Page 88 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

“It’s too extreme, Lucien. Taking their children, their future. It’s not who we are,” Warren whispered through the link.

“We were to bring peace, prosperity, and comfort to the divided cities,” Zurina added. “Not crush their spirits.”

Others spoke in the room, but I ignored them, focusing on the mental conversation.

“Someone needs to speak out. Stop this. But you’re the only one with the authority,” Warren said. “People listen to you. Follow you. If you speak against our emperor, we may have a chance.”

“We have your back, Lucien,” Zurina said. “In this and other ventures.”

“Other ventures…” I mused, barely a whisper. Ilya’s face flashed through my mind. The mark on my arm. Trale. The tingling across my skin retreated as Orson’s voice rose within the room.

“When do we start? And where do we take them? Our camps can’t support such an influx of—”

“Wait.” I cut into the conversation, stepping forward to demand attention. “These children have seen war or heard about it from their parents. Why would they become willing soldiers in our army?”

“Children are weak-minded,” the emperor replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Give them food and purpose and they’ll soon stop mewling for their mothers. You’ll see.”

Conversation erupted in the room in the wake of the emperor’s comments, but only a humming buzz filled my ears.

Weak-minded. Like us? Had he thought the same when he took us in? He’d given us food, shelter, purpose, and we followed him.

Memories flashed behind my eyes. The emperor watching us spar or practice our magic. His words of praise and encouragement—all focused on our abilities. The visits became less frequent in the cycle or two before his brother’s death. Nor did he stay for long, as he once had. He asked me the same questions each time he was there, almost like a test. What had I learned recently? How far could my illusions reach? There were never any discussions about me beyond my abilities. Nothing about what I liked or might one day want to do.

My stomach rolled. The edges of my vision blurred. Had he ever loved us? Cared? Or were we simply tools to him?

Fuck.

Ilya might be right. About Trale. About Marsali. Everything. The mark on my arm itched, almost like a beacon in and of itself. I couldn’t let the emperor steal these children.

“If the city-states are trying to rebel, this won’t aid us,” I said, raising my voice above the din of the room. “Taking their children will only encourage them to fight back.”

The emperor’s grey brows reached for the ceiling. “Do you know something we don’t, Captain?”

Orson smirked and crossed his arms. It’d been him I interrupted.

“Of course not, but we must consider how they’ll react. Show mercy. Give them something to admire and respect.” I bit the tip of my tongue as soon as the word slipped free.

His countenance darkened.

Fuck it all. I should have known when he called me captain. Nothing good ever followed that solitary title.

“They’ll come in line or I’ll enact harsher penalties upon their people. No more rebellions. No more harassment of our troops.” His voice rose on each statement, face growing reddish-purple under the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “If they don’t listen, I’ll show them the meaning of being conquered with blood and magic.” He slammed his fist on his desk, the sound echoing throughout the room.

Magic tingled under my skin, yearning to be unleashed in a torrent of fury. This wasn’t what I was raised for. It wasn’t the vision of a peaceful, united coalition of city-states that he’d fed us for cycles, even before he inherited his brother’s throne. Peace. Unity. Prosperity for all once the initial fighting was done.

Fool.I cursed myself. It was too good to be true.

Could I have had a different future? Heir of Trale. Beloved son. A man worthy of Ilya.

Metal clinked as Kasida dipped to one knee. “I’m happy to carry out your commands, my emperor.” She placed her feline helm upon the floor at her feet, her bowed head a sign of willing submission.

Her words snapped Emperor Ryszard from his haze of fury. The color receded from his face as he took in the woman on the ground before him. She’d have been a beauty, with her dark hair and bewitching light eyes, if she wasn’t so revolting within.

He nodded at her. “You few”—he waved to Kasida, Orson, and others near them—“stay here. The rest of you, out of my sight.”

My temper simmered hotter than Orson’s flames. I fisted my hands at my sides, holding in my magic.

The odd tingling returned to my scalp. “Not here, not now.” The feeling receded with Warren’s voice.

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