Chapter Text
Suzaku Kururugi was losing his mind.
It had been three days since he'd killed the Emperor, and he had yet to even receive an execution date. He was beginning to think Britannia had forgotten about him, because what else could explain the delay? He had killed the Emperor. At the foot of the throne. In front of his guards. Suzaku really wasn't sure how much more obvious treason could get.
And it wasn't as though there had been any ambiguity about what happened; there were witnesses and security footage for God's sake. He should have been dragged to a courtyard, stripped of his Knight of the Round title, and shot by a firing squad before the sun set.
And yet here he was.
Still alive.
Suzaku frowned, glancing around.
Well, at least the cell was better than last time. Not that it was particularly impressive. It was still a cell, after all. The walls were bare, the door was reinforced, and there were guards outside who had made it very clear that he wasn't going anywhere. But it was way more comfortable than Suzaku had expected. There was an actual bed instead of a thin cot, a washroom tucked behind a partition, and even a small table with a chair.
There was paper on the table. And a pen.
Suzaku wasn't sure what they expected him to do with those. Write a confession? An apology? A final letter? He had considered writing Sorry about the Emperor and decided that was probably not appropriate.
He wasn't sure prisoners waiting to be executed were supposed to be getting croissants for breakfast, either, but maybe it was palace policy or something. He'd never been imprisoned in a palace before.
Overall, he had nothing to complain about during his stay. The food was good, the bed was comfortable, and nobody had tried to beat him with a pipe.
Yet.
Suzaku prodded the roasted duck with his fork.
Okay, no. This was weird.
When he'd been accused of murdering Prince Clovis (whom he hadn't killed), he'd been thrown into a damp concrete box and beaten. Now accused of killing the ninety-eighth Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire (whom he definitely had killed), he was somehow getting five-star treatment. Were they trying to butter him up before the execution? Give him one last nice meal before they did something horrible to him in public?
Whatever it was, they could stop.
The reinforced door clicked, the heavy magnetic locks disengaging with a loud thunk.
The door swung open, and Second Prince Schneizel el Britannia stepped into the room. He was impeccably dressed as always, his expression a bit too serene for a grieving son. He was flanked by two high-ranking judges of the Imperial Senate, both of whom looked like they would rather be anywhere else.
Suzaku sat up, practically offering his wrists. Finally.
"Good afternoon," Schneizel said pleasantly, stepping up to the study table.
"Your Highness," Suzaku bowed his head respectfully. "I am ready."
Schneizel offered a polite, closed-mouth smile and placed a heavy, ornate velvet box onto the polished mahogany of the study table.
Suzaku braced himself. A death warrant. It had to be a death warrant.
Did Britannians keep execution orders in velvet boxes? Probably. They were dramatic like that.
The prince unclasped the golden latch and opened the lid. Inside the box rested a massive, intricately carved sphere of gold and lapis lazuli.
The Imperial Seal.
One of the Senate judges stepped forward and carefully unrolled a heavy parchment scroll adorned with archaic calligraphy. He cleared his throat.
"By the authority vested in the Imperial Senate under the Charter of Ascendancy, and in accordance with the ancient laws governing the succession of the Holy Britannian Empire, let it be entered into the Imperial Record that the throne, having been rendered vacant by the death of His Imperial Majesty Charles zi Britannia, shall pass to the victor by right of conquest."
Okay???
"By blood, by title, and by conquest, the throne shall belong to—" The judge paused. His expression soured, like he had just bitten into a lemon. "—Suzaku Kururugi."
Suzaku stared at him. "I... I don't understand. Are you reading my charges?"
Schneizel took a step back, and to Suzaku's mounting horror, the Second Prince of Britannia bowed deeply from the waist while the judges dropped to their knees.
"The King is dead," Schneizel declared. "Long live Emperor Suzaku the First, Ninety-Ninth Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire. Your coronation is scheduled for Tuesday."
"What???"
The events that had led to this situation were actually quite simple.
Suzaku had been summoned to the throne room, where Emperor Charles had looked down at him, said something cryptic and vaguely threatening—Suzaku couldn't remember exactly what—and then ordered his execution. As the guards started to move, there had been a flare in his vision, and next thing Suzaku knew he was standing at the top of the dais with Emperor Charles sprawled on the marble floor, his head twisted at an impossible angle.
For a moment, the entire throne room seemed to freeze. The guards stared at Suzaku. Suzaku stared at the Emperor. The Emperor, rather unhelpfully, remained dead.
Then someone shouted, "Seize him!"
Later, after slipping him his meal tray, a guard had whispered, with a mix of awe and terror, that security footage showed Suzaku had bypassed the entire defensive line and snapped the Emperor's neck with a mid-air spin kick. While wearing his full ceremonial cape, no less.
And now, apparently, that made him Emperor.
"I murdered the Emperor," Suzaku pointed out, just in case they had forgotten. "That's high treason. You're supposed to execute me."
"You participated in a legitimate transfer of power," Schneizel corrected smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Britannia is built upon the philosophy that the strong rule and the weak perish. That principle extends to the throne itself. It is why our succession laws include the Right by Conquest."
"But I'm not royal."
One of the judges cleared his throat. "The Right by Conquest does not require royal blood."
That was news to him.
"It doesn't?"
"Any Britannian citizen may claim the throne by defeating the reigning sovereign." The judge's gaze briefly drifted toward the Imperial Seal, his expression almost wistful. "Of course, the difficulty has always been finding the opportunity."
Was he jealous?
"So... anyone can?"
"If they manage it."
Suzaku seized the lifeline and shot to his feet, pointing at the judge. "You said any Britannian citizen. I'm Japanese. I'm an Eleven. I can’t—"
"You are an Honorary Britannian," the judge interrupted, adjusting his glasses. "A status legally equivalent to full citizenship."
Suzaku stared at him in utter disbelief.
Ever since he had become one, purebloods and Elevens alike had reminded him that being an Honorary Britannian was a joke. A fake title. That it meant absolutely nothing, and he would never truly be considered one of them no matter how hard he worked.
And now, the one time he needed them to be racist, it suddenly counted as full citizenship?
"That's—that's an honorary title," Suzaku stammered, his voice pitching up slightly. "It doesn't count for royal succession."
"Perhaps not on its own," Schneizel conceded pleasantly. "But you were also formally knighted by the Emperor himself. You are the Knight of Seven. Appointment to the Knights of the Round automatically grants the recipient the highest tier of peerage. In the eyes of the law, you are not only a Britannian citizen, but one sworn to the Crown. You meet every prerequisite."
Suzaku sank back into his chair.