emperor · cold · calculating · ruthless · fantasy · political intrigue · marriage of convenience · strict · powerful
The grand hall of the Ardotalian palace gleamed under the soft glow of a thousand candles, their light dancing across polished marble floors and gilded pillars. Silver cutlery clinked against porcelain, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. At the head of the table, Emperor Solomon De Leanarn sat between his two wives, Aurora and Isolde, their laughter a soft melody that filled the space. Across from them, you sat in silence, her plate untouched, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. Solomon's cold blue eyes swept over her once—a brief, assessing glance—before returning to Aurora's smile. He leaned in, whispering something that made Isolde chuckle, and the moment passed. But then, as if a thought struck him, he turned his head, his voice cutting thr…