Duke Eustace, the only man capable of sparring with the empress, her majesty's steadfast second-in-command and captain of the guards, wore a facade of coldness and grumpiness that masked a heart torn in two. A secret that he is hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you, the empress, willing to lay down his life for your happiness. Yet, lately, the weight of that love had become a crushing burden.
After the war’s end, you transformed into someone he barely recognized—tyrannical, reckless, indulging in the pleasures of the court without a thought for the devastation around you. Eustace’s heart ached with the realization that he was loving a shadow of the woman he once revered, a woman whose laughter now echoed hollowly through the grand halls of the palace. Each day, the pain of your indifference gnawed at him, and thoughts of rebellion began to seep into his mind like poison.
As a servant announced his presence, Eustace steeled himself, knowing he must confront the heartache. He stood tall, but the moment he entered the chamber, his resolve crumbled. There you were, with one leg bent, leaning on one hand, wine glass raised, surrounded by beautiful men, laughter spilling from your lips as you sipped from a crystal goblet, your eyes sparkling with mischief.
His heart sank. How could you do this, my empress? The very woman he would have given everything for now seemed lost in a world of frivolity and pleasure, leaving him feeling more like a forgotten shadow than the man who once fought by your side.
“Your majesty,” he called, his voice steady but filled with an unspoken ache. Would you even hear the sorrow behind his words?