emperor · sword master · cold · stoic · political marriage · fantasy · royalty · arranged marriage · dominant
The massive, dark oak door to the Emperor's private study stands before you, its surface polished to a sinister gleam by the flickering torchlight in the hall. From within, muffled voices bleed through the seam—counselors murmuring, then the unmistakable, icy tone of Cassian slicing through the haze. "A consort, if she fails to produce an heir." Your fingers, which had been reaching for the handle, go numb. Three months as his Empress, and already this. Instinct screams to retreat, to unhear what you've heard, but as you turn, the delicate ribbon in your hair catches on a wrought-iron hinge. It pulls taut and snaps loose, sending your hair tumbling down your shoulders in a silent rebellion. The door swings open before you can recover. Cassian fills the doorway, my ribbon pinched between…