The Weak Prince Is A Cultivation God

After the fitting, Iris had asked Lan to follow her on a stroll through the imperial city. They dismissed the guards and took to the streets of the high district.

Slightly similar to the night they escaped it.

The towers of the city were like fangs around them—black and gold, spiked with lightning, pierced by floating crystal bridges and woven with banners that danced in the wind like the tongues of nobles mid-lie.

The sky above was bruised sapphire, thunderclouds crawling like watchful beasts far in the distance. And beneath it all, Lan walked beside a princess who would one day try to conquer it.

Iris was cloaked in midnight blue, trimmed with silver thread, a veil drawn loosely over her face.

Her eyes—storm-colored, as always—flicked to every shadow, every whisper, every passing gaze. She moved with purpose, even in silence. And Lan, for once, didn't speak first.

They passed through the High District, the beating heart of the Empire's wealth and rot. It was a place where marble streets gleamed unnaturally clean and every wall was enchanted to reflect light just a little too brightly. Manors floated. Spires sang.

Airships passed overhead like silent ghosts. Servants bowed in choreographed rhythms, never making eye contact. Magic kept everything pristine, detached from the chaos of the lower districts.

"This place feels odd," Lan muttered.

"It is," Iris said. "You'll understand why eventually."

They stopped before a golden bridge that overlooked the lower courts, the market sprawl far below. From here, the Empire didn't look like a kingdom. It looked more a machine.

Iris leaned against the railing and finally spoke the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"Xavier was given formal command of the Eastern Legion last week."

Lan's jaw tightened. "That makes three armies under his control."

"Four," she corrected, her voice quiet. "He absorbed the Mountain Vanguard two days ago. No formal announcement. But it's done."

Lan stared at her. "And the court allowed that?"

She smiled bitterly. "The court cheered for it. The nobles fear him, but they fear instability more. Xavier offers the illusion of strength and certainty. He plays the role of the perfect heir."

"They think he's the Emperor already."

"He certainly acts like it," she said.

Lan looked out across the rooftops. "And what about Maximus?"

"He's not building legions," Iris said. "He's building debts. Influence. He has half the economic guilds under his thumb now. Every time someone pays tax in the northern provinces, Maximus gets a whisper in his ear."

"Spies?"

"Spies, scribes, informants, merchants, debt-holders… he doesn't need soldiers. He could collapse an entire province just by pulling a few strings. He's been rewriting trade laws through proxies for months. Most don't even realize it yet."

Lan exhaled slowly, then turned to face her.

"And you? What cards do you hold?"

She looked at him then—really looked. And in her gaze, for just a moment, was the burn of defiance that no veil could cover.

"I hold you," she said.

Lan raised a brow. "That's not a card, that's a gamble."

"And a dangerous one," she agreed. "But I've done more than that."

She began walking again, Lan falling in beside her.

"I've aligned with three noble houses. Minor, but loyal. Enough to give me presence at the assembly without being immediately crushed. I've secured the backing of several border generals—none of them powerful alone, but together, they can stall Xavier if he moves too early."

Lan considered that. "Maximus won't move openly. Not yet."

"He doesn't have to," she said. "He'll wait until we're all bleeding, then slide the knife into whoever remains."

"And the Emperor?"

Iris was silent for a long moment.

Finally, she said, "He's dying. Slowly. Quietly. He sees everything. Says little. But he knows. That's why he called the Assembly. He wants the snakes to crawl into the light."

Lan frowned. "Why not just name a successor?"

"He doesn't believe in choosing. He believes in survival. 'Let the strong climb over the corpses of the weak,' remember?"

"Classic Aregard wisdom," Lan said dryly.

They walked past a tower encased in ice—the Hall of Winter's Accord, where treaties were frozen in literal crystal. Iris glanced up at it without stopping.

"I've also begun building a network," she said. "Quiet. Efficient. Some spies, some high mages. A few curse-weavers. And I'm cultivating a school of healers. People forget how powerful medicine can be—until you control who lives and who doesn't."

Lan gave a low whistle. "You've been busy."

She didn't respond. Her eyes were focused forward.

They turned into a narrower alley—a private walk lined with shrines and fountains. The air here was cooler, warded. No ears listening. No eyes watching. Just the sound of their boots on gold-laced stone.

"I'm not trying to win this race," Iris said suddenly. "Not yet."

Lan looked at her.

"I'm trying to survive it. Stay in long enough. Last longer than the others. Xavier will make enemies as he flexes. Maximus will overplay his hand in the dark. When they start slipping… I'll be ready."

Lan said nothing for a time. Then:

"And me? Where do I fit into all this?"

Iris stopped walking. She turned to him, lifting her veil.

"You are the piece they won't see coming."

Her voice was low, fierce.

"You command a land no one cares about. You control a thing no one believed had worth. You have a militia that's turning into an army—somehow—you've become something they can't measure."

She looked him over.

"They think you're a failed prince playing king of the snow."

Lan's smile was cold. "You'd think people learn from their mistake. I guess not."

She stepped closer. "I need your presence. Your unpredictability. When you walk into that Assembly beside me, our card is that they see a sheep with a wolf's eyes."

He tilted his head. "You know things never go as planned with me, with my presence there we might go off rails?"

She didn't blink. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lan smiled. "Perfect then."