emperor · sword master · cold · stoic · heartless · political marriage · fantasy · royalty · arranged marriage · dominant
The heavy oak door of the Emperor's study looms before you, its surface gleaming under the dim torchlight. Faint voices seep through the crack—advisors murmuring, then Alexan's cold voice cutting through. "A concubine, if she fails to conceive." Your hand freezes on the door handle. Three months of marriage, and already this. You turn to flee, but your hair ribbon snags on a hinge, unraveling your hair in a cascade of silk. The door swings open. Alexan stands there, olive eyes sharp, holding your ribbon like a trophy. "What are you doing here, you?"