Lucius didn’t nod. He stood completely still, eyes trained on the folder like it might change shape if he looked away.
Christian Velloran.
The na carried weight—and rot. Tied to scandals swept clean by convenience and influence. And now, tied to the contract that had Lucas’s future stamped on it like an invoice.
Lucas Oz Kilr.
Unregistered. Unawakened. Sold.
Not abandoned by circumstance but deliberately positioned for sale by the one person who should have protected him.
Lucius’s jaw tightened. "What do you know about Misty Kilr?"
Ilar read one of his files from the data pad. "She lives under her maiden na now. Operating discreetly out of the eastern districts—lower Demire, under private security. She had taken Lucas to court events, but only when the guest list suited her tastes. Nothing in which an official mber of the imperial family would be present. The boy was always under his younger sister, Ophelia’s, surveillance."
Lucius looked at him, his voice sharp. "She knew exactly what she was doing."
"Yes. The mont his secondary gender was confird as oga—rare, male, and politically exploitable—she filed the contract. She didn’t register him to protect him. She delayed so she could sell him before the Empire could claim him."
Lucius’s fingers curled once at his side, then released. Controlled. Composed. But the shift in his posture told Ilar everything he needed to know: the prince was no longer simply curious—he was invested. Personally.
"She trafficked him through loopholes," Lucius said. "Court-approved. Brokered. Hidden behind language that looked legal enough not to raise suspicion."
"She used the imperial system to wash her hands clean," Ilar added, not bothering to soften the truth. "Every delay in the registry kept him off the palace’s radar. Every omission kept the burden of proof off her."
"And by the ti anyone noticed," Lucius murmured, "he was old enough to be sold and smart enough not to scream."
He turned back toward the glowing file wall. Lucas’s na flickered across it again in pale-blue text, dical notations running beneath like a criminal record. Oga, declared at birth—but not awakened.
The detail pulsed now like a fault line.
"Did Father’s secretary answer?" Lucius asked, his voice clipped. "I need to see the Emperor now."
Ilar’s fingers moved quickly across his datapad. "Still waiting on a verbal confirmation. His schedule’s locked until tonight—he’s eting with trade envoys and the agricultural board. I’ve escalated it through official protocol."
Lucius’s expression didn’t shift, but sothing cold and controlled snapped into place beneath it.
"Unacceptable."
"Should I press further?"
"No. I’ll handle it myself."
Mael straightened. "You want the car ready?"
"No," Lucius said, already striding across the office to the coat draped neatly on a chair. "Tell the guards I’m walking."
Ilar looked up, startled. "Sir, that’ll—"
"Draw attention?" Lucius slipped into the coat with a practiced motion. "Good."
The door hissed open. Lucius didn’t wait for his security detail to fall into place. The North Wing corridors echoed with the asured sound of his polished shoes as he moved through the governnt tier and into the Emperor’s private level without pause.
He wasn’t just a second prince anymore.
Not when there was a contract in the system that reduced his brother to a transaction.
Not when the Emperor might have signed off on it.
Or worse—might have known and said nothing.
—
The private corridor outside the Emperor’s suite was lined with dark-paneled walls, guarded by a pair of elite soldiers who barely blinked at Lucius’s arrival. He didn’t break stride.
"His Majesty is in conference," one offered, tone careful but firm.
Lucius stopped only long enough to et the man’s eyes. "He’ll make ti."
The door opened a mont later from within, the Emperor’s secretary pale-faced and clearly flustered. "Prince Lucius—he’s not—he said—"
Lucius brushed past him.
The imperial study was a blend of old-world and modern force—tall windows, deep oak trim, and a security terminal built straight into the marble desk. Caelan Mikael, Emperor of Palatine, sat at the head of it in a tailored black suit, silver streaking his dark beard. He looked up without surprise.
Standing near the windows was Crown Prince Sirius Alaric—firstborn, perfectly grood, unreadable as always. He didn’t speak, but his eyes followed Lucius like a hawk watches the wind.
Lucius ca to a halt directly before their father, eyes hard. The folder in his hand slapped down on the Emperor’s desk with quiet finality.
"You knew."
Caelan didn’t flinch; he raised his eyes from the report he was reading, brows lifting faintly. "I didn’t approve your appointnt. And what are you talking about?"
Lucius’s jaw flexed. "Lucas. Oz. Kilr."
The silence that followed snapped sothing sharp in the air.
Across the room, Sirius looked up from where he was reviewing diplomatic communiqués. The Crown Prince’s expression didn’t change, but his posture did—one subtle shift that told Lucius he had his attention now.
"I only found out yesterday," Caelan said evenly, though the steel behind his voice was unmistakable. He leaned back in his chair, the polished armrest creaking softly under the motion. He toyed with a sleek black fountain pen between his fingers—slow, deliberate.
"She inford that the child died a week after his birth," he continued, voice low, detached in the way only soone reliving failure could be. "And said she couldn’t face anymore because of grief. I had no reason to question it."
Lucius didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift.
But the silence between them changed.
"No reason?" Lucius said, finally. His tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. "You’re the Emperor. You have a palace full of advisors and an entire intelligence bureau, and you took her word."
Caelan t his eyes. "It was a private matter. I believed she’d told the truth."
He paused, the lines around his mouth tightening. His fingers moved back to the pen but didn’t touch it this ti.
"She could have obtained more by asking for his rights," he said quietly. "Titles. Land. A stipend. The usual path, if she truly wanted leverage. But she didn’t. Which tells she didn’t decide to hide him until after his secondary gender was revealed."
Lucius stilled. The room held its breath.
Caelan’s voice lowered, as if dredging the truth up from sowhere he didn’t want to look. "The secondary gender is determined a week after birth. That’s when registry updates are filed with the imperial dical office."
"And?" Sirius asked, arms still folded, but his stance now rigid.
Caelan looked between them both, then reached for the screen embedded into his desk. A few keystrokes later, a classified hospital record filled the display—flagged, restricted, and encrypted with a personal imperial seal.
Infant Record – Code: A77-Z12
Na: Redacted. Gender: Male. Status: Deceased.
Cause of death: Genetic defect—heart malformation.
Date filed: Seven days after birth.
Secondary gender: Unlisted.
"I ordered this report reviewed last night," Caelan said. "It’s marked as my son. No secondary gender. Declared dead due to a congenital heart defect."
Lucius stepped closer, brow furrowing. "But there’s no autopsy. No confirmation."
"No," Caelan said. "Because no one questioned it. She filed it under ergency protocol, and no body was ever returned to the imperial crypts. She arranged a private cremation—sealed."
Sirius’s voice darkened. "Because there was no body."
Caelan nodded slowly.
"She didn’t lose a child. She lost the ability to pretend he wasn’t valuable." He looked up. "When the test confird male oga, she made a decision. She faked a death certificate to keep him from being claid. From becoming mine."
Reviews
All reviews (0)