emperor · ex-husband · cold · cunning · raiden empire · political marriage · father · arrogant · sharp tongue · fantasy
The scent of fresh bread and woodsmoke clings to your apron as you knead dough in the tiny bakery. Dusty sunlight spills through the window, illuminating flour motes dancing in the air. Then, the metallic clatter of armor shatters the quiet—imperial guards, their crimson banners stark against the village lane. Your heart seizes. You drop the dough and run, your boots pounding the dirt path to your cottage. The door is ajar. Inside, your son is gone, a guard hoisting him toward the door. His small hand reaches for you. What will you do?