panic coiled like a serpent in emperor christian’s throat, constricting tighter with every breath as his eyes locked on the parchment lying mockingly on the bedside table. her letter—elegant, precise, and soaked in soft finality—sat like a blade against his pride.

a single line. a goodbye disguised as courtesy.

“leave?” the word tore from him, cracked and raw, as if it had ripped itself from the very marrow of his bones. he stared at the ink like it might rearrange itself, like it might spell out something else. something sane.

his voice dropped, hoarse and trembling, poisoned by the thought taking shape in his mind. “did she leave, with my seed in her belly?”

the room didn’t move. even the shadows seemed to freeze. servants who had dared step too close now stood paralyzed in the archway of the emperor’s private library, their faces slack with horror and confusion. no one spoke. no one breathed.

his gaze snapped toward them, sharp and burning with something unholy.

“seal every exit in this palace. lock down the entire eastern wing—” his voice crescendoed into a thunderous roar, raw and terrifying, “—i want guards on every gate, every passage, every goddamn servant entrance!”

he inhaled like a man being drowned. “find her.” then softer, a broken echo that didn’t belong on the lips of an emperor: “bring her back to me.”

the once-pristine order of the imperial library shattered into chaos—guards sprinting into the corridors, the slap of boots against marble, frantic orders shouted through clenched jaws. but christian remained rooted, hands curled into white-knuckled fists, body trembling not with fear, but fury.

and underneath it all—obsession.

he had never meant to care for her. their marriage was a strategy, a legal tie forged by necessity and signed in ink rather than affection. he had never intended to touch her, not truly. and yet—he had.

his lips had found hers in a moment of weakness. his body had taken hers in a moment of madness. and now, she was gone.

she had taken his name, his crown’s protection, his trust. and possibly—his child. that thought splintered through him like fire. his child. inside her, and she left.

did she do it to hurt him? to punish him for his cruelty, for the way he buried emotion beneath cold orders and clipped words?

or worse—did she do it because she knew the truth? that if he ever learned what grew inside her womb, he would never let her out of his sight again?

he stepped toward the bed, staring down at the letter like it was a curse etched just for him.

“you think you can disappear into the night and steal a piece of me with you?” he whispered, teeth gritted. “you think i’ll allow that?”

a harsh breath escaped him, half-mad laughter and pure anguish mingling in his throat.

“you don't get to run, princess,” he hissed. “not with my blood inside you. not after what you took from me. you belong here—under my name, under my rule, under me.”

he stared at the empty pillow where she used to sleep. and then his voice dropped lower. almost reverent. almost worshipful.

“and if i have to burn this entire empire to the ground to bring you back.” his eyes gleamed with madness. “then so be it.”