Chapter 2: The Emperor's Eyes
I had always thought it was love that made Kaelith Vortem dangerous.
But standing there—his eyes locked on mine, his mouth curved in a polite, practiced smile—I realized I had been wrong.
It was the control.
Kaelith was not a man who raised his voice or wore his power like a blade. No, he wore it like a crown—effortlessly, coldly, and always in command. The ballroom bent to his will, hundreds of noble heads bowing as he took a single step forward.
And yet I did not bow.
I couldn't. Not when my last memory of him was the moment he raised a blade to my throat.
Not when the man who had once sworn to protect me had stood over my dying body with no remorse.
Our eyes met across the polished marble floor, the golden chandeliers casting fractured light between us.
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
He looked just as I remembered. Broad-shouldered, tall, dark-haired—he wore the uniform of a Crown Prince, not yet Emperor, though his presence eclipsed every other man in the hall. The fine embroidery on his midnight blue coat glittered with gold thread, stitched by the imperial tailors of Arhavia. But none of it masked the sharp, unyielding nature of the man beneath.
Kaelith Vortem was not the kind of man women fell in love with.
He was the kind they were devoured by.
"Lady Seraphina Virell," he said, his voice smooth as aged wine. "You are… striking tonight."
Every gaze turned to me. Even the musicians hesitated, letting the silence stretch too long before the strings resumed.
I forced my feet to move, my heart a furious rhythm in my chest. "Your Grace," I said, and I gave a shallow curtsy. Not deep. Not humble. Just enough to avoid scandal.
His eyes flickered with something I couldn't read.
"I trust your journey was comfortable?" he asked.
"Not as suffocating as I feared," I replied lightly.
A ripple of discomfort ran through the surrounding courtiers.
Kaelith's mouth curved. Amusement? Annoyance?
Hard to say.
"We've prepared a private table," he said, offering me his hand.
I hesitated.
Just days ago—or years ago, depending on how you looked at it—I would have taken his hand without question.
But now…
Now, I knew how easily those fingers could tighten into a noose.
Still, I took it. For the sake of appearances. For the sake of the game.
His touch was warm. Firm. Confident.
He led me through the crowd as the nobles whispered behind painted fans and jeweled goblets. We passed duchesses and viscounts, knights and merchant heirs. Many offered shallow greetings. Some couldn't even meet my gaze.
They had always feared me. Not because of power—but because of my name.
Virell.
The bloodline tied to the old gods. To magic.
To ruin.
---
The table was set atop a raised platform with a clear view of the entire hall. Tapestries bearing the Vortem crest—an obsidian dragon encircling a flame—hung behind us. Silverware gleamed. Wine shimmered in crystal goblets. Dishes I hadn't tasted in years were arranged with exacting care.
Kaelith sat across from me, silent for a while, letting the hum of the banquet rise around us.
Then, his voice, low and deliberate: "You seem... changed."
I met his gaze. "I've grown up."
"So quickly?"
"War changes people, doesn't it?"
His brow lifted ever so slightly. "There is no war."
Not yet.
"Then perhaps I'm only anticipating one," I said with a smile.
A flicker of something—wariness? suspicion?—passed through his eyes. "Tell me, Lady Seraphina. Why accept the engagement now, when you rejected it last year?"
Ah. So that was still true in this life.
In my first timeline, I had initially refused the match. I was young, proud, and afraid of being used as a pawn. But my family had pressured me, and eventually I yielded.
This time, I had no intention of yielding at all.
But I also needed to buy time. I couldn't break the engagement so soon without risking political backlash. I needed to maneuver carefully, like a blade between ribs—subtle, clean, final.
I sipped the wine before answering. "My reasons are my own. But I've learned that duty is heavier than comfort."
He studied me.
I hated how those eyes could still make me feel like I was drowning.
"If you think I'm the same girl you met last spring, you're mistaken," I said softly.
"I'm beginning to see that."
A pause.
"I wonder," he added, swirling his goblet, "if you see me as I truly am."
I saw you kill me.
"I suppose time will tell," I said coolly.
---
Hours passed in a blur of music, toasts, and feigned smiles. I performed my role as the charming bride-to-be flawlessly. I laughed at jokes I'd once heard and smiled at people I knew would one day betray me.
Duke Halveren, whose son would attempt to seduce me for court leverage.
Countess Mirei, who'd poison my bath with slowsilver.
Even Celene, the serpent in silk, approached with syrupy warmth.
"Cousin," she said, kissing my cheek. "You look divine. I had the most dreadful dream that you'd fallen ill before the banquet. I'm so relieved it was only a nightmare."
I kept my smile sharp. "If I fall, you'll know it wasn't from illness."
Her expression didn't waver. But her grip on my arm tightened for a fraction of a second.
She thought she was clever.
She thought I was still blind.
Let her think it.
Let them all underestimate me.
It would make their ruin all the sweeter.
---
Later that night, after the banquet ended and I returned to my guest chamber in the East Wing, I sat before the mirror and removed my earrings one by one.
My reflection stared back at me, pale and silent. My hands trembled slightly, not from fear—but from restraint.
So much had happened. So much was coming.
And the man at the center of it all was still in the room next door.
A knock startled me from my thoughts.
"Elora?" I called.
But it wasn't her voice that answered.
"It's me."
Kaelith.
I froze.
He was not supposed to visit. Not at this hour. Not before we were officially betrothed.
Everything in me screamed to deny him entry. But curiosity—and strategy—overruled.
"Come in."
The door opened, and he stepped inside, no longer in court attire. His black undershirt clung to his frame, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair, usually neatly combed, was tousled. Less prince. More man.
I rose slowly.
"This is… unexpected," I said.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "I came to ask you something. Privately."
I waited.
His eyes darkened. "Have we met before?"
I went still.
"What makes you ask that?"
He shook his head. "It's the way you looked at me tonight. As if you already knew every word I'd say."
A pause.
"As if you hated me."
My breath caught in my throat.
He took a step closer. "I know we danced once at the Harvest Gala. I know we exchanged letters. But this… this is something else."
I gathered my composure. "Perhaps I simply see you more clearly now."
He tilted his head. "Do you?"
"Enough to know what kind of man you are."
He looked like he wanted to laugh—but didn't.
Instead, he walked closer. "Then you should know I don't like being lied to."
I met his eyes. "Neither do I."
We stood inches apart now, the tension between us like a thread pulled tight.
"I don't trust you, Lady Seraphina," he said.
I smiled slowly. "Good. Because I don't trust you either."
And with that, I turned my back to him.
The silence stretched.
Then I heard the door close behind him.
---
When I was certain I was alone, I crossed to the writing desk and pulled open a hidden drawer beneath its center. I retrieved a quill and parchment, quickly drafting a list of names—those I knew would betray me, those I might sway, those whose fates I would rewrite.
At the top of the list, I wrote one name in bold strokes:
Kaelith Vortem.
And beside it:
Do not fall in love again.