The Emperor's Decree
Talia planted both feet on the floor and straightened her back as far as she could. A sharp, stabbing pain radiated from her knees up through her spine; she must have injured something when she fell. She wanted nothing more than to sink down, yet she forced a mask of composure and lifted her gaze to meet her father’s.
It had been nearly half a year since she had last faced him, and even then only from a distance. The man before her might as well have been a stranger. The Emperor appeared to feel the same. Discomfort flickered across his features before he looked away and spoke in a flat, indifferent tone.
“I have heard you endured a difficult ordeal.”
“They say you even bear scars now.”
Talia’s eyes flashed with open hostility. This man was no different from any stranger; anger surged at the casual way he mentioned her wounds.
“Is that why you summoned me?”
She let out a sharp, mocking laugh and smoothed her skirts with deliberate lightness.
“Would you care to inspect the scars yourself?”
The Emperor’s thick brows drew together, but instead of the expected roar of rebuke, Virus Roem Guerta pressed his lips into a hard line and simply stared at her face—as though he were seeing his daughter’s features for the very first time.
“There is no need for me to confirm it with my own eyes.”
His curt reply finished, he turned his gaze to Barcas. A tangle of complicated thoughts moved behind the Emperor’s eyes, and a thread of unease wound through Talia’s chest. Why had he called both of them here?
She was still glaring at him in suspicion when the Emperor, after a long pause, spoke again—this time with open reproach.
“Barcas Laedgo Seorkan, I entrusted you with the safety of my children. The result stands before me now.”
Talia felt the blood drain from her body. The Emperor tapped the arm of his chair, his voice heavy.
“Because of your failure to protect her, the Second Princess suffered not only life-threatening wounds but permanent damage to her body. Do you acknowledge that the responsibility is yours?”
Barcas’s eyes brushed hers for a single heartbeat before sliding away.
“I do.”
There was no emotion in his voice—no resentment, no guilt, no attempt at excuse. Only the calm statement of fact.
“I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit.”
Talia stepped forward before she realized she had moved. Barcas did nothing wrong. The words rose in her throat and died there. Had he truly done nothing wrong? Her gaze dropped to her own legs, already beginning to tremble, then lifted again to his face. The image of him running past her overlapped with the present, and the memory she would never forget stole every word from her lips.
“Since you admit it so readily, we may proceed quickly,” the Emperor said with a heavy sigh. “The marriage negotiations between the Count’s house and the Second Princess have collapsed because of this incident. It will be difficult, if not impossible, to find another match worthy of imperial dignity. The girl carries too many flaws.”
He spoke as though she were not present, glancing once at her ashen face before continuing.
“You will take responsibility. Break your engagement with Ayla Roem Guerta and take the Second Princess, Talia Roem Guerta, as your wife.”
Talia stopped breathing. She stared at the Emperor, unable to comprehend what she had heard, then turned toward Senebier. A cold, serpentine smile curved the Empress’s lips—the smile of a predator that had just swallowed its prey. Gooseflesh rose along Talia’s arms; sweat broke out across her skin. She could not bring herself to look at Barcas and lowered her head instead.
Barcas would never accept such an absurd demand. He was the heir to a grand duchy; even an emperor had no right to force the Eastern Grand Duke’s successor into marriage. He would refuse. Talia’s hands shook as she clutched her skirts.
Seconds passed. Then Barcas spoke.
“If the Second Princess also consents, I will do so.”
Talia’s head snapped up. He was looking down at her, each word measured and deliberate.
“I will take Her Highness as my wife.”
For one suspended instant her heart seemed to cease beating. She stared at his mouth, certain she had misheard. Barcas could never have said such a thing. It had to be a hallucination.
“So it seems, Princess,” the Emperor said, his low voice dragging her back to reality. “If you agree, the seat of Duchess of Seorkan will be yours. What is your answer?”
Cynicism laced every syllable. Only then did Talia understand: the Emperor wanted her refusal. He had made the proposal under the Empress’s pressure, but he had no desire to see his illegitimate daughter wed to Ayla’s former fiancé. Perhaps Barcas, too, expected her to refuse and was simply playing along.
No—he surely was.
Her mind cleared with sudden, icy calm. If she accepted, the man she had longed for her entire life would finally be hers. But had she ever truly wanted that? Her gaze fell to the legs hidden beneath her skirts. The mere thought of showing him this broken body made her stomach twist. If she saw even a flicker of disgust on his face, she would shatter completely. She could not endure another wound.
She looked up at him again—the man who had always turned his back on her, who had saved Ayla instead, who would never love her even if she died for it. Could she live beside such a man for the rest of her life? Did she truly wish to crawl into that pain?
“I… I…”
Her cracked lips parted. She could not bear it. She did not want to be hurt anymore. The words were on her tongue when Senebier’s face came into focus—cold, unsmiling, warning that disappointment would never be forgiven. Talia’s stomach clenched.
“I…”
She looked from Barcas to the Emperor to Senebier; their faces blurred and spun. Dizziness crashed over her. Sweat soaked her brow. She wiped at it with her sleeve, but the drops stung beneath her eyelids. Her vision lurched. Her legs gave way.
She gasped as the floor struck her. From somewhere far away came a shrill scream—Senebier’s maids, no doubt. Lying prone, Talia forced her fogged sight to focus. Beyond the haze she glimpsed Barcas’s face, rigid and pale. Was the pallor an illusion born of her own foolish love? Of course it was. He had shown no reaction even when he saw her broken; why would he grow pale for her sake now?
Fatigue swept through her. She fought to keep him in her fading vision, then let everything go.
The news spread through the entire imperial palace like wildfire: the engagement between the heir to the Eastern Grand Duchy and the First Princess had been broken, and the Second Princess was to take her place.