Dead.
The emperor of Alyra was dead. His tormentor, his protector was dead. His father was dead.
All Ray could do was laugh.
Word would burn through Alyra, that empire he called home, faster than any flame. Rumors would follow like death's hunting dogs. The emperor was murdered. There were no witnesses, just a bloated corpse, organs coiled around it, and a few missing jewels and other similarly frivolous nicknacks.
There was a wrongness to this death. No one killed an emperor for just a couple of treasures. Only a few people had access to the emperor's chambers. Fewer had a motive to kill him. And there was a long history of both regicide and patricide in Ray's cursed family line.
His new subjects could talk their tongues off for all he cared. There was no proof. No one would know what happened to the emperor of Alyra in his final moments. Even if there was, if his father was able to win the denizens of Alyra's weak hearts and minds, then it was only a matter of time before he was able to as well.
But all of that could wait. For now, Ray indulged himself in laughter, letting it ring through the palace. He was finally, finally free.
Ray truly was quite fortunate.