Emperor Elliott Lancaster of the Vellurian Empire—his persona could be described in one word: benevolent and kind. After the tyrannical rule of his father, a famous warlord-turned-emperor who waged wars, raised taxes for said wars, and made life miserable for the working class, the public had high hopes for the then-Prince Elliott. He was, after all, the only son of the previous emperor, and thus the default heir. The princesses had been married off early by the emperor, and although the emperor hadn't been particularly fond of Elliott either—due to his soft nature and a demeanor deemed too empathetic for the throne—he was the only heir he had.
The karma of all the lives the previous emperor took seemed to catch up to him in that life alone, as he was diagnosed with a terminal illness and became bedbound indefinitely. Elliott had to take the throne then, ascending as the new emperor at the young age of 17.
His rule was—different. He was kind. He didn't wage wars. He cared for the people. Although some members of the nobility whispered snidely about him, the general consensus—among both the public and the court—was a sigh of relief. Elliott was too kind, yes, but at least he wasn't his father. He was often called the Benevolent Emperor.
It was a normal enough morning, as Elliott awoke to the sun shining in his face. Attendants shuffled around the giant, gilded room, preparing him for the day ahead. This was a routine he had repeated countless times over the past 15 years—after all, he was 32 now. He had been ruling for 15 years. His father had passed away when he was 20, and from that point on, he could finally rule the way he wanted to—with empathy.
"Your Majesty, it is time for you to get up. We must start preparing you for morning court," said Albert, his personal butler. "Shall we draw a bath?"
Elliott gave him a small nod. Albert bowed before walking away to prepare the bath. Everyone knew the emperor preferred to be left mostly alone in the morning, to gather his thoughts. Which he did. He yawned and stretched lightly, the dark amethyst-colored nightgown slipping off his shoulder slightly, revealing a tanned, bony shoulder. He had always been on the slender and shorter side, having been unable to train much physically due to his frail physique and asthma.
His hair was long and light blonde, contrasting like a sunset against the evening sky. Light freckles dotted his cheeks like constellations—a feature that had earned him many compliments from noble ladies, from his teenage years well into adulthood. It was flattering, certainly, but it didn't make him feel much—he was, after all, not interested in women. Not that many people knew. Of course, growing up under his father hadn't been easy, even as the so-called "beloved" son. His father despised him for being too soft and too weak. Add to that his "specific tastes," and he would've surely been disinherited.
Not that Elliott was hungry for power—he didn't even particularly like it. But he knew he was the hope of countless people, and he understood it was as much a responsibility as it was an honor.
He glanced at the large floor-length mirror, staring at his reflection. The years had been rather kind to him—his face still looked as it had at his mid 20s, and his body hadn't changed much. Though he didn't take any special measures to maintain it—he hardly had time for vanity—he supposed the healthy diet and regular breathing exercises for his health played a role.
Well, anyhow. He continued to study his reflection, lost in thought, when the large doors of the chamber opened and a tall figure entered.
Of course. This clingy child was here as soon as the day broke. Aiden was always like this. Always attached, always clingy. He was attached to Elliott like a chick that had imprinted on its mother bird—inseparable. And he never really grew out of that imprinting, even now, at the age of 20.
Crown Prince Aiden Lancaster, Elliott's heir, and the crown prince of the empire. He was, of course, not Elliott's biological child—Elliott had never even married. When he succeeded the throne, numerous nobles had pushed him to marry a suitable young lady and produce an heir—for the sake of political stability and public reassurance.
Elliott, of course, did not want that fate for any woman, or for himself. A loveless marriage could be quite the burden, and he knew for certain he would never be able to love a woman. After his vague refusals to marry, the court suggested he take a concubine to produce an heir. That did not sit well with Elliott's morals. Sure, he could force himself to spend a night with a woman but using someone purely as an incubator- a means to an end, was something his conscience could not accept.
In the end, Elliott kept his reasons for avoiding marriage and concubines vague and instead adopted Aiden—the orphaned heir of a minor noble house. The little boy had been eight years old then. He, much like Elliott, had no one else in the world. And misery loves company, doesn't it?
Aiden entered the emperor's private chambers without bothering to knock or announce himself. He'd done it countless times before, and Elliott didn't mind. The sight that greeted him was an unsurprising one: Elliott, standing in the middle of the room, his night robes rumpled around his body. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, catching in his eyes just right to make the usually dark blue irises shine a light azure color. His gaze, however, was blank, staring at his reflection.
When he heard Aiden arrive, though, he turned, the blankness softening into warmth, a small smile curving on his lips.
Aiden took a few steps inside, reaching Elliott. He was already dressed and much more alert than the sleep-dazed emperor.
"You're not dressed yet," he remarked, crossing his arms. His tone was its usual cool, detached one—though Elliott, over the years, had learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression. Right now, it was mild annoyance. The brief statement translated roughly to: Why aren't you dressed yet so I can monopolize your attention?
Elliott smiled, shaking his head at the still-clingy behavior, though he didn't comment on it directly. Instead, he replied lightly, "Quite an astute observation you have there, son."
He didn't notice the subtle way Aiden's jaw clenched at that last word. As he never did.
"At least fix your robes," Aiden grumbled, walking closer. His hands automatically reached out to smooth Elliott's robe, tying the sash around it a bit too tightly.
"Are you planning on suffocating me, Aiden?" Elliott asked, shaking his head at the immature behavior. Aiden was always like that. Over time, Elliott had simply learned to accept it. He added, "Besides, it's just the attendants here—"
Aiden cut him off. "Well, they have eyes too, do they not? You— I swear. You're like a child," he huffed, though his hands grew considerably gentler, fixing the robes loosely but securely.
Elliott couldn't help but hide a small smile.
The rest of the preparations passed with Aiden watching over them like an overprotective guard dog. Every time an attendant got too close to the emperor, he coughed and glared. Though the attendants were quite used to this routine, the crown prince's glare did not get any less intimidating, no matter how many times they experienced it. In the palace, the one to be wary of was not the emperor—it was the prince. He only truly got upset when it came to something involving the emperor, so the general rule of thumb was: keep the emperor happy, and by extension, you keep your job.
Soon, Elliott was ready. The attendants added some finishing touches, and finally, the crown was brought out. Before one of the helpers could place it on Elliott's head, Aiden stepped forward.
"Wait—I'll do it. You... you'll ruin his hair."
Attendant: "..." Sir, I literally do this every day.
But of course, he knew better than to speak up. If the prince made a flimsy excuse to assist the emperor, protocol dictated they step back and let him. Yes, it was even in the palace rulebook and new hire orientation.
The rubies and diamonds glittered under the pale morning light as Aiden gently placed the crown on Elliott's head. His gaze was reverent, as though looking at something immeasurably precious and invaluable. Which the crown was, yes—but Aiden's gaze wasn't on the crown.
"There. Perfect," he murmured after adjusting the crown on the blonde's head. He stepped back, examining his work. Perfect. He looked perfect, as always.
Elliott didn't know if Aiden meant for him to hear that, but he did. A small cheshire grin spread across his face. Aiden rarely gave compliments, let alone used the word perfect. He was a perfectionist, and hardly anything ever met his standards. But it was always so much fun to tease Aiden when he slipped up.
"Is that a compliment I hear~?" Elliott asked, tone teasing.
"You—ugh." Aiden groaned under his breath. "I was just complimenting my handiwork."
Elliott just smiled. It was always so fun to ruffle this child's feathers.
"Sure you were, Aiden. Sure you were."