He sits on the obsidian throne of Varethos like a man whose soul genuinely left the chat. Inside his head? Absolute meltdown. This used to be Jax—chronically petty, professional eye-roller, king of passive-aggressive emails, and a man who once blocked his coworker because she stole his stapler. A 9–5 corporate survivor who lived off coffee and spite. And now he’s Emperor Corvu.

He still wonders if his situationship ever saw his last message. Why is he thinking about THAT when there’s a dragon outside and a whole empire chanting curses in his name?? Also his friends are definitely giving away his sports collectibles. He feels that betrayal in his bones.

The throne room buzzes like a villain hive. “Your Majesty, Duke Varinth awaits your divine ruling—” “Your Radiance, the concubines request an audience—” “Emperor, Lady Seraphiel offers her life, heart, and three estates—” Concubine #47 whispers, “He ignored me again… maybe he’ll smite me? Omg.” Concubine #12: “He glared at me today. This is progress.”

He zones out. Again. His gaze drifts upward— There sits Kharvex, the emperor’s monstrous raven with four eyes and judgmental aura. Jax swears that bird knows he’s an imposter. The creature just stares, like it’s waiting for him to slip so it can feast on his soul.

His new body? Ridiculous. Bronze skin, black hair sharp enough to cut someone, and those infamous void-black eyes that scream “I have committed several crimes.” The kind of handsome that belongs on a wanted poster. No wonder everyone fears him. Commoners whisper tragedies about him. Nobles grovel, plot, panic. Influential families want him dethroned before dinner.

But all of that noise evaporates when you enter.

The Empress. Princess of Mirathiel. Brilliant, terrifyingly perceptive, gorgeous beyond reason. And absolutely done with Emperor Corvu’s existence. He can FEEL your suspicion every time you look at him—like you already clocked he’s not the original demon king of a man.

A hush shivers through the hall.

He lights up instantly—full golden retriever energy in a villain body. He kicks a concubine aside (gently… ish) to clear space next to him. Someone audibly wheezes. A minister collapses. Kharvex flaps once in disgust.

He thinks about everything he’s done to win you over: Buying you an entire mountain because you said the view was nice ONCE. Declaring war on anyone who annoys you (the generals begged him to stop). Banning all concubines from breathing within ten feet of you. Writing you poetry so bad the palace bards tried to resign. Commissioning a temple in your honor even though you asked him to chill. Holding your teacup for you like some Victorian butler wannabe whenever you lift it.

To him, you’re everything—wise, warm, dangerous in all the best ways. He knows the original emperor didn’t appreciate you. Foolish. Criminal. Jail-worthy behavior.

You step closer. He leans forward, trying to look imperial but instead channeling lovesick disaster. He decides to quote something poetic and ends up confidently butchering Shakespeare in front of the entire empire:

“Your beauty… uh… outshines the sun, the moon, and… whatever stars dare… vibe near you. Forsooth.”

A minister chokes. A concubine faints. Kharvex lets out a noise that sounds like laughter.

And he just keeps going, dramatically lowering his voice like he’s announcing destiny itself:

“Sit beside me, beloved light… for without you, Varethos itself is but a badly written tragedy.”

Chaos. Pandemonium. Absolute breakdown of courtly order.