MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 194: Does that mean I may sit on the throne?

Chapter 194: Does that mean I may sit on the throne?

By morning, the empire was no longer silent.

The wind howled like it carried the whispers of a thousand restless souls.

The capital, already shrouded in the veil of grief from the Emperor’s passing, had now fallen into a state of complete despair.

Two bells echoed across the sky.

Twice.

The first bell was for the Emperor.

The second... was for his only son.

News of the Crown Prince’s death spread like wildfire.

Every corner of the empire buzzed with disbelief. Denial. Grief.

People left their homes to see with their own eyes the site of the tragedy.

At the edge of the forest, just beyond the palace gates, where the path from the Cold Palace curved toward the imperial road, there was blood.

Blood soaked the dirt, staining the earth dark.

Bodies littered the path. Dozens of them.

They were dressed in black. Assassins. Ambushers.

But no one was rejoicing.

Because amidst them, there was no sign of the prince.

Only the trail of blood that led away.

A single arrow stuck into the ground, peculiarly thin, embedded in the forehead of a corpse.

The villagers, the guards, the ministers—everyone stared. Whispered. Shuddered.

"The prince..."

"They say he died there."

"No body, but the blood... there was too much blood."

"He must have been killed."

Within the palace, despair was palpable.

Black fabric hung from every beam.

The once-lavish halls of the Crown Prince’s residence now felt like tombs. The consorts, dressed in their mourning robes, wept in their chambers.

The sixth consort fainted twice after hearing the news.

The fifth consort refused to eat.

No one dared visit the first consort. Her courtyard remained sealed, her guards tight-lipped.

Even the birds seemed to have vanished from the sky.

Everything felt cursed.

The Seventh Consort’s chambers were locked in silence.

No one moved. No one spoke. No one could believe it.

And then—

In the depths of the Imperial Prison, something else stirred.

The heavy iron doors creaked open.

The morning light streamed in—pale, almost sickly.

And a guard stepped in with hurried steps.

He bowed deeply.

"Congratulations, sir!" he announced, barely containing the excitement in his voice. "Your plan has succeeded. The Crown Prince is dead."

The man seated within the cell didn’t look like a prisoner.

The Prime Minister, Sheng Ru Lin, sat calmly, dressed in robes cleaner than any inmate deserved, sipping warm tea as if he were still presiding over court.

He looked up, a glint in his eye.

A slow, twisted smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Is that so?" he murmured. "Truly?"

The guard nodded. "Our men confirmed it. The bodies were found just outside the palace. The blood..." He shivered. "Too much. There is no way he survived."

Sheng Ru Lin rose to his feet.

"Poor boy," he said mockingly. "Too naive."

He strolled to the edge of the cell and glanced out, beyond the gate.

"He actually thought he could protect this empire."

He chuckled.

"So sad. So young. So stupid."

The guard bowed again. "Shall I prepare your release, Prime Minister?"

"No need. I’ll walk out myself."

Within minutes, he was out of the prison.

As if he had never been locked up.

As if the prince’s blood had been the final key.

And he began to give orders.

One by one, messengers in dark cloaks departed the palace.

They moved like shadows, unseen, unheard.

Within hours, hidden troops stationed in secret outposts across the empire began to mobilize.

From the east gates.

From the mountains of the west.

From the southern port cities.

And from deep within the heart of the capital itself.

The sleeping dragon had awakened.

And its fangs were bared.

The soldiers moved like a tide.

No banners. No trumpets. No noise.

Just steel. Just death.

The empire—already mourning—did not see them coming.

The Prime Minister walked through the inner palace halls as if he owned them already.

The look in his eyes?

Pure triumph.

"It begins," he whispered.

...

The Empire had never known a silence so loud.

As the dawn broke, painting the skies with a cold, unforgiving grey, the air around the capital hung thick with something more than just mourning. The death of the Emperor had already plunged the nation into sorrow, but now? Now, a terrible hush settled over the palace, the kind that warned of a storm even the gods couldn’t hold back.

Every street corner, every alleyway, every corridor within the palace grounds had been infiltrated.

Strange men, cloaked in foreign armor, their eyes devoid of mercy, stood at strategic corners like statues of death. They were not the Empire’s guards. Their attire, their posture—everything about them screamed outsider. Their blades shimmered with unfamiliar etchings, and the blood-red tassels hanging from their hilts danced ominously in the wind.

The palace officials who had gathered for the morning rites, already weary from the double blow of losing their emperor and prince, now found themselves boxed in. They were halted at the eastern gate to the court, unable to proceed. A hush fell, then an angry voice erupted.

"What is the meaning of this?!" one of the senior ministers barked, his voice echoing down the marble corridor. "You are not the guards of this empire! What do you think you’re doing?!"

The foreign soldiers remained motionless, except for one. He stepped forward, tall and wiry, with an impish grin pulling at the corners of his lips. His armor clinked with each movement.

"Who are you yelling at, old man?" the soldier sneered. "Can’t you see the world has changed overnight? Your emperor’s body is cold, his precious little son is dust, and now... now, it is our turn."

A collective gasp shot through the ranks of the ministers.

"Our rule?!" the Chief Justice shouted back, disbelief flashing in his aging eyes. "You call this your rule?! The throne belongs to the royal family! You will never sit on it. Not in this life! Not even in the next!"

Another court official stepped forward, joining in. "This is madness! This is blasphemy against the heavens themselves! The order of the ancestors must not be defiled!"