Exalted Champion: Ch 17 (Rough Draft) (Patreon)

Chapter 17: Breakfast and a Needle

I snapped open the Imperial Tribune morning paper at the breakfast table. Ashley was up early, along with Rachel and our two new acting wives, Tiffany and Adelia. Breakfast had now turned into a chilly affair where everyone watched their words carefully. No longer was it filled with the warmth of strategy and planning. Now it was a cold hollow thing.

The headline on today’s paper made my mood sour all the more.

Imperial Tribune: October 25, 3212 T.E. Mundness (Monday)

PALEBREAKER-RULE RESTORED: EXALTED PRINCE GRAYSON RETURNS LEONARD’S ESTATE, 28 MITHRIL EXCHANGED, PALEBREAKER LEGACY INTACT.

The subhead was even worse. Palebreaker line "vindicated," all debts "purged," with the returned estate "preserved in honor." There was a full column about my "magnanimous" decision to sell back the house after Leonard’s humiliating defeat. Though there was something vicious in the wording.

“Fuck it’s like they want me and the Palebreaker to fight…” I set my fork down and drew in a long and calming breath. I eyed Tiffany and Adelia. Let’s see what they have to say about it.

Tiffany’s eyes darted to the headline, then to me, her lips parting as if she wanted to speak, and then thinking better of it. I watched her wrestle with herself for a moment, the need to please clashing with the fear of saying anything that might set the wrong tone. Finally, she managed a tentative, “I… I believe that’s a very astute observation, Exalted Prince husband. The Tribune has always delighted in… stirring the pot, so to speak.” She trailed off, glancing at Adelia, searching for backup, but Adelia’s gaze flicked over and pinned her in place. Tiffany shrank in on herself, her words trailing off.

Adelia picked up the thread without missing a beat, voice syrupy with agreement, “It’s clear the Tribune wishes to stoke discord, Exalted Prince. They always did prefer spectacle to accuracy. Your decision was flawless, the only sensible choice. The Palebreakers should consider themselves fortunate to have regained their legacy so… painlessly.” She said ‘painfully’ and ‘painlessly’ in the same breath, her tongue curling around the words.

Ashley leaned back in her seat, swirling her cossa, “They’ve never met a story they couldn’t twist. It’s not even subtle. They’re already trying to set up the next round of drama. I doubt that his highness will take the bait, though; he has lost so much already, it would be foolish to risk more.”

The Imperial Tribune sat in front of me, the ink still wet enough to stain my fingers. The whole thing was a setup, a little theater meant to play noble houses against each other until one of us tripped and fell.

Brie slipped into the room without a sound. The three gold-tipped tails brushed the door aside, her hands folded, her face the perfect mask of calm. The way she moved was so careful that it was like she thought any abrupt word might shatter the tableware.

“Exalted Prince. The Imperial Emissary has arrived.” Brie’s voice was low, pitched for me alone, but everyone here heard it. “He is waiting in the drawing room. I have seated him and provided refreshment as prescribed by protocol.”

I stood, “Rachel, let us attend to business. Ashley, Tiffany, and Adelia, be ready to head to class after thing.” The command and formality grated on me, but until Adelia and Tiffany were dealt with, I was going to have to put up with it.

“At once, husband,” Rachel said, taking my arm as we left the breakfast room and headed to the receiving parlor near the front entry to the royal apartments.

We walked into the ornate room, and Ashley had kept it more luxurious than some of the others in order to show guests that, yes, I was a prince. Sat on the same sofa where Adelia had opened her legs to me the other night and begged me to fuck any of her holes, sat the Imperial Emissary.

He looked nothing like the last three imperial functionaries I’d dealt with. No stuffy robes or perfumed handkerchiefs. This one wore a tailored black coat trimmed in deep red, cut for movement. His hair was silver and cropped close, his eyes a bright, unblinking gray. He didn’t stand when Rachel and I entered. He just set his cup down with deliberate care and studied me as if I were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

I closed the door behind us, letting the silence stretch. The air in the parlor prickled with the scent of spiced tea and the faintest hint of ozone, probably from the wards Rachel had set to keep us from being overheard. The Emissary’s gaze flicked to her for a heartbeat, then returned to pin me in place.

“Exalted Prince Grayson.” His voice was smooth, almost bored, but there was steel underneath. “Lady Albillac. Thank you for receiving me on such short notice.” He didn’t bow, but there was no disrespect in the absence. If anything, he was testing to see what I’d do.

I moved to the chair opposite him and sat without ceremony. Rachel took the seat beside me, her posture measured, hands folded in her lap. I watched the Emissary as he poured himself another cup of tea, the liquid perfectly clear, not a ripple betraying his thoughts.

“You’re here for the needle,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Efficient. The reputation of the House of Stars is well deserved.” He reached into his coat and drew out a velvet-wrapped box, setting it on the table between us.

I took the needle from my storage ring and placed it in the box, and slid it back to him across the cossa table.

“May I?” He asked.

I nodded. He opened the box, careful not to touch the surface of the needle itself, and used a small silver tool to lift it free. He turned the artifact under the light, examining every facet, every rune.

For a moment, nobody spoke. The room was silent except for the faint tick of the clock and Rachel’s even breathing.

“Impressive work,” he said finally, eyes not leaving the needle. “The runes are perfectly aligned. Power flow is uniform. I detect no instability.” He glanced up, the gray of his eyes catching mine. “How did you compensate for the decay in the mithril lattice? The last three attempts by the imperial workshop failed at this stage.”

“We all have our secrets,” I said, smoothly shutting down his questioning.

“Ha, very well, Exalted Prince Grayson. Is there anything else?”

I pulled a sample of the celestial healing thread out from my storage ring and a note we had made outlining the creation process for the thread. “This is what is actually used up during the closing process. It should be simple enough for your alchemists to make. The needle has a soul-binding process on it, so whoever binds to it will be the only one who can use it. Make sure you have lots of mana on hand as well.” I was being truthful, though I was not sure if the mana potions and other items the empire had access to would be enough to close a rift in one go like I could, but that was their problem for now, not mine.

He took the sample and the notes, eyes flicking over the diagrams. “We’ll see if that’s true. The palace will be grateful for your candor. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “That’s all. You can have the notes, but the process isn’t as simple as it looks. It’s the mana that matters.”

He tucked the sample away in a hidden pocket, the gesture smooth and automatic. “The palace never expects simple. Only results. You’ll be notified when the Emperor has reviewed your needle. Until next week.” The emphasis on “your” was not subtle. He stood, adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, and left the room without another word.

Rachel and I sat in silence for a minute, the only sound the faint click of the clock. I looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. “That went well?”

She let out a long breath, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she slumped a little. “He was… intense. But yes, efficient. Probably on the ninth’s legion special team. The less time we spend around imperial and legion functionaries, the better.”

I nodded in agreement, and for a second, neither of us moved. I felt the tension leave my shoulders in a slow ripple. “Come on. We’ve got a class to get to,” I said, and I stood, holding the door open for Rachel as we left the parlor and stepped into the grand hallway.

Ashley was waiting for us just outside the breakfast room. Her hair was down, a rare thing, and it looked like she’d done it that way just to piss off Adelia. The effect was immediate. Adelia’s eyes flicked over, caught the red cascade, and her lips twisted, as if struggling not to make a comment. Tiffany trailed behind, posture upright, every inch of her screaming “good girl” except for the way her hands kept clenching at her sides.

“Ready?” I asked, not really caring if anyone wasn’t. I just wanted to get this over with. There was nothing on the schedule for Mundness classes except the compulsory attendance at the main lecture hall. It was a propaganda class, and for all the things I detested in this world having to sit through a two-hour lecture on whatever deranged topic they picked was always just so, so wonderful. the sarcasm in my own head was loud as I realized I was not even going to be able to vent my frustration when the class was over by talking to Rachel or Ashley. Maybe I would hate fuck Adelia just to vent a bit.

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Never more ready in my life. Shall we see what ancient horror the faculty has dug up for us this time?”

Rachel offered her arm, and I took it. It felt natural now, like the world wouldn’t turn unless the two of us were connected for the day. Tiffany and Adelia fell in behind us, their heels making a counterpoint on the marble as we made our way to the elevators.