Reincarnation: The Tyrant’s Rusted Crown

Subduing the Black Rose

The slow, dragging footsteps drew closer to the decaying wooden bed. Constantine, now trapped in the frail frame of the young prince, kept his eyes tightly shut. He regulated every breath to sound shallow and staggered, mimicking the rhythm of someone hovering on the brink of death. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Constantine’s hearing worked with double its usual sharpness. He could hear the faint rustle of cheap silk, the hurried breathing of someone fraught with anxiety, and the cloying scent of jasmine perfume mingling with the lingering smell of medicine in the stifling room.

The chamber door creaked softly as the figure closed it with extreme caution. Silence enveloped the room once more, interrupted only by the ticking of the wall clock, which seemed to be counting down the final seconds of the prince’s life. Constantine felt a cold draft approaching. The dim lantern light pierced through his thin eyelids, signaling that the figure was now standing directly beside his bed. A slender, trembling hand slowly rose, drawing near his nostrils to check if any remnants of life remained.

"Why won't you just die?" a faint whisper drifted through the air. The voice belonged to a woman, saturated with a fear she tried to hide behind a cold tone.

Just as her fingers were about to touch his pale skin, Constantine moved with the lightning speed his weak muscles could muster. His thin right hand, driven by the iron will of a former tyrant, shot forward. With lethal accuracy, he seized the woman by the throat.

"Akh!"

She gasped violently, the lantern in her left hand falling onto the dusty carpet, though fortunately the flame inside went out instantly. Constantine gave the figure before him no chance to scream or flee. Gathering what remained of his strength from a surge of adrenaline, he pulled her body down toward him and rolled until he was positioned over her, pinning her to the bed with a hand still firmly crushing her airway.

"Who sent you?" Constantine growled. His voice no longer sounded like the whimpering of a sickly prince, but a cold command issued from the depths of hell.

The woman was Seraphina, the personal maid and the first rose planted around the prince by his enemies. Under the moonlight filtering through the window, Seraphina’s face appeared deathly pale. Her eyes were wide with terror, staring directly into Constantine’s. Yet, what she saw there was not the gaze of the weak prince she was accustomed to intimidating. She saw a pair of eyes containing an aura of devastation—the eyes of an emperor who had conquered continents and seen thousands of lives perish by his hand.

"P-prince..." Seraphina struggled to speak, but the grip on her throat turned her voice into nothing more than a strangled hiss. Tears began to well in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from the physical pressure and a dread she had never experienced in her life.

"Do not use that title with me," Constantine cut her off in a tone that could freeze anyone's blood. "Answer my question, or I shall ensure this neck snaps before you can even beg for mercy."

Constantine loosened his grip slightly, just enough for Seraphina to draw a little air, yet he maintained a pressure that reminded her that her life sat at the tips of his fingers. Seraphina coughed weakly, her body trembling violently under his weight. She felt the aura emanating from this prince was utterly chilling—the authority of a tyrant capable of shattering the spirit of anyone standing before him.

"The Grand Consort... The Grand Consort ordered me," Seraphina answered with a shaking voice. "She was the one who gave me the poison. She said if you did not die tonight, then I would be the one hanged in the palace square."

Constantine stared at Seraphina with a gaze so deep it seemed to dissect every inch of honesty within her soul. In his eyes, Seraphina was merely a minor pawn, a black rose planted in the wrong garden. However, Constantine knew he needed eyes and ears in this thorn-filled Astraia palace. He could not move alone with a body that struggled even to stand upright for ten minutes.

"So, you chose to betray me to save your own neck?" Constantine asked with a crooked smile that looked truly ghastly on his pale face. "A logical choice for a slave. But now, the situation has changed."

Constantine brought his face close to Seraphina’s ear. His breath, still smelling slightly bitter from the poison residue, made her skin crawl with fear.

"I will give you a new choice, Seraphina," Constantine whispered. His voice was now eerily calm, yet that stillness carried an even greater threat. "You can continue to be the Grand Consort’s loyal dog and wait for the moment I slowly rip out your heart. Or, you can give your absolute loyalty to me. Become the blade behind my shadow, the eyes that will watch every step my enemies take."

Seraphina fell silent, her breath coming in gasps. She could feel Constantine’s cold fingers shifting to stroke her cheek in a highly intimidating manner, as if the finger were a blade ready to slice her skin at any moment.

"Why should I follow you?" Seraphina asked with what remained of her courage. "You are just a prince with no power. The Grand Consort has an army; she has the king’s support."

Constantine let out a short laugh, a dry sound full of contempt. He released Seraphina’s neck entirely, then sat on the edge of the bed while staring at his own thin hands.

"Do you truly think I am the same prince you gave that poison to earlier?" Constantine turned slowly, giving her a look that held the flash of his past absolute authority. "The world will soon realize that Astraia is no longer a playground for consorts and corrupt nobles. I will take back what should be mine, and I will crush anyone who stands in my way."

Seraphina was stunned. She saw something impossible happening. The shift in aura experienced by the prince before her surpassed human logic. The arrogance, the composure, and the cruelty radiating from Constantine at this moment were traits only possessed by a true ruler. The fear that had initially attacked her physically now transformed into a primitive sense of awe—an instinct to submit to a stronger predator.

"If you choose life, you will see your enemies kneeling at your feet," Constantine continued as he stood up on legs that were still slightly shaky, yet he forced himself upright. "But if you betray me once more, only the most painful death I can imagine will await you. So, Seraphina, do you wish to die as a useless traitor, or live as the black rose belonging to a true emperor?"

Seraphina stared at the floor for a moment, swallowing hard. She knew that from tonight onward, her life would never be the same. The threat from the Grand Consort felt very real, but the threat from the man before her felt like an inescapable destiny. Slowly, Seraphina climbed off the bed and knelt on the cold floor, before Constantine’s bare feet.

"I... Seraphina... swear to be loyal only to you, my Lord," Seraphina said, her voice more steady now despite a lingering tremor. "Make me your blade. Command me as you wish."

Constantine looked down at the top of Seraphina’s bowed head. He felt satisfied. This was his first step in purging the internal rot of Astraia Palace. He had just subdued his enemy’s first pawn and made it his own.

"Good," Constantine said. He reached out, taking Seraphina’s chin and forcing her to look up so he could see her eyes once more. "Clean up the mess on this floor. Ensure no one knows I have expelled that poison from my body. Tomorrow morning, you will still report to the Grand Consort that I am dying."

"I understand, my Lord," Seraphina answered obediently.

Constantine released Seraphina’s chin and walked toward the large chamber window. He gazed out at the dull buildings of the Astraia Palace standing under the moonlight. In the distance, he imagined the magnificent Valerion Empire, where Elara was perhaps celebrating his death.

"Enjoy your brief victory, Elara," Constantine murmured softly, so only he could hear. "I will rebuild my power from this mud. And when I return, I will ensure that you beg for the same death you gave me upon that obsidian throne."

The room fell silent again, filled only by the sound of Seraphina starting to clean the spill on the floor with a cloth. Constantine stood tall, letting the cold night wind hit his face. The pain in his body remained, but the fire within his soul now blazed much larger. He was Constantine Soren, and his first black rose had now bloomed by his side, ready to spread deadly poison to anyone who dared to underestimate the reborn tyrant.

The tension in the room had not fully dissipated, but the power dynamic had shifted permanently. Constantine knew the days ahead would be filled with more lethal intrigue, yet he no longer felt fear. He had returned to his natural habitat—a world full of betrayal and conquest. With Seraphina now under his control, he had the perfect spy to begin his secret purge. Every person who had ever oppressed this young prince, every person who had underestimated his existence, they would all pay a very high price. Constantine stared sharply into the darkness of the night, devising the mental strategy that would shake the foundations of Astraia Palace tomorrow. There would be no more weak prince; all that remained was the shadow of a tyrant ready to pounce from the darkness.