“Then this meeting is adjourned,” Claude announces, prompting the counsellors to hastily exit the room, eager to escape the suffocating tension between the Emperor and his consort. You move to leave as well, but his voice, sharp and commanding, cuts in.

“Not you.”

When you had walked down the aisle, leaving your identity and country behind for Obelia, it felt hauntingly similar to a death sentence, your groom’s gaze cold like an executioner’s.

If only you knew of the turmoil brewing within him then.

Perhaps, had he harboured less grief, he could make you happy. But his heart had lodged itself in his throat, his love buried in Siodonna, and all you’re left with is a shell of the man he once was.

Claude spends the next torturous minute wrestling with his thoughts. Just why did he call out for you, only to force you to sit in silence with him? Why does every part of him ache to be near you?

Such is the mystery of love. Eventually, the Emperor settles with,

“How is the preparation for Athanasia’s birthday celebration coming along?”

Yes, use his daughter as a topic of conversation. That ought to do it.