"A queen’s crown is not always made of gold. Sometimes, it is made of chains."

The Imperial Palace of Azvaren loomed before Seraphina Elyssar like a beast waiting to devour her. Towers of white stone gleamed under the dying sun, their golden spires piercing the sky. The gates, wrought from black iron, swung open with a deep groan, as if the very walls resented her presence.

She was no longer the princess of Elyssar. She was the Empress of Azvaren.

At least, in name.

Her marriage to Xavien Draethis had been a silent affair—cold, distant, impersonal. There had been no grand celebrations, no joyful welcomes, no husband waiting to greet his new wife.

Instead, she had been escorted like a prisoner.

The streets of the capital had been lined with spectators as her carriage rolled past, but their eyes held no warmth. Only curiosity, indifference, and a hint of amusement.

"She won’t last."

"The Emperor won’t even look at her."

"Another foreign bride. Another waste."

The words had followed her like whispers in the wind.

But Seraphina had kept her chin high, her expression composed, her smile unshaken.

Because if they wanted to see her broken, they would have to try harder.

---

The throne room was a monument to power.

Tall pillars stretched toward a ceiling painted with constellations, their gold and sapphire hues casting an eerie glow over the polished marble floors. Tapestries of past conquests adorned the walls, each thread a reminder of the empire’s unchallenged dominance.

And at the very end of the hall, seated upon an obsidian throne, was Xavien Draethis.

The man she was now bound to.

The man everyone feared.

The first thing she noticed was his stillness.

Xavien did not lounge or shift. He sat straight-backed, one arm resting lazily on the carved armrest, the other draped over his knee. His silver-white hair contrasted against the darkness of his throne, making him look almost ethereal—like a ghost king ruling over shadows.

But his eyes…

Gold. Sharp. Unforgiving.

He was watching her.

Not in interest. Not in anger. Just… assessing.

The air in the room was suffocating. Nobles and advisors stood on either side of the hall, their silks and velvets whispering as they moved. They were waiting.

Then, from somewhere beside her, a voice murmured, "Kneel before His Majesty."

Seraphina felt the pressure of their expectations.

They wanted her to lower her head. To bow like a docile little bride.

But she did not kneel.

Instead, she smiled.

The reaction was instant. A ripple of murmurs spread through the court. Surprise. Disbelief. Amusement.

Xavien’s expression did not change, but she noticed the way his fingers stilled against the armrest.

"You misunderstand something, Your Majesty," she said lightly, her voice carrying through the chamber. "I have already been given to you. Must I now kneel as well?"

Silence.

A dangerous, heavy silence.

And then, for the first time, Xavien spoke.

"Yes."

The single word cut through the air like a blade.

Seraphina felt the weight of his authority—a power that could bring entire kingdoms to their knees.

She should have been afraid.

She wasn’t.

Instead, she took one step closer.

A challenge.

The court gasped. Some nobles stiffened. Others smirked, waiting for her downfall.

But Xavien…

He simply watched her.

No anger.

No amusement.

No warmth.

Just curiosity.

And sometimes, curiosity was far more dangerous than hatred.

"Fear bends the weak. But to the strong, it is only a chain waiting to be broken."

The air between them was thick with silence.

Seraphina could feel it—the weight of their stares, the anticipation dripping from the watching nobles like venom.

The foreign princess who dared to defy the Emperor.

Xavien Draethis did not move from his throne, nor did he speak. But his gaze sharpened. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his golden eyes.

Then, he did something unexpected.

He laughed.

Soft. Amused. Lethal.

It was not the laugh of a man entertained—it was the laugh of a man who had just found something unexpected in the middle of a battlefield.

The court stilled.

Even Seraphina felt a chill dance down her spine.

"You believe you have a choice, Empress?" His voice was smooth, deep, and tainted with warning.

Seraphina’s smile didn’t falter. She tilted her head, her fiery red hair catching the glow of the chandeliers. "Do I not?"

Another silence.

Then—he stood.

And the room shuddered.

Xavien Draethis did not need magic to command a room. His mere presence was enough. Power clung to him like a second skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, descending the steps of his throne like a predator toying with its prey.

Seraphina did not step back.

But she could feel it now—why they feared him.

It wasn’t just his magic, nor his intelligence, nor his brutal reputation.

It was the way he unraveled people.

Piece by piece. Thought by thought.

Xavien came to a stop before her. He was taller than she expected, his presence so absolute that it was suffocating.

Then, his hand lifted.

A single gloved finger traced the edge of her jaw, slow, deliberate, possessive.

She did not flinch.

But she also knew—this was not affection.

It was a warning.

"You misunderstand something, Seraphina Draethis," he murmured, low, sharp, unyielding.

Her name on his tongue felt like a chain wrapping around her throat.

"You are not here as my equal. You are here because I allow it."

The words sent a ripple of discomfort through the court. Even they knew it was a lie.

Seraphina had not been given to him.

She had been sent because Elyssar feared him. Because their kingdom could not afford his wrath.

She was a political offering. A bargaining piece.

And yet…

Seraphina only smiled wider.

"And yet, Your Majesty, here I stand—unbowed."

His eyes darkened.

For the first time, something shifted in his expression.

He was not used to this.

Not used to someone standing against him.

Not used to not being feared.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Not anger. Not amusement.

Just… something else.

Then—his hand dropped.

The tension in the room snapped like a pulled string.

Xavien turned, his cloak billowing behind him as he moved away. Dismissive. Indifferent.

"Take her to the east wing," he ordered coldly.

The east wing.

The furthest part of the palace. Away from the main courts. Away from him.

It was a message.

You are unwanted.

But Seraphina did not let the insult show.

Instead, she curtsied—mockingly perfect.

"As you command, Your Majesty."

And with that, the game truly began.

"A palace is still a prison if you are not free to leave."

The halls of the Imperial Palace of Azvaren were breathtaking.

Intricate mosaics lined the floors, depicting legends of war and conquest. Chandeliers of black crystal hung from vaulted ceilings, their eerie glow casting flickering shadows across towering marble columns. Every inch of the palace was a declaration of power—a kingdom untouchable, an empire unchallenged.

But no matter how gilded, a cage was still a cage.

And Seraphina was trapped inside it.

Her escort—a silent line of imperial guards—marched beside her, their silver armor reflecting the torchlight as they led her deeper into the palace.

The east wing.

A place far from court. Far from power. Far from Xavien.

A silent punishment.

The Emperor had not needed to shout or threaten her. His message had been clear.

You are nothing here.

But as Seraphina walked, her smile did not fade.

"They expect me to break," she thought, her fingers brushing the embroidered sleeves of her gown. "They expect me to cry."

Let them expect.

She had survived worse than a cold husband and a lonely palace.

She would survive this, too.

---

The east wing was as grand as the rest of the palace—but it was empty.

No servants bustled in the halls. No nobles whispered behind their fans.

It was eerily silent.

When the guards stopped before an arched doorway, one of them—a man with a scar running down his cheek—stepped forward.

"Your quarters, Empress," he said stiffly.

Then, without another word, he pushed open the heavy doors.

Seraphina stepped inside.

She expected a prison. Cold, lifeless, bare.

But what she found was the opposite.

Her chambers were massive—too grand for someone meant to be cast aside. The walls were adorned with silk tapestries, the floors covered in deep sapphire rugs. A roaring fireplace bathed the room in golden warmth, its flames dancing in the polished glass of a full-length mirror.

The bed was carved from onyx and gold, its silk sheets embroidered with intricate patterns of phoenixes and dragons.

Everything was too luxurious.

Too much for a bride meant to be forgotten.

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed.

"Why give me this?"

The answer came almost immediately.

Because Xavien Draethis did not do anything without a reason.

This was not kindness.

This was control.

"You will have everything you need," the room seemed to whisper. "Except freedom."

---

Night fell swiftly over the empire.

Seraphina sat by the window, watching as the city of Azvaren stretched beneath her in endless lights and winding streets.

Her new home.

Her new prison.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

She turned just as a young maid stepped inside, balancing a tray of food.

"Your dinner, Empress," the girl said, keeping her head bowed.

Seraphina studied her. The maid’s hands trembled slightly as she placed the tray on the low table.

"She’s afraid," Seraphina realized.

Not of her.

Of who she belonged to.

Seraphina smiled gently. "What’s your name?"

The girl stiffened. Her eyes darted toward the guards standing near the door, their expressions blank, watchful.

For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t answer.

Then, in a whisper, "Elira."

Seraphina reached for a piece of bread, breaking it in half. "Elira," she repeated. "Have you worked in the palace long?"

Elira’s hands clenched around the folds of her skirt.

"Five years, Your Majesty."

"And do you like it?"

A pause. A hesitation.

Then—"I serve where I am placed."

It was the answer of someone who knew speaking freely was dangerous.

Seraphina’s fingers tightened around the bread.

So, even within the palace, fear reigned.

She had known Azvaren was powerful.

She had not realized it was ruled by shadows.

---

As the night deepened, Seraphina laid in her grand bed, staring at the high ceiling.

She was alone.

Completely, utterly alone.

But even in isolation, her mind worked.

Xavien Draethis was not just a powerful emperor.

He was feared.

And fear, she knew, was a double-edged sword.

Because the more people feared you…

The more they plotted against you.