Imperial Palace, Ragna
Marix observed the screens with growing disbelief. The Crown Prince's visage, a specter he had long dismissed as irrelevant, now dominated every television. This turn of events, while unexpected, was not entirely unforeseen. He had known the Imperial family escaped, had even anticipated they might attempt some form of retaliation. But he had grown complacent, too confident in his control over the Empire's narrative.
He had underestimated them, he realized. In his focus on the war effort and the tight grip he maintained on information within Gra Valkan borders, he had allowed the exiled royals to become a blind spot. A miscalculation, certainly, but not an insurmountable one. The question now was how to regain control of the situation, to spin this development in his favor before it could unravel everything he had built.
The broadcast's existence alone was a significant blow, but its content and reception would determine the true extent of the damage. He needed to act swiftly, decisively, to frame this as a desperate ploy by discredited figures seeking to undermine the Empire's strength in a time of war. But... would they believe him?
Well, the first thing he needed to do was obvious enough. He must act with precision and authority, quelling any seeds of doubt before they could take root.
"Terminate the broadcast," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Send our forces to the IBC headquarters. Immediately."
The ensuing silence unnerved him. His orders hung in the air, unheeded. The staff remained motionless, captivated by the Crown Prince's address. A flicker of uncertainty threatened Marix's composure. Had the foundations of his authority already begun to erode? No, he admonished himself. He must not entertain such notions. His vision for the empire was too crucial to be derailed by these... these theatrics.
He needed to discredit this charade, to reaffirm the righteousness of his cause. "Gentlemen, let us not be deceived by this obvious fabrication," he began, his voice already starting to crack. "Our enemies have clearly developed this... this hoax to–"
"Sir." General Koll's interruption was unexpected and unwelcome.
Marix turned, prepared to reprimand the man for his impertinence, but the words died on his lips. Koll's expression was one of grim determination, tinged with what Marix recognized – to his dismay – as pity. It was a look he had never before seen directed at him, and it sent a chill through his very core.
"By order of Crown Prince Gra Cabal, you are to be placed under temporary detention, effective immediately."
The proclamation struck Marix with the force of a physical blow. He could not allow his life's work, his grand vision for the empire, to be undone by this... this mummery. He must make them understand the necessity of his actions, the purity of his intentions – that he was right.
"Gentlemen, let us not be hasty. This broadcast, while cleverly orchestrated, changes nothing about the realities we face. The Empire I've built – that we've built together – stands stronger than ever!" Marix stammered. "The Crown Prince, in his isolation, cannot comprehend the progress we've made, the threats we've overcome. Everything I've done has been in service of our greatness, our destiny. Would you throw all that away on the word of a prince who abandoned his post, who fled rather than stand with his people? I am the one who stayed, who fought, who led us to–"
Another voice interrupted him – a random officer whose name he hardly bothered to learn. "Chancellor," he said, "that's quite enough."
Marix fell silent. His gaze swept the room, he saw only uncertainty and dawning realization on the faces of his once-loyal officers. Even those he had considered his most steadfast allies seemed to waver, knowing they were outmatched and outnumbered even in this very room. The carefully constructed edifice of his rule was crumbling, and for the first time in years, Marix felt the cold grip of genuine fear.
