The Emperor's obsession

Serenya arrived at the imperial sparring grounds, her delicate fingers still clutched tightly in Zareth's unyielding grip. His larger, calloused hand enveloped hers possessively, the pressure gentle yet laced with authority—a reminder that she was tethered to the Emperor, whether she liked it or not. Her steps were hesitant, but his stride was deliberate, confident, and regal.

The sun hovered overhead, casting golden beams upon the pristine marble tiles that encircled the training courtyard. On both sides, royals and nobles watched with hushed anticipation, the air vibrating with murmurs and tension.

Serenya's eyes scanned the crowd. Her heart clenched as she spotted her family seated among the dignitaries. Her father, King Rajan, sat stiffly, his jaw tight and eyes brimming with restrained fury. Beside him, her sisters Thirena and Nearya leaned forward, whispering with wide-eyed curiosity. Her mother, Queen Ishara, sat gracefully, her expression unreadable, but her gaze remained fixed on Serenya. Behind her stood Zelda, her lady-in-waiting, her hands folded and her eyes scanning the crowd for someone.

Serenya tried to focus on them, to anchor herself in their familiar presence, but Zareth's thumb suddenly brushed against the soft skin of her wrist, stealing her attention like a thief in the night.

"You're trembling," he muttered lowly, his voice silk wrapped around steel, dangerous and smooth. "Afraid I'll embarrass your little suitor?"

Serenya tried to pull her hand away, but his grip only tightened slightly—a silent command that she obey without protest. Her cheeks flushed in response to his arrogance, but she said nothing.

Zareth walked her to the front row, ignoring the scandalized stares from nobles unaccustomed to such blatant disregard for decorum. He halted before an ornate gold-accented chair and gestured for her to sit. She hesitated.

"Sit," he said flatly, voice cutting through her resistance like a blade.

She sank into the chair. Her palms grew clammy, her heart pounding as she looked at the empty court ahead, fearful of what might transpire. Her gaze shifted once again—this time, to Prince Kael, who emerged into the arena. Shirtless, like the Emperor, his chest glistened faintly with sweat as he wielded his sword with a confident smirk.

He looked straight at Serenya, his eyes softening. Then he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, "Wish me luck."

Serenya's face flamed. The brazenness of his public address made her want to sink into the floor, but before she could respond, Zareth leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper.

"Bold, isn't he? Flirting with another man's woman right in front of him," Zareth said, his voice dipped in lethal sarcasm. "It's almost... endearing."

Her head snapped toward him. "Please don't hurt—"

"Hush."

His crimson gaze glinted dangerously, and she did as he said, biting her lower lip in frustration. He walked to the sparring court, every inch of his movement radiating strength, grace, and control. Even his bare chest looked as if sculpted by ancient gods—each muscle carved in symmetrical perfection, glistening under the sun.

A few noblewomen audibly gasped, fanning themselves as he passed. Serenya noticed how their eyes devoured him, and even she knew that the Emperor was a sight to behold just that she didn't want him.

From the royal stands, King Rajan leaned toward his eldest son.

"Tell the servant to pass the letter to Serenya," he said under his breath. "Make sure it's when the Emperor is distracted."

Prince Aresh nodded and slipped away, his expression grim. He found Zelda easily, weaving through servants offering refreshments.

"The letter," he said tersely.

Zelda nodded. She turned to Queen Ishara, who whispered, "Make sure she gets it."

Zelda disguised herself among the imperial staff, her eyes searching for the right moment.

Back in the sparring court, Cassian strode forward and handed Zareth his sword. The Emperor took it with a casual grace, twirling the blade once before sheathing it with a practiced click.

The announcer stepped forward, voice echoing, "His Imperial Majesty has declared that if Prince Kael is able to land a cut on him, he shall be granted any reward of his choosing. The first cut determines the victor."

Gasps rippled through the audience.

Serenya's breath caught. Her eyes darted to Kael, who offered her a slight smile—gentle, almost comforting.

"What do you desire as your reward, Prince?" Zareth asked, voice calm, eyes deadly.

Kael lifted his chin. "The Princess of Vayrana."

The crowd erupted in shocked murmurs at his audacity to still want the princess when the Emperor had laid his claim on her .

Serenya felt the ground tilt beneath her.

Zareth's lips curled in amusement, a cruel smirk playing on his mouth. "How brave."

He looked at Serenya, his voice directed at her now.

"Do you want to go with him?"

Serenya opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Zareth turned back to Kael.

"Very well," he said with a chuckle. "Try and take her from me."

The duel began with a clang of steel. Kael lunged forward, swift and aggressive, but Zareth parried effortlessly, his movements fluid, mocking. With every swing, the Emperor moved like a predator playing with prey—lethal, precise, and utterly unconcerned.

Serenya's heart pounded. Each clash echoed in her bones, rattling her nerves. Kael was fast, but Zareth was faster, and more than that, he was calculating.

"You fight like a child," Zareth taunted, sidestepping a blow with ease. "Was that supposed to impress her?"

Kael growled, launching another strike, but Zareth ducked, twisted, and kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor.