The Male Lead isn't Following the Script!
Chapter 170: Empress’ Rage

Chapter 170: Empress’ Rage

At this moment, surrounded by her family, she felt lighter. "Thank you," she said sincerely, her eyes meeting her father’s.

As the morning turned into afternoon, the family revelled in their time together. Aaron recounted an exaggerated tale of a recent hunting trip. He talked about everything that happened at his friend’s house.

Alaric suggested he stay there permanently. Aaron shot him a glare and ignored him for the rest of the evening.

Adeline, for her part, felt a sense of normalcy she hadn’t experienced in months. She teased her brothers, joined in their banter, and even challenged them to a game of ball.

It was her father and her against her two brothers. For a while, it was easy to forget the looming threats that hung over them: Edward’s obsession, the Temple’s schemes, and the fragile peace between the Empire and its enemies.

They completely exhausted themselves that day.

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The Empress paced her private chambers, her heavy robes swishing against the marble floor. Her face was a mask of fury, her perfectly painted lips twisted in a scowl. The news had hit her like a thunderbolt.

Lightning powers. That little wretch has lightning powers! Her nails bit into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

"And you," she spat, glaring at her son, who stood silently before her, "Are useless!"

Cassian said nothing, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her, cold and detached. He had long learned that no words could placate his mother when she was in this state. How many times had he experienced this very same thing? He did not know... It became a routine to him by now.

The Empress’s rage reached its peak. "Do you understand the humiliation I’ve suffered because of you?!" She shrieked. "No powers, no alliances, no achievements. And now that b*tch—" she hissed, referring to the Imperial concubine—"Is pregnant!"

She grabbed the whip from the wall, its leather cracking ominously as she unfurled it. Usually, this task was relegated to a servant, but today was different. Today, her fury demanded personal vengeance.

Cassian did not flinch as she raised the whip. He did not even blink when the first lash tore through the fine silk of his tunic and bit into his flesh.

This was not new to him. Pain was an old companion, as familiar as the cold stares of the courtiers or the whispers of his mother’s failures. He stood still, his back straight, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

For the Empress, this lack of response only fueled her rage. She struck harder, the whip whistling through the air before landing with a sickening crack. The skin on his back split open, and blood began to seep through the fabric, staining it a deep crimson.

"You are nothing!" she screamed, her arm swinging wildly. "I was promised power, a legacy! And I have you! A worthless son who cannot even secure his engagement!"

The memory of his refusal to get engaged to the daughter of the Western Marquess, Adeline resurfaced in her mind. That alliance could have strengthened her position, but Cassian had dared to defy her.

The lashes came faster now, each one driven by her frustration, not just with him but with her own life. Her father had treated her as a mere pawn in his political games.

The Emperor had married her for convenience, discarding her once she had borne an heir. And now, even her son—the one thing that should have been her legacy—was a failure.

Cassian’s vision blurred as the pain intensified, but he refused to cry out. He focused on the patterns on the floor, the cold marble grounding him as his blood dripped onto it. This was his reality, a routine of expectations he could never meet and punishments he had grown numb to.

But today was different. Today, his mother wielded the whip herself, her usual restraint abandoned. The lashes continued until his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor. Still, she did not stop.

Blood pooled around him, the metallic scent filling the room. Only when his body went limp, his consciousness slipping away, did she finally halt. Her chest heaved as she dropped the whip, her hand trembling from the effort.

"Take him away," she barked at the servants waiting just outside. "Bandage him up. I will not have anyone accusing me of neglect."

The servants rushed in, their faces pale as they carefully lifted Cassian’s unconscious form. The Empress sank into a chair, her body trembling, not with exhaustion but with the weight of her anger and despair.

The marks of the whip were etched into her palm, a cruel reminder of her outburst. She stared at her hand, her thoughts spiralling.

"Useless," she muttered to herself. "Everything is useless."

She had been overjoyed to become the Empress, believing it would bring her power and respect. Instead, she had become a figurehead, discarded by her husband, ignored by her father, and despised by her son.

Her father had seen her marriage to the Emperor as a means to an end, a tool to further his own ambitions. But once it became clear that the Emperor held no affection for her, her value had diminished in his eyes.

And then there was Lucas. The Emperor’s second son, born with ice powers, however weak they might be... At least he had them! He was everything her son was not. The nobles fawned over him, whispering about his potential to surpass Cassian.

Her fists clenched at the thought. "Why couldn’t my son have powers? Why does that bastard Lucas have everything?"

The bitterness gnawed at her. Lucas could get a powerful match now... And Adeline, everyone would rush to strike an alliance with her. If Lucas and Adeline get engaged she might go crazy and do something.

Lightning powers were a rare and coveted gift, a mark of divine favour.

Her mind raced with plans, each one more desperate than the last. She had to regain control, to reassert her position. If her son could not be her weapon, she would find another way.

She was seriously considering Drogo Walter. She despised her nephew but right now what choices did she have?!

As Cassian was carried away, the servants whispered among themselves. They had seen the Empress’s wrath before, but this was different. The sight of the Crown Prince—normally composed and untouchable—reduced to such a state was unsettling.

The head servant, an older woman with a kind face, directed the others to lay him on a bed and clean his wounds. Her hands were steady as she worked. She was glad to have been born a commoner...

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