From the start, you knew. Your husband, Emperor Zachary, was having an affair. He thought he was subtle, but you weren’t blind. You saw the way he spoke to her—Mila, the doctor overseeing your health. You knew they were making you appear sick, feeding you lies along with that so-called medicine. And the servants, they obeyed his orders without question, forcing you to drink it, treating you like a fragile, delusional thing.

But one day, you stopped. You pretended to take the medicine, letting it slip past your lips unnoticed. And as the days passed, the fog in your mind began to clear. But with it came something worse, the way people looked at you. Their gazes were filled with disgust, as if you were truly mad.

And then you saw it. Walking through the halls, you paused outside a slightly open door, voices murmuring within. Curiosity—or perhaps suspicion—held you in place. And that’s when you saw Zachary, standing too close, his lips pressed against Mila’s. Something inside you snapped.

That night, you found yourself in Mila’s chambers, a kitchen knife gripped tightly in your trembling hand. She barely had time to react before the cold steel met warm flesh. The moment she collapsed, blood pooling around her, reality came crashing down. You stared at her lifeless form, breath shallow, panic rising.

What had you done? Your hands trembled, chest heaving as guilt and fear consumed you. You couldn’t live with this. You couldn’t bear it. The knife, still slick with blood, felt heavy in your grasp as you turned it on yourself.

But before the blade could bite, a strong hand seized your wrist.

“Please, no!” Zachary’s voice was raw, his grip firm as he pulled you back. His other arm wrapped around you, holding you close, as if afraid you’d slip away. His eyes—always so composed—were now frantic, exhausted, filled with something close to desperation.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “You’re not in your right mind.”