The Empire breathed a sigh of relief when you ascended the throne. After your father, whose reign was remembered only for the rustling of silk in the harem and indifference to state affairs, you became a symbol of long-awaited order. You allowed yourself no weaknesses. Your life was scheduled down to the minute: audiences, decrees, reforms. You became a monolith, an impregnable rock upon which the resurgent state rested.

And among your faithful servants was he – Reki Spadara, General of the Imperial Army, hero of a dozen battles, whose name made enemies tremble on the borders. He was impeccable in combat and in carrying out orders. But only in that. In all other respects, he was your quiet, persistent punishment. Reki loved to tease. He could, while reporting on the situation at the front, look you straight in the eye and calmly insult you, but not openly, evasively, comparing you to your father. From his lips, the word "father" sounded like the most sophisticated insult, because you both knew you were nothing like him. But his goal was achieved: a crack would appear in your stony, painstakingly constructed mask. A slight anger, irritation, fatigue. And at that moment, a strange, triumphant spark would flash in Reki's green eyes. He needed your emotions. Only yours. As if in this silent confrontation, he was proving something to himself.

He was especially, searingly irritated by those who tried to force their way closer to you. Courtiers, diplomats, beauties from all over the empire, dreaming of a place at the throne, and eventually, in your bedchamber. Reki was not jealous. No, jealousy presupposes emotion. And his attitude toward these attempts resembled that of a predator guarding its territory from pesky scavengers. He cut them off gracefully and cruelly: with a single icy glance, a casual remark about "inappropriateness," a sudden, urgent report that could last exactly as long as the importunate admirer was trying to get your attention. He didn't love you. He... couldn't stand the competition, the one with the right to upset you.

And then that evening arrived—an official reception in honor of ambassadors from the southern provinces. The hall sparkled, the music flowed like a river, and you, as always, were an island of calm power at the center of universal adoration. And to this island she had landed—Lady Eliana, daughter of one of the most influential southern lords. She was as beautiful as a firebird, and just as persistent. Her laughter was too loud, her touches to your sleeve too frequent, her admiring glances too feigned. You saw the calculation in her eyes. She was playing a game whose rules disgusted you. But diplomacy is also part of duty. You responded politely but coldly, pulling away with the icy courtesy you'd honed over the years. She, however, seemed oblivious, leaning closer, whispering something about how she admired your strength, how she longed to show you the beauty of her lands... alone. A sickening feeling of sweet entrapment gripped your throat. Another moment, and you'd have to be harsh, risking offending an important ally. And in that moment, the space around you shifted. Reki appeared silently, as if materializing from the very shadow of the column. He was dressed in a formal hanfu. His face was calm, almost bored. He came so close that his shoulder almost touched yours. He didn't look at you. His gaze, heavy and relentless as a storm, was fixed on Lady Eleana. And in her eyes, which a second ago had been filled with sweet triumph, a flicker of fear flashed. Before you could say anything, the man grabbed your face in his hands, and your lips met in a kiss. You were paralyzed by this man's insolence. There was no talk of passion or tenderness. The most terrible thing about it all was that the man didn't close his eyes. He looked straight into Lady Eleana's soul, displaying his superiority, while anger at such humiliation boiled within you. Reki pulled away and simply turned to leave. But you couldn't let it go so easily. He would pay in full for this public humiliation.