Cheran dropped grapes off his balcony. Servant children in the courtyard below gathered with their arms outstretched, spreading the edges of their tunics, aprons, and skirts to catch whatever fell. He heard a few happy squeals, and leaned back into his chair. He took a sip of wine and motioned for his maid to continue tossing the fruit. He had done enough good for the day. As the balmy wind of the mid afternoon blew onto his balcony, he hummed along to the court musician entertaining him for the day. The man was of middling talent but admirable enthusiasm. He might not attain the peaks of fame, but he would never be out of work. Cheran tapped his feet in rhythm to the slow strumming of the musician’s lyre.

“His majesty requests your presence, your highness,” a courtier said. Cheran closed his eyes. It only felt like a moment, but when he opened them again, it was nearly dusk. The court musician was gone. The courtyard below was silent. He should have felt rested from the languid day, the cooled wine, the dreamless sleep. But the courtier’s arrival had unsettled everything.

“Tell him I shall meet him after dinner,” Cheran said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His father only used him as decoration half the time he was called. All the work would proceed as usual even if he was absent.

“It is not a matter that can wait, your highness.”

Cheran stood up from his daybed. He was still groggy from the wine. He was irritated, with no one to direct it at.

“Draw a bath for me, Beira,” he ordered the maid. “Have it ready by the time I return from meeting— from meeting his majesty.”

He slipped on the robe Beira held out for him and followed the courtier back to the emperor’s chambers. The corridors were empty. The atmosphere was tense in the whole capital, fear creeping into every crevice. The royal palace was no exception. The courtier walked quickly, and Cheran rushed to keep up with him. Guards became more and more frequent as he walked nearer to his father’s chambers, each set of them larger and more imposing than the ones before them. Their weapons grew more impressive, and the portraits on the walls of the corridors became grander and bigger.

“Is there something the matter?” Cheran whispered to the courtier. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he had seen him around. He was more than a mere courtier. He was someone trusted, someone who was important to the efficiency of his father’s rule.

“It is better that his majesty tell you, your highness,” the man said, looking away.

Cheran pushed away the unease of the whole affair. It was true that they were at war, but their empire was always at war. There had been wars before, and nothing but victories. They finally arrived, and the courtier took his place behind Cheran. Two soldiers stood outside the doors, their spears crossed across the double doors to his father’s study. They offered Cheran a curt bow and opened the doors for him.

He heard his father before he saw him. The study was nearly pitch black. The heels of his father’s boots paced the length of the room in regular, crisp taps at regular intervals. There were others in the room too. Cheran could hear their shallow breathing and their restrained silences. His father lived in his mind more than he did in the real world, and probably wasn’t even aware of who was coming into and leaving the room. He saw them not as people but as tools to be used.

“Your Majesty,” Cheran said. Turning to the courtier he said, “Refill the lamps and bring us some candles.”

His father wouldn’t have noticed the discomfort of the people around him either, but Cheran did. He was familiar with the discomfort and feeling of inadequacy that Emperor Avyan planted within most people he met. It was impossible not to be. It wasn’t something the emperor did consciously. He was simply better than most people, in more ways than Cheran could count. Furthermore, the emperor made no attempts to hide or diminish the superiority of his intellect or status.

The courtier returned with servants bearing lamp oil and candles. His father’s study was lined with bookshelves on all sides, covering every inch of the walls. Armchairs and a sofa surrounded a coffee table in the half of the room closest to the door, while the half further away was occupied by a massive desk. Behind it, there was a single tall window, showing the cloudy night sky. One of the maids opened the windows to let fresh air in, and a cool breeze soon brought them all some relief. As the room brightened, Cheran saw the tired faces of the ministers and nobles. While his father paced the room with a strict, military energy, his companions were exhausted.

“Wine and refreshments for our esteemed guests,” he said, snapping a finger at one of the maids. His father continued his pacing. Cheran sat in one of the empty armchairs and placed his hands on the armrests. He offered a few of the men what he hoped was a friendly smile.

There was a map on his father’s desk, and hundreds of little wooden soldiers and horses laid out on its surface. As he looked closer, far too many were fallen. He was no genius, but even he could tell that this war was not like the others.

“Noumin’s armies are stronger than we expected,” Avyan said. “Their forces are more numerous than our estimates.”

How much stronger? Cheran thought. When his father ascended the throne, the Daivian Empire was supposed to be the most powerful in the known world. They had the most soldiers, the richest farmlands, and endless troves of treasure. They had a history of victory and glory. Noumin was just a peninsular nation of fishermen and sailors. Cheran knew they would win the war, but it was the first war since his father had become emperor. To be seen struggling in any way would be a sign of weakness. It would give hope to other nations to try their luck, to encroach on their borders.

“It is time we seek out other means of achieving our goals,” Avyan said. “A peaceful resolution where both parties benefit.”

Cheran nodded absentmindedly. As far as he knew, Daivia wanted access to the Nouminian ports, but Noumin needed nothing from them. Nouminians were fiercely independent people. They believed that everything they needed, they could find in the sea. They were right more often than not.

“What do we offer them?” Cheran asked.

All of the men in the room were looking at him. Some of them with hope, and others with despair.

“A marriage offer to the crown prince,” the courtier said.

Cheran looked towards his father, and he knew that both their minds held the same doubt— that he was not worth enough.