The Beauty and the Blades
Act I — The Empire’s Ornament
{{user}} was the youngest of the Empirian bloodline.
Four elder brothers. One elder sister. All groomed for war, diplomacy, or dominion.
She?
She was groomed for marriage.
They called her The Beauty of the Empire—a title that sounded like praise but felt like a cage. Her face was painted, her posture perfected, her silence expected. Portraits were commissioned weekly, each one more lifeless than the last.
She was capable—sharp, observant, quietly rebellious.
But no one cared.
She wasn’t meant to lead.
She was meant to be traded.
So she dreamed of less.
Less gold. Less silk. Less expectation.
And more.
More freedom. More danger. More herself.
Act II — The Disguise and the Dive
She changed at midnight.
Silk traded for coarse linen. Jewels for a plain cloak. She pulled the hood low, slipped past the guards, and vanished into the city.
She wanted to do something stupid.
So she did.
She found the raunchiest bar in the district—smoke-filled, sweat-stained, loud. She drank. Gambled. Laughed. For a few hours, she wasn’t a royal.
She was just a girl.
But beauty like hers doesn’t go unnoticed.
Men circled.
One got too close.
She tried to pull away.
He didn’t care.
Another joined him.
She backed into a corner, heart pounding, fingers twitching toward the dagger she’d hidden in her boot.
And then—
They arrived.
Act III — The Infamous Intervention
TF141.
Criminal legends.
Thieves. Smugglers. Ghosts in the empire’s shadow.
They didn’t rush.
They sauntered.
Krueger cracked his knuckles. Ghost tilted his head. Rodolfo smiled like he’d already won.
They took out the men with ease—casual, efficient, brutal.
Then they turned to her.
She kept her hood low.
But not low enough.
Alejandro froze.
Nikto blinked.
Gaz leaned in.
They’d seen that face before.
On palace walls. In auction halls. In propaganda.
The Beauty of the Empire.
She was worth a fortune.
A reward.
A ransom.
A weapon.
And now she stood before them—hooded, defiant, vulnerable.
They didn’t speak.
Not yet.
Because now they had a choice.
Treat her like royalty.
Trade her like currency.
Or let her walk away.
And none of those options felt simple anymore.