Chapter 32: The Empress’s Arithmetic

The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in sheets across Aachen, turning the cobbled streets to rivers of mud and the Palatine Chapel into an island of damp stone and whispered prayers. Drogo stood at the window of his chamber, watching the water streak down the glass like tears he could not afford to shed.

The seal was heavy against his thigh, hidden in a leather pouch stitched into the lining of his tunic. He had not slept since taking it. Every shadow in the corridor seemed to carry Judith’s scent, every creak of timber her footsteps. But the storm was his ally now—it kept the court indoors, kept the spies close to their fires, kept suspicion slow and drowsy.

A knock came at the door. Three quick raps, then two. Bernard’s signal.

Drogo crossed the room and opened the door a crack. Bernard stood in the corridor, his face pale beneath the bruise Judith’s men had left on his cheek. He was supposed to have left for Saint-Maurice the night before.

“You are still here,” Drogo said.

“I was stopped at the gate,” Bernard said. “Judith has closed the city. No one leaves without her seal on the order.”

Drogo’s jaw tightened. “She moves quickly.”

“She moves like a woman who knows she is losing time,” Bernard replied. “She has summoned Lothar’s messengers twice this morning. And she has called a council for tonight. All the bishops, all the counts. She means to have you declared a traitor before the week is out.”

Drogo let the door open wider. “Then I will have to be something else before the week is out.”

Bernard stepped inside, shaking the rain from his cloak. “What are you planning?”

“I told you last night. I am going to make Lothar believe he has bought my father’s trust. I am going to sell him the seal, piece by piece, until he does not know whether he owns it or I do.”

“And Judith?”

Drogo was silent for a moment. The rain drummed against the window, and somewhere in the chapel a choir began to sing—a hymn for the dead, or for the dying. He could not tell which.

“Judith is the problem,” he admitted. “She sees through the game because she plays it herself. She has already told Lothar I am ready to surrender. She has already moved her pieces. If I let her set the board, I lose.”

“Then what?”

Drogo turned from the window. “She wants her son crowned. Charles is the heir she fights for—not Lothar, not Pepin, not Louis the German. If I can convince her that my plan serves Charles, she will not stand in my way.”

Bernard’s eyes narrowed. “You would betray Lothar to Judith?”

“I would betray everyone, Bernard. That is the only way to save them all.” Drogo pressed his palm against the pouch at his thigh. “The seal is the key. Whoever holds it speaks for the emperor. Judith knows this. Lothar knows this. Pepin is marching north because he believes I will open the gates for him. But if Judith believes I will use the seal to crown Charles, she will protect me long enough for me to use it for something else entirely.”

“And what is that?”

Drogo smiled, thin and sharp. “That is the part I am still deciding.”

Bernard studied him for a long moment. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that made him look older than his years. “You are playing a game with no board,” he said. “No rules. No end. You will lose yourself in it.”

“I lost myself a long time ago,” Drogo said. “The only question is whether I can find my way back.”

He crossed to the door and pulled it open. The corridor was empty, but he could hear footsteps echoing from the far end—the measured tread of guards, the quick patter of servants. The palace was awake, and the palace was watching.

“Go to the chapel,” Drogo said. “Wait for me there. If I do not come by the third hour, leave through the crypt and do not look back.”

“Where will you be?”

Drogo stepped into the corridor. “I am going to pay a visit to the Empress.”

Judith’s chambers were warm, almost stifling. A fire roared in the hearth, and candles burned on every surface, casting the room in a gold that seemed too bright for the grey day beyond the windows. Judith sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, a book open on her lap, but her eyes were on Drogo as he entered.

“Prince Drogo,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I did not expect you.”

“I am full of surprises,” he said.

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room, stopping a few paces from her chair. She did not rise. Her smile was cold, but there was something else in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or the first flicker of unease.

“You have heard about the council tonight,” she said.

“I have.”

“And you have come to plead your case.”

“I have come to offer you something better,” Drogo said. “An alliance.”

Judith’s eyebrow rose. “An alliance? You, who have spent your life pretending to be a fool? You, who have played every side against the others? You expect me to believe you would ally with me?”

“I expect you to believe what serves you,” Drogo said. “And I have something you want.”

He reached into his tunic and pulled out the seal. It was a heavy disc of gold, engraved with the image of Saint Peter, the symbol of the emperor’s authority. Judith’s eyes widened, and for a moment her mask slipped.

“You stole it,” she breathed.

“I borrowed it,” Drogo said. “And I am willing to lend it to you—if you help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“Help me keep Lothar from the throne,” Drogo said. “Help me ensure that Charles is the one who benefits from the chaos to come. Help me, and I will make sure your son is crowned emperor before the year is out.”

Judith was silent for a long moment. The fire crackled, and the rain continued its steady drum against the glass. She looked at the seal, then at Drogo, and he could see her mind working behind her eyes—calculating, weighing, deciding.

“You are lying,” she said finally.

“I am,” Drogo admitted. “But the lie serves you better than the truth. Trust the lie, Judith. It is the only thing that will keep your son alive.”

The room was still. Judith’s hand moved to the arm of her chair, and Drogo saw her fingers tighten around the carved wood. Then she smiled—a real smile, cold and sharp and knowing.

“You are more dangerous than I thought, Drogo.”

“I am exactly as dangerous as I need to be.”

He tucked the seal back into his tunic and turned toward the door. Judith’s voice stopped him.

“If you betray me,” she said, “I will see you dead before the snow falls.”

Drogo did not turn around. “Then we understand each other.”

He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The rain was still falling, and the sound of it filled the palace like a thousand whispered prayers. He had made his move.

Now the board would answer.