By the time summer cloaked the empire in golden warmth, Himeka had grown used to the strange rhythm of her new life.
She was no longer treated like a political hostage. She was no longer guarded, restricted, or silenced. Quite the opposite—every door in the palace opened at her approach, every command she uttered was obeyed without hesitation.
It was as though the empire wanted her to believe she had everything she could ever desire.
And perhaps she did.
Yet, beneath the glittering surface, the loneliness only deepened.
One morning, she awoke to sunlight pouring through the tall windows of her chamber. Her attendants fluttered about, preparing her gown and jewels for the day.
"Your Majesty, His Imperial Majesty has already departed for the morning council," said Lira, her most trusted handmaiden.
"As always," Himeka murmured, allowing herself a small sigh.
By now, it had become routine: she would wake to find the Emperor already gone, and she would dine alone at breakfast. At court, she sat at his side, silent as a statue while he spoke. And at night, she returned to a shared chamber that felt colder than an empty one.
But when she looked beyond him, the empire itself was hers to explore.
She visited the royal gardens, where flowers imported from every corner of the continent bloomed in careful symmetry. She wandered through the libraries, where towering shelves held scrolls and books older than her kingdom itself. She even ventured into the marketplace, escorted by guards, where merchants offered her rare silks and curious trinkets.
Everywhere she went, people bowed deeply, calling her Empress.
Children peeked from behind their mothers' skirts, their eyes wide with awe. Nobles lowered their heads, their faces polished with reverence. Even the common folk cheered when they glimpsed her carriage passing by.
She was adored.
Respected.
Free.
And yet, when she returned each evening to the palace, her chest ached with emptiness.
For what use was freedom, if it was freedom to be unseen?
One evening, she lingered in the gardens after sunset, watching fireflies dance above the lilies. A gentle breeze stirred her hair as she sank onto a stone bench, her gown pooling around her like spilled moonlight.
"I am free," she whispered aloud, as though reminding herself. "I can go where I wish… do what I wish…"
Her voice faltered. The words rang hollow in her own ears.
A bird sang somewhere in the trees, its song sharp and lonely against the quiet night.
"…Then why do I feel so trapped?"
The answer came to her in the stillness: because freedom without love was only another cage.
She thought of her father, who had promised her safety through this marriage. Of her people, who smiled now that peace had returned. She thought of the Emperor, who treated her neither as wife nor prisoner, but as something else entirely—something invisible.
And the realization pierced her like a thorn.
She was free to walk, free to speak, free to spend… but she was not free to be seen by the one man who mattered most.
The chains around her were not made of iron. They were made of silence.
When she returned to the chambers that night, she found him as always: seated by the window, bathed in pale moonlight. His white hair shimmered faintly, his crimson eyes distant, unreadable.
He looked almost ethereal, as though he belonged to the night sky rather than the world of men.
For a moment, she lingered at the doorway, her heart thudding in her chest.
She wanted to say something. Anything. To break through that silence that always pressed between them.
But her lips refused to move.
And so she slipped quietly into bed, lying stiffly on her side while he remained seated at the window until long after she had closed her eyes.
The next day, she asked Lira a question that had been burning on her tongue for weeks.
"Does His Majesty ever… speak to anyone?"
The handmaiden hesitated, her hands pausing over the braid she was weaving into Himeka's hair. "…Only what is necessary, Your Majesty."
"Necessary…" Himeka echoed softly.
"Yes," Lira continued. "He commands. He judges. He decides. But as for speaking with… warmth? I have never heard such a thing."
Himeka lowered her gaze. So it was not just her. It was everyone.
The Emperor lived in silence, and perhaps had always done so.
But for reasons she could not explain, that truth both comforted and pained her.
Because while the rest of the world might accept his coldness as natural… she could not.
That night, as the summer air drifted through the window, Himeka lay awake beside him. She stared at the faint glow of moonlight across his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the pale lashes against his skin, the unyielding stillness of his form.
Her chest tightened with an ache she could not name.
She wanted to be free of it.
She wanted to reach him.
But no matter how much the palace doors opened for her, this one door—his heart—remained shut.
And so, in the gilded halls of the empire, the untouched bride found herself both freer and more trapped than ever before.
End of Chapter 4