, I’ll be annoyed. I came to see a child, not to be worshiped with draperies. The envoy’s room will do.”

  He studied Reitz, disapproval faint but present.

  “Honestly, I’m a little disheartened you didn’t even consider your liege might come.”

  Reitz’s mouth twitched.

  First: everyone knows the Rex doesn’t attend these. Second: you didn’t even look at me when the Tribunal tried me. How was I supposed to guess you’d send anyone—let alone come yourself?

  “I truly apologize, Your Majesty,” Reitz said, bowing.

  “Hah.” The Rex waved him off. “Water under the bridge.”

  The crowd loosened as formalities ended. The Rex entered the hall.

  The reception flowed into the Great Hall.

  The Lords of Fulmen packed it tight, earlier maneuvering drowned by the Emperor’s arrival. Shock sat under every smile.

  Reitz’s standing shifted in an instant.

  The Duke of Pharae—here more to badger about shared mining rights than out of affection—watched Reitz with new wariness and reverence, even though he was Primarch Laufferk’s direct vassal. The Rex attending a Day of Introduction was a statement by itself. If roles were reversed, even the Duke didn’t know if his Primarch would bother showing.

  Veteran politickers and minor barons alike bent close for a scrap of the Rex’s attention.

  They got more than scraps.

  The Emperor moved through them like a man among distant relatives. He wore an approachable mask—boisterous, occasionally sharp. He asked after fields, children, whether that old bridge had finally been repaired. He remembered names he had no business remembering and missed none of the titles he could have ignored.

  This wasn’t a mystery. It was the effect of power that could cast Seventh Circle.

  To the vassals, it was intoxicating.

  Ezra watched from Aerwyna’s arms near the dais.

  Blank face.

  Timed blinks.

  A child’s posture, as best as he could manage.

  He felt the Rex’s aura the way he felt pressure change before a storm. Quiet. Dense. It didn’t flare like Reitz’s fire or bite like Aerwyna’s ice.

  It didn’t need to.

  It sat in the room like a law.

  The Primus Praetorian stayed half a step behind, scanning for suspicious eyes. The Rex didn’t need protecting; they needed protecting from him if steel ever came out. The Primus did his job anyway.

  “Your Majesty,” the Duke of Pharae said when he forced his way close, hands trembling around his goblet. “Forgive my boldness, but… are the Primarchs expected as well? In particular, Primarch Laufferk…?”

  The question slipped out—fishing for whether Reitz had truly slipped the West’s leash.

  The Rex’s expression tightened.

  “No.”

  Flat.

  Color drained from the Duke’s face.

  “They were not invited,” the Rex added, tone chilled. “Nor is Blackfyre their vassal.”

  Their circle went quiet.

  The Primus Praetorian leaned in and murmured a few words at the Emperor’s ear.

  The edge eased.

  The Rex’s mouth twitched, then he clapped the Duke of Pharae on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

  “If Laufferk wants a report, he can read yours,” the Rex said. “Pay attention. Or should I send someone else to watch on his behalf?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” the Duke stammered, a drop of wine marking his sleeve. “I would not presume. I’m honored to serve as witness. I only thought that, since the High Conclave had just concluded…”

  The Rex turned away mid-sentence.

  The Duke froze, eyes wide. He’d expected a probe, not a public cut.

  The nobles around them stared into their goblets, suddenly fascinated by wine.

  The Duke had already watched his life break into pieces. A political death, neatly delivered.

  Then the Rex pivoted back as if something else had caught him.

  “Sorry—did you say something?”

  “Nothing important, Your Majesty,” the Duke said, voice lowered. “Something that doesn’t matter in context.”

  “Oh?” The Rex chuckled. “Good.”

  Talk rose again in patchy bursts—whispers dissecting every word.

  On the dais, Aerwyna shifted. Tension showed in her shoulders. Formal blue, black, and red velvets; stance like armor. This was a battlefield.

  She leaned toward Reitz.

  “You didn’t know he was coming? Didn’t he send a hawk?”

  Reitz kept his eyes on the Emperor, tracking how the man owned the room.

  “No,” he said quietly. “I never expected him to come. I thought he was finished with me the day the Tribunal convened. Before that… he liked me well enough.”

  “You were one of his favorites,” Aerwyna murmured. “Until you refused.”

  Reitz’s mouth tightened.

  “I would refuse again.”

  Even if I had to live that campaign a thousand times.

  The court polish flaked. Soldier came through.

  “We were across the border,” Reitz said, staring into his wine. “Expeditionary push. One ridge, one fort—nothing that should’ve bled us white. The order came down. Thirty thousand footmen up the hill as the first wave. Walk them straight into prepared spellfire, traps, and the Omniscience knows what.”

  He snorted, low and ugly.

  “Counts, Viscounts, Barons sitting in reserve behind them,” he said. “Plenty of power to take the ridge cleanly. But why risk shining names when you can mulch conscripts instead?”

  His hand clamped the table’s edge.

  “I said no,” Reitz continued. “A handful of high-circle nobles and one serious Earl could crack that hill in an afternoon without wasting a single peasant life. The answer was a sealed writ with the Emperor’s ring—and a polite reminder I was replaceable.”

  A breath left him that almost qualified as a laugh.

  “They went anyway,” he said. “Most came back. Two didn’t. Not because they were weak. Because the plan was stupid. I left a handful of fiefdoms with headaches and the Officium with more paperwork.”

  Aerwyna watched his face, her eyes softening.

  “And he court-martialed you,” she said.

  “He had to,” Reitz replied. “Disobeying a sealed order from the Rex can’t pass without punishment. The Tribunal theatrics were optics. Laufferk wanted my head, and they had to hand him something. In the Imperium, his office—the Primarch of Fire—officiates the Imperial Tribunal. The Rex gave him my suspension.”

  He finally looked at Aerwyna.

  “I left the service with my head attached, my lands intact, and my title as Augmenti-Kronlehn,” he said. “That should’ve told me he doesn’t hate me. He ignores me.”

  “Then why is he here?” Aerwyna asked.

  Reitz exhaled.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Ezra is the obvious guess, but word doesn’t move that fast, even with messengers. The abduction was days ago. A royal procession doesn’t assemble and ride out here overnight. He would’ve left the capital before it happened.”

  “Catalyna?” Aerwyna tried. “A tie to the capital? Maybe—”

  “No,” Reitz said, shaking his head. “If she had Imperial ties, she wouldn’t creep through nurseries. If she knows what Ezra is, she hides it. You don’t wave a treasure around.”

  Aerwyna folded her arms, frown deepening.

  “What about the rumors?” she pressed. “The ones spreading through the city. Guards talk. Servants talk. A baby on the rooftop. A baby shouting commands. A baby’s voice in the battle.”

  “Come on, Aerwyna,” Reitz said. “Do you believe half the tavern rot the common folk trade? Who in the capital takes that seriously without a motive?”

  Aerwyna stayed quiet.

  In her gut, unease tightened.

  Ezra’s Day of Introduction would be talked about for years. She didn’t know yet whether that was a shield or a dagger at his back.