Chapter 32: Don’t provoke Damian (2)

Count Julian Ebon adjusted his cuffs with deliberate care, as if the fine silver embroidery could shield him from the tension thickening in the imperial office. He forced a smile, a shallow attempt at composure. "Your Majesty, I regret the delay, truly. However, the Ashmont Pilot required a thorough review. A project of such magnitude cannot be rushed. I simply wanted to ensure that all findings were properly compiled before submitting."

Astana's fingers twitched against his coat. An entire year. The count had stalled the project for a year, with not a single page of results being submitted.

Worse, he did not seem to understand how much danger he was in.

Damian remained still. Too still. His golden eyes darkened when he saw the reports in front of him, and he studied the count with quiet intensity. Then, with the slow deliberation of a man who had already decided how this would end, he flipped open Gabriel's report, his fingers drumming idly against the desk.

"You sought to ensure the findings were properly compiled," Damian repeated, his voice as smooth as a blade drawn from its sheath. He turned a page. "And yet, despite this alleged dedication, no report was ever delivered to my office." He paused, his fingers tapping on the high-quality paper used for the final report. 

"Do you realize what you put me through during the hearing?" 

Julian hesitated, shifting in his chair. "I—"

Damian didn't look up. "The Ashmont Pilot was completed more than a year ago." His voice remained quiet, but something in the air shifted, the temperature seeming to drop. "The results were due within a month of their completion. When the deadline passed, you asked for an extension."

He turned another page. The sound was deafening in the silence.

"Then another."

Astana swallowed hard.

"Then another."

Julian inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening against the armrests of his chair. "Your Majesty, such projects must be carefully reviewed. It would have been irresponsible to submit premature results—"

Damian shut the report with a sharp snap.

Astana flinched. 'Shit! Shit! Please stop talking!' After a year of working with Damian, he knew the Emperor had had enough, and Count Ebon was on his way to execution. 

"You never reviewed the findings at all, did you?"

Julian's lips parted, but Damian's stare pinned him in place.

"You stalled the results without a reason," Damian said, his tone calm and methodical. "You did not submit a progress report. You did not submit a single document. And when summoned to this office to explain yourself, you showed up empty-handed."

Julian's throat bobbed. "I… I intended to..."

Damian's fingers tapped once against the desk. A slow, deliberate motion. "Count Ebon, can you tell me what Gabriel von Jaunez did in Ashmont?"

Julian hesitated. "I was going to review his assessment after finishing mine."

Damian took a slow breath and shook his head slightly. "Finalizing your own?" His amusement was razor thin. "Do you mean the assessment that does not exist?"

Julian paled.

Damian leaned forward, resting his arms atop the desk. "Gabriel's findings were delivered several months ago. The field researchers sent their reports before that. Despite this, you have not submitted anything in over a year. What, exactly, were you verifying?"

"Is it the Emperor's duty to verify every single government employee?"

Julian licked his lips and glanced at Astana, begging him to intervene. Astana averted his gaze; the Count had his chances, and he was not going to risk his position or his neck for a useless man. 

"I… there were discrepancies..."

"I read the field reports myself," Damian said, tilting his head slightly. "There were no discrepancies."

Silence stretched between them.

Julian tried again. "Your Majesty, I simply wished to ensure..."

Damian stood.

Julian shut his mouth instantly.

Astana felt a cool bead of sweat run down the back of his neck.

Damian walked around the desk slowly, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor. "You weren't ensuring accuracy. You weren't reviewing findings. You weren't even attempting to fabricate your own report." He stopped just behind Julian's chair, his presence looming. "You stalled the results because you had no intention of submitting them at all."

Julian tensed. "I—I needed more time."

Damian let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no warmth in it. "More time?" He tilted his head. "You had a year."

Julian flinched.

"How fascinating that you consider me a foul. That had not happened until now. Tell me, Ebon, which was more important: your latest hunt in the Imperial Preserve or your leisurely visits to the Silverlark Theatre?"

Astana stiffened. 'Oh, no.'

Ebon's masked calm for just a moment before he quickly recovered. "Your Majesty, I..."

"Don't lie to me, Julian," Damian interrupted, his voice smooth yet carrying an unmistakable edge. "You were avoiding this meeting, and we both know why."

Ebon forced a smile, but his fingers were now clenching the chair's armrests with white-knuckle tension. "Your Majesty, I have nothing but the utmost respect for your authority."

Damian exhaled, clearly unimpressed. "Respect? If you had an ounce of it, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Damian turned away from him, walking back to his desk as if bored of the conversation. "The Imperial Audit Office will now handle the Ashmont findings."

Astana felt his breath hitch. That was a devastating blow. The Audit Office was unstoppable—once they got their teeth into a project, they would find every hidden flaw, misallocated coin, and ounce of corruption. They were the hunting dogs of the Emperor.

Julian's face went rigid. "Your Majesty, this would undermine my authority as Minister—"

Damian sat back down. "Authority?" He laced his fingers together. "Tell me, Count, what authority does a man have when he refuses to do his job?"

Julian's jaw clenched, his pride clashing with his survival instinct.

Astana prayed that he would leave while he still had the opportunity.

But the gods were cruel.

"If Your Majesty would allow me more time, I can—"

Damian's chair scraped against the floor as he shifted slightly. The sound alone made Julian freeze mid-sentence.

"You had time," Damian said, his voice clipped. "You wasted it."

Silence.