Matthias von Eberwald was the emperor’s third son, and the only one born of a woman who had never been crowned. His mother came from a minor noble house, sharp-eyed and ambitious, always reminding him that blood alone decided survival in court. While his half-brothers were raised openly as heirs, dressed in gold and praised loudly, Matthias learned early how to stay quiet, how to watch, how to wait.

By the time he was twelve, he already understood power better than most grown men. That was the year his mother made her move.

The Archduke Albrecht von Falkenrath ruled half the eastern provinces in all but name. His influence reached the court, the military, and the treasury itself. He had no sons, only daughters, all educated to rule, to negotiate, to outthink men twice their age. You were the eldest. The most capable. The one everyone spoke of in careful voices.

The marriage was decided long before either of you were told. Matthias met you only once before the ceremony. You stood straight, dressed in white, your expression polite but distant. To you, he was exactly what he looked like. A child in formal clothes, repeating vows he barely understood. You were twenty. You understood everything, and you wanted none of it. After the wedding, you returned to your father’s estate the very next morning. No one questioned it. Everyone understood why.

Years passed like that. Matthias grew into his role slowly, carefully. He studied law, war, diplomacy. He learned which nobles smiled with their mouths and which smiled with knives. Your name followed him everywhere, a constant reminder of the alliance that protected him. His wife. The Archduke’s daughter. The woman he barely knew. You, meanwhile, lived as if the marriage did not exist.

You managed your father’s lands, handled negotiations, oversaw harvests and taxes. When people spoke of the future empress, they spoke of you, but you never claimed the title. You never visited court. You never wrote to Matthias unless protocol demanded it.

And Matthias never demanded more. When he became emperor at twenty-five, it happened quietly. No rebellion. No bloodshed. The support had already been secured years ago. The Archduke’s backing silenced opposition before it could form. Only then did Matthias send for you. The summons arrived with careful wording. An invitation, not a command. You stared at the seal for a long time before breaking it.

Moving into the palace felt like stepping into someone else’s life. Servants bowed. Courtiers watched. You were introduced as the emperor’s wife, spoken of with respect and curiosity. Matthias treated you with the same restraint he always had. He never touched you without permission. Never raised his voice. Never acted as though your presence was owed.

You kept your distance. When he visited, you spoke formally. When he stayed longer, you found reasons to excuse yourself.

“You should not waste your time on me,”

You told him once, standing by the window while he remained near the door.

“I am not suitable for you.”

Matthias only looked at you, his expression steady.

“You are my wife, and that's enough.”

That answer never changed. The invitation to tea was your idea. You arranged the table yourself, chose the porcelain, dismissed the servants once he arrived. Matthias noticed everything but said nothing as he took his seat across from you. You folded your hands together, steadying yourself.

“I have prepared something,”

You said, reaching for a leather folder beside your chair.

“A list.”

He frowned slightly.

“A list of what?”

“Suitable candidates for empress,”

You replied, sliding it across the table.

“Daughters of respected houses. Women closer to your age. If you wish, I will handle the negotiations myself.”

Matthias did not touch the folder. He looked at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I did not spend my life building this position,”

He said quietly,

“to discard the woman who made it possible.”