<h3 style="text-align: center"><b>1.3 | The Ailing Empress</b>
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THE EMPRESS SAT beside her daughter’s deathbed, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across her face. Her first born’s body lay still, pale and fragile, barely clinging to life. Her breath was shallow, her chest rising and falling in a painful rhythm. The curse that had plagued the girl since birth had only worsened, and now, with each passing hour, it seemed she was slipping away.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the cool, porcelain-like skin of the child she had once held in her arms, the child she had loved fiercely, despite everything. Despite the Emperor’s suspicions, despite the lies that had clouded their marriage for years. Her daughter was his—<i>his</i> and<i> hers</i>. She knew it, with every fiber of her being, but he would never believe it.
“I told you, she has no time left,” the Emperor’s cold voice cut through the silence, as he stepped into the room. His eyes, hard and unfeeling, turned to the frail figure on the bed. “Two more days at most, and she’ll be <i>gone</i>.”
The Empress’s throat tightened. She had spent years hoping, praying, that her daughter would be spared this fate. But now… there was nothing left to do but watch her die. And the weight of it all—her guilt, her love, her helplessness—crushed her.
“You act as though you have no heart,” the Empress said, her voice shaking with grief. She turned to face him, her eyes flashing with unshed tears. “How can you be so calm about this?”
The Emperor didn’t flinch. His face remained a mask of indifference. “She was never meant to survive. She was a product of your <i>shame</i>, your <i>betrayal</i>. The product of <i>his </i>blood, not mine.”
Her heart clenched at the familiar accusation, the bitter reminder of a time long buried. But she would not let him speak of her daughter this way. “You’re wrong,” she spat, her voice rising. “She is yours. And you will never understand what it costs me to watch her wither away while you sit there, blind to the truth.”
The Emperor’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “What truth? Your lies are poison. The girl should have died long ago, if not for your interference. But I’ve indulged your foolishness. I allowed her to live in my palace, despite her existence being a constant reminder of your infidelity.”
The Empress could feel the heat of anger rising within her. “I never slept with your brother. Never. She is yours, Rion. You’re the only man I’ve ever—”
“Enough,” the Emperor snapped, raising a hand to silence her. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Whether you lie or tell the truth, it doesn’t change the fact that she is weak. I have no use for a daughter who can’t even live. That only meant she was never meant to bear the weight of the crown.”
Tears finally spilled from the Empress’s eyes, but she held her ground. “She tried. Every day, she tried to prove herself to you. She fought for your love, for your recognition. But you… you <i>never</i> saw it. You never gave her a chance.”
The Emperor scoffed, turning away. “<i>Love?</i> She has no place in this world. Only power matters. And if she is too frail to inherit that power, then she is of no use to me.”
The Empress’s body trembled with emotion as she took a step toward him. “How could you say that? She is your daughter. A child of your blood and flesh, no matter how much you wish to deny it.”If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
His back was turned to her, but his voice was cold as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter what she is, or what you say she is. She will die, and I will not <i>mourn </i>her.”
The words cut deeper than any blade. The Empress’s heart shattered, knowing that the one person who should have stood beside her in this—her own husband—had turned his back on both her and their child.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of her daughter’s labored breathing. The Empress, still standing, could not tear her eyes away from her dying daughter, her heart breaking with every breath the girl took.
In this moment, she realized something. No matter what the Emperor believed, no matter how much he tried to deny it, her daughter had been his—and she would always be hers. The guilt, the shame, the weight of their secrets—none of that could change the truth.
“<i>I regret nothing,</i>” the Empress whispered to herself, but her words hung heavy in the air, a vow she could never speak aloud.
The Empress stood, trembling, her body wracked with the weight of her grief, as her husband’s cold indifference burned through her. “This is all my fault for marrying the likes of you,” she whispered, the words tasting like ashes in her mouth. Her heart was heavy with the bitter truth of it all.
Rion stood motionless, his gaze cold, unreadable. “Head back to our chambers, you need to rest. You haven’t been sleeping for days.”
She wanted to scream at him, to slap the words back into his face, but all that came out was a choked sob. “I have failed as a mother. Why is sleeping more important than our dying daughter, Rion?” The words were raw, desperate, a cry that fell flat in the oppressive silence between them. “Right now, I want nothing more than for you to leave me alone, just for a single day. Can’t you at least do that for me?”
His eyes remained empty, like a man who had already buried his heart years ago. “I’ll call for some servants to tend to her in your stead. Get some rest.”
She recoiled at the words, as if they were a slap to her face. “Seeing you play the role of a doting husband sends shivers through me. You disgust me. I am disgusted by the fact that I married someone like you,” she spat, venom lacing her words, her heart breaking in two.
Rion’s jaw clenched, his fist tightening at his side. In an instant, his arms surrounded her, pulling her close. She struggled against his grip, her body screaming for release, but he held her with unyielding force. “Let me go!” she cried, her voice raw with fury and pain.
Tears streamed down her face as she beat against his chest, but it was futile. Her blows barely left a mark, while his embrace only seemed to grow tighter, suffocating her. In that moment, a part of her wanted to give in, to surrender to the twisted affection he offered. But she hated herself for even entertaining the thought. He was a monster, a man who had turned their children into shadows of what they could have been.
“Why do you keep doing this?” she whispered, broken. “Why do you torment me so?”
“You are important to me,” he whispered back, his voice low, desperate, as if his words could somehow erase everything between them. “I’m only doing this for your sake.”
“I could only do so much,” he added, as if his words were meant to be some sort of twisted solace.
“I hate you. I hate you so much,” she hissed, the words tasting like bile.
“Hate me all you want,” he said, his voice indifferent to the venom she poured into her words, “I don’t care. Just don’t run away from me, Agatha.”
They stayed like that, locked in a perverse embrace, until the fury that had consumed her finally began to ebb, replaced by an unbearable emptiness. Her body grew limp in his arms, her will broken. With a resigned sigh, he carried her back to their bedchamber, her body cradled against his as she fell into a restless sleep, the weight of everything too much to bear.
But as she drifted off into the dark abyss of exhaustion, a single thought gnawed at her—a thought that would haunt her for the rest of her life: <i>Her daughter was dying</i>, and Rion—<i>Rion would never mourn her</i>.