Princess and Maid - Chapter 13: Blood and Duty

Adrastia paused outside the ornate double doors of her father’s sitting room. Two imperial guards flanked the entrance, their gilded armor gleaming in the morning light streaming through two nearby windows. One guard’s gaze flickered briefly to the fencing sword at her hip—a subtle reaction, quickly masked.

She straightened her formal court attire’s crimson capelet. The sword remained. As heir apparent, she ranked among the few permitted to bear steel in the Emperor’s presence while in private.

That status—heir apparent—could change with a single imperial decree. Her father’s whim could elevate another in her place, perhaps her cousin Reynold returning from his eastern campaigns with his military record. The thought lurked in a distant corner of her mind, acknowledged but not dwelled upon. The debut ball would prove decisive.

“Her Imperial Highness, Princess Adrastia, requests an audience with His Imperial Majesty,” she announced, using the formal third-person address required by protocol.

The guard on the right nodded and opened the door without announcement. Her visit had already been approved beforehand and it was all theater for an empty hallway.

Emperor Marcus Cassian sat near a window overlooking the eastern gardens. Morning light illuminated the silver threading through his dark hair and beard. The past decade had aged him considerably—the weight of the empire etched into the lines around his eyes and mouth. He wore a simple burgundy robe over court attire, the gold imperial signet gleaming on his right hand.

“Father,” Adrastia said, closing the door behind her. She offered the formal bow required of all who entered the imperial presence, holding it for precisely three seconds—the duration expected of immediate family.

“Daughter.” His gaze lifted from the document in his hands. “This is unexpected.”

“I apologize for the intrusion.”

“No matter.” He gestured toward a nearby chair. “Tea?”

“Thank you.” Adrastia took the offered seat, noting the fine porcelain service already prepared on the low table between them. The servants were efficient. She hadn’t sent the request for the audience until an hour earlier.

Her father poured with practiced precision, the steaming amber liquid filling first her cup, then his own. The ritual brought memories of childhood—before imperial duties had carved a chasm between them.

“You requested this audience with unusual urgency,” the Emperor observed, raising his cup. “State your purpose.”

Direct, as always. She matched his approach. “I authorized use of the imperial physician yesterday for treatment of a palace servant.”

The Emperor’s cup paused halfway to his lips. “You deliberately contravened the imperial decree regarding Doctor Meritas’s duties.”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

“The servant is Roselle Varian, my personal attendant.” Adrastia kept her posture rigid, meeting her father’s gaze without flinching. “She was ambushed by multiple assailants in a secluded corridor, beaten severely, and left with fractured ribs and significant injuries.”

The Emperor sipped his tea, revealing nothing of his thoughts. “A common physician would suffice for a servant.”

“The attack occurred while I was conducting military exercises with the Third Division. The timing suggests deliberate planning.”

“You believe this attack targeted you through your servant?”

“I know it did.” Adrastia leaned forward slightly. “The attackers explicitly referenced her position in my service. They told her to ‘remember her place’ and warned that next time would be worse.”

Her father’s expression remained neutral. “Many noble households face servant discipline issues. This hardly warrants breaching imperial decree.”

“This wasn’t discipline. This was a message.” Adrastia set her untouched tea on the table. “An attack on my personal attendant constitutes an indirect attack on me. Providing imperial medical care reinforces that understanding.”

The Emperor studied her for a long moment, his fingers tapping lightly against his cup. “You’ve developed quite an attachment to this attendant. Unusual, given your typical disdain for Lady Elreen.”

“My interest lies in the principle, not the person.” A half-truth, but a necessary one. “Those who serve me directly must remain inviolable. Otherwise, every servant becomes a potential weakness.”

Something shifted in her father’s expression—a flicker of approval, perhaps. “The military perspective. Protecting your supply lines.”

“Precisely.”

The Emperor set down his cup and leaned back in his chair. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a slight tremor affected his right hand—hidden quickly, but not before Adrastia noticed.

“I will overlook this breach,” he declared after a moment. “But Doctor Meritas will not attend to this servant again without my explicit authorization.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The conversation should have ended there. Protocol demanded she acknowledge his decision, express gratitude, and depart. Instead, concern overrode caution.

“You look exhausted,” she said quietly. “Has your condition worsened?”

Her father’s expression hardened instantly. “So now my daughter concerns herself with my health?”

The unexpected sharpness stung. “I’ve always concerned myself with your health.”

“Have you?” His laugh held no humor. “Between military drills and political maneuvering, I scarcely recall when you last inquired after my wellbeing.”

“That’s unfair.” Adrastia felt heat rising in her cheeks. “I’ve requested personal audiences repeatedly over the past months. Your steward denied them, claiming imperial business took precedence.”

“Did he? How convenient for your narrative of neglect.”

“My narrative?” Anger flashed through her, hot and sudden. “If distance exists between us, that was your choice as Emperor, not mine as daughter. Every decision that separated us came from your hand, not mine.”

The Emperor rose from his chair, fury darkening his features. “I gave you power beyond what any princess has ever wielded! I placed the empire’s sword in your hand when every tradition demanded I pass you over!”

“And I’ve proven worthy of that trust every day!” Adrastia stood to match him, unwilling to remain seated before his anger. “I’ve trained until my hands bled. I’ve studied every military text in the imperial library. I’ve earned the loyalty of soldiers twice my age. And for what? To be kept at arm’s length while you entertain my stepmother’s schemes?”

“You dare speak to me this way?”

“I do not fear the Emperor so much that I can’t speak to my father!”

The words hung between them, echoing in sudden silence. Her father stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face—anger, certainly, but beneath it, something else. He turned away, moving toward the window. For several moments, he gazed outward, shoulders rigid beneath his robe.

When he spoke again, his voice had softened. “Your mother also never feared confronting me.”

The comparison caught Adrastia off-guard. Her mother, Empress Lysara, rarely featured in their conversations. The wound of her death remained raw.

“I have fragments of memories,” Adrastia admitted. “Her laugh. The smell of her perfume.”

“She would have guided you better than I have.” Her father’s gaze remained fixed on the gardens below. “A woman’s perspective on court politics. Lessons I cannot teach.”

The admission surprised her. “You’ve taught me to lead troops, to command respect. That matters.”

He turned back toward her. “The court expects different qualities in an empress than in an emperor. Military prowess impresses the generals but unnerves the councilors. They seek refinement, diplomacy… qualities your cousin Reynold cultivates alongside his military accomplishments.”

“Reynold.” Adrastia couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “The Empress’s faction speaks highly of him.”

“As do the eastern provinces. His campaigns secured the border when three predecessors failed.” Her father’s expression grew calculating.

“So I’ve heard.” Adrastia kept her face impassive, revealing nothing of Roselle’s intelligence.

“These are unusual times.” The Emperor returned to his chair, gesturing for her to sit as well. “The imperial line must appear strong, especially with border tensions rising, and the people need reassurance.”

“And you believe Reynold provides that reassurance?”

“I believe options provide reassurance.” Her father’s gaze turned piercing. “No emperor rules without contingencies, Adrastia. Even your succession cannot be guaranteed absolutely.”

The words cut deeper than she expected. “I understand.”

“Do you?” The Emperor leaned forward. “Then understand this: I did not place you with the Imperial Guard merely to teach you warfare. I placed you there to forge connections with the only force that might protect you should palace intrigues turn deadly.”

Adrastia stared at him. “You expected threats against me?”

“I expected what always happens when power transitions loom.” Her father’s expression darkened. “I cannot shield you from these forces.”

“So you armed me instead.”

He offered a grim smile. “The sword at your hip isn’t ceremonial, daughter. Neither is your command of the Third Division.”

“The Empress moves against me directly now,” Adrastia said. “The attack on my servant proves it.”

“Perhaps.” Her father sipped his cooling tea. “Lavinia plays a subtle game. Direct violence seems… uncharacteristic.”

“Even through proxies?”

“Even so.” He studied her thoughtfully. “Though Duke Orastian might act without her explicit approval if he believed it served their interests.”

Adrastia considered that, connecting threads between what Roselle had overheard and her father’s assessment. “How long have you known about their alliance against me?”

“Since the beginning.” Her father’s expression remained unreadable. “Political marriages create political factions. It was inevitable.”

“And you’ve done nothing to counter it?”

“I’ve done everything to counter it.” His voice hardened. “I gave you military power. I maintained your position as heir apparent despite considerable pressure.”

The implication hung unspoken between them: he had done everything except publicly support her against her stepmother.

“The appearance of impartiality matters,” he said, reading her thoughts. “An emperor who openly favors one faction loses authority with others.”

“Even when one faction includes his daughter?”

“Especially then.” Her father set down his cup with finality. “Blood cannot appear to trump duty, or the empire fractures.”

The words hurt.

“This attack on your servant,” the Emperor continued. “You’ll retaliate?”

“Naturally.”

“Carefully, I trust.”

“Their message was clear.” Adrastia straightened her shoulders. “My response will be equally clear.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Indeed.” He glanced toward the documents awaiting his attention. “Our time concludes. You have my permission regarding the physician’s breach—this once.”

Adrastia recognized the dismissal and rose from her chair. “Thank you, Father.”

As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her at the door.

“Adrastia.” Something in his tone made her turn back. “When the debut ball arrives… The court watches. The council evaluates.”

The warning carried layers of meaning.

“I’ll consider that advice carefully,” she replied, offering the formal bow of departure.

He hadn’t answered her question about his health…

She strode toward the military wing, mind already turning to her next moves. Roselle needed secure quarters. The attackers required identification and punishment. And most critically, she needed to prepare for Prince Reynold’s arrival by solidifying support for herself as heir.

The debut ball loomed weeks away, but the true battle had already begun.