The Foolish Emperor

The mocking Table

The long dining hall glowed with candlelight, silver trays of delicacies laid out like an offering to gods. Servants moved quietly along the walls, their eyes lowered, while the nobles laughed softly among themselves.

At the head of the table, Empress Jia sat draped in crimson silk, her jeweled crown catching every flicker of flame. Across from her, Alexis sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. She had been summoned—not invited.

The empress’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and unkind, like a hawk circling prey.

“Well, little Alexis,” Jia began, her lips curling in a smile that did not reach her eyes. “You’ve grown so pale. Do the shadows of this palace trouble you at night?”

Alexis’ chest tightened. Something about the empress’s presence felt… wrong. The air around her seemed colder, as if the light bent strangely against her figure. For a heartbeat, Alexis thought she saw a black shimmer behind the woman’s chair, like a shadow that moved on its own.

Alexis lowered her gaze, clutching her mother’s handkerchief beneath the table.

The empress leaned forward, her voice dropping into a silken whisper only Alexis could hear. “I heard tales of your mother, you know. A woman who dabbled in f*******n things. A witch, they called her. Did you never wonder why fate punished her so?”

Alexis’s heart lurched. She looked up, wide-eyed, but Jia’s smile only widened.

“Dark magic clings to bloodlines, child. Perhaps you carry it too. How else do you explain those restless dreams of yours?”

Heat rushed to Alexis’s face, half from fear, half from anger. “My mother was no witch,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Oh?” Jia purred. “Then perhaps the whispers lie. Or perhaps,” her eyes glimmered with cruel delight, “you are simply too young to see the truth of what runs in your veins.”

The nobles at the table, oblivious to the venom in Jia’s words, laughed lightly at some jest. The moment was theirs alone—a private cruelty veiled in public grace.

Alexis gripped her handkerchief so tightly her knuckles turned white. Yet through her fear, she sensed something else: a strange pulse, faint but undeniable, beneath the empress’s words. A shadow deeper than malice, a darkness that was not entirely human.

She could not name it. She could only feel it.

And in that moment, Alexis realized one terrifying truth: the new empress was not only cruel—she was dangerous.

Alexis lowered her gaze, forcing her lips into stillness even as her heart screamed in protest. She knew too well what retaliation would bring. Empress Jia’s cruelty was like a snake’s fang—silent, swift, and always striking at the things Alexis held dearest.

Her maid, her pets, even the little comforts she clung to… all could be taken from her with a single whisper to her father.

So she said nothing.

She let the empress’s words hang in the air like poison, allowed Jia to bask in her mockery. Inside, her handkerchief was damp with the sweat of her clenched palm, and tears stung at the corners of her eyes. But she did not let them fall.

The empress smiled, satisfied with her silence, and turned her attention back to her wine. The nobles laughed, oblivious, while Alexis sat in a silence heavier than chains.

Elsewhere, in the Emperor’s private chamber…

Captain Tristan knelt before the throne, armor darkened by soot and ash from his journey.

“My liege,” he said, voice low, “the south burns with shadows. The rebellion is no rebellion at all—it was a veil for rituals. Dark magicians twist flesh into monsters, and the missing villagers were nothing but offerings to demons.”

The emperor’s expression hardened, his hands tightening on the armrest of his throne.

“And the Viscount?” he asked, though his tone carried more suspicion than question.

Tristan hesitated. “His name does not appear directly. Supplies, soldiers, coins—all trace back to him. But no parchment, no witness ties his hand to the blood itself. He hides behind distance, using others to soil their hands.”

The emperor’s eyes narrowed, his voice a cold whisper. “Coward.”

He rose from the throne, pacing slowly. “The Viscount believes he is untouchable. But I will strip away his shield. We need the root—these magicians. Drag them from their holes, crush them, and the Viscount’s mask will tear away with them.”

He turned sharply, the cloak sweeping behind him. “Begin your hunt. Quietly. The empress has ears in every corner, and she will protect her brother with every deceit she commands. But shadows cannot hide from shadows.”

Tristan bowed his head. “By your will, Majesty.”

As the Black Knight captain disappeared into the night once more, the emperor remained standing, staring at the flickering lantern by his side. His reflection in the glass seemed colder, more ruthless.

Let Jia bask in her crown, he thought. I will bleed her roots dry until she stands alone. And when that day comes, not even her son will save her.