Some truth

Caesar studied Elara for a long moment.

“I need to know the truth,” he said. “Not what the council tells me. Not what the nobles claim when they’re standing in front of me. How the people really feel. About my father’s rule. About me.”

Elara’s hands tightened slightly in front of her. She glanced toward the door, then back at him.

“The servants talk,” she said carefully. “In the kitchens. In the stables. When they think no one important is listening.”

“And what do they say?”

She was quiet for a few seconds. “On the surface, your father’s rule was peaceful. The kingdom was safe. The borders held. The taxes were steady. Most people will admit that much.” She met his eyes. “But they hated him. Not openly. Never in the streets. There are secrets people only speak about in the shadows—how he ruled with an iron fist. How he took whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And how anyone who opposed him simply… disappeared.”

Caesar said nothing.

“And me?” he asked at last.

“They’re waiting,” she answered. “Some hope you’ll be different. Some expect you’ll be the same, or worse.”

The words sat heavier than the council’s reports had.

Elara shifted her weight. “If you want to know how they truly feel… a short tour of the city would do more than any report. Let them see you. And let yourself see them. The markets, the lower streets, the river docks. Not a formal procession. Just enough that people notice.”

He considered it. The idea was simple, almost obvious, and yet none of the men in the council chamber had suggested it. They had spoken of ledgers and levies and letters. None of them had mentioned walking among the people who had spent years quietly hating the man whose throne he now held—the man who had taken what he wanted and made opposition vanish.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

Elara blinked, clearly not expecting the decision so quickly. She bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

When she was gone, Caesar changed out of the formal council clothes and into something plainer—still clearly a king’s garments, but without the stiff collar and heavy gold. He summoned the captain of his personal guard and gave the order himself. By the time the sun had climbed higher over the palace walls, he was riding out through the main gates with a small escort, the city streets opening ahead of him.