It was not only the Ottomans and other foreign powers that were stunned by the outcome of the war.
The Queen of Cities, Constantinople—the ancient capital bearing a thousand years of history in its slow decline—could not deny the achievements of Prince Constantine.
Naturally, as much as Prince Constantine had accomplished, the capital’s influence had declined even further.
From the very beginning, the capital had contributed nothing to this war, doing nothing but pleading for the prince’s help.
And exactly one week after the news of the war’s conclusion reached the capital—
The war faction, once centered around Emperor John and Despot Theodoros, had gathered in one wing of the Blachernae Palace, their expressions hardened.
And the reason was simple—the people standing before them.
The conservatives, led by Grand Chancellor Loukas Notaras.
These men, who should have remained under house arrest, were here now because of Notaras himself.
The moment the war faction’s strength weakened, the old chancellor had gone straight to the deposed emperor.
Though John had taken the throne, neither the Empire nor its people had forgotten the sacrifices of Emperor Manuel.
The guards assigned to monitor those under house arrest obeyed the old chancellor , who carried a direct decree from the former emperor.
Once freed, the gathered conservatives knew that their moment had come, and under Notaras’s lead, they marched unchallenged into Blachernae Palace.
There was no one in the capital who could stop them.
Even the only man who might have stood in their way, the young secretary Georgios Sphrantzes, remained silent.
He merely stood beside the empty throne, observing the confrontation between the two factions.
Though the war faction had once drawn strength from youthful fervor and strategic ambitions, their downfall had long been foreseen by the conservatives, who understood the true limits of the Empire.
Yet, in truth, the war faction had not failed entirely.
The results of the war were too ambiguous to be called an outright defeat.
Had Prince Constantine foreseen this outcome?
The young Sphrantzes pondered this question.
Could they truly call this a victory?
The Ottomans had been repelled, and Larissa had been reclaimed with its rightful ownership acknowledged. Even taking into account the cession of Thessalonica to Venice, this was an extraordinary achievement.
And it was precisely this ambiguous result that had prevented the war faction from being completely removed.
After all, their core argument—that war was inevitable—aligned with Prince Constantine’s actions on the battlefield.
The reason the war faction had lost power was not the war itself. It was the failure of John and Theodoros, who had implemented their strategies with the war faction’s support.
Their plan had relied on the Wallachian army marching south and a Bulgarian rebellion bringing an early end to the war.
But Grand Mustafa had suffered a crushing defeat, the capital had been besieged, and the Second Prince, Theodoros, had ridden out with confidence to break the siege—only to disappear without a trace.
One thing, however, was certain.
Now, no one can deny it, Your Majesty.
The stories surrounding Prince Constantine had taken on the quality of legend.
From his ruthless decision to set entire cities ablaze to his stand against the fearsome Janissaries with only a hundred knights, and his audacious ambushes against the Sipahis—he had accomplished feats that even Emperor Manuel had hesitated to attempt.
No, considering how much worse the situation was now than in Manuel’s time, the fact that he had achieved this at all was nothing short of miraculous.
No one could deny it any longer—Prince Constantine was the Empire’s final hope, its last remaining defender.
A belief once held by only a few had now taken root in every heart.
The war faction that had once advocated for battle, the conservatives who followed the will of Emperor Manuel, those who had waited in desperation for salvation, and even those who had resigned themselves to the Empire’s inevitable ruin—all now understood this truth.
And the Empire was not the only one aware of it.
As these thoughts lingered, footsteps echoed from behind.
Sphrantzes drew a steady breath before breaking the heavy silence shared between the two factions.
“His Majesty is entering.”
“His Majesty, is it…”
Notaras’s murmured words reflected the sentiment of the conservatives.
The war faction, knowing that their only remaining pillar of support had arrived, straightened with renewed determination, while the conservatives clenched their jaws, their faces set in grim expressions.
The rift between Emperor John and his predecessor had long since become irreparable.
To the people of the capital, the conservative faction’s greatest enemy had just entered the room.
And at last, at the heart of the court, the emperor appeared.
John stood radiant in golden robes, his gaze sweeping across the gathered assembly. Though exhaustion shadowed his face, worn from contemplation, his striking features still shone.
Yet it was not mere beauty that unsettled the conservatives—it was the undeniable aura of one born to rule, an innate grace granted only to emperors.
“With such radiance… how could it have come to this…”
A quiet sigh escaped from somewhere in the room.
Seemingly unaware of the emotions swirling around him, John’s gaze eventually landed on Notaras, and a faint, bitter smile appeared on his lips.
“You have come to rebuke me for my failures.”
“That is not the case. Today, we have matters far more pressing than that, do we not?”
Despite Notaras’s sharp retort, John did not respond.
He knew the old chancellor was right.
The matter at hand was far too grave for them to waste time assigning blame.
With a solemn nod, he walked toward the imperial throne and seated himself.
Only after this final movement did Sphrantzes step forward, holding an unsealed letter, and spoke in a clear, unwavering voice.
“Now that all are present, we shall proceed with today’s matter. This is a letter from His Highness Constantine, Prince of Morea.”
Sprantzes read the contents of the letter aloud, expressing each word clearly.
The letter from the prince contained little difference from the message sent to him by the Pope. Yet, its contents were just as shocking to everyone.
The moment they heard that the Pope had offered to conduct a coronation, exclamations of astonishment burst forth from everyone, regardless of rank or faction.
Being well-versed in political affairs, they quickly grasped the Pope’s true intent. But that was not all. When Prince Constantine quoted these events as justification for establishing an archbishopric, the opposition became even fiercer.
“The Latins are trying to divide us!”
“We have not yet forgotten how they ravaged this city.”
“This is undoubtedly a cunning scheme to suppress the Patriarch and expand the influence of the Western Church over Greece. Your Majesty, you must summon Prince Dragases immediately and interrogate him thoroughly in case he has made a secret pact with the Western Church!”
Amid the noise erupting from both the war faction and the conservatives, Emperor John finally reacted to the last statement. He murmured so quietly that only Sprantzes, with his sharp ears, caught his words.
“So, even you call him Dragases…”
“Your Majesty?”
“No, it is nothing.”
Aside from Sprantzes, no one else seemed to have heard. John shook his head slowly and let out a deep sigh. What finally broke his composure was the next remark.
“Your Majesty, you must strip Prince Dragases of his titles. If he defects to the Western Church, we will be engulfed in civil war before long.”
At that moment, John, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
“That is not such a distant concern.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. The longer Prince Dragases is left unchecked, the greater the empire’s danger will become.”
“What I have come to realize is that a throne occupied by only one is of no use at all.”
“…What do you mean by that, Your Majesty?”
John did not answer. Instead, his mind drifted to a conversation he had once had with his father—the father who had believed in him to the very end despite his shortcomings.
The father who had lamented the heavy burden his son would have to bear.
John had understood his father’s sincerity, and for that reason, he would not waver.
No one had desired the survival of the empire more earnestly than his father.
And so, before him, John had made his vow.
—Before God, I swear to protect Constantine.
“If Prince Constantine receives coronation from the Pope, it would be equivalent to the establishment of a new Latin kingdom on this land. The creation of an archbishopric in Morea would mean the division of this nation in two. That, I cannot allow.”
“Then we must—”
“Therefore,”
John recalled the words his father had once spoken.
Constantine is the blade. I am the sheath.
The sheath exists not only to prevent the blade from cutting itself.
It also shields the blade from rusting under the elements.
John knew better than anyone what he wanted—and what he had to do.
There was only one course of action he could take.
“I hereby proclaim Prince Constantine as co-emperor, and his coronation shall be held in Constantinople.”
“Your Majesty?!”
Was it shock that made them cry out, or was it rejection?
John paid no heed to the voices rising against him.
His gaze sharpened with conviction.
“This was an inevitability. Constantine has not only stabilized Morea but has also reclaimed central Greece, securing Larissa and the Thessalian region—achievements no one before him has accomplished. Though Thessalonica was lost, that loss is more than offset by…”
John remembered why he had stood up in the first place.
A frail, fragile boy who had once risen to defy fate itself.
He had once thought his feeble fluttering would be swallowed by the raging storm.
But things were different now.
“…The possibility he has shown us that we have a chance to drive out the Turks.”
The sound of grinding teeth filled the room.
No one could find the words to oppose him any further.
This was a decision to share power—something he had once deemed impossible, even with his own blood.
Who could dare to stop him now?
—I will hesitate no longer.
Nor will I lose my way.
The Turks would be driven out.
He would reclaim the lands that had been stripped away for centuries.
And those who had died helplessly, while the empire watched in powerlessness, would finally have their justice.
He would no longer be blinded by the false brilliance of an empire that bore only the hollow name of [Rome].
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