The Empire's Watchdog
Since the meeting began, no one has sat or taken a break.
Even the strongest among them felt the weight of gravity. Aldus’ stance shifted more often than he liked. Gradsky, unmoving as stone, bore the weight without complaint—but even he was not immune. Standing still, truly still, was more exhausting than motion.
Gravity punished idleness.
However, the meeting continued.
“If his purpose isn’t to invade under the pretense that we started the fight,” Aldus said, “then his scheme must be aimed somewhere we can’t defend with strength alone, right?”
Silence pressed in. It was the only logic that fit a small kingdom’s letter sent to an Empire. Numbers and raw power wouldn’t favor them in any open campaign.
“But I don’t get it. What’s the plan?” Aldus asked.
He asked the emperor, but a calm voice cut through the chamber from among the crowd.
“King Manfroi is smarter than he looks,” Rosa said.
The temperature in the room dropped.
Praising another ruler in front of their own snapped every gaze to her—sharp, scornful, especially from Duke Mothis at her shoulder.
Rosa didn’t flinch.
“This incident is the perfect chance to put the continent’s most powerful nation in his debt,” she went on. “If I were him, I’d squeeze it for all it’s worth."
She paused and let the room breathe before continuing.
"If he can force the Empire to accept responsibility, he gains wealth and influence as the king who made us bow.” She let the pause land cleanly. “And if we refuse, he paints us as tyrants—unaccountable, dangerous. Either way, he wins.”
The room drew tight.
She wasn’t gloating. She was stating the board as it stood. But the Dukes took it as if she’d declared that the Empire had no way out. Accept blame and appear weak and disordered. Deny blame and seem ruthless, above consequence. Whichever path, the kingdom could profit.
Perhaps that was why their eyes cut at Rosa—an imperial councillor speaking so plainly about the Empire losing. The Emperor, however, remained composed.
“It’s as Rosa says,” he said into the tension.
“…”
With his agreement, panic and shame flushed the faces that had scorned her. She had hit the mark, and none could refute it—not now.
“But,” Aldus pressed, voice trembling as he sought to please, “Your Majesty, we can avoid this. That woman is no longer part of the Vermillion family.”
He threw his own blood under the carriage.
“Father disowned her years ago,” he added. “Technically, she isn’t a citizen of the Empire. She isn’t your subject!”
He strained to paint Reina as a stranger to the throne, and his anger bled through every word. There was no brotherly warmth in the way he spoke of her.
The Emperor closed his eyes, disappointed.
“Whatever feud your family keeps,” he said, “the world won’t consider it. Reina Stacia was born to royal blood. In the eyes of foreign crowns, that is what matters. A royal causing havoc across a border will be read as planned.”
“…”
Aldus’s face twisted. He had never imagined the sister his house had cast out would return as trouble for them all. He disliked her already. Now resentment curdled into loathing.
Even if no one said it aloud, he felt the room judging Vermillion, and the invisible verdict burned.
Duke Milotic cleared his throat. “What is the way forward, Your Majesty?”
“I proposed to King Manfroi that we resolve this privately,” the Emperor said, shaking his head, “but he refused. He threatens to bring it to the Summit of Kings if we do not bring him Reina's head and compensation within a week.”
“That soon?” Milotic’s brows rose.
The Emperor nodded once, eyes closed.
“The Summit is in two months. Can we even find Reina at that time?” Milotic asked.
Rosa's eyes became cold just from hearing the threat on Reina's life.
“Who knows,” the Emperor said.
Milotic inhaled. The Emperor was rarely this cautious.
“Regardless of Manfroi’s motives,” the Emperor continued, “this buys us time to investigate. And I do not think Reina would act without cause.”
He lifted his head, meeting his court with a steadiness that hardened their spines.
“King Manfroi may think he has the upper hand,” he said, his voice carrying to every corner, “but he will learn not to play us. The Empire does not bow, and it never will.”
“THE EMPIRE DOES NOT BOW TO ANYONE!” the four Dukes, their attendants, and Leo thundered back.
The words rang like steel on stone. Pride swelled, smiles cut in different ways across the Dukes’ faces. For a breath, it felt like bliss to belong to the Empire.
Except for Rosa.
She watched the Emperor, neither smiling nor shouting, weighing the cost stitched inside his words. A ruler must be resolute. Her gaze was the cool caution of someone who had seen resolute used and misused.
“I’ll deploy people to look into it,” the Emperor said.
He fell quiet, letting the court absorb the course. Whispers stirred almost at once.
A slight elf woman stood at Mothis’s side, whispering in his ear, beaded hair chiming softly. Mothis nodded, and she withdrew.
“Duke Mothis…” Leo’s displeasure showed. Speaking under the Emperor’s voice tested patience.
What is it you find so urgent? the room might as well have asked.
“Your Majesty,” Mothis stepped forward, bowing his head, “if it’s information you seek, I would be honored to handle it.”
Confidence warmed his voice. A small, satisfied smile played at his lips.
“I have a unit designed for such discrete work,” he said.
The Emperor regarded him. “You are confident they’ll perform better than my personal unit?”
Mothis raised his head. “They are most elegant in the art of gathering truth. I’m positive they will not disappoint.”
Polite words. A challenge underneath. He had chosen them carefully—to avoid appearing to undercut the throne while inviting comparison.
The Emperor’s mouth tipped, intrigued. “Very well. I’ll leave the matter to you. You have until the Summit of Kings.”
“As you wish,” Mothis said. “It shall be done.”
He bowed again, satisfaction guileless on his face as he stepped back. Behind him, the elf aide’s composure held, but her eyes brightened—ecstatic beneath the discipline the venue demanded. Aldus and Milotic kept their features smooth, saying nothing that might sound like envy for praise.
The Emperor rose. Instantly, the court turned to face the throne, sank to their knees, and prostrated themselves.
“By my order,” he said, arm extended, “I hereby call this meeting to an end.”
Business was settled for now, and the court broke for the day. Those with tasks moved to prepare. The others returned to their manors to wait out the storm.
Rosa lingered, a private grin flickering as a thought took root. She touched her chin, pleased by the shape of it.
While I’m here, perhaps I’ll visit my pupil, she mused. Sounds like she’s having too much fun.
She meant to drop in on Reina without warning.
“Rosa Ash,” the Emperor called as he approached.
Her train of thought didn’t break. Oddly, she didn’t fluster or bow as she had before the room. She regarded the Emperor with the fond indulgence one might reserve for a younger relative.
“Mm?” She tilted her head. “Emperor Lewis Alistair Bauris. You’ve grown from the boy who took the throne nineteen years ago.”
“Nineteen years of age and I managed not to drive the Empire into the ground,” Lewis said lightly.
“Fufufufu.” They both laughed.
Before Rosa, he wasn’t the Emperor. He was simply a man—a child from the past.
“You would dare address His Majesty like that?!”
Leo’s hand had already found his hilt. He would have drawn if the Emperor hadn’t lifted a staying hand. Rosa only watched him with cool indifference. His interruption had spoiled the laugh.
“Forgive him,” Lewis said. “He’s too stiff for his age. Youngsters these days don’t know how to relax.”
Heat touched Leo’s ears when the Emperor apologized for him. The ruler of the Empire should not have to apologize.
Yet he did. The unexpected grace unsettled him.
“It’s fine,” Rosa said. “He wouldn’t scratch me anyway.”
It wasn’t bravado. There was no boast in her tone—only indifference.
“You haven’t changed since I last saw you,” Lewis said.
“Well, beauty does love to cling to me.” Now she preened, flicking her dark‑green hair aside and folding her arms to lift her chest with a theatrical little push.
“Hehe. You are beautiful indeed,” Lewis laughed, then composed himself. “Will you be staying long this time?”
“Yes.” Her answer was bright, then settled. “Something exciting is happening, and I want to see it. I’ll hold off on wandering for now.”
“Great.” Lewis grinned. “Then I’ll prepare the finest room for you.”
“No, thank you.” Rosa’s refusal was gentle.
“…may I ask why?” Disbelief colored him.
She scratched at her hair, voice sliding into dry disdain. “The palace is too stuffy for my taste. I don’t enjoy being followed all the time.”
Without waiting for formality, she turned for the doors. She waved over her shoulder.
“Well then, Your Majesty, I’ll see you later.” She sketched a last bow. "And don't bother coming for Reina, okay."
Rosa walked away without care, footfalls even, stride relaxed and assured. Her dark‑green hair shifted with each step, and the faint vine‑markings coiled around her forearms glowed softly, as if remembering old sunlight. She was a lady, yes—but with a tomboy’s temper when met with poor behavior. If not for the Emperor’s presence, Leo might have been on the floor.
Lewis and Leo watched her go.
“Such insolence,” Leo muttered. “Your Majesty, who is she that you allow her such address?”
“Leo,” Lewis said mildly, giving him a wise look, “you could stand to gain from being less uptight. It might save your life.”
“…I shall do no such thing, your majesty,” Leo dismissed politely.
The emperor raised his eyebrow and smiled slightly at Leo's devotion.
Then his voice dropped. His gaze stayed on Rosa’s retreating. Leo stared, thrown by the softness in his liege’s tone and the leniency shown to that woman. This wasn’t the Emperor he thought he knew.
“You’ve heard of the Empire’s Watchdog, right?” Lewis asked.
“That old tale.”
At first, Leo sifted for the lesson in the bedtime story. Then understanding began to gather. His eyes tracked Rosa with new focus. Disbelief widened them.
“You’re looking at her,” Lewis said. “Rosa Ash. She’s been alive since the Empire’s founding.”
“…”
He let Leo absorb it before finishing, “She’s seen the good and the rot of this world.”
There was nothing to say. No human lived that long—no human Leo had ever known. He swallowed the question of age. The Watchdog of the Empire had stood within reach, and he had nearly bared steel at her for a tone.
Lewis watched him, saw the silence take him, and did not fill it. He turned and walked away, leaving Leo to assemble a new understanding of the woman, and of his Emperor.
The legend of the Empire's Watchdog—is a woman? Leo thought.
In the corridor beyond the doors, Rosa’s grin sharpened.
Time to visit my pupil.
