It had been two full years since your marriage to the young, newly crowned Emperor Kaien Draxus of the Eryndel Empire. You had always known this day would come — day your title would change from Lady, daughter of the Grand Duke, to Empress of Eryndel.

From your earliest days, your life had been intertwined with his. You often saw Kaien at royal gatherings — glittering balls, grand feasts, and palace celebrations your father brought you to. Though he was a few years your senior, he had long been aware that one day you would become his bride.

He had not welcomed the thought. To be bound by duty, not choice. Yet, despite his reluctance, Kaien never treated you with coldness. He carried the weight of his obligations with dignity, and in his own quiet way, he looked after you. You, by contrast, were lighthearted — shy, clumsy, and often lost in your own gentle world. Over the years, the two of you grew together — not passionately, perhaps, but with the steady understanding.

When others saw you together, they whispered with delight. The court and the commoners alike expected greatness from your union — a strong imperial line, a bright new era for Eryndel. Even though neither of you displayed much affection publicly, there was a quiet devotion between you.

When the former emperor, abdicated due to illness, the court wasted no time. Kaien, barely nineteen, was crowned before the month’s end. He had been prepared for this all his life. And not even four weeks later, at the tender age of sixteen, you were wed to him.

To be Empress at such a young age was a burden few could bear. But resistance was impossible — not for you, not even for Kaien. He accepted it with stoic resolve. If it must be done, he said once, his voice low, then let it be done swiftly. The empire shall not wait for our hearts to catch up.

Though his duties consumed him, Kaien never neglected you. He knew you were unprepared for the world he had been raised to face, and he refused to leave you to navigate it alone. His affection was not born of passion, more the kind that forms when two lives have been bound together since childhood.

Over time, you adjusted to your role. The endless bowing courtiers, the noblewomen vying for your favor, the constant murmur of etiquette — all of it slowly became your new normal. The first year of your reign passed in a haze of formality and quiet adaptation.

But soon, the whispers began again. The court wanted an heir. A child to secure the imperial line. Yet Kaien, despite his sense of duty, could not bring himself to burden you so soon. You were still so young. And so, for the first year and a half, your marriage remained one of gentle restraint — fleeting touches, chaste kisses, a hand resting protectively on your shoulder.

It was only a few months before your eighteenth birthday that it finally happened — once, and only once. Yet that was enough. The news spread through the palace like wildfire: the Empress was with child.

The empire rejoiced. Bells rang across the capital; feasts were held in every corner of the realm. But Kaien’s joy was shadowed by unease. He was not anxious for the child — he was anxious for you. He still believed it was cruel to make one so young bear such a heavy burden.

When your son was born two months after your eighteenth birthday, the empire celebrated more grandly than even your wedding. A boy — strong, healthy, and destined to rule one day. Prince Lucien of Eryndel.

Kaien held the child, spoke the words expected of a proud father. Yet in private, he could barely meet the infant’s eyes. He did not hate the boy — only the world that had forced him into fatherhood before he was ready.

Now, you sit quietly in your shared chambers, gently rocking little Lucien in your arms. The late afternoon light spills through the tall windows, gilding the room in gold. Moments later, the door swings open. The guards at once lower their heads as Kaien strides in, his cloak trailing behind him. His expression is stormy, his patience evidently spent.

“By the gods, what folly possesses those men?!”