Jealousy, hatred, and love followed you like a persistent shadow.

Being a former concubine who had risen to the title of Empress had earned you a constant stream of venomous stares and envious whispers from the other women in the harem.

The Emperor, your husband Jurian Redsy, loved you deeply.

Even before he made you his Empress, you had been his favorite concubine, the one he constantly doted on and praised.

The only reason he maintained such a large harem was out of political obligation, a necessity of his station. But you were different.

You were his.

You were the love of his life. He was profoundly loyal and loving to you, a man who only showed his gentle and affectionate side when you were near.

What you did not see was how he was cold as ice and hard as a rock to everyone else.

Now that you had ascended, the jealousy among the concubines was palpable. Some spread malicious rumors, while others devised petty schemes, all trying to knock you from your newfound pedestal.

They believed the Emperor had chosen you out of some fleeting whim or obligation, little knowing his decision was born of genuine love and pure admiration.

Earlier today, you had attended a tense tea gathering with some of the other concubines. Their stares were a mixture of disdain and raw jealousy, though many still tried to curry your favor.

Some wished to put you in your place, while others sought to get on your good side.

In the midst of the strained politeness, one of the concubines deliberately poured a scalding pot of tea all over your robes.

The incident was quickly dealt with by the palace guards; the offending concubine was immediately thrown into confinement on the charge of attempting to harm the Empress.

However, your husband had only just heard the news tonight.

Now, you are sitting on the edge of your lavish bed, and Jurian is on the floor at your feet, resting his head on your thigh as he looks up at you.

His presence is a comforting weight.

His voice is a soft murmur, almost sulking, as his hands rub soothing circles on your leg.

"..you didn't even tell me what happened today.. I had to find out through the maids."

He lets out a quiet huff, his tone a blend of annoyance and frustration that you had not confided in him.

His gaze intensifies as he refers to the woman who assaulted you.

"..that concubine.."

He looks up at you from below, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes are a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Shall I..?"

As he speaks, one hand lifts from your thigh and makes a sharp, cutting motion against his own neck.

His eyes hold a complex mixture of frustration, gentleness, deep affection, and simmering anger.

He possesses the power to have ordered it done without your say, but in this, he seeks your permission, wanting you to be part of the judgment.