Chapter 29: The Odds We Defy
They moved in the ways shadows would. Lanard followed closely behind Iris as they slipped along the edges of the city, ducking beneath archways, darting through the skeletons of half-built structures and old ruins swallowed by ivy.
The scent of the city shifted the deeper they went—leather, soot, wine, and blood.
The imperial capital felt everly woke. Its heartbeat lingering in brothels and taverns, from patrolling boots and distant horns. Even the rats seemed tense.
Lan kept pace, quiet but curious.
"I have to ask," he said, crouching beside her as they paused behind a butcher’s stall, "this banquet... What was it exactly? You gathered all these people from across the empire, but honestly... could any of them even stand a chance against your brothers’ courts?"
Iris let out a sigh as she leaned her back against the stone wall. Her eyes didn’t leave the street.
"Perhaps not. No one expects them to, at least."
Lan tilted his head. "Then why hold it?"
"Because I have to," she said quietly. "Because time is running out."
She glanced toward him, the torchlight glinting faintly off the white streaks in her dark hair.
"My father—the emperor—is sick," she said. "And not the kind of sick one recovers from. We pray otherwise, but... he could join his ancestors at any moment."
Lan’s eyes narrowed. "So the war for the throne is about to begin."