(Almera's POV)
The palace at dawn was quieter than I expected.
Not peaceful—never peaceful—but hushed, like a beast holding its breath.
Golden light filtered through tall lattice windows, painting the marble corridors in warm hues that reminded me of the desert sands we had crossed. It touched everything it passed: pillars etched with ancient sigils, silk curtains embroidered with imperial crests, and finally, me.
I stood at the threshold of the eastern wing, my hands folded neatly before me, my spine straight despite the pounding of my heart.
This was where she lived.
Cecilia Alessander.
The emperor's sister.
The reason I was still alive.
Malik stood a few steps behind me, his presence solid and grounding. He did not speak, but his gaze was sharp, alert to every shadow. Even here—inside the heart of the palace—danger lingered like perfume.
The doors before me were carved from pale wood inlaid with gold. They were not locked.
They never needed to be.
I took a breath and stepped inside.
The room was dim, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and medicine. Curtains had been drawn to soften the morning sun, and bowls of water sat at intervals along the walls, each infused with faintly glowing crystals meant to purify the air.
On the bed lay a girl no older than sixteen.
She was thin—too thin. Her skin held a grayish pallor that no amount of silk or gold-threaded sheets could hide. Dark lashes rested against hollowed cheeks, her breathing shallow, uneven, like waves breaking against a dying shore.
Cecilia.
She looked fragile enough to shatter if the world breathed too harshly.
My chest tightened.
So this was the price Romulus had paid.
I approached slowly, every step measured. This was not a performance for an audience. This was a promise.
Behind me, I felt him before I heard him.
The air shifted.
Heat—not from the sun, but from presence.
"Begin."
Romulus's voice was low, steady, carrying no impatience. It was the tone of a man who had already decided the outcome, who merely wished to see if reality would dare defy him.
I turned.
He stood near the doorway, bare-chested save for a draped mantle of dark fabric that clung to his broad shoulders. Golden hair fell loose, catching the light like molten metal. His skin—golden olive, kissed by sun and war—seemed to glow against the shadows of the room.
Power radiated from him, contained but undeniable.
Our eyes met.
For a brief moment, the world narrowed to the space between us.
Then I bowed.
Not deeply.
Not submissively.
Just enough.
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Something unreadable flickered across his face.
I turned back to the bed before he could speak.
Kneeling beside Cecilia, I reached for her hand. It was cold—unnaturally so. My fingers curled around hers gently, reverently.
You are not my enemy, I told her silently. You are the reason I survive.
I closed my eyes.
And let the walls inside me fall.
The power answered immediately.
Warmth bloomed beneath my skin, starting at my chest and flowing outward, down my arms, into my hands. It was familiar—like slipping into water I had been born to swim in.
Golden light seeped through my fingers, soft at first, then brighter, wrapping around Cecilia's hand like sunlight filtering through shallow water.
Her breath stuttered.
I focused.
Healing was not force. It was listening.
I followed the threads of sickness inside her—the poison clinging to her veins, the residue of something ancient and cruel. It was the same signature I had felt in my dreams. The same that had taken Romulus's mother.
So it was true, I thought grimly. You carry it too.
The poison resisted.
It always did.
My jaw tightened as I pushed deeper, drawing the corruption toward me, unraveling it thread by thread. Sweat beaded at my temple. The room seemed to fade, leaving only the steady rhythm of Cecilia's heart beneath my palm.
Behind me, I felt Romulus move.
He did not touch me.
But his presence pressed close, enclosing, like the arm in the cover art that would later capture this very moment—the tyrant emperor standing guard over the fragile thing he feared to lose.
"Careful," he murmured. "You're shaking."
I hadn't realized.
I steadied myself, drawing another breath.
"I won't break," I replied softly. "Not yet."
The light intensified.
Cecilia gasped.
Her back arched slightly, fingers tightening around mine as color returned to her cheeks. The gray pallor retreated, chased away by warmth and life.
Her breathing evened.
The poison screamed as it unraveled.
Then—
Silence.
I slumped forward, catching myself just before my forehead touched the mattress.
Strong hands closed around my arms.
Romulus.
He pulled me back against him, firm, unyielding, his bare chest solid at my back. Heat surrounded me, grounding me, keeping me upright when my strength threatened to fail.
For a heartbeat, he held me there.
Possessive.
Protective.
Dangerous.
"You did it," he said quietly.
I swallowed, my voice unsteady. "I told you I would."
He did not release me immediately.
Instead, his grip tightened slightly, as if testing whether I would pull away.
I did not.
I could feel his heartbeat—slow, powerful—beneath my cheek. I was acutely aware of how small I felt within his hold, and how easily he could crush or shelter me.
When he finally stepped back, the air felt colder.
Cecilia stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
"Brother…?" she whispered.
Romulus moved to her side instantly, all traces of the tyrant gone. He knelt beside the bed, taking her hand with a gentleness that startled me.
"I'm here," he said. "You're safe."
She smiled faintly.
Then her gaze drifted to me.
"Is she…?" Cecilia asked weakly.
"Yes," Romulus replied without hesitation. "She is."
I looked away, heart pounding.
This was only the beginning.
I had healed her body.
Now I would have to survive the court.
Romulus stood, turning to face me fully.
"In the morning," he said, voice carrying through the chamber, "we announce the wedding."
My breath caught.
"A ceremony befitting an empress," he continued, eyes locked on mine. "Not a concubine."
Shock rippled through me, but I did not let it show.
"This favor," he went on, "will draw knives from every direction. Those who whisper to Constantine will reveal themselves."
His lips curved, slow and dangerous.
"And you," he said, gaze lingering, "will stand at my side while we burn them out."
I lifted my chin.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
For the first time since arriving in Alessandria, I believed it.
I was no longer just a hostage.
I was a weapon.
And the empire would soon learn it.
(Romulus's POV)
The moment Almera left the chamber, the air felt different.
Quieter.
Not because the danger had passed—danger never truly left—but because something had shifted its weight.
Cecilia slept peacefully for the first time in years.
I stood beside her bed longer than I should have, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the faint color returning to her lips. The poison that had haunted our bloodline had retreated—if not fully destroyed, then broken enough to give her time.
Time was a luxury I had learned to measure in breaths.
"She will live."
The voice came from behind me—calm, measured, and familiar.
I turned.
He stood near the lattice window, hands clasped behind his back, dark hair streaked faintly with silver despite his age. His robes were simple for a man of his standing, but the sigil at his collar marked him unmistakably.
Raem Khadir.
My right hand.
Grand Vizier of the Sun Throne.
Head of the Inner Council.
The only man in the empire who could speak freely in my presence without losing his head.
"She will," I confirmed. "Because Almera made it so."
Raem's sharp eyes flickered briefly to Cecilia before returning to me. "Then the Constantine princess is more than rumor."
"She is exactly what she claimed to be," I said. "And more."
Raem exhaled slowly. "A saintess's blood. Healing strong enough to counter an imperial poison. And prophetic dreams, if your instincts are correct."
"They are," I replied flatly.
I moved away from the bed and toward the balcony doors. Dawn light spilled across the marble floor, catching on gold inlays and casting long shadows.
Raem followed, his steps silent.
"She will become a destabilizing presence in the harem," he said carefully. "The women there were placed by councils, merchants, and foreign courts. Each one an ear. A blade. A leash."
"I know," I said. "That is precisely why she will stay."
Raem studied me for a moment longer before asking the question I knew was coming.
"Do you intend to keep her as a concubine in contract only?"
I laughed—softly, humorless.
"No."
The word carried finality.
Raem's brow lifted slightly. "I see."
"She is too beautiful to resist," I continued. "And too dangerous to leave untouched."
There was no lust in the statement. Only truth.
Raem inclined his head. "Then you will claim her fully."
"I already have," I said. "The court simply hasn't realized it yet."
Silence stretched between us.
Then Raem spoke again, more cautiously this time. "And the seat of empress?"
I turned to face him.
"That," I said, "is too early to answer."
Raem did not look surprised. "You will test her."
"I will observe her," I corrected. "On the road ahead. In the harem. In council shadows. Under pressure."
I thought of Almera kneeling beside Cecilia's bed, light spilling from her hands, her body trembling but unbroken.
"She wants to be an ally," I said. "Not a hostage. Not a sacrificial bride."
"And do you believe her capable of surviving the palace?" Raem asked.
My jaw tightened.
"My mother couldn't," I said quietly.
Raem said nothing. He didn't need to.
The harem had killed her long before the poison did.
"She died because she had no power," I continued. "No allies. No teeth."
I looked out over the city of Atenisia—golden roofs, flowing water, life carved from desert by will alone.
"If a woman is to sit on that throne," I said, "she must have iron will. Perseverance. She must expect danger and walk into it without flinching."
I turned back to Raem.
"She must be able to survive me."
Raem's lips curved faintly. "And if she does?"
"Then she will deserve the crown," I said.
A pause.
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then Alessandria will consume her," I replied coldly. "As it does all the weak."
Raem bowed deeply. "I will prepare the court for the wedding announcement."
"Yes," I said. "Let them watch. Let them whisper."
I thought of Almera's calm gaze, her refusal to bow too low, the way she hid fire beneath silk.
"Those who move against her," I added, "will reveal themselves."
Raem smiled then—thin, dangerous.
"The palace will bleed truths."
I nodded once.
"Good," I said. "Because this empire needs a woman who can stand in blood and not drown."
And somewhere within those gilded walls, a hostage princess was about to find out whether she could become an empress—or die trying