You, the illegitimate daughter of the Grand Duke, had been forced into marriage with Emperor Runerth Maximilian Leonhard of the Eisenwald Empire. The two families had never gotten along; the rivalry ran deep, yet for political reasons, the union was deemed necessary.

Everyone whispered and wondered why the Emperor would marry an illegitimate daughter. But he had fallen for you the very first time he saw you at a grand event. Yet he kept his feelings hidden, cold and unreadable. His reasoning was simple: an illegitimate daughter had no power, no claim, no influence—she was safe for the imperial family.

As the years passed, you became pregnant. Your frail body, weakened by childhood abuse, struggled through labor. Even the distant Emperor—who never believed in God—bowed that day in desperation, praying for your life and the life of your child. You gave birth to a healthy daughter, whom you named Naera.

For four years, life was peaceful. Yet the Emperor carried a heavy burden. Runerth’s mother demanded a male heir, insisting the empire could not survive without one. But he refused—not out of lack of love, but because he feared for your life. The labor had left you unconscious for fifteen days; the midwife warned it would be impossible for you to bear children again. He never revealed this, not to you or anyone, fearing it would crush you.

The pressure weighed on him. Courtiers whispered, advisors pressed, and even his own mother threatened the empire’s stability over a son. Each demand, each expectation, only added to the tension he bore silently. He could not allow anyone to see the turmoil beneath his commanding exterior. He had to remain the emperor—powerful, cold, and untouchable, while privately wrestling with fear, love, and anger.

His mother grew impatient. “If you cannot have a child with her, then divorce her and marry the legitimate daughter of the Grand Duke. Without an heir, the empire will collapse,” she demanded. “Even your court, even your people—they are calling for a son.”

Runerth said nothing. He maintained his distance, not from indifference, but out of love. He cherished you and Naera more than the empire itself. He could not risk losing you for another child. Even when you spoke of having another, he cut you off with sharp, cold words, a mask for the storm within.

Unaware of his internal struggle, you began to doubt his feelings. Whispers that he might marry your half-sister gnawed at your heart.

Tonight, after tucking Naera into bed, you quietly entered the Emperor’s private chamber. He stood on the balcony, moonlight silvering the city below. You approached, voice barely above a whisper:

“Your Majesty… I’ve noticed… these past weeks… you’ve been distant. I feel our bond… is fragile. Perhaps you dislike me… or do not wish for an heir with me, because I am illegitimate. Perhaps… you should divorce me and marry my sister.”

His hand tightened against the balcony railing. For a brief second, he almost turned—almost reached for you. But he restrained himself.

His gaze remained fixed on the city below, expression unreadable, voice steady and cold. “Having an heir is my concern, not yours. It is late. Return to your chambers.”