Page 17 of The Immortal’s Mark

Chapter 4

The Weight of the Crown

Emperor Ren

Chancellor Feng’s jaw is tight.

I note this as I take my position on the Jade Throne, as the incense smoke curls upward and the court arranges itself in its careful hierarchy. Feng stands where he always stands—three paces behind General Wei, two paces ahead of Lady Mei—but his posture has changed. The displeasure is not hidden. He does not bother to hide it.

The assassin is at my shoulder.

She found the position without instruction, sometime between my entrance and the first announcement. I do not know when she moved. I do not know how she knew where to stand. She is simply there, a shadow in dark silk, and the court does not know what to make of this.

Neither do I.

General Wei’s spine has gone rigid. His eyes have not left her since she entered. He is calculating threat vectors, potential weapons, distance to me. This is what Wei does. This is why I trust him with my armies. His hand rests near his sword hilt—not on it, not yet, but near enough.

Lady Mei, by contrast, watches with something that might be amusement. Her fan moves in slow, deliberate strokes. She is not calculating threat. She is calculating opportunity. What this means. What she can use.

Interesting day at court.

Tianlong’s voice curls through my mind like smoke—ancient, sardonic, uninvited. I do not acknowledge it. I do not need to. He feels what I feel. He knows I heard him.

She interests you.

She is a tool, I think back. Nothing more.

Emperors do not lie to their dragons, little flame. We feel what you feel. The curiosity. The... inconvenience.

I do not respond. The silence is answer enough.

The morning’s first petition is announced—a dispute between the Silk Guild and the Porcelain Guild over warehouse allocations in the eastern district. I turn my attention to the petitioners. To duty. To anything that is not the woman standing at my shoulder like a weapon I have chosen to keep unsheathed.

The guild masters bow. They begin their arguments. I listen. I have memorized the tariff histories, the warehouse records, the names of the families involved. This is what an emperor does. This is who I am.

But Chancellor Feng’s jaw remains tight.

And behind me, I am aware of her breathing. Steady. Patient. She does not fidget. She does not shift her weight. She watches the court with the same professional assessment I imagine she used when planning how to kill me.

I find this... satisfactory.

I do not examine why.

The guild dispute resolves. Another petition is announced. Feng’s displeasure does not diminish. Wei’s hand does not leave its position near his sword. Mei’s fan continues its slow, calculating rhythm.

When court finally ends and I rise from the throne, Feng steps forward. His bow is correct. His eyes are not.

“Your Majesty.” His voice is silk over iron. “The council has concerns regarding the... arrangement.”

“The council may voice those concerns through proper channels.” I do not slow my pace. “As always.”

“The proper channels suggest that having an assassin—one who attempted your life—stationed at your shoulder may send an... unfortunate message.”

I stop. I turn. Feng is three paces behind me. The assassin is two paces behind and to my right—exactly where a bodyguard would stand, exactly where a threat would not. She has not moved. She has not spoken. But I feel the weight of her attention like a blade pressed flat against my spine.

“Chancellor.” I keep my voice level. Measured. “What message do you believe I am sending?”

Feng’s jaw works. He wants to say that I have lost my mind. That I am inviting the snake into the garden. That this is weakness, or madness, or both.