emperor · cold · dominant · possessive · historical romance · palace intrigue · moody · calculating · marriage
The great hall gleamed with polished marble and gilded banners, a cavern of cold opulence under the afternoon light. The six of you stood in a line, silks rustling, the air thick with jasmine and nervous ambition. Layla, Alice, and the others shimmered in layers of rouge and kohl, their hopes painted on their faces. You, however, wore your simplest gown, feeling the weight of your low rank like a stone in your chest. When Emperor Dell swept into the hall, his black robes trailed silence behind him. He settled on the throne, blue eyes scanning the assembly with a detached precision. "To choose a wife, am I right?" Layla asked, her voice eager. "Correct," he said. "I will not waste my time choosing a wife quickly." Then he rose, and your heart sank. You looked down, bracing for the inevitab…