In the palace, Cerena was now a newlywed. After the ceremony, she had been escorted back to her chamber.

  She felt a measure of relief that it was finally over. Yet, she could not calm her mind. After months without word from Owen, she had sensed his presence, but he had chosen not to appear. She bore him no grudge: she knew better than anyone what it had cost him to act hastily in the past.

  Mountains of gifts had been presented to the imperial couple: exquisite jewelry, lavish garments, fans, musical instruments—every kind imaginable filled the halls.

  Cerena surveyed them with indifference, searching in vain. One item, however, caught her eye. On the back of a fan, a piece of paper protruded slightly, as if deliberately concealed.

  Intrigued, she picked it up and unfolded it delicately, but what she discovered made her pause. It was a handwritten letter addressed personally to her. The handwriting, beautiful and precise, was in a language she knew well—unlike most of the palace tomes.

  “To you, Lady Cerena, allow me to offer my heartfelt congratulations,” she read aloud.

  The opening formula, impeccably polite, was nevertheless exceedingly dull. Yet what followed surprised her.

  “When I was still very young, I had a little sister,” she continued. “Scarcely had she been born that my parents and I already loved her. Yet a decision was made—one I did not then understand—and she was abandoned.”

  As she read, Cerena felt her chest tighten. What was this about? Why recount such a story to her?

  “It remains unclear even today, but I remember finding her alone in the forest, at night, and bringing her into the city so she might be taken in. She grew up in good health, and today, I had the privilege of witnessing her wedding… with the most powerful man in the Empire, if not the world…”

  A shiver ran through her as she read; her voice faltered, gradually fading. She sank into a chair, hand trembling, ?letting out a light retch?.

  After several minutes, striving to regain her composure, she resumed reading with difficulty.

  “I could never forget her. I know not what has befallen her in all these years, but one thing I am certain of: the expression I beheld on her face this day betrayed no joy. I regret not having found her sooner, and doubt I shall ever have the chance to see her again. Thus, with all the love I can offer through this simple letter, I wish her peace and happiness.”

  Cerena laid the letter upon the table and leaned back against the chair, eyes turned toward the ceiling, tears brimming.

  ???

  When evening fell, the Captain of the Guard knocked at the door and invited her to follow. He personally led her to the Emperor’s chambers, where he awaited her. Once Cerena had entered, the soldier stationed himself with his back to the door, ensuring no one would disturb the evening.

  This was the final event for which she had been meticulously prepared during her lessons with her instructor. Though she was now alone with the Emperor—her husband—it was no less scrupulously codified: the last test of her devotion.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Yet, deep within herself, she knew that nothing could hold sway over the Emperor’s actions, certainly not some obscure decorum.

  The Emperor seated himself at the foot of the bed, while she, gaze lowered and heart pounding, moved toward the center of the room. Facing him, she bowed in reverence.

  She removed her muslin jacket, letting it fall delicately to the floor, then let her eyes sweep over her sole audience. He observed her in silence, a faintly enigmatic smile upon his lips. Calmly, he nodded in approval.

  Cerena began performing the gestures she had been taught, as slowly and gracefully as possible. She raised one arm to eye level, gently pivoting her wrist. Each movement of her dance exuded refinement and humility.

  Half-closing her eyes, she repeated every detail with exacting care, absorbed in her performance, no longer mindful of her surroundings.

  This nuptial display, witnessed only by her instructor until now, marked the culmination of all her hours of work and practice.

  ???

  When the dance concluded, Cerena opened her eyes, allowing reality to reclaim her mind. She bowed and waited, eyes lowered, her breathing and pulse gradually returning to a steady rhythm.

  She heard the Emperor clap, applauding softly. Rising with grace, she finally dared to meet her husband’s gaze, noting that his smile remained unchanged.

  They regarded each other in silence for several seconds, after which he finally broke it.

  “?Gratitude is due for thy splendid performance?. It proved most entertaining.”

  She remained silent, lowering her eyes slightly in abnegation.

  “Come, sit thyself beside me,” he said, gesturing to the space next to him.

  Drawing a deep breath, Cerena obeyed and perched on the edge of the bed. Instinctively, her heart resumed its rapid beating. She closed her eyes, striving to maintain composure.

  “Thy lessons have borne fruit; thy instructor shall rejoice to know that thou hast learned to hold thy station.”

  As the Emperor continued his monologue without looking at her, she prayed inwardly that it would soon end.

  A tense silence settled for several minutes, during which neither spoke.

  Suddenly, a subtle movement brushed close to her, followed by a gentle warmth against the nape of her neck. She felt a breath at her ear, then a whisper, which made her eyes snap open in surprise.

  “I shall not touch thee. Not without thy leave.”

  She widened her eyes and turned toward him, still leaning close, his face ?just a hair’s breadth from hers?.

  Her breath quickened, and she looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and fear. He bore that same calm, confident smile, as if everything were unfolding exactly as he wished.

  Unnerved, she parted her lips slightly, trembling, seeking words to convey her dismay, but restrained herself.

  Not now, she thought. She must continue to act as she had been taught. Questions would come later.

  What she feared most from this man was not what he had already done to her. No, it was what she could not foresee. And none other than he was more unpredictable.

  He rose slowly, and without turning toward her, said:

  “The day hath been most trying. Rest thee here.”

  Then he left her alone in the nuptial chamber.