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The Crimson Throne
The court was a symphony of whispers and the rustle of silk, as envoys and courtiers bowed low before the imperial dais. Empress Linnea sat beside Emperor Alaric, their thrones towering over the grand hall. Though they were bound by the dictates of state, their story was far more intricate than the gilded façade presented to the world.
Linnea had been crowned a year ago, a queen from a neighboring kingdom chosen for her beauty and diplomacy. But beneath the surface of her serene composure, she carried a sharp mind and a heart that yearned for more than duty. Alaric, a ruler known for his iron will and cunning on the battlefield, was a man of passion buried beneath layers of formality. Their marriage had been one of necessity, a union to solidify an alliance and avert war.
Tonight, as the court celebrated another victorious campaign, Linnea’s gaze lingered on her husband. He was clad in a deep crimson robe embroidered with golden dragons, his crown glinting in the firelight. To the world, he was the unyielding emperor. To her, he was an enigma—one she was determined to unravel.
As the evening progressed, Alaric’s dark eyes met hers across the hall, the briefest flicker of something unspoken passing between them. It was not the first time. Moments like these had become more frequent, yet neither dared to break the unspoken truce of their arranged marriage.
When the last of the courtiers had departed, Linnea found herself alone in the gardens, the moonlight casting silver shadows on the marble pathways. She leaned against a pillar, the cool stone grounding her as she inhaled the scent of blooming jasmine.
“You look troubled,” a deep voice murmured behind her.
Startled, Linnea turned to see Alaric standing there, his formal robe replaced by a simpler tunic. Without the crown, he seemed younger, less distant.
“I wasn’t aware you noticed my moods,” she replied, her tone careful yet teasing.
His lips curved into a faint smile. “I notice more than you think.”
Linnea crossed her arms, the distance between them both physical and symbolic. “Then you must know how strange it feels to celebrate victories I had no part in achieving.”
Alaric took a step closer, his presence commanding yet oddly comforting. “You play a greater role than you realize, Linnea. This empire would crumble without you.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected warmth in his words. “Words of flattery, Emperor? I thought you reserved those for foreign diplomats.”
He chuckled softly, a sound she had rarely heard. “Perhaps I’m learning to speak more plainly.”
Their eyes met again, the space between them charged with an energy neither could deny. For the first time, Linnea saw not just the emperor but the man beneath the crown.
“Then speak plainly, Alaric,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What is it you want from me?”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers. “Everything.”
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