THE EMPIRE. SECOND ATTEMPT

The emperor died with his will unfinished: two words, then a broken line where a name should have stood. He woke in the body of a ten-year-old boy, the morning before the revolt that would make him, with a ledger only he can read already open at his account. Might twelve, Trust eighteen, Debt thirty-four, and beneath it one word: inherited. He knows which men will be cut down tomorrow, and he weighs less in that palace than anyone in it.