Chapter 207: Chapter -207

The ceremony unfolded with rigid grandeur. Every noble family attended; attendance was not optional. Silks in muted tones, bowed heads, controlled grief—an empire performing mourning.

And yet, beneath that discipline, Elara allowed herself something small. Petty. Almost childish.

Tradition demanded white chrysanthemums, symbols of solemn farewell. Instead, the palace gardens were stripped of them entirely. In their place bloomed waves of red and yellow lilies—vivid, almost intrusive against the somber drapery.

She announced, in a voice calm and unshaken, that the emperor had always favored lilies.

It was a flawless lie.In truth, he despised yellow lilies. The mere scent of them triggered violent reactions; physicians had once warned that prolonged exposure could send his heart into spasms. The memory of his fury at the sight of a single misplaced arrangement had lingered with her.

Now the entire mourning hall was drenched in their fragrance.

Nobles whispered behind folded sleeves, astonished. The fourth princess must have loved her father deeply, they murmured. To remember his favorite flowers so precisely.

The irony almost curved her lips.

From her place beside the ceremonial altar, Elara stood in black silk, posture immaculate. She did not shed tears. She could not. The well inside her had long since dried for him.

But she knew how to shape her expression—how to let her gaze appear distant, burdened by something too heavy to voice. Not hysterical grief. Not indifference. Something measured. A daughter who had endured much and lost more.

Hina stood nearby, equally composed. She, too, did not cry. Yet her face carried that exhausted restraint of someone who had survived a long illness at a bedside—relief disguised as sorrow, fatigue mistaken for mourning.

Incense smoke coiled upward, tangling with the scent of lilies.

The emperor lay still, encased in gold and silk, surrounded by the very flowers that once made his pulse tremble.

Elara lowered her eyes.

You hated these, she thought calmly.

The empire saw devotion.

She felt control.

’’Location:’’ Imperial Council Chamber, Two Weeks After the Funeral

—

The council chamber was packed.

Every major noble house had sent representatives. Ministers occupied the tiered seating along both walls. Religious officials clustered near the ceremonial dais. Even some of the imperial consorts had been granted observer status—sitting in designated alcoves where they could witness but not participate.

This was the first formal Succession Council since the Emperor’s death.

The question everyone wanted answered: Who rules now?

Elara arrived precisely on time, flanked by six Beast Knights in formal ceremonial armor. She wore white—not mourning white, but regent white, the color that signaled active governance rather than passive grief. The golden butterfly pin sat on her collar, catching light with each step.

She walked to the central platform and stood behind the regent’s podium.

Didn’t sit in the Emperor’s throne—that would be presumptuous. But didn’t yield the floor either.

“This council convenes to address imperial succession,” she said, voice carrying clearly through the chamber. “As acting regent appointed during the Emperor’s incapacitation and maintained following his assassination, I open discussion on governance structure moving forward.”

Duke Harren stood immediately—a powerful noble from the eastern provinces, known for conservative politics and traditional values. “Your Highness, with all due respect, the regency was a temporary emergency measure. Now that the Emperor has passed, proper succession protocols must be followed. We need an Emperor, not a regent.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber.

“Define ’proper succession protocols,’” Elara said calmly.

Duke Harren blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “The… the traditional process. The Crown Princess inherits primary consideration. If she’s unavailable or unsuitable, succession passes to the next qualified heir. We convene councils, evaluate candidates, select—”

“The Crown Princess is imprisoned,” Elara interrupted. “Awaiting trial for conspiracy against the throne. The First Empress is under house arrest for the same reason. The Second Princess has been exiled. The Third Princess has voluntarily withdrawn from succession consideration. The Fifth Princess is twelve years old. The Sixth Princess is ten.”

She let that sink in.

“So which ’next qualified heir’ did you have in mind, Duke Harren?”

Silence.

“Unless,” Elara continued, “you’re suggesting we release convicted conspirators, pardon attempted regicide, and install someone who actively tried to destabilize the empire. Is that your recommendation?”

“No! Of course not, Your Highness, I only meant—”

“Then we have a practical problem. The succession line is compromised. The throne is empty. The empire requires governance. I am providing that governance.” She paused. “Unless you’re prepared to suggest an alternative candidate with legitimate bloodline claim, uncompromised loyalty, and existing administrative infrastructure?”

More silence.

Because there ’wasn’t’ an alternative. Elara had systematically eliminated or sidelined every other viable candidate. Not through violence—mostly—but through exposure of existing corruption, strategic alliances, and careful positioning.

The Fourth Princess was the only one left standing.

“What about the princes?” someone called from the back. “There are male heirs—”

“Four princes remain at appropriate age for consideration,” Elara said. “Prince Darius is currently commanding border legions and has publicly stated he has no interest in court politics. Prince Matthias is engaged in diplomatic service in the southern territories. Prince Kael is seventeen and focused on military academy training. Prince Lin is fifteen.”

She looked directly at the speaker.

“Would you like to propose pulling a field commander from active duty during a period of potential instability? Or recalling a diplomat whose current assignment is preventing trade conflicts? Or installing a teenager with no administrative experience?”

“Well… no, but—”

“Then we return to the practical reality: The empire needs governance now. Not in six months after we’ve destabilized military positions or interrupted diplomatic initiatives or waited for teenagers to complete their education. ’Now.’”

Countess Verra stood—one of the few women with sufficient noble rank to speak in council. “Your Highness, no one disputes your capability. Your management during the crisis has been exemplary. But ’regent’ and ’empress’ are different positions. You’re asking us to essentially crown you.”

“I’m not asking for anything,” Elara corrected. “I’m stating facts: I currently govern. The systems are stable. The treasury is functional. Foreign relations are maintained. Military command is secure. Public order is preserved. The question isn’t whether I ’should’ continue governing—the question is whether anyone wants to ’disrupt’ that governance by forcing a succession crisis right now.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“Because that’s what you’re proposing. Removing a functional government to install… what? Who? Under what authority? With what transition plan? Have any of you actually calculated the cost of political upheaval right now?”

Duke Harren tried again. “Your Highness, tradition demands—”

“Tradition demands stability,” Elara cut him off. “Tradition demands the empire continues functioning. Tradition demands we don’t throw away effective governance because of aesthetic preferences about gender or birth order or ceremonial titles.”

“But you’re the ’Fourth’ Princess—”

“And the First through Third are all disqualified for documented reasons. Which makes me the highest-ranking viable candidate remaining in the capital with existing governance infrastructure and uncompromised loyalty records.”

Elara straightened.

“I propose the following: The regency continues indefinitely. Not as temporary emergency measure, but as formal governance structure. We establish clear administrative hierarchies, documented decision-making processes, and regular council oversight. I govern with council consultation—not unilateral authority. You maintain check-and-balance mechanisms. The empire gets stability without the chaos of contested succession.”

“That’s… unprecedented,” someone said.

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