Marquis Alexander stared intently at Emperor Augustus, carefully gauging the man's expression, hoping for a hint—any sign that the story he fed him had been believed. But the emperor's face remained impassive, carved from stone, unreadable and cold.
"Meeting with an enemy is indeed a habit that shouldn't be made known to the public," Augustus finally said, his voice smooth and even.
Marquis Alexander frowned subtly. The way the emperor phrased it, the calm indifference in his tone—it sent a chill crawling up his spine. The emperor knew. He didn't just suspect. He knew.
"My lord, that was—"
"That's enough." Augustus's voice sliced through his words, sharp and commanding. "I have no intention of playing this game with you. I've known from the very beginning."
Alexander's mouth twitched, but he remained silent.
