Whispers followed Riven through the palace corridors like invisible threads, weaving around him as he passed. Seven days had elapsed since his last lesson with Serayne, and in that time, something had changed.
"There goes the bright little prince," a chambermaid murmured to her companion as Riven rounded a corner. She didn't lower her voice, didn't need to, because the narrative Serayne had crafted no longer required secrecy. It had become accepted truth.
Riven maintained his carefully composed expression, a mask of childlike innocence that revealed nothing of his internal calculations.
The servants' demeanor toward him had shifted precisely as Serayne had predicted, where once they had regarded him with the distant politeness reserved for secondary royalty, now they smiled with genuine warmth. Their postures relaxed in his presence. Some even ventured small conversations rather than silent service.
'Fascinating how quickly perception solidifies into reality,' he thought, cataloging each interaction as data points in his ongoing analysis of court dynamics.
He paused near an alcove where two older courtiers stood in hushed conversation, their formal robes marking them as minor functionaries in the imperial bureaucracy.
Neither noticed his presence, a three-year-old child, even a royal one, registered as essentially invisible to most adults when not directly in their path.
"...reminds the Emperor of himself as a boy, they say," one whispered, his voice carrying just enough for Riven to catch. "Always asking about the stars and the nature of Aether."
"The Empress seems pleased," the other replied.
"Though when is she ever anything but composed? Still, I heard from Lady Morvaine that she actually smiled when Magister Halwen delivered his report."
"Well, the Emperor has taken notice. Asked for the boy's lesson plans personally."
Riven continued walking, his pace measured to appear casual while his mind accelerated through implications. The Emperor had asked about him, a significant deviation from the established pattern of delegated attention.
More concerning was the specific framing: comparison to the Emperor's younger self created expectations that could prove either advantageous or dangerous.
He turned down another corridor, this one leading to the eastern wing where his daily lessons with Magister Halwen were conducted.
The old scholar had grown increasingly nervous in recent days, his hands trembling more noticeably when Riven asked questions that strayed beyond the prepared curriculum.
Now Riven understood why, the Emperor himself was reviewing the reports.
As he approached the study chamber, a palace attendant stepped forward from a side passage, not one of his regular servants, but a member of the Emperor's personal staff, identifiable by the black and silver detailing on his otherwise standard uniform.
"Prince Riven," the man said, bowing precisely to the depth appropriate for addressing a secondary heir. "Your lesson with Magister Halwen has been canceled for today."
Riven tilted his head slightly, the calculated gesture of a curious child rather than a calculating mind. "Why?" he asked, his voice pitched to convey innocent inquiry.
"You are requested elsewhere, Your Highness." The attendant's expression remained carefully neutral.
"I've been instructed to escort you to your chambers, where your formal attire will be prepared."
"By whose request?" Riven asked, though he had already calculated the most probable answer.
The attendant hesitated fractionally, a microexpression of unease that most would miss entirely.
"His Imperial Majesty awaits your presence at dusk in the Observatory Tower."
The information landed with the weight of a physical object. The Emperor. The Observatory. A direct summons rather than a scheduled audience.
Riven maintained his outward composure while his mind rapidly processed implications and possible scenarios.
"I see," he said simply, allowing the attendant to guide him back toward his personal chambers.
As they walked, Riven mapped potential approaches against likely objectives. The Emperor would have specific purposes for this unusual summons, assessment, most likely, triggered by reports of his "aptitude." The situation presented both opportunity and risk in equal measure.
'Serayne's narrative worked,' he realized. 'But perhaps too well. It's drawn attention from the most dangerous quarter.'
By the time they reached his chambers, Riven had formulated his initial strategy.
The attendant left him in the care of his personal servants, who moved with unusual efficiency, clearly aware of the significance of the summons.
"His Imperial Majesty rarely receives in the Observatory," one murmured to another as they laid out his formal attire, dark blue silk embroidered with silver, cut to the same pattern as the Emperor's ceremonial robes but sized for a child.
"Not since the Crown Prince's first stargazing lesson," another replied, voice hushed with awe. "It's a great honor, young prince."
Riven remained silent as they dressed him, their hands moving with practiced precision to adjust folds and fastenings.
The formal attire felt restrictive, designed to limit movement and enforce perfect posture, another form of control embedded in court practice.
He observed his reflection in the polished silver mirror as a servant arranged his hair according to protocol.
The child who stared back bore little resemblance to the awkward, gangly scholar who had died in another life.
Instead, he saw a perfectly composed young prince with serious green eyes that revealed nothing of the calculations behind them.
His pulse remained steady, sixty-seven beats per minute, no elevation despite the significance of the upcoming meeting. Not courage, but mathematics.
Fear served no functional purpose, so he had systematically eliminated it from his emotional responses.
"The Observatory is at the highest point of the inner palace," a servant explained as he fastened the final clasp on Riven's formal collar. "Many steps for small legs, but the imperial guards will assist if needed."
"I can walk," Riven replied, his voice carrying the precise blend of determination and politeness that adults found endearing rather than challenging in a child.
When the preparations were complete, the Emperor's attendant returned, now accompanied by two imperial guards in ceremonial armor. Their presence elevated the formality of the occasion, a visible signal to everyone they passed that this was no ordinary summons.
Dusk painted the palace corridors in deepening shades of blue and purple as they ascended through increasingly restricted areas.
With each level, the number of servants and courtiers diminished, until they passed through spaces where only the most trusted imperial staff were permitted.
The final staircase spiraled upward through the heart of the Observatory Tower, its steps carved from single blocks of white marble veined with silver.
Aether conduits pulsed along the walls, their blue-white light growing stronger as they approached the summit.
"His Imperial Majesty awaits within," the attendant announced as they reached a set of doors crafted from dark wood inlaid with silver and crystal. "You will enter alone, Your Highness."
The guards took positions on either side of the entrance. The attendant bowed deeply, then retreated down the staircase, leaving Riven standing alone before the doors.
They swung open silently, as though responding to his presence rather than any physical mechanism.