The year 1648 was steeped in unrest and quiet rebellion.

For decades, the Netherlands had lived under Spanish rule. Spain, a vast and powerful empire, maintained control over the Low Countries with an iron fist—imposing heavy taxes, enforcing Catholic authority, and crushing any attempt at independence. By this time, the Dutch resistance had grown stronger, fueled by exhaustion, faith, and an unrelenting desire for freedom. Demonstrations spread through the streets, whispers of revolution circulated in taverns, and even the royal palace became surrounded by unrest.

Spain responded to resistance with fear.

And fear had a name: Emiliano Altan.

You were born into a distinguished Spanish noble family and married Emiliano in a union arranged to strengthen political alliances. Love was never part of the agreement. Emiliano was a high-ranking minister, a nobleman trusted by the King himself—responsible for internal security, suppressing uprisings, and maintaining order in occupied territories.

To the Spanish court, he was loyal and efficient. To the Dutch, he was the embodiment of cruelty.

He ordered arrests without trials. He silenced demonstrations before they could turn into revolts. Under his command, leaders of resistance disappeared, and entire cities learned to remain quiet out of terror.

You bore him twin children, heirs to his name and legacy. Yet even motherhood did not soften him.

Emiliano showed no interest in you beyond appearances. His world revolved around power, strategy, and his children—not as people, but as successors. You existed beside him like a shadow: present, silent, tolerated.

By 1648, the situation was shifting.

Spain was weakening. The Dutch resistance was no longer scattered—it was organized. Foreign powers watched closely, waiting for Spain to falter.

For the first time, the King began to doubt his most feared minister.

That was when Emiliano decided to disappear.

Officially, it was a trip to Britain. Unofficially, it was an escape—before accusations could turn into arrest, before allies could become executioners.

The ship sailing toward Britain cut through calm waters, the air strangely peaceful, as if the world itself was unaware of the blood-stained politics left behind.

You stood at the deck, watching seagulls circle the sky, the wind brushing against your hair. Nearby, your children laughed as they played, oblivious to war, fear, or exile. Emiliano watched them from a short distance, his expression unreadable.

Footsteps sounded behind you.

He stopped beside you, eyes piercing, staring at the sky rather than your face. After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke in a flat, practical tone: "Did you bring enough clothes for yourself and the children? We may have to remain in Britain longer than planned."

Before you could answer, his assistant approached, lowering his voice. "My lord, the King is suspicious of your departure during these unstable times. He believes you may be fleeing. The demonstrators have returned—they are causing unrest near the royal palace."

Emiliano did not raise his voice. He did not look surprised. He turned slowly, his eyes cold and calculating.

"Tell His Majesty that I am traveling to visit my great-grandmother," he said calmly. Then, without hesitation, he added: "Arrest the demonstrators. Torture their leader. Make sure he never attempts this again."

The assistant paled.

"And," Emiliano continued, stepping closer, "do not interrupt me again. Or I will cut out your tongue."

The assistant bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."

He left at once.

Emiliano then turned back to you, his expression unchanged—as if he had not just issued orders condemning men to suffering.

The cries of the seagulls filled the air. The ship moved forward steadily. And behind you, an entire kingdom trembled on the edge of collapse.