I'll be the Red Ranger [Progression, LitRPG] [Book 4 Returns 09/01]

[Katherine PoV]

Katherine slammed the door hard enough to make the wall tremble and the lights blink. The lounge was one of the mansion's meeting rooms. It was places where factions cooled their tempers between Senate sessions. In the corners, discreet vents exhaled air sweetened by the gardens and scrubbed by filters.

"What the hell does he want out of all this?!" she snapped. The desire to hurl a chair and watch it explode into splinters was instantaneous and unhelpful.

"Control yourself, Young Kath," Cicero said, crossing the room with his cane tapping a measured cadence. He lowered himself into an armchair. Chrome gleamed at the joints of his right hand. "Remember, you still work for him. We have one last session this afternoon. What do we aim to get?"

"Nothing. Not with every vote smothered by the Emperor?" Pollux cut in. He had already shouldered open the cabinet and was tugging at a bottle of red wine with his teeth. The cork surrendered with a rude little pop. He drank from the neck. Katherine didn't bother to judge. Thanks to his boon, intoxication was virtually impossible; a thousand drinks and he would still only have a warmth.

"Maybe he was right," Katherine said, letting herself fall into a chair.

"Who?" Pollux asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes frank as a boy's despite the uniform.

"Mordred. Maybe—"

Cicero's cane snapped against the floor, a whipcrack that cut the sentence in half. "Careful," he said, not unkindly. "Remember. You are not only an heir. You are General of the Red Rangers."

Katherine's molars ached from the grind. A soldier's life had been simpler. Wear the mask of the hero, draw the fire, coordinate the strike, and end the fight. On the other hand, politics was tiresome. Filled with negotiations, seductions, and the same arguments wearing fresher words. It made her want to light the room and walk out through the smoke.

She exhaled and let herself sink into the cushions.

"What's the next agenda?" she asked, trying to recall the calendar.

"We don't know. It wasn't mentioned," Cicero said. His mechanical leg clicked softly against the floor with impatience.

"What does that mean? Is it an imperial agenda?" Katherine asked.

"That or something from the Sixth Division," Cicero replied, sounding like a tutor indulging a pupil.

The three of them fell silent for a few seconds. Each seemed lost in their thoughts, mostly trying to imagine what else it would take to call that entire Senate session a failure finally.

"Are we going to warn the newcomer?" Pollux asked, starting a fresh subject and earning a glance from both of them.

"Warn?" Katherine said, not yet understanding the meaning of the question.

"Mordred will take a shot at him," Pollux said bluntly. "We could at least give him a heads up. Warn about what's about to happen."

In another moment, Katherine might have agreed without thought. But a warning from her would paint a target on York as clearly as a flare in a night sky. Aligning openly with Atlas Blackwell would be a gift to her enemies and a chain around her House.

Cicero was watching her, measuring the weight of her silence.

"No. We won't," Katherine said, each reason clicking into place. "First, we have no alliance with him; warning him only puts our territory and our Houses in the crosshairs. Second, it's a clean way to test his strength. And third, if he gives Mordred any real trouble, the balance of power might finally shift and break the deadlock."

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Cicero nodded, agreeing with her reasoning. Pollux frowned but didn't press, idly rolling the bottle by the neck.

A soft, official knock sounded. An imperial soldier cracked the door and stepped in just far enough to be seen. "The session is about to start."

--

Katherine returned to the chamber to find the Great Houses already arrayed. Each Great House seemed to have a different reaction. Some were furious, especially the Militarists, who saw the negotiations at a standstill. Others, however, seemed pleased, though for very different reasons.

The Imperialists seemed amused by the fact that no agreement had been reached. While the Republicans watched with satisfaction as the Emperor's support was steadily eroded.

In the far corner, in the line that wasn't supposed to exist, Atlas sat with one leg crossed neatly over the other, spine straight as a blade. Katherine's gaze slid over him almost without meaning to. Yet, while looking at him something cought her attention.

'Smoething's wrong,' said the part of her. 'Maybe, not wrong. But familiar.' A posture she'd seen in another moment or the way he was behaving. It felt like a memory rose and hovered at the edge of recall, like a word caught on the tongue.

"Best take your seat. Lucius is coming in," Mordred murmured as he ghosted past, notably omitting the title he refused to use. The prompt broke her attention, and she let the thought dissolve as she sat.

A second later, Lucius entered with Stewart a step behind. This time, the Emperor did not claim the throne. He walked away from it and took the center of the floor instead.

With Lucius stepping further forward, Katherine was forced to look up. That's when she finally noticed a crucial change. The upper gallery was completely empty. She hadn't realized it before, but the murmurs of the officers and nobles were gone.

On top of that, there were no attendants or military escorts around her. All of them had been blocked at the entrance to the chamber.

This was heirs' only.

"One final item before this Senate convocation concludes," Lucius announced, voice gravel over stone.

"Is it really necessary?" Mordred cut in, loud enough to scuff the ceremony. "You'll present whatever you like; we'll debate and waste our breath, and if it strays from your will, you'll veto it."

"Mind your tongue," Adrian snapped from the front row, rising. "He is still your Emperor."

"That's the problem in this 'peace summit,'" Mordred said, not bothering to face him. "He still thinks he's an Emperor. I've already made it clear I won't accept any of his demands. The Republic came only to let him save face."

"Fuck you—" Adrian shouldered forward. However, his advance was halted. Scipio and Zip quickly stood up, grabbing Adrian's shoulder before he could do something foolish.

"You know it's true," Mordred went on, lifting a hand to point at Lucius as if passing sentence. "An old man with his power leaking away, clinging at any cost. His enemies sit on his doorstep, and he can't even spring a trap."

"Heir of Lot," Lucius replied, cold as ice, "I don't need traps or gambits. And in any case, I did not summon you."

Mordred stilled. "No?"

"No." Lucius turned away from the factions, attention sliding to the rear of the hall. "The one who wanted this moment is far above a mere Emperor."

The door in the wall behind the throne slid open.

Katherine narrowed her eyes, staring into the slice of shadow. A figure approached with deliberate calm, the movement unhurried, certain. He was wearing a white lab coat, the faint marks of chemical stains at the cuffs. A narrow, ascetic face, hair banded black and white. An eyepatch lay black over one socket; the remaining eye was a deep, unnatural purple.

He walked out from behind the throne as if stepping from a different kind of room entirely, crossed the short distance to the throne, and sat.

Lucius and Stewart went to their knees as one and bowed their heads, eyes to the floorboards.

Something changed in the air. A pressure descending without moving.

Adonis froze half a step from rage, face draining to a blank. Demi's jaw set; her pupils tightened. Mordred's bravado shuttered. Across the chamber, the fifth row remained composed; Atlas—legs crossed, back straight—did not rise, but a fractional change ran through him.

The man in the lab coat rested one gloved hand on the throne's arm and let his gaze pass.

Lucius's voice came low, stripped of theater. "The one who called you," he said to the gathered power of the Houses, "is our Sovereign."