The Emperor's obsession

Serenya returned to her new chamber with the three ever-present servants trailing behind her like silent shadows. The moment she crossed the threshold, she turned sharply and slammed the door with a resounding thud that echoed through the stone halls. Her back met the cool wooden surface as she leaned against it, heart pounding, her breaths coming out unevenly. This couldn't go on. She had to escape. It was the only way.

Her trembling fingers reached inside the folds of her gown, retrieving the letter she'd hidden earlier. She unfolded it with care, her eyes scanning the flowing script inked in the Vayrana language—her father's handwriting, unmistakable, slanted with haste but still bold.

"The first procession of gifts and some servants would leave the imperial palace tomorrow. Make sure to be at the servants' quarters. Zelda would be there waiting for you."

Serenya's breath hitched, tears welling up in her eyes—not from sorrow, but from a fleeting sense of hope. For the first time since she'd stepped foot in the palace, she could see a way out. A fragile thread to freedom, one she would grasp with everything she had.

She clutched the parchment to her chest, her lips trembling with a smile before she moved to the flickering candles arranged on the mantle. Their soft amber glow reflected in her wide, teary eyes. Holding the letter to the flame, she watched the edges curl and blacken, the script turning to ash until nothing was left but charred fragments. She waited until every corner was gone before dusting it into the ashtray. Then, carefully, she locked the door, her fingers lingering on the latch as though confirming the secrecy of her decision.

Climbing into the large, luxurious bed , she felt the silken sheets were too cold, too vast for someone so small and frightened. But Serenya wrapped herself tightly and stared into the canopy above, her heart racing not from fear of Zareth—but from the thrill of the chance to reclaim her life.

---

Meanwhile, in one of the many shadow-draped chambers of the Emperor's private wing, Zareth lounged like a king carved from obsidian. He sat in a high-backed throne-like chair, legs spread in command, a parchment resting in his hand. The room was silent save for the slow crackle of firelight licking at the hearth. Crimson velvet drapes hung heavy at the windows, and golden sconces bathed the stone walls in soft light.

His eyes, crimson and sharp as blood-forged daggers, scanned the parchment. A letter from the Council. Petty. Predictable.

Cassian stepped inside with his usual crisp bow. "The princess has retired to her chamber, Your Imperial Majesty."

Zareth's lips curled into a lazy, mocking smirk. "Of course she has."

He set the parchment down with a deliberate grace, though his every movement radiated a chilling dominance. Even in repose, he looked like a predator playing at civility. His gaze turned toward the door, as if he could see through the stone, through the walls, right to where Serenya lay.

"She's restless," he said flatly. "I can feel it."

Cassian muttered "Would you like me to restrict her movements, Majesty?"

Zareth gave a low, condescending laugh, his tongue clicking against his teeth. "No, let the little dove flap her wings a bit. What's a game without the thrill of the chase?"

He rose, tall and commanding, and walked to the window with slow, graceful steps. The fire painted shadows across his sculpted chest—every line carved like a god of war. He glanced out at the moonlit gardens, then turned to Cassian again.

"I know her parents. Sentimental fools. They think they can steal her away?" he scoffed, voice soaked in sarcasm and contempt. "Let them try. It'll make crushing them all the more satisfying."

Cassian didn't respond. He had known the Emperor long enough to know that his mind was made up .

Zareth reached for the Council's parchment and set it ablaze with a flick of his finger, watching as it curled and turned to ash.

Morning arrived too soon for Serenya, the golden light of dawn streaming through the arched windows of her chamber. She sat up slowly, brushing strands of hair from her face, heart thudding with anticipation. This was it. The beginning of her escape.

A soft knock broke her thoughts. She opened the door to see the three palace servants waiting, their heads bowed respectfully.

They said nothing, merely stepped inside and moved with mechanical grace. One of them helped her into a pale blue gown embroidered with silver threads, while another fixed her hair into a neat Nytheris-style bun—a tight braid wrapped into a low curl at the nape of her neck. She wasn't used to the elaborate imperial style, but it looked elegant, even on her small frame.

She didn't complain. She didn't speak. She was too focused. Her mind was already thinking about how she'd get to the servant quarters, where Zelda would be waiting. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, but she forced herself to remain composed.

Once ready, she made her way to the grand dining hall. The corridors seemed longer this morning, the guards more attentive. She kept her gaze forward, her back straight, though her stomach twisted with nerves.

The heavy doors opened, and the scent of warm pastries and roasted meats filled the air. Serenya stepped inside, her eyes landing instantly on her family seated toward the left side of the table. Her mother's face was full of concern, her father's stern gaze flicking to her with a softening warthm . Elarynth was not at the table.

She walked with quiet grace, every step echoing off the marble floor. As she sat with her family, Thirena leaned in with a soft whisper, "I missed you, Serenya."

Serenya smiled faintly, her eyes softening. "I missed you too."

It hadn't even been a full day, and yet the distance felt like a chasm. Her eyes shifted toward Kael, who sat quietly at the opposite end. He met her gaze with his full of warmth before looking away, bruises still evident along his jaw. Her eyes lingered wanting to check if he was alright before looking away . There was nothing she could do , not now.

Without her veil, she felt painfully exposed. She had intended to put it on but the servants had refused telling her it was the Emperor's order, of course. A deliberate display. As if claiming her publicly with her unveiled face would mark her as his possession.

"You look even more ethereal without the veil," Naerya whispered from her other side.

Serenya smiled , cheeks warming. She could feel her father's eyes on her—worried, protective—and wished she could lean across the table and tell him that she was alright. That she would make sure to follow the plan .

The double doors swung open with a low groan, and the heavy silence of the imperial dining hall shattered under the weight of Zareth's presence. He stepped in like a storm wrapped in silk—impossibly graceful, yet laced with danger. Damp strands of his ink-black hair clung stubbornly to his sharp forehead, slicked to one side in a way that appeared both accidental and effortlessly seductive. The opulent lights from the chandeliers above glinted off his embroidered coat, casting shadows across the angles of his arrogant, impossibly handsome face.

A few audible gasps followed his entrance as they stood up . The women at the long table instinctively sat straighter, their cheeks reddening as they took in the sight of him. The Emperor didn't have to try. He simply existed, and the room responded like puppets on strings.

Zareth's crimson eyes scanned the table his gaze paused—sharp, burning—when he found her. Serenya. Sitting with her family, delicate and serene, unaware that his mood had just shifted with her far away.

He looked to his right, a young woman sitting there blushed as his deep red eyes met her pale red one's.

"Who are you?" Zareth asked, his voice slicing through the room like a knife wrapped in velvet and everyone turned to the woman .

The woman blinked, startled. Her lips parted in a mixture of fear and hope. "E–Emelien, the eldest daughter of Minister Shukan," she replied, breathless.

"Get up," Zareth cut in coldly.

Whispers fluttered like birds around the room. Emelien's eyes widened. Did he want to speak with her privately? Did he perhaps—?

Heat rushed to her face. Her breath caught.

Across the table, Serenya froze as she noticed the Emperor's expression darken with amusement. She felt a coil of dread tighten in her stomach.

"Serenya," he called, dragging her name with an infuriating calm . When she turned, his lips curved into a crooked, unreadable smile that chilled her blood more than any scowl could.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She could feel every eye on her as she stood gingerly, smoothing down the sides of her dress. Her hands trembled slightly as she walked toward him, forcing her posture to remain dignified.

She reached him.

"Come," he said again, softly. A command disguised as suggestion. He pulled the chair Emelien was sitting on .

She took the seat pulled out for her beside him, doing her best not to show just how furious she was.

"Emelien ," Zareth said again, gesturing with that infuriating smiri. "Take Serenya's seat."

Emelien bowed, flustered, and made her way toward Serenya's former place, her hands clenched in restrained anger . She had sat there on purpose in order for the Emperor to notice her but his eyes were still on the princess from Vayrana.

Serenya, on the other hand, was simmering. She clenched her fists beneath the table, barely restraining the urge to glare. Of all the arrogant, controlling, insufferable—

"Did you just glare at the Emperor?" one of the ministers asked with raised brows, his red eyes looking down on her .

Serenya schooled her face instantly.

"I could've eaten at my seat just fine," she mumbled under her breath.But Zareth heard. Of course he did. His hearing was as sharp as his tongue.

"Then I would've missed this beautiful sight in front of me," he whispered back with a devilish smirk.Her cheeks flushed. She wanted to vanish.

"Serve the food," Zareth commanded, his tone final. The shadows shifted as servants glided forward, silent and trained, placing golden platters of steaming delicacies on the polished obsidian table.

Serenya picked up her cutlery, hoping to simply survive the meal in peace. She scooped a portion of food onto her spoon, lifting it toward her mouth—only for her hand to falter. Zareth's gaze burned holes into her skin.

She dropped her spoon with a quiet clatter.

"Can you stop staring?" she asked, her voice low but sharp, the innocence in her tone stirring something withing him .

"No," Zareth answered bluntly, and added with deliberate cruelty, " I decide what to look at and I find you more entertaining."

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to throw her wine in his face.

He ignored her defiance with amused indifference, and then, to her horror, leaned forward and began placing more food onto her plate. Her back stiffened.

The entire table was watching now.

A few ministers shared glances. Whispers returned.

Serenya shoved the new food aside with deliberate disapproval. Her appetite was gone.

Zareth didn't miss her little rebellion.

"You seem unable to eat, Princess," he said without looking up as he sliced into a piece of meat. "Is it the food? Or is it the company?"

Serenya's nostrils flared. "I've lost my appetite."

"Impossible," he said flatly. "How could you lose your appetite with me before you?"

She stared at him, incredulous.He leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear as he spoke with a low, mocking tone. "Don't worry. I'll feed you."

Before she could protest, he picked up her spoon, scooped a bite of food, and held it out to her.

"Say ah," he commanded.

Serenya's face burned like fire. The humiliation of being spoon-fed in front of everyone, like a doll in his possession, made her clench her hands in annoyance.

"I can feed myself," she whispered through clenched teeth.

But Zareth only raised a brow and offered the spoon again. "Ah," he repeated.She glared at him. She wanted to disappear.

But with dozens of eyes glued to her, she opened her mouth, took the food, and tried not to choke on her pride with her cheeks burning.

Zareth looked far too satisfied with himself.

"You see?" he said aloud, loud enough for the whole table to hear. "Even the most stubborn wild creatures can be tamed."

Nobody has ever gotten on her nerves like the Emperor and right now she felt like strangling him .