The royal dining hall gleamed beneath the golden light of chandeliers, each drop of crystal reflecting tiny rainbows across the polished marble floor. Long tables stretched in perfect symmetry, draped in silk runners embroidered with the imperial crest. The air was heavy with the aromas of roasted pheasant, spiced venison, and fresh-baked bread. Silver platters steamed, their contents arranged with the precision of art—bowls of jewel-toned fruits, golden pastries glistening under honey glaze, and tureens filled with aromatic soups. Servants moved like shadows, silent but watchful, ensuring every fork, goblet, and candle flame remained flawless.
Maltheira entered first, her regal presence commanding attention even without a word. Behind her came Sorrelith, her steps sharp with impatience, and Velmira, whose every movement seemed calculated for elegance. Servants stepped forward, bowing before pulling out their high-backed chairs. The carved armrests gleamed from fresh polishing, and the cushioned seats bore the faint scent of lavender oil.
"I'm sure the Emperor is still with that woman," Sorrelith hissed as soon as they were seated, her voice low but laced with venom. Her manicured fingers drummed against the table, her eyes narrowing toward the far entrance.
Velmira rolled her eyes, lifting a crystal glass of water to her lips with deliberate grace. "Stop being childish, Lith. If Zareth is with someone else, it's my problem, not yours. You're supposed to play the devoted sister, remember?" Her words were smooth, but the pointed edge in her tone was unmistakable.
Sorrelith's lips parted to retort, heat already flaring in her cheeks, but Maltheira's sharp hiss cut through the air like the snap of a whip.
"You both are insufferable. Sorrelith, I told you to let your sister have this chance. If she fails to secure him, then you can try. Until then, hold your tongue. I need one of you girls beside him on the throne—or at my sons on the throne."
Velmira smiled sweetly at her mother's words, lowering her lashes in feigned modesty. "I promise I won't let you down, Mother. I will become Empress." Her voice was silky, but the underlying ambition in her gaze was impossible to miss.
Sorrelith gave a thin, tight-lipped smile in response, though her thoughts churned darkly. She cared little for her mother's schemes—her goal was simpler and far sharper: Zareth, and the throne beside him, would be hers, no matter the cost. Even if she had to eliminate Velmira to get there.
The double doors opened with a quiet creak, and Cavric entered. Tall and silent, his expression unreadable, he crossed the hall with steady strides. A servant stepped forward to pull out his seat, and he sat without ceremony.
Maltheira turned her gaze on him. "Have you received any news from your elder brother, Raj?"
Cavric shook his head once, his voice calm. "I'll discuss the details with you after dinner."
"Very well," she murmured, her tone clipped.
Time passed, the scents of the feast growing richer and almost oppressive, yet the Emperor was nowhere in sight. The custom of the palace dictated that no one eat until he arrived, and the delay gnawed at both stomach and patience.
Maltheira's fingers curled around her water goblet. "Goodness, is Zareth planning to starve us to death?" she muttered before sipping.
When the doors finally opened again after a while, every head turned and they stood—only to see Cassian, smiling politely. The collective disappointment was palpable.
"His Imperial Majesty will not be joining you for dinner," Cassian announced evenly. "The princess is asleep, and he would prefer to wait until she is awake before dining."
A ripple of irritation spread across the table. Velmira's composure cracked first. "What the hell?! Why does he have to wait for her to wake up?" she demanded, her voice sharp with disbelief.
Cassian merely stood, offering no explanation. His loyalty to Zareth was ironclad; no insult from them would draw a reaction.
Maltheira's voice was smooth, but her gaze was calculating. "Relay a message to the Emperor that, as family, it's only right we dine together. We will wait until he is ready."
Sorrelith gaped her face widening in horror. "What? Mother, but I'm starving—" .Her mother's glare silenced her instantly.
Cassian bowed, turned, and strode from the room.
"This is absurd, Mother!" Sorrelith burst out as soon as the doors shut. "Why must we starve because some pathetic human decided to nap?"
Maltheira's eyes narrowed. "This is why I can't trust you to ascend the throne beside Zareth—you are too foolish. Appearances matter. We must look like a united, contented family, even if we are not. Rumors are our most valuable weapon in the court."
Sorrelith's nails bit into the fabric of her skirt, her pride stinging under the rebuke. Velmira's voice rang soft and agreeable. "I don't mind fasting, Mother."
Maltheira's lips curved in approval. "I'm sure you don't."
Cavric, who had been quietly observing, reached for his cutlery. Maltheira's voice stopped him mid-motion. "Don't even think about it. We need you to secure a stronger position in court to support your brother's claim, and you're thinking about food?"
Cavric sighed heavily, setting the utensils down. Without a word, he rose and walked out, his long strides carrying him into the corridor.
Meanwhile, Serenya stirred in her sleep. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single wall sconce. Her breathing was shallow, her lashes fluttering faintly against her cheeks. She had drifted into unconsciousness from exhaustion—both from the draining intimacy of Zareth taking her blood and from the strange, overwhelming sensation of their souls being bound.
The door opened without a sound, and Zareth stepped in. The shadows clung to him as if reluctant to let him go, his tall frame commanding even in silence. His boots made no sound on the plush carpet as he approached the bed.
For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her. The faint rise and fall of her chest, the way a loose strand of hair curved against her cheek—it was an image he could have committed to memory without effort.
Reaching down, he adjusted the duvet, tucking it gently around her shoulders. His gloved fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, the touch light but deliberate. "Sleep all you want, Serenya," he murmured, his voice low, almost a purr. "I'll be right here when you wake up."
He bent to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, then straightened and left the room.
Outside, Cassian waited, his posture as crisp as ever. "Your Imperial Majesty," he began when the Emperor started walking, "Lady Maltheira said they will wait for you so you may dine together."
Zareth's steps paused, a sharp, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "How loving. I'm sure they wouldn't mind waiting until Serenya wakes up." His smile turned crooked, dangerous. "Fools."
He continued down the hallway, Cassian falling into step beside him. "Tell me, Cassian," Zareth said suddenly, his voice casual but edged with something darker, "what do you think of Serenya?"
Cassian glanced at him briefly before looking ahead again. "She's… soft. But with the right guidance, she could become a strong Empress. But then the palace might consume her before that happens."
A shadow of satisfaction curled Zareth's lips. "Then let's see how long she lasts. Because even if she doesn't, I'll make sure she does."
Cassian chuckled under his breath. "You haven't changed since we were young." Cassian was the son of Zareth's mother's best friend. They had grown up together.
Zareth turned his head slightly, his smirk widening. "The world would be dull if I did." His tone dripped with arrogant certainty. Then, as if the matter were trivial, he added mischievously, "Tell the royal chef to bring Serenya's and my dinner to my balcony."
Cassian bowed slightly. "At once, Your Majesty."