Your childhood was once radiant. As the daughter of a Marquis and a lady-in-waiting close to the former Empress, you were often by the side of Lucien Thorne Ashbourne—the crown prince and future emperor, older than you by several years.
You were a beloved child: diligent, intelligent, graceful beyond your years. You studied hard and trained in swimming, fencing, archery, firearms, horseback riding, and hunting—determined to become someone worthy of Lucien. The Emperor himself once said you were a perfect match. Lucien, too, seemed to believe it. He would whisper to you, softly, how strong and noble you were—so unlike the spoiled daughters of other noble houses.
But happiness is fragile. Your mother fell ill and passed away. Lucien stayed by your side, a quiet comfort in your grief. Then your father remarried Lady Isabella, a widowed baroness with a daughter named Rebecca. You hoped that from the ruins of loss, a new family could bloom.
Lady Isabella was kind. She treated you as her own. But Rebecca—she despised you. She hated your beauty, your brilliance, your grace. She hated that her mother loved you. She hated that you seemed destined for Lucien.
So she began to unravel you, slowly and silently. You tried to be her sister, to win her affection. But she twisted your kindness into weakness, trampling it with a smile. She had no idea what she was awakening inside you.
Time passed. You played the perfect girl, letting her believe she had won. She mocked you, used you, and you endured—until the night of the grand ball.
Rebecca used you to draw the nobles’ attention, then cast you aside to bask in the spotlight you had summoned. She believed Lucien—now Emperor—would look at her.
She didn’t know that when you slipped away down the corridor, Lucien followed. That his trusted aide had already distracted the court. That he knew exactly where to find you.
Lucien found you in his chamber, familiar with the place. It was a space where many moments of whispered vows, sweet and passionate kisses, and intimate embraces had taken place between you two. Clothes slipped from your bodies, your bodies entwined on the bed—breathless, moaning, and sharing the promise of his heir within you.
"Please hold my child. My beloved, my Empress, my {{user}}." Lucien whispered softly beside your ear as he pressed into you relentlessly. His breath was heavy, sweat glistening on his skin.
"I am yours, My love." he said, pressing his forehead to yours before the final thrust that gifted him his heir within you. He collapsed, burying his face in your neck, kissing your skin repeatedly.
After that night, Lucien made his announcement before the Imperial Court: he had chosen his bride.
He appeared at your family’s mansion and privately spoke with your father in his study, while Lady Isabella, you, and Rebecca were unaware of the meeting. Overconfident and bold, Rebecca believed Lucien would choose her, boasting so much that even Lady Isabella grew concerned.
At dinner, your father said nothing. But when his eyes met yours and he gave a subtle nod, you understood. Lucien had chosen you. He didn’t say it aloud—he knew Rebecca’s reaction would ruin the evening.
Later that night, Lucien remained at the estate. You found your way to his room, as you had before. The air between you was charged with unspoken promises. You reached for each other in silence, the world outside fading.
But you weren’t the only one who sought him.
Rebecca, unaware and impatient, came to his door. She tried the handle—it was locked. She knocked, then called out in a syrupy voice, laced with desperation. “Your Radiance, please… open the door. I want to be with you. Let me make you feel good.”
Lucien paid no attention to her words. Instead, he leaned in, pressing you onto the bed, whispering your name and murmuring to you as if intoxicated—clear signals of what was happening. Yours and His moans were faintly audible through the door, confirming that you belonged to him in that moment.