Page 23 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)

T he summons came at dawn, delivered by a stone-faced guard who wouldn't meet my eyes. "His Imperial Majesty requests your immediate presence in the throne room, my Lord Northreach.”

Requests. As if I had a choice.

Thankfully, I had been up late studying the night before and had chosen to remain in my own chambers rather than slip along and see if there was space in Livia’s bed.

After several nights in a row of exploring our new found relationship dynamic, I had grudgingly admitted to myself that I was in need of a good night’s rest, and was unlikely to get much of that in Livia’s quarters, as enticing as her bed was.

I dressed quickly in my formal robes, the heavy silk feeling like chains across my shoulders.

The carriage ride and the walk through the palace corridors seemed longer than usual, each step echoing off marble walls that suddenly felt more like a tomb than a home.

Servants and courtiers I passed averted their gazes, their usual obsequious greetings replaced by nervous silence.

The throne room doors loomed before me, carved with scenes of Imperial conquest that I'd admired as a child.

Now they seemed grotesque, all that violence rendered in beautiful detail.

The guards pushed them open, and I walked across the vast expanse of polished floor toward the man who had shaped my entire world.

Emperor Valerius sat on the Golden Throne, resplendent in purple and gold, the very image of Imperial power.

But I saw him differently now—saw the calculating coldness in his eyes, the way he held himself like a spider at the centre of an enormous web.

When had I stopped seeing my father and started seeing only the Emperor?

"Jalius," he said, using my real name. "Come closer."

I approached the required distance and bowed, though the gesture felt hollow. "You summoned me, Father."

"Indeed." He leaned back in his throne, studying me with those small dark eyes that missed nothing. "I wanted to discuss the changing atmosphere in the city. Have you noticed it?"

A chill ran down my spine. "In what way?"

"The people's attitude toward the Talfen threat has... evolved considerably since the festival attack." His voice was conversational, almost pleasant, as if we were discussing the weather. "There's a new understanding among the citizenry about what monsters we truly face."

The casual way he said it—monsters—made my stomach clench. But it was the underlying satisfaction in his tone that truly disturbed me. He was pleased about the attack, pleased about the terror and death it had caused.

He was using the grief of his own people as a political tool, fanning the flames of their fear to justify his war. The cold-blooded calculation of it was breathtaking. I had always known my father was ruthless, but this was a new depth of depravity.

“It was a tragedy, Father,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “Many innocent lives were lost.”

“Innocence is a luxury we can no longer afford,” he countered, his eyes narrowing slightly. “War requires sacrifice. The people understand that now. They are ready to give what is necessary to ensure the security of the Empire.”

"They fear what they do not understand," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "And the attack has given them something to fear."

"Fear is the bedrock of loyalty," he replied, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips. "And it is time to build. That is why the attack was a necessity. Sometimes harsh measures are required to open people's eyes to the truth."

For a moment, I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The implication of his words settled over me like ice water, and I felt my world tilt sideways. "You... you knew about it. You allowed it to happen."

"I orchestrated it." His voice remained maddeningly calm.

“Fear is a powerful tool, Jalius. The most powerful. The people needed to see firsthand what the Talfen are capable of. How savage, how dangerous.

It unites them. It gives them a common enemy. It makes them willing to accept measures they might otherwise have found... unpalatable.

A few strategic deaths to prevent thousands more—it was a simple calculation."

"A few strategic deaths?" The words came out strangled. "Father, children died in that attack. Families were torn apart. People I knew—"

"Regrettable but necessary casualties in a larger war." He waved a dismissive hand. "The city guard was positioned to minimize the damage while still allowing sufficient... demonstration of Talfen brutality."

I stared at him, this man who had raised me, who had taught me about duty and honour and the responsibilities of leadership. Where was the father who had once comforted me through nightmares? Where was the ruler who had spoken of protecting his people?

"You're talking about murder," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You murdered your own citizens."

My father’s eyes hardened slightly. "Don't be naive, Jalius. Leadership requires difficult choices. The Talfen threat must be eliminated completely, and the people must support that elimination. The attack served both purposes beautifully."

"Eliminated completely?" Horror was creeping through me like poison.

"The attack was a gift. It has given us the mandate we needed to escalate our efforts. To finally cleanse the land of this Talfen filth, once and for all."

Cleanse. The word was an obscenity, a clinical term for mass murder. My mind flashed to Livia, to her fierce loyalty to her friends, to the Talfen man, Tarshi, whom she loved. This man, my father, was celebrating the very event that had almost killed him.

"What are you planning?" My voice sounded strained as I forced the words out.

A smile spread across his face, cold and predatory. "Total war. Complete annihilation of the Talfen kingdom. Within the month, I'll have mobilized every legion in the Empire. We'll sweep through their lands like a cleansing fire, leaving nothing but ash and memory."

"Father, you can't—" I started forward, then caught myself. Even here, even in this moment of revelation, I couldn't forget protocol entirely. "The casualties alone would be—"

"Minimal, on our side. The Talfen are primitive, disorganized.

They have no real military structure, no unified command.

It will be less a war than an extermination.

" He leaned forward slightly, his eyes glittering with anticipation.

"And when it's over, the Empire will stretch from sea to sea, unified under our banner.

Our family's glory will echo through the ages. "

I felt sick. Actually, physically sick, as if I might vomit right there on the pristine marble floor. "The Talfen are people. They have families, children, lives—"

"They are animals pretending to be people," he said with finality. "Dangerous animals that have plagued our borders long enough. Though I must admit, some of them do possess... useful qualities that would be wasteful to destroy entirely."

Something in his tone made my skin crawl. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me, son—what do you know about dragons?"

The question seemed to come from nowhere, and I blinked in confusion. "Dragons? They're... powerful creatures. Difficult to control but useful for warfare when properly trained. We have several in the Academy's breeding program."

"And how do you think we acquire these dragons?"

"I..." I frowned, realizing I'd never actually questioned it. "Hunting expeditions, I suppose. Capturing wild dragons and bringing them back for training."

"In a sense." That cold smile widened. "Though the truth is rather more interesting. Tell me, Jalius—have you ever wondered why dragons seem so... intelligent? Why they respond to training better than any mere beast should?"

A creeping dread was building in my chest. "I don't understand."

"All dragons," he said slowly, savouring each word, "are Talfen shifters."

The words hit me like a thunderbolt. For a moment, I couldn't process what he'd said. It was too enormous, too impossible. "That's... that can't be..."

"Every dragon in our service was once a person. A Talfen person, to be precise. The collars they wear—those beautiful works of craftsmanship—are made from a very special metal mined in the northern mountains. Vorthak, the miners call it. It has the most remarkable properties."

"What properties?"

"It suppresses the shifter's human consciousness while leaving their dragon form intact.

Makes them perfectly docile, perfectly obedient.

A human touching the collar can direct their every action, control their every thought.

" He gestured casually, as if discussing livestock.

"It removes any inconvenient free will."

The throne room seemed to spin around me. Every dragon I'd ever seen, every magnificent creature I'd admired at the Academy—they had all been people once. People who had been enslaved, stripped of their humanity, forced into servitude.

"You're lying," I whispered, though I knew he wasn't. The pieces were falling into place with horrible clarity—the intelligence in their eyes, the way they sometimes seemed to hesitate before following orders, the occasional flicker of what looked almost like desperation.

"Our raiding parties have been venturing into Talfen territory for decades," he continued conversationally.

"It's easier to capture the young ones, you see.

Children who haven't fully grown into their power yet.

We bring them back, fit them with collars before they're old enough to resist properly. "

"Children," I repeated numbly.

"The males and some of the smaller females are sent to the Academy once they reach maturity.

The larger specimens—particularly the females—are kept for breeding purposes.

Though I must say, our stock has been declining in recent years.

The bloodlines are growing weaker, the offspring smaller.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to find new settlements to raid. "