The Puppet Emperor Regresses

Mikhail's heart raced, but he kept his face impassive. "Very well," he replied, his voice steady despite the inner turmoil. He turned to the guards, "You have your orders. Carry them out."

As the guards led Elara away, Mikhail allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts. The summons to the throne room was unexpected, but not entirely surprising. He had known his actions would draw attention; he just hadn't anticipated it happening so quickly.

"Your Highness," the messenger spoke again, "A carriage awaits to take you to the Imperial Palace."

Mikhail nodded, following the messenger out of his chambers. As they stepped outside, the true scale of the Imperial Palace became apparent. What outsiders referred to as the "palace" was, in reality, a sprawling city unto itself, with Mikhail's villa merely one small part of a vast complex of buildings.

A carriage stood waiting, its panels adorned with the Imperial Crest. Four pure white horses stamped impatiently, their coats gleaming in the late afternoon sun. 

Mikhail climbed inside, he couldn't help but marvel at the luxury - in his first reincarnation he had taken such things for granted. The seats were upholstered in the finest silk, and the air was perfumed with the subtle scent of night-blooming jasmine.

As the carriage set off, Mikhail gazed out the window, drinking in the sights of the palace-city. They passed the Whispering Gardens, where courtiers often gathered to exchange gossip and strike clandestine deals. 

The garden's carefully manicured hedges were said to be enchanted, their rustling leaves capable of obscuring conversations from prying ears. In his past life, Mikhail had rarely ventured here, deemed too insignificant to be included in the grand game of politics. 

The carriage rolled on, its wheels nearly silent on the smooth, enchanted roads. They passed the Spire of Enlightenment, a towering structure of crystal and steel that housed the Imperial Academy of Magic. That was Grand Mage Thorne's domain.

Mikhail could see apprentice mages hurrying about its base, their robes a riot of colours denoting their various disciplines. At the very top of the spire, a pulsing light emanated from the Everburning Flame, a magical beacon said to have been lit by the first Emperor himself.

"One day," Mikhail murmured to himself, "I'll unravel your secrets."

As they approached the heart of the palace-city, the buildings grew even more grandiose. They passed the Hall of A Thousand Victories, its massive bronze doors etched with scenes from the Empire's most famous battles. Mikhail remembered lessons about each victory, hours spent memorizing names and dates that had seemed so pointless at the time. 

The carriage turned down the Avenue of Heroes, a wide boulevard lined with statues of the Empire's greatest champions. Mikhail's eyes were drawn to the towering figure of Empress Alessandra the Conqueror, her stone visage stern and unyielding. He recalled the tapestry in the ballroom, depicting her standing atop a hill of fallen crowns. "You understood," he whispered to the statue as they passed. "You knew the price of true power."

As they neared the central palace, Mikhail's hand unconsciously moved to his chest, where the newly formed Mana Heart pulsed steadily. 

Finally, the carriage pulled up before the Grand Palace itself. The structure was a marvel of magical engineering, its spires seeming to defy gravity as they reached towards the heavens. Massive banners bearing the Imperial Crest fluttered in the breeze, and Mikhail could see the ever-present guards standing at attention, their armour gleaming in the fading sunlight.

As Mikhail stepped out of the carriage, he took a moment to straighten his clothes and compose himself. 

--- --- ---

The massive doors of the throne room loomed before him, ornate gold filigree depicting scenes of Imperial conquest. As they swung open, Mikhail steeled himself for what lay ahead.

The throne room was a cavernous space, its vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadows above. Enchanted constellations twinkled in the artificial night sky, mirroring the positions of the stars outside. At the far end, atop a dais of polished marble, sat Emperor Tiberius on the Eternal Throne.

Standing in a row near the throne were his siblings, they seemed to relish any opportunity to see their sibling being reprimanded. The Empress must have allowed their presence. 

To the Emperor's right stood Empress Camilla, her face contorting with an uncharacteristic display of emotion. As Mikhail approached, he could see disgust and anger warring on her features, her usual mask of cold disdain shattered by his mere presence.

"How dare you!" the Empress hissed, her voice low but filled with venom. "How dare you abuse your station in such a manner? You may have passed the Rite, but you are still nothing more than a bastard playing at being royalty!"

Mikhail flinched at her words, allowing a hint of fear to show on his face.

Emperor Tiberius raised a hand, silencing his wife. "Mikhail," his voice boomed across the chamber, "step forward."

Mikhail complied, bowing low before the throne. "Father," he said, his voice carefully modulated to sound small in the vast space.

"We have received... concerning reports about your behaviour today," Emperor Tiberius began, his tone measured. "Would you care to explain yourself?"

Before Mikhail could respond, Empress Camilla cut in again, her face twisted with rage. "Explain? What explanation could possibly justify such behaviour? He is clearly unfit for his position, a stain on the imperial bloodline!"

This outburst was so unlike the Empress, Mikhail thought, could it be that his unexpected survival during the Rite had caused her emotions to get the better of her over the past few days?

Mikhail's siblings, arrayed before the throne, seized the opportunity to interject. Crown Princess Lyanna stepped forward, her voice dripping with false concern. "Father, perhaps our dear brother is simply overwhelmed by his new status. After all, he has never been prepared for the responsibilities of true royalty."

How transparent you are, sister, Mikhail thought, suppressing a smirk. Your false sympathy fools no one.

Second Prince Bartholomew, not to be outdone, added his own thoughts. "Your Majesty, if I may suggest, perhaps what Prince Mikhail needs is a firmer hand. I would be more than willing to oversee his education in proper royal conduct."

And place yourself as my keeper, no doubt, Mikhail mused. Your ambition is as subtle as a battering ram, brother.

Third Prince Aether, ever the diplomat, offered a more measured response. "Father, while Prince Mikhail's actions are indeed concerning, perhaps this is an opportunity for growth. With proper guidance, he might yet become a credit to the imperial family."

Clever, Aether, Mikhail thought. Positioning yourself as the voice of reason. But I see through your machinations.

The Emperor listened to each of his children, his face an impassive mask. Mikhail marvelled at how obvious their attempts at currying favour were. Did they truly believe their father was blind to their ambitions?

Finally, Emperor Tiberius spoke. "Enough. Mikhail, explain yourself."

Mikhail took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. Then, in a rush of childish words, he said, "I thought... I thought now that I'd passed the Rite, I was a real prince, Father. That I could act like one. Am I not allowed to correct the behaviour of my own people? I thought... I thought that's what royalty did."

He glanced up at the Emperor, allowing a hint of confusion and hurt to show in his eyes. "Was I wrong, Father? Should I not question my own people?"

"Your own people? Hmm.", the Emperor murmured to himself. A heavy silence fell over the throne room. Mikhail could see the conflicting emotions playing across his father's face - disappointment warring with a hint of understanding.

Emperor Tiberius sighed, a weary sound that seemed to echo his many burdens. "Mikhail, while it is true that as a prince, you are entitled to certain privileges, those privileges come with responsibilities. Your actions today were not those of a true leader."

The Emperor paused, his gaze sweeping across the assembled royal family. "Perhaps I have been too soft with you, Mikhail. It is clear that you require more structured guidance."

He turned to a figure standing in the shadows near the throne. "Lord Chamberlain, step forward."

An elderly man in simple but ornate robes moved into the light, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty?"

"You will arrange for a new Head Maid for Prince Mikhail. Someone who can maintain proper discipline in his household. Additionally, find a suitable tutor for the prince - someone who can instruct him in the proper comportment expected of imperial royalty."

The Lord Chamberlain nodded, then hesitated. "Your Majesty, if I may... should I consult with Prince Mikhail regarding these appointments?"

One does not become an old man by accident in the Imperial Palace, the Lord Chamberlain understood the Emperor's intentions without having to be asked explicitly and so filled in the blanks himself, presenting his proposition as his own idea. 

The Emperor considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, do so. Mikhail, you will have input in these decisions, but remember - this is not a reward, but a chance to prove yourself worthy of your station."

Empress Camilla's face contorted with rage. "Have you lost your senses?" she spat, her ire rising. "This little beast just terrorized his entire household, and you want to give him more power?"

Emperor Tiberius turned to his wife, his expression hardening. "Mind your tone, Camilla. Mikhail is a prince of the blood."

"Prince of the blood?" Camilla scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "He's the son of a common whore, playing at being royalty. And now you'd let him meddle in matters far beyond his comprehension?"

"Enough!" Tiberius thundered, causing even the guards to flinch. "You forget yourself, Empress. Mikhail has passed the Rite of Ascension. His lineage is no longer in question."

Camilla's eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh, I forget nothing, my dear husband. I see all too clearly. You'd elevate this... this changeling child over your true-born heirs? What madness has taken hold of you?"

"The only madness here is your blind hatred," Tiberius retorted, his voice low and menacing. "Mikhail will have a say in these appointments. It is done."

The Empress's face flushed an ugly shade of red, her fists clenching at her sides. For a moment, it seemed she might continue her tirade, consequences be damned. But then, abruptly, she calmed, a cold mask slipping over her features.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," she said, each word dripping with icy venom. Her eyes flicked towards the Lord Chamberlain, giving him a look that promised retribution. The message was clear: this battle was lost, but the war was far from over.

Turning back to Mikhail, the Emperor's voice grew stern. "You will apologize to the staff you have wronged. And you will spend the next month studying the proper comportment expected of a prince of the Tiberian Empire. Is that understood?"

Mikhail bowed his head, the picture of a chastened child. "Yes, Father. I understand."

As he was dismissed from the throne room, Mikhail allowed himself a small, secret smile. "Mission accomplished."

--- --- ---

The journey back to his villa was a quiet one. As the carriage rolled through the now-darkened palace city, Mikhail reflected on the day's events. 

As they rounded a corner, Mikhail caught sight of a group of courtiers, their laughter carrying on the evening breeze. He wondered how many of them had already heard of his actions, how many were even now plotting to use his perceived petulance against him in the future.

Finally, the carriage pulled up before his villa. 

It was a small start, one step on a long journey. But it had served its purpose. He had begun to reshape his image, to create confusion and uncertainty where before there had only been pity and disdain.

The confrontation in the throne room played out in his mind. The Empress's uncharacteristic display of emotion had been particularly satisfying. Her mask had slipped, revealing the depth of her hatred for him. It was a weakness he could exploit in the future.

His siblings' transparent attempts at currying favour with their father had been almost comical. Lyanna's false concern, Bartholomew's offer of a "firmer hand," and Aether's diplomatic approach - all of it so predictable, so easy to see through. Yet they believed themselves clever, masters of the political game. 

The Emperor's decision to allow him input on the choice of his new Head Maid and tutor was an unexpected boon. It seems his father was actually aware of his needs and the Empress's machinations. Although he certainly wasn't aware of Mikhail's own schemes... Or was he?

In the darkness of his chambers, as the palace settled into the quiet rhythms of night, Mikhail dreamed of power, and of revenge.