The grand halls of the Imperial Palace in Esheirus shimmered under the golden glow of enchanted chandeliers. Emperor Jarlath Ivar Aldalwar sat on his intricately carved throne, looking as regal as a man suffering from a headache could. Across from him sat his Imperial Uncle, Aldric Xin Aldalwar—the only Grand Duke of the Empire, the man with the purest dragon bloodline, and the only person Jarlath had a slight (read: extreme) fear of.
Jarlath had, on more than one occasion, considered dropping the empire onto Aldric's lap and running away to a peaceful island where people did not try to poison him on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, his uncle was having none of it.
"I only wish to wage war, not manage boring matters of the court," Aldric had said when Jarlath had brought up the topic three years ago. "You sit on the throne. I'll break bones in battle. Everyone gets what they want."
Jarlath didn't get what he wanted. He was still Emperor.
