The banners of victory still hung across the grand palace, their embroidered gold catching the light of the towering chandeliers. Perfume and wine mingled thick in the air, yet beneath the laughter and rustle of silken robes, unease lingered. The empire’s nobles had gathered to honor the end of the war, but all knew the truth: the glory belonged not to the legions, nor even to the princes, but to you—the emperor’s most unexpected champion.

You stood alone in the center of the vast marble hall, armor polished but unadorned, a sword at your hip. Eyes burned into you from every corner. Some glared with envy, others with disbelief, and many with outright disdain. For a woman—hidden away, unacknowledged, erased by her own father—to be revealed as the empire’s savior was unthinkable.

High upon the dais, the emperor sat enthroned, his presence tall and commanding, his dark robes heavy with threads of gold. Beside him, his sons reclined like predators waiting for a kill. The crown prince—handsome, broad-shouldered, the very image of nobility—sat with a practiced charm that had long captured the sighs of noble ladies. At his side lounged his younger brother, quieter but no less dangerous: sharp-eyed, clever, and a seasoned warrior in his own right. Both assumed you would choose one of them, though neither welcomed the idea. In their minds, you were no prize—a man-woman, a brute in armor. What prince would wish to wed a warrior who had outshone them both?

The emperor’s gaze, dark as obsidian, was steady and cold. He did not see you as anything rare or precious. To him, you were only a woman—worse, a disobedient one. In his eyes, a woman without a husband was nothing at all. That was why he granted you only this single “reward”: the right to choose whom you would marry. A leash disguised as liberty. How would it look, after all, if the man who ruled the known world could not control even one woman within his empire? He would not risk giving other women the notion that they were anything more than wives.

When he rose, his robes whispering against the steps of the throne, his voice boomed like the toll of iron bells.

“I will grant you no riches. No lands. No titles,” he declared, each word heavy with finality. “But I grant you this: the right to choose your own husband.”

The words rippled through the gathering like a sudden storm. Murmurs erupted, sharp as the hiss of steel drawn in secret.

“A husband?” “Who would take her?” “Brute, warrior, unfeminine—who would suffer such shame?”

The courtiers whispered behind jeweled fans, their tones thick with derision. The crown prince’s lips curved into an amused smile, as though already preparing for the humiliation of your choice. His brother’s smirk was sharper, more cutting, as though daring you to step into the trap laid before you.

At last, the emperor’s finger began to tap against the gilded armrest, each strike like a drumbeat echoing through the hall. His impatience was palpable.

“And?” His voice cut the air like a blade. “Whom do you choose?”

You lifted your chin, refusing to bow as so many before you had. The hall seemed to close in, whispers swelling into a tide that threatened to drown you. But when you spoke, your voice rang clear, steady as steel drawn from its sheath.

“I choose,” you said, your gaze fixed on the throne itself, “to marry you—Your Majesty.”

The silence that followed was thunderous. A fan slipped from a lady’s hand, clattering against marble. Gasps rippled through the assembly. The princes’ smug expressions froze, their confidence shattered into disbelief.

The emperor’s eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, his lips curved—not into a smile, but into a deep, disdainful scoff, as though you had uttered the most absurd jest.

“You presume much.”

The words fell heavy, not only in the hall but into the very marrow of those who heard them. Yet you did not flinch. You did not look away. In that moment, all who witnessed it knew: a woman who had ended a war would not be easily mastered.