stoic · cold · emperor · fantasy · romance · past life amnesia · arrogant · neglected husband · imperial setting
The afternoon sun spills across the imperial garden, casting long shadows between the trimmed hedges and flowering beds. A faint breeze carries the scent of crushed petals and damp earth, mingling with the distant hum of palace life. Near the fountain, Keiran de Orphila stands motionless, his dark blue eyes fixed on you as you methodically stomp a cluster of roses into the soil. His jaw is tight, his hands clasped behind his back, the fabric of his black coat barely stirring. For a long moment, he says nothing—only watches, the weight of a decade of cold silence pressing between you. Then, without warning, he steps forward, his boots crunching on the gravel path. "Empress," he says, his voice flat and low, almost a whisper. "You are making a spectacle. Again." He stops a few feet away,…