Somewhere in the heart of the southern capital of Albanus stood the imperial palace, its marble halls gleaming as servants swept tirelessly, courtiers hurried with scrolls in hand, and armored guards polished steel until it shone. The air smelled faintly of incense and candle wax — clean, busy, and heavy with the weight of empire.
Beyond those grand corridors lay the council chamber. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, its polished surface reflecting the light of crystal chandeliers.
Seated around it were the empire's highest officials: grey-bearded men in fine leather coats and silken cravats, their jeweled rings clinking against goblets of wine as they bickered over matters of state.
At the head of the table sat a single figure — apart, yet commanding all attention.
The man wore a tailored suit of deep black fabric, its edges embroidered with golden thread. A fur mantle rested upon his shoulders, and a crimson cape flowed behind him like a pool of blood. Upon his brow rested a crown of interwoven golden leaves.
His hair, pale as new-fallen snow, shimmered beneath the candlelight.
His expression was calm, lips curled faintly as if amused, though his purple eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance at the endless chatter.
"So noisy…" he thought, forcing patience as the old men prattled.
At last, one of the councillors — the master of intelligence — cleared his throat and spoke with measured calm.
"Your Majesty, as always, no unusual disturbances within the city. No whispers of rebellion, no foreign spies uncovered. Only minor disputes, all settled. However…"
He shuffled his notes before adding.
"Marquess Castell was spotted recently, traveling north of the capital. Nothing alarming, of course, but it is unusual."
The emperor's smile froze. His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest, and for the first time he broke the silence.
"...Marquess Castell?"
His voice cut clean through the chatter — smooth, commanding, impossible to ignore. The chamber fell silent.
Every man at the table turned his head toward the emperor, waiting.
Then he leaned forward, his tone deceptively soft yet sharpened with curiosity.
"Tell me… did he perhaps go to visit his wife?"
His smile curved, not warm but sharp with wicked curiosity.
He adjusted his posture, leaning back in his chair with deliberate ease, both hands clasped over one knee.
"After all… she is our empire's greatest hero. I only wonder if the Marquess is doing his duty well." His smile lingered as he spoke, voice smooth and cutting.
His eyes closed, the expression on his face one of pleasant amusement — yet the weight of it made the air heavy.
The men at the table exchanged nervous glances until one finally spoke.
"Of course, Your Grace! Marquess Castell's service to the empire is invaluable. The Castell house supplies vast resources for the capital and the people—"
Ivan waved a hand lazily, dismissing the words.
"No, not that." His smile widened.
"I wonder if he is doing his duty well as a husband."
The chamber fell into uneasy silence. None of them dared answer — for none truly knew what passed behind the walls of House Castell, nor what bond truly tied Roland and Catalina.
The council ended soon after. One by one, the men departed through the great doors, until only Ivan remained.
Propping his chin against his hand, he sat in the stillness of the hall, eyes narrowing with quiet discontent.
"Nothing interesting today…" His eyes drifting.
"This is boring…" He said to himself quietly.
Through the gilded halls of the imperial palace, Emperor Ivan de Albanus walked with steady steps, his presence cutting a striking figure.
Beside him trailed his right-hand man — a towering knight encased in full plate armor polished to a mirror's gleam, his cape brushing against the marble floor with every stride.
On the other side scurried his advisor, a short, stout man with sharp eyes, clutching a leather-bound booklet filled with notes, reminders, and endless matters of state.
The advisor rattled off his list as they walked, his voice quick but precise, like the ticking of a clock. Ivan listened half-heartedly, his purple eyes distant.
Then, breaking the monotony of duties, the emperor asked in a quieter tone.
"Robin… has there been any reply yet? From the Sunspear estate?"
The advisor paused mid-step, tilting his head before answering.
"None, Your Majesty. Every imperial-sealed letter you've personally sent has gone unanswered."
At that, Ivan's regal shoulders slumped, his tall frame suddenly resembling that of a forlorn boy rather than the ruler of an empire. His hand brushed across his mouth, hiding a small sigh.
"Your Majesty…" Robin's voice dipped, the faintest edge of reproach beneath his otherwise formal tone.
"That is… not very graceful. It is understandable, of course. The Marchioness Castell is—"
Ivan's gaze snapped sideways, sharp enough to cut.
"You mean Lady Duavan," he said, his brows knitting.
The correction came clipped, heavy, as though the very mention of her under another man's name was an insult.
"Ahem, yes… Lady Catalina Duavan, Your Majesty."
Robin adjusted his booklet nervously.
"But even so, though she is the Empire's greatest knight, it is rather discourteous of her to ignore repeated invitations of audience with the Emperor himself."
Ivan's frown eased, though only slightly. He sank back into his stride with a quiet, wistful sigh.
"It's fine, Robin. It's her... Even if I am Emperor, I will respect Lady Catalina… and the walls she's kept around herself these ten years."
Back at Sunspear Estate, the library's great halls stretched endlessly, sunlight spilling through tall windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. Erika ran her fingers along the spines of the books, scanning the rows with awe.
I can't believe how much knowledge is here. Even just reading a fraction of this makes my head spin. The lady I serve… she owns all of this? How is that even possible?
Her gaze drifted to her lady, moving gracefully between the shelves, searching for the next volume for their lessons. Sunlight caught her golden hair, making it glow like molten sunlight.
Erika's breath hitched.
Even standing like that… she makes the library glow. Ridiculous.
Something else struck her: her lady was tall. Taller than Erika had realized when they first met — back then she had been seated, and the height hadn't registered.
Are high-status noblewomen usually this tall? This is the second one I've met who towers over me… Lady Green was tall too. Maybe it's just noble genetics… or maybe aristocrats like to intimidate people with their height.
Erika shook her head, suppressing a quiet laugh at her own thoughts. Then she stepped closer, careful not to startle her lady, picking up a small stack of books.
"Shall we start with these?" she asked softly, a smile tugging at her lips.
Her lady glanced over, calm yet faintly curious, and nodded. Erika couldn't help but notice the subtle grace in every movement — the quiet authority carried without effort.
How strange… Erika thought.
And with that, she squared her shoulders, ready to continue — unaware that the lady she served was far more extraordinary than any story, any lesson, or any book could ever reveal.