The evening air carried the scent of celebration through the open window. Aedan Valerian, third prince of the Valerian Empire, breathed deeply as he slipped through the servants' entrance of the Imperial Palace.
The smell of roasting meats, fresh bread, and sweet wines mingled with the perfumes of nobility, creating a familiar aroma of palace festivities.
Tonight marked the anniversary of his father's coronation, a grand affair that would keep the court occupied until dawn.
Perfect timing for his return.
Aedan adjusted the simple brown cloak that concealed his royal garments.
At nineteen, he had perfected the art of escaping his royal duties to walk among the common people of the capital.
These excursions were his education, one that his tutors could never provide. While his elder brothers learned statecraft and warfare, Aedan learned the heartbeat of the empire from its people.
Something felt wrong tonight.
The usual guards were absent from their posts, replaced by unfamiliar faces who paid him no attention as he passed. Strange. The palace guard rotation was as predictable as the imperial clock tower's chimes.
'You're being paranoid,' he muttered to himself, running a hand through his silver-blonde hair, the distinctive mark of Valerian royalty.
His father often joked that Aedan's tendency to see patterns and conspiracies would have made him an excellent spymaster.
He just had to get back to his chambers before anyone noticed.
The narrow corridor led to a junction where he could access the royal wing without crossing the main hall. As he approached, voices echoed from around the corner with urgent, hushed tones that didn't belong to servants.
"The eastern wing is secured. The Emperor and Empress are in the throne room with the council."
"And the princes?"
"The Crown Prince and Second Prince are accounted for. The Third Prince remains missing."
Aedan froze, pressing himself against the wall. Missing? He wasn't missing, he was right here.
And why would they be 'accounting' for the royal family during a celebration?
"Find him. The General wants all loose ends tied before midnight."
The General? High General Varius had been his father's most trusted military advisor for decades. What would he want with...
A chill ran down Aedan's spine as realization dawned. He'd heard rumors in the city today; whispers of troop movements, of foreign emissaries meeting in secret. He'd dismissed them as tavern talk.
The guards' footsteps moved away, and Aedan made a decision. Instead of heading to his chambers, he turned toward the hidden passage behind the ceremonial armor display.
As a child, he had mapped every secret corridor in the palace during games with his siblings. Now, those childhood adventures might save his life.
The passage was narrow and dark, thick with dust that tickled his nose.
He suppressed a sneeze as he navigated by memory, emerging behind a tapestry near the royal gallery overlooking the throne room.
Voices carried clearly from below. They were not the sounds of celebration, but the cold, precise tones of military command.
Carefully, Aedan parted the tapestry just enough to peer through the ornate balustrade.
The sight below stole his breath.
His father, Emperor Tiberius Valerian, knelt before his own throne, hands bound behind his back. Blood matted his silver hair where someone had struck him.
Beside him knelt Aedan's mother, her regal composure intact despite the circumstances. His brothers, Markus and Darius, were similarly restrained, surrounded by soldiers bearing unfamiliar insignia alongside imperial guards.
High General Varius paced before them, his ceremonial armor gleaming in the chandelier light.
"Your Majesty," Varius said, his voice carrying the false respect of a man who had already won. "I take no pleasure in this necessity."
"Treason rarely brings pleasure, Varius," the Emperor replied, his voice steady despite his position. "Only power, which corrupts more surely than any poison."
Varius smiled thinly. "Not treason, Your Majesty. Evolution. The Valerian line has grown weak, disconnected from the realities of rule. The empire requires strength to survive the coming storm."
"And you believe yourself the embodiment of that strength?" The Empress's voice cut like a blade.
"Not I alone, Your Majesty." Varius gestured to the soldiers with foreign insignia. "Our new allies see the wisdom in a unified approach. The seven kingdoms have suffered under fragmented rule for too long."
Aedan's mind raced. The seven kingdoms had been rivals for centuries. An alliance between them was unprecedented and terrifying. The Valerian Empire, while powerful, could not stand against such a coalition.
"You've sold our sovereignty," Crown Prince Markus spat.
"I've secured our future," Varius countered. "The transition requires sacrifice. History will understand, even if you cannot."
The Emperor's eyes hardened. "History is written by victors, Varius, but truth has a way of surfacing. Whatever you do tonight, remember that."
"I'll remember, Your Majesty." Varius drew his sword, the ceremonial blade given to him by the Emperor himself years ago. "I'll remember that you taught me the most important lesson of leadership: decisive action in service of the greater good."
Aedan's hands gripped the railing as his knuckles turned white. He should move, should do something, but what? He was no warrior like his brothers. He carried no weapon. The room below held dozens of armed men. He would die before reaching the floor.
"The Valerian bloodline ends tonight," Varius announced. "A new era begins for the empire."
The Emperor raised his chin. "My blood may end, but what we built will endure. The people "
"The people will have a new shepherd," Varius interrupted. "One who understands the wolves at our borders."
With a nod from Varius, soldiers stepped forward, swords drawn.
Aedan bit his hand to keep from crying out as the blades fell. His father died first, his expression defiant to the last. His mother followed, then Markus. Darius fought against his bonds, earning himself a slower death for his resistance.
The throne room floor darkened with Valerian blood.
Aedan's vision blurred with tears. His family was gone in moments. The empire has fallen without a battle. And he, the forgotten third prince, watched helplessly from above.
A sound escaped him: a small, broken thing that should have been inaudible against the activity below. But in that moment, a guard looked up.
Their eyes met through the railing.
"The gallery!" the guard shouted. "Someone's there!"
Aedan stumbled back from the railing, knocking over a decorative urn that shattered against the marble floor. The sound echoed like thunder in the sudden silence.
"Find him!" Varius's voice commanded. "No witnesses!"
Survival instinct overcame shock. Aedan turned and ran deeper into the palace rather than toward the exits where guards would surely be waiting.
His mind cataloged possibilities: the servants' quarters, the kitchens, and perhaps the royal gardens where he might scale the outer wall.
Footsteps pounded behind him, gaining quickly. He was no soldier, no athlete, just a scholar prince who spent more time with books than swords.
A corridor branched left toward the imperial library. Aedan took it, hoping to lose his pursuers among the labyrinthine shelves. He rounded a corner and collided with a solid form.
High General Varius stood before him, flanked by two guards.
"Prince Aedan," Varius said, almost gently. "I had hoped you would remain in the city tonight."
Aedan stepped back, his royal training asserting itself even now. "Why, Varius? My father trusted you above all others."
"That was his mistake." Varius's expression held something like regret. "Your father was a good man, but a good man cannot lead an empire through what's coming."
"And what's coming that justifies this?" Aedan demanded, his voice breaking.
"Change, Your Highness. The kind that requires clean breaks with the past." Varius studied him. "You, of all the royal family, might have understood. You've walked among the people. You've seen the empire's failings."
"I've seen its heart," Aedan countered. "Its strength lies in its people, not in alliances with our enemies."
Varius sighed. "Then you are your father's son after all. A pity. I had considered sparing you your connections in the city could have been useful."
Aedan's back pressed against the wall. There was nowhere to run.
"I am my father's son," he said, finding dignity in his final moments. "And the Valerian line does not bow to traitors."
"No," Varius agreed, drawing his sword... the same blade that had ended his father's life, still dark with royal blood. "It dies by them."
The blade struck with military precision, sliding between Aedan's ribs and into his heart. Pain exploded through his chest, white-hot and all-consuming. He gasped, tasting copper as blood filled his mouth.
Varius leaned close as he twisted the blade. "The old world dies tonight, Prince Aedan. Be grateful you won't see what replaces it."
With a sharp motion, Varius withdrew the sword. Aedan collapsed, his legs no longer able to support him. Through dimming vision, he watched Varius clean the blade on a handkerchief.
"Take him to the cliffs," Varius ordered the guards. "Let the river claim the last Valerian and maybe the water will wash away their sins."
Strong hands lifted Aedan, carrying him through corridors that blurred together. Pain faded to a distant throb as his consciousness ebbed.
They were taking him to the imperial cliffs that overlooked the great river a hundred-foot drop to rushing waters below.
The night air hit his face as they emerged onto the cliffside balcony. Stars wheeled overhead, indifferent to the empire's fall. Aedan tried to focus on them, to find some meaning in their ancient light as death approached.
"Any last words, Your Highness?" one guard asked, almost respectfully.
Aedan wanted to speak of justice, of vengeance, of the empire's legacy but blood filled his throat, choking the words before they formed.
"I thought not," the guard said. "May the river take you to whatever gods await."
They lifted him to the stone railing. For one suspended moment, Aedan hung between palace and oblivion, between the life he'd known and the darkness rushing up to claim him.
Then they let go.
As he fell, time seemed to slow. The wind rushed past his ears, carrying away the sounds of the coup. The pain in his chest flared once more, then began to dull as his life ebbed. The river below glittered with reflected starlight, waiting to receive him.
Aedan Valerian, third prince of the fallen empire, closed his eyes and surrendered to the fall.
His last thought was not of vengeance or fear, but of strange, unexpected freedom.
The dynasty had ended. Perhaps, in some way, so had he.
The river rushed up to meet him, dark waters opening like an embrace.
And then, nothing.