Page 36 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

“The worst kind.” He slammed the piece down. “Traitors.”

“They caught them then?”

“No.” He relinquished the piece to rub at his temples. “Incompetent men. It’s like they try to disappoint me. How can it be so hard to round up a few foolish citizens?”

A few hazy rumors had reached us as we planned the invasion of Sorrena, but we hadn’t taken it seriously, not until we were attacked on the way back to Zhine after our conquest weeks ago. The emperor had sent some of my fellow captains to investigate, but so far we’d uncovered little information. Every time the supposed rebels evaded capture. Remnants of their campsites held little information. Even their numbers were obscure at best.

I pondered the placement of the black pieces. None were too close to Zhine, nor to any major city. “A distraction?” They’d used that tactic before, but to what end?

Emperor Ryszard held my gaze across the table. Slowly his pursed lips turned into a frown. “Yes, of course. And who would want our troops heading east more than our enemies to the west?” He gestured to the city-states left unconquered—for now.

I shook my head. “They wouldn’t expect us to move our battalions for such a small disturbance.” They’d given us no reason to storm their borders, though it was a shame to leave them out of the future of solidarity our emperor envisioned. Perhaps they’d join on their own soon enough. “Nor should we, my emperor. Let me check out this disturbance. I’ll get you answers.”

He looked from the map to me. “I knew that I could count on you. Let it be done.”

My heart swelled, a sense of rightness falling back into place. I needed this. A chance to calm my emperor’s worries and clear thoughts of Ilya from my head.

“Argh.” He cupped his palm to his forehead, wincing in pain.

“Emperor—” I stepped around the table.

He waved me off. “Blasted headaches.”

Those again. He’d had more over the last few years, and they’d only grown in intensity.

“Getting harder to keep them contained,” he mumbled. “Slipping free.”

My brows wrinkled. “What are—”

A loud knock sounded on the door. “It’s Captain Orson.”

My jaw stiffened. He was the last of my brethren I wanted to see.

“Come in,” the emperor responded, just loud enough to be heard through the door. He walked to a side table, ignoring Orson as he entered.

But I didn’t. Orson stormed in with purpose, ripping off his helmet. I barely stifled a grin as his step faltered when his gaze landed on me. He’d thought our emperor was alone.

To his credit, Orson waited while the emperor poured his drink. Amber liquid tumbled into a glass of cut crystal. My brows pinched. No, that couldn’t be right. Emperor Ryszard abhorred whiskey. He’d ranted for years about how it dulled the mind and softened the senses.

He raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip before turning to Orson and myself. “What is it?”

Orson’s gaze flicked to me before landing back on our emperor. “I…my emperor, I—”

“Spit it out.” He scowled in impatience, never one to wait.

“He”—Orson thrust an accusing finger in my direction—“had my men thrown in the cells.”

The emperor simply raised his brows and glanced in my direction—a silent request for more information.

Fine, if he wanted to do this now, we would. “Hismen attacked your guests in the hall and injured one of them.”

His eyes narrowed as a deep frown pulled at his clean-shaven face. “My guests are not to be harmed.” Emperor Ryszard’s voice turned hard and flat. “Explain.” This command he directed to Orson.

A snarl rippled across Orson’s lips. “That whore he keeps in his rooms lured them in, then attacked.”

I saw red and crossed the room to him without thought. “She’s no whore.”

“You can’t see straight with that bitch in your bed.”

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