story-teller style of a kingdom, a city, of centuries, of what happened. Sometimes zooming out, less interesting, sometimes zooming in.
And then the woman who had been empress died and was buried in the Garden of the Dead, and the emperor shut himself up in her apartments, where he was more comfortable, having at least a decent bed to sleep in, and where he was alone. Fewer and fewer functionaries came to see him. They were afraid of him. It got so they sent one man with messages from all the others, and finally not even that: they left notices about this and that in front of the door. A few hours later, they'd find the emperor's decrees and orders in the same place. Fear is contagious. Soon the whole Empire trembled just at the title, not even the name, of the man locked in the innermost room of the palace, at whose feet blood flowed as easily as water in a river.
He just stood there because he didn't know what else to say to them. To escape from the Protocol was thrilling, and he'd had a wonderful time the day before, but today our young prince realized that it might be dangerous, too. Yes, dangerous: think a little, if you're capable of thought, and you'll see that it's safer to obey a law however stupid it may be than to act freely; because to act freely, unless you're as wicked as certain emperors, is to seek a just law; and if you make a mistake, you've taken the first step towards power, which is what destroys men.
