CHAPTER 119: SHADOWS BEHIND THE THRONE

[Imperial Palace—Throne Hall]

The marble halls of the Imperial Palace were silent, heavy with expectation. Outside, the banners of the Sun Empire flapped in the wind, but within, only hushed whispers dared ripple through the gathered nobility.

On the dais, Emperor Adrien sat with an iron-straight back, his crown gleaming beneath the morning light. His eyes—sharp and unyielding—tracked the line of armored knights that entered, dragging prisoners behind them.

"Bring them forward," Adrien commanded, his voice cold.

Chains rattled as the man was forced to his knees—a middle-aged noble with sharp features and disheveled hair, yet bearing the same proud bone structure as the Emperor himself. His uncle.

And beside him... a woman clutching a child to her chest. The boy could not have been more than six.

Gasps erupted through the chamber.

Because the child’s face—those sharp brows, that golden hair, the tilt of his jaw—was Adrien’s mirror. Only his eyes were different: a soft amber instead of burning crimson.

A lord in the crowd whispered, "Impossible... That child looks like His Majesty..."

Another hissed, "No—he looks like both... look at the uncle’s face! The resemblance—"

"So...he was the one who conspired with the neighboring kingdom? To get the throne?

The chamber descended into uneasy murmurs. Bastardy. Treason. Bloodline. Succession. The words slithered through the air like snakes.

Adrien’s grip on his throne tightened until his knuckles went white. His gaze flickered from the uncle to the child, and though his expression never cracked, the tension radiating from him was palpable.

And then—footsteps. Heavy, deliberate.

The court parted instinctively as Grand Duke Silas entered. Towering, broad-shouldered, his uniform crisp and decorated, he strode in like judgment itself. His golden aura burned brighter than the torches, his presence enough to silence the hall.

"Your Majesty," Silas bowed, then turned his eyes—cold steel—upon the prisoners. "So... this is the rat who dared crawl out from the shadows."

The uncle lifted his chin, defiance glimmering. "Is it a crime to raise one’s family? Must a bloodline itself be a chain?"

Silas’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare speak of family? You... who would poison the Empire with doubt and fracture its throne with a child whose face is a weapon." His voice cut like a blade, and the murmurs in the hall stilled.

The boy, confused, clung to his mother, eyes wide. Adrien’s gaze flicked to him again—longer this time, softer, though only Silas caught it.

The Grand Duke stepped forward, boots echoing like thunder. "Your Majesty, if you permit... I will personally see to it that every truth is dragged from their throats. No more shadows. No more whispers."

Adrien’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping low and deliberate, every syllable slicing the air."Do so, Grand Duke. I will have the truth—no matter how bloody it must be."

The uncle’s face drained of color. He fell forward on his knees, desperation leaking through his voice.

"Adrien... I am your uncle! Your mother’s brother! I am your bloodline—how could you do this to me?"

Adrien’s head snapped toward him, his crimson eyes blazing like wildfire. "And yet... you committed treason against the throne?" His words thundered across the hall. "Is this what an uncle does?"

The man flinched, voice cracking. "I... I just became greedy. Adrien, you are Emperor—you can forgive this small sin—"

Adrien scoffed, bitter laughter leaving his lips.

"Small sin? I cannot believe you dare call it that. You beg forgiveness as though it were nothing—as though rivers of blood have not been spilled because of you."

The nobles stirred, tension rippling, when Silas finally stepped forward.

The Grand Duke’s boots struck the marble with a steady, crushing rhythm. His golden eyes gleamed with a predator’s rage, his presence suffocating the entire hall until it felt like the walls themselves might crumble.

He stopped before the trembling uncle, looking down at him as though he were vermin.

"You..." Silas’s voice was low, seething, and dangerous. "Because of your greed... soldiers died screaming. Families were torn apart. The North lived in ashes and starvation for three years. All because of you."

The uncle tried to raise his head, but Silas seized his collar with one massive hand and yanked him up effortlessly, his boots leaving the ground.

Silas’s face lowered, his words venom.

"And because of you, I left my wife and newborn child—left them when they needed me most. I missed her first word. I missed her first steps. I missed three years of her life... all because of you."

The uncle choked, kicking weakly in Silas’s grip. "L-Leave me! Do you know who you’re talking to? I am the Emperor’s uncle! You filthy servant—you dare lay hands—"

The sound of his body slamming into the marble floor silenced every tongue in the chamber. Silas had thrown him down with enough force to rattle the pillars.

The Grand Duke loomed over him, his aura flaring like the wrath of a god.

"You will be no one," Silas snarled. "Once I drag you into the dungeons, your title, your bloodline, your name—none of it will matter. And trust me..." His voice dropped, venomous, chilling. "...the Emperor may show you mercy. But me? I will make sure you rot in chains until you beg for death."

The entire nobility recoiled, whispers hissing, eyes wide with fear. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

Silas turned, sweeping his gaze across the gathered lords like a predator scenting prey.

"And any of you who had dealings with him..." His lips curled into a cruel smile. "...pray I never find out. Because if I do—you will wish the dungeons were your fate."

The silence was absolute. Not a single noble moved.

Adrien exhaled slowly, his authority cutting through the tension. "Very well, Grand Duke. Handle him. Drag every accomplice into the light."

Silas bowed his head stiffly. "As His Majesty commands."

Then, his eyes shifted—toward the trembling woman and her son.

The mother clutched the boy tighter, shielding him with her body. "P-Please... not my son. I beg you..."

Silas’s gaze was sharp and unflinching, like a predator assessing prey. The boy’s wide amber eyes met his—and for the first time, the Grand Duke’s fury cooled to ice.

Adrien’s voice rang out.

"Take them to the maid’s quarters. I will decide their fate later."

The knights obeyed, ushering the pale-faced mother and her confused child away. The boy twisted back once, his gaze flickering between Silas and Adrien, before the doors slammed shut behind him.

And in the throne hall, the silence left behind was suffocating.

"I shall leave..." Silas said.

Adrein nodded.

***

[Imperial Palace—Corridor Outside the Throne Hall—Continuation]

The heavy doors of the throne room shut behind them with a reverberating boom. Silas strode forward, his cloak trailing like the shadow of a beast, with Callen and a cluster of knights falling into step behind him.

His boots echoed against the marble floor—each step deliberate, sharp. But halfway through the corridor, he slowed, exhaling a long, heavy breath, the weight of three years of war clinging to him still.

"Send supplies to the North," Silas ordered suddenly, his voice clipped but firm. "Food. Timber. Shelter. Whatever is needed."

Callen gave a curt nod. "It’s already being sent, my lord. Lord Theoran sent caravans yesterday, and since Vice-captain Elize is overseeing the reconstruction, the process moves swiftly. She has the trust of the people there."

Silas’s jaw eased slightly, though his gaze remained steely. "Elize..." he murmured. "Good. She understands the North more than we do."

But then his eyes shifted, landing squarely on Damien, knights trailing behind. The man stiffened under that crimson gaze.

"Has she sent any letter?" Silas asked, his tone quieter now but heavy and demanding.

Damien swallowed and stepped forward, bowing his head. "Not directly to you, my lord. But word reached us through the northern posts. Vice captain Elize uncovered spies among the settlements. She executed them immediately... and they were not strangers. They bore crests of our own nobility."

The air turned sharp, cutting.

Silas stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing dangerously. His voice, when it came, was a low growl that carried down the corridor.

"...Names."

Damien hesitated only a second before speaking. "The ones she found had ties to House Vortigan, my lord."

At that, even Callen stiffened. The name rang heavy in the hall like a curse.

Silas’s expression darkened, his hand flexing as though he wanted to draw his sword then and there.

"Vortigan." His lips curled around the name with venom. "Snakes hiding in velvet halls, waiting for the throne to bleed."

He resumed walking, slower now, his words measured and deliberate. "Tell Elize to remain vigilant. If she requires reinforcements, she shall have them—knights, arms, and coin. Whatever she needs, it will be hers."

"Yes, my lord," Damien said quickly, bowing his head.

But Silas was not finished. His gaze slid sideways, his voice dropping into a tone that made the air grow cold.

"And Damien... keep your eyes on every noble. Every banquet, every letter, every whisper that leaves their halls—I want to know. If a shadow moves against the throne, I will cut it down before it can breathe."

Damien’s throat bobbed, his voice hoarse. "Y-Yes, my lord."

The silence stretched, the knights exchanging tense glances as they marched down the gilded corridor behind their Grand Duke. The weight of his fury pressed on them like the memory of a battlefield, unrelenting, merciless.

For they all knew—when Silas promised ruin, he never left ashes behind. He left nothing.