General Marcus Hale arrived unarmed.
That alone told me he was not calm.
He stood in the center of my private audience chamber, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid in the way only soldiers became when they were deciding whether to kill someone in the next heartbeat.
I stayed seated.
Not on the throne—never on the throne in private—but at the small table near the window. Two cups of tea sat between us, steam rising gently.
I had not touched mine.
Neither had he.
"You summoned me, Your Majesty," Hale said. His voice was steady. Too steady.
"Yes," I replied. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
He inclined his head slightly. Not a bow. A courtesy between equals.
Or rivals.
The silence stretched.
I let it.
Men like Hale were uncomfortable with quiet unless they controlled it. Every second without direction forced them to think—and thinking led to mistakes.
Finally, he spoke. "If this is about the eastern garrisons, I assure you—"
"It's not," I interrupted softly.
His jaw tightened.
I reached for my cup then. Lifted it. Held it between both hands, as if for warmth.
"You drank a great deal of wine at the coronation," I said casually.
His eyes flickered. Just once.
"Yes."
"I didn't," I continued. "I collapsed."
Another pause.
"The wine was… strong," he said.
"Poisoned," I corrected.
The word fell into the room like a blade dropped on stone.
Hale did not reach for a weapon. Did not shout. Did not deny it.
Instead, he exhaled slowly.
"So," he said, "you know."
"I know someone tried to kill someone," I replied. "And that I almost died by mistake."
That finally got a reaction.
His eyes sharpened, all pretense stripped away. "By mistake?"
I nodded. "The poison was not meant for me."
Silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.
Hale stared at the tea between us, then laughed once—short and humorless.
"Interesting," he said. "Very interesting."
He looked up at me. "Then tell me, Your Majesty. Who do you think was meant to die?"
I met his gaze steadily.
"You," I said.
The room seemed to contract.
Hale stood very still.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
A dangerous smile. The kind men wore when the world finally made sense again.
"That explains a great deal," he murmured.
My pulse quickened, but I kept my face neutral.
"You suspect the Chancellor?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. Kross prefers leverage to corpses."
"The Church?"
"Too loud."
I leaned forward slightly. "My mother?"
That did it.
The smile vanished.
Hale's expression hardened into something cold and calculating. "The Empress Dowager does not tolerate independent power," he said. "And my loyalty has always been… conditional."
Conditional.
"So you believe she tried to kill you," I said.
"Yes."
"And now you believe you are still in danger."
He did not answer immediately.
Then: "Yes."
Good.
Fear made men honest.
I set my cup down. "Then we have a shared problem."
Hale studied me carefully now—not as a weak boy, not as a puppet—but as a variable.
"You are offering me protection," he said slowly.
"Yes."
He raised an eyebrow. "From whom?"
"From the palace," I replied. "From the Church. From my mother."
He laughed again. "You have no army."
"Not openly," I agreed. "But I have something you don't."
"And what is that?"
"Legitimacy," I said. "And time."
He was silent.
"If you move against her," I continued, "you will be branded a traitor. The empire will fracture. The Church will call it heresy. Kross will side with whoever wins."
"And if I side with you?" Hale asked.
"Then you live," I said simply. "For now."
His eyes narrowed. "That's not very reassuring."
I smiled faintly. "Neither is your current situation."
We stared at each other.
Finally, he nodded once. "What do you want?"
"Loyalty," I said. "Quiet loyalty. You continue as you are. You do not mobilize. You do not speak of the poisoning."
"And in return?"
"I will block any move against you," I said. "Publicly and privately."
He considered.
Then: "If you fail?"
"Then you kill me," I said calmly. "And claim self-defense."
He laughed again—this time with genuine amusement.
"You are either braver than you appear," he said, "or far more dangerous."
"Both can be true," I replied.
Hale stepped closer to the table. Lowered his voice. "There is something you should know."
I waited.
"The night before the coronation," he said, "my personal guard intercepted a message meant for the palace kitchens."
My breath slowed.
"It was not signed," he continued. "But it carried the Dowager's seal."
"What did it say?" I asked.
Hale met my eyes.
Ensure the cup reaches the hand that threatens stability.
The words echoed in my mind.
Threatens stability.
Not emperor.
Not general.
A role.
A condition.
"Who else threatens stability?" I asked quietly.
Hale hesitated.
Then said, "The High Priest."
My stomach tightened.
"He has been gathering influence among the southern lords," Hale continued. "Quietly. Promising absolution. Support. 'Divine favor.'"
A religious coup.
"And," Hale added, "he dined closer to you than I did."
The pieces shifted.
The poison. The seating. The bird. The Church's calm.
Someone had redirected the cup.
Someone had ensured I drank first.
I leaned back slowly.
"So," I said, "my mother tried to kill the priest. The poison missed. I survived. And now—"
"—everyone thinks everyone else did it," Hale finished.
"Yes."
Chaos by accident.
Or design.
We were interrupted by hurried footsteps outside the chamber.
A guard knocked sharply. "Your Majesty!"
I straightened. "Enter."
The guard burst in, pale. "There's been an incident in the western wing."
"What kind?" Hale asked sharply.
"The High Priest," the guard said. "He's been attacked."
My heart skipped.
"Alive?" I demanded.
The guard hesitated.
"They don't know yet."
Hale and I exchanged a look.
Then he smiled grimly.
"Your reign," he said, "has officially begun."
Chapter 4 Summary (under 100 words)
The emperor privately confronts General Hale, revealing the poisoning was meant for him. Hale confirms the Empress Dowager likely ordered it and agrees to a quiet alliance with the emperor for mutual survival. Hale reveals new intelligence: the Dowager's original target may have been the High Priest, not him, suggesting the poison was redirected. As suspicions spiral between factions, news arrives that the High Priest has been attacked. The failed assassination has ignited open conflict, and the emperor realizes the palace is sliding toward chaos—with him at its center.