THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR Chapter 332 332: IMPERIAL CONCERNS

Duke Ephesians Lorvantis stood before the towering doors of the imperial throne room, his blue-black hair immaculately styled, his military regalia gleaming with polished dals and golden embroidery. The fur-lined cape draped across his broad shoulders carried the subtle scent of northern pine—a reminder of his distant estates that seed impossibly far from this mont of reckoning.

He drew a asured breath, steadying nerves that no battlefield had ever managed to rattle. The doors before him—fifteen feet tall and carved from ancient heartwood—were inlaid with veins of gold and platinum that ford an intricate sunburst pattern. The blazing sun emblem at their center seed to watch him with judging intensity, its rays extending outward like accusing fingers pointing in all directions.

Just one more breath, he thought, raising his hand to announce his presence.

"Stop wasting my ti and enter, Duke Lorvantis."

The voice struck him like physical force—lodious yet terrible, beautiful yet threatening. It resonated not just in his ears but throughout his entire body, as if his very bones had beco conduits for her words. This was no re monarch speaking; this was the living embodint of imperial divinity.

A nervous grin flickered across his face. How foolish to think he could prepare himself outside these doors when her awareness extended throughout the palace like an invisible web. The Empress saw everything—perhaps had always seen everything.

"fucking idiotic," he muttered to himself, straightening his already perfect posture. "She knew you were here before you did."

He placed both palms against the double doors, channeling a precise asure of mana into his touch. The sun emblem flared in response, montarily brightening to painful brilliance before the massive portals swung inward with supernatural silence.

The throne room unfolded before him—a cathedral to imperial might. Columns of black marble veined with gold rose to dizzying heights, supporting a vaulted ceiling where constellations moved in slow, deliberate patterns across an artificial night sky. Tall windows allowed precisely angled beams of sunlight to illuminate the central pathway, creating a corridor of light that led inexorably toward the Sun Throne.

And what a throne it was—a colossal structure that seed to have grown rather than been built, rising organically from the dais like a golden tree. Its twisted, branching form incorporated countless faces and figures, historical scenes and mythological battles, all rendered in precious tals and gemstones. At its pinnacle, a stylized sun of pure radiance hovered, casting its own light independently of the natural sun outside.

Duke Ephesians began the long walk toward this monunt to power, each step on the obsidian floor echoing with ominous finality. The throne room was deliberately designed to make supplicants feel small, and despite his rank and familiarity with imperial protocol, he felt himself diminishing with every step.

On either side of the central walkway, terraced seating rose in elegant curves—empty today, signifying a private audience. This was either a blessing or a curse; without witnesses, the Empress might be more rciful... or less constrained in her wrath.

As he reached the base of the throne, he could finally see her—

The Empress!

Solmaria Aurealis Solaria.

The Living Sun, Archruler of the Solarian Empire. She sat motionless, partially obscured by the golden haze that perpetually surrounded her form, watching his approach with the patience of a deity observing the brief flicker of a mortal life.

Duke Ephesians knelt at the prescribed distance, his head bowed, waiting for permission to deliver news that might very well cost him his life.

"Speak," Empress Solmaria commanded, her voice carrying the casual indifference of one who has never needed to raise it to be obeyed.

Duke Ephesians felt his body respond involuntarily—a tremor beginning at his spine and radiating outward through his limbs. He was no coward. As a Royal Sun himself, he had faced horrors that would break lesser n. But the difference between himself and the figure on the throne was like comparing a candle to a supernova. She hadn't rely been touched by the divine Sovereign of the Stellar Expanse—she embodied it.

Ancient histories told how the Sovereign had bestowed his blessing upon the first humans enslaved by the Titans, creating the Royal Suns through his divine blood. Not all Suns awakened their true godly inheritance; only a precious few were deed worthy by the Sovereign himself. After the second generation, these awakened beings beca nurous enough to require a thod of succession. The Royal Match—a tournant to the death—was established.

Of all Suns who had ruled since the Empire's founding, none had inspired such terror as Empress Solmaria. She was no re monster, but an eldritch abomination in human form who had laid waste to ten battle-hardened prodigies—her own siblings, each blessed by the sun. Her victory in the Crimson Moon War against the witch covens had cented her legend, a campaign where only one other anomaly had distinguished himself enough to earn her respect: Lord Hilton De Gror, granted the title of "The Greater" among her generals.

"Certainly, Your Grace," Ephesians replied, dispensing with the flowery preambles she despised. "A report from the Spire has been delivered. The Fifth Exploration Party into the Deadlands has not returned word for two months now."

Silence settled across the throne room like a shroud. Ephesians waited, sweat beading at his hairline despite the climate-controlling enchantnts. He longed to look up, to gauge her expression, but how could one look directly at a literal sun? The golden haze surrounding her form had been known to permanently blind those who stared too long.

He cleared his throat. "The Spire concludes that the party must have—"

"Been wiped out," she interrupted, her voice dripping with boredom. "Yes, yes." The sound of sothing small and soft being crushed between teeth followed—a berry, perhaps, disappearing between full, impossibly red lips partially visible through the golden light. "So what?"

The question hung in the air for a mont before a heat wave exploded outward from the throne—not enough to harm, but a deliberate reminder of what harm she could inflict if she wished. The temperature in the vast chamber rose several degrees in an instant, the air shimring with thermal distortion.

Ephesians fought the urge to stagger backward, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. He controlled his breathing with military discipline, grasping desperately for composure as sweat now ran freely down his back beneath layers of formal attire. This was rely her mild annoyance; he had witnessed her true anger only once, when she had reduced a rebellious governor to ash with nothing more than a glance.

What terrified him most wasn't the casual display of power, but the implication of her question. The loss of fifty elite explorers ant nothing to her. He would need to reveal the true reason for his audience—information that might very well sign his death warrant if she deed him responsible for the delays in reporting it.

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A/N

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