Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the palace. The nobles stood pale-faced, like ducks with their necks wrung, frozen where they stood.
Beatrice's eyes widened as she stared at the absurd scene before her, unable for a moment to tell whether what she saw was an illusion.
Her Majesty the Empress... was dead?
The Empress who had sat high upon the Iron Thorn Throne and sent the Empire's armies sweeping across the lands—had she simply died like this?
She lay in a pool of her own blood, terror and confusion written across her face, just like any mortal facing death.
No one had imagined that the weak, hypocritical "Prince" would suddenly rise up and assassinate the Empress.
Beatrice trembled as she looked at the "Prince." His resolute eyes brimmed with hatred and fury. Where was even a trace of weakness?
But he wasn't... he wasn't...
Beatrice's pupils suddenly contracted. She understood at last. The "Prince" had never betrayed the people of Tis. Perhaps those followers of his had willingly offered themselves up, all to buy him this one moment before the Empress. Tis was a weak nation; no matter how they resisted, they would only be crushed beneath the Empress's armies. Everyone knew that.
But now, Her Majesty the Empress had died here—in her own palace, in a pool of her own blood. The "Prince"... he truly was such a noble man?
The "Prince" dropped his longsword and panted heavily, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at the surrounding nobles. Wherever his gaze passed, people retreated. A court councilor who had been standing not far from him was so frightened that he collapsed to the floor.
They were all dogs raised by the Empress, their fangs pulled long ago.
Then someone suddenly screamed.
"Impossible!"
"Her Majesty the Empress... is dead?!"