Prologue
THE PALACE ON THE ALGRAND Empire’s Capital Planet covered what had originally been a continent. In truth, the structure was far too vast to be called a palace. No one disputed the term, though; after all, it wasn’t the only unusual thing about the planet.
A metal shell encased the entire planet. The climate inside it was fully controlled. This unique environment demonstrated the Empire’s technological prowess, as well as its distinctive character. Even other intergalactic nations with similar levels of technology and access to resources likely wouldn’t modify a planet in such a way, so the Capital Planet served as a symbol of the Empire itself.
Prince Cleo Noah Albareto, third in line to the throne, had just been summoned by the master of this planet’s palace. Standing before a large door, the diminutive, androgynous, red-haired Cleo gulped nervously. He was surrounded by knights of the Empire’s highest rank, all glaring his way. For these knights, the guards of the man within the next room, suspicion preceded any respect they might owe Cleo due to his lineage. Behind the door, after all, was the emperor himself—Bagrada Noah Albareto. As head of the Algrand Empire, he ruled the entire nation; in addition, he was Cleo’s father.
Although Cleo was only meeting with his father, he’d already been searched and inspected several times since early that morning. The emperor’s guards had observed him all day, not giving him a single moment by himself to relax. Only now, just before noon, had he finally been cleared for this meeting.
“His Imperial Majesty has approved your entrance,” one of the guards told him.
After a short pause, Cleo responded, “Right.”
The large, heavy door before him slid aside, revealing a much simpler room than he’d imagined lay beyond. Only the bare minimum of furniture was present; the room contained a bed, as well as a kitchen area so that its occupant wouldn’t need to leave. The bath and toilet, at least, were separate, but otherwise, the emperor dwelt within this single room. The situation was strange, but the room was quite spacious—probably more than fifty meters across. A view of outside was projected onto one wall, the planet’s artificial sun shining from it.
The man who’d summoned Cleo here, Bagrada himself, was preparing tea in the kitchen. He was clad in a casual white shirt and slacks, and even wore an apron as he went about his task. The emperor’s long hair was straight and glossy, and his eyes had a gentle look. He gave the impression that he was a good-natured young man; he looked so young, in fact, that he almost appeared to be Crown Prince Calvin Noah Albareto’s junior.
When Cleo entered the room, this man—who looked nothing like one would expect His Imperial Majesty to—smiled and said, “I’ve been expecting you, Cleo.”
“I’m grateful that you even remember someone so insignificant as me.” Cleo’s response wasn’t sarcastic. It was genuinely difficult for an emperor of Algrand to so much as remember all their children. And, although Cleo loathed Bagrada, the emperor likely didn’t even remember what he’d done to the prince.
Cleo nervously listened to the door sliding closed behind him. There was no running now. Removing his apron, Bagrada carried the tea to the table, as well as some sweets. Seeing this, Cleo rushed over.
“I’ll do that!” he cried.
Bagrada shook his head, smiling. “You react exactly like Calvin does. Sorry, but please just allow me. Making this small effort is one of the few amusements I have in my long life.”
The people around an emperor tended to him even when he wasn’t doing anything at all. He could lie in bed all day, and his needs would be completely taken care of. However, such a life was bound to grow old.
Bagrada poured the tea with a practiced hand. The steam that rose from the cups smelled sugary. “I have a sweet tooth, you see,” the emperor explained. “But would you have preferred something else, Cleo?”
“No… I like sweet drinks as well.”
“Good. Now, shall we sit and talk?” Bagrada motioned toward a seat.
Lowering himself into it, Cleo began nervously, “Well, may I ask why you summoned me, Your Majesty?” What did he call me here for?
Normally, not even the emperor’s children could meet with him, aside from the crown prince. Cleo might’ve been third in line for the throne, but if he’d requested this meeting himself, he’d probably have been rebuffed. This time, however, Bagrada had asked to see him. Thus, Cleo was desperately curious about what the emperor wanted from him.
Bagrada sipped his sweet tea, then said, “I wanted to have a chat with you, since you’ve worked so hard lately. You’re practically a step away from the role of crown prince, aren’t you?”
Cleo resented the emperor bringing up the succession conflict while calling such a discussion a “chat.” To Cleo, it was a serious affair that endangered not only his own life, but his sisters’ as well. It infuriated him that Bagrada treated it as a topic for idle gossip over tea. Still, this was the emperor he was dealing with.
“That’s all thanks to Count Banfield,” Cleo replied. “I couldn’t have done any of it on my own.” He was being humble, but that was also true.
Cleo did his best to keep his anger from showing on his face. If he upset Bagrada, his current position could evaporate as if it had never existed in the first place. He had to choose his every word carefully.
Bagrada sighed. “Count Banfield, eh? It’s true that he’s rather impressive. House Banfield fell as far as it’s possible to fall, yet he revived his domain in one generation, making a name for himself and rendering his family one of the most important in the Empire. No—considering the house’s past achievements, I suppose it’s more accurate to say that Count Banfield regained the fame his family already knew in the past. He’s practically a hero, the likes of which this country hasn’t seen in centuries.”