There was once a vast empire known as Zerefia, ruled by none other than Harold Windelia, who ascended the imperial throne upon the passing of his forebears. With firm resolve and quiet strength, he governed the four great kingdoms united beneath the Zerefian banner, alongside his noble wife, Celistine.
Celistine Norenian was no ordinary consort — she was the daughter of King Henry, the reigning sovereign of the Northern Kingdom, a realm long burdened by hardship and decline. Unlike many unions of royal blood, their marriage was not born of alliance nor love, but of desperation.
The Northern Kingdom, poorest among the four, suffered from frail harvests, meagre trade, and scarce noble support. Its coffers lay barren, and its people starved, for the realm lacked both structure and strength. In a final bid for survival, King Henry knelt before the Empire, seeking aid.
But mercy, in such times, bore a price.
And so it was that Harold, the Crown Prince of Zerefia, took Celistine's hand — not for love, but for duty, sealing a marriage that would forever alter the fate of kingdoms.
It was Early morning in the morning, and the halls of Celistine's manor bustled with activity. Her maids moved with haste, preparing everything needed for the day, for it was the long-awaited arrival of the Emperor from another nation—come for a most delicate negotiation.
Celistine had already risen early. She bathed, and her maids had laid out her garments for the day. She wore a flowing gown of soft yellow, adorned with pearls that complemented the braids in her golden hair. Truly, Celistine was considered the very ideal of beauty in all the Empire of Zerefia. Many nobles admired the royal couple, seeing them as a perfect match.
As the hour approached, when the carriage arrives Celistine stepped out to greet her husband, the Emperor, at the main entrance of their grand estate. It had been over a year since they last saw one another. Her heart raced, and her eyes sparkled with joy as she beheld him.
But Harold felt nothing.
Though she was his wife and Empress, Harold had never truly loved Celistine. Her background was far too modest in his eyes, and she lacked the beauty that might have stirred his affections. Her noble birth from the impoverished Northern Kingdom meant little to him.
As Celistine greeted him with warmth, a sudden stir came from the imperial carriage. Another figure descended—a young woman with hair as white as snow, clad in an elegant gown that perfectly matched Harold's own royal attire.
The white-haired girl stepped down from the carriage, assisted by Harold. At that very moment, a sinking feeling grew in Celistine's chest. "Who is this woman?" she wondered silently.
With graceful poise, the lady approached Celistine and offered a proper greeting. She bowed her head respectfully and introduced herself:
"Greetings, Your Highness Celistine. I am Medeya Crosswell, a commoner of Mare from Seattley… and the Emperor's mistress."
Gasps echoed faintly among the gathered maids. Whispers soon followed.
A mistress?
Does Her Majesty know of this?
Celistine stood frozen in place, stunned. In their one year of separation, she had never imagined Harold would take a mistress. Her heart ached—so many thoughts raced through her mind—but as Empress, she held her composure. She would not allow a scandal to erupt. so she didn't answer Medeya's Greetings and change her attention to Harold.
Ignoring the humiliation, she turned her gaze to Harold, pretending as though she had heard nothing. With a calm tone, she carried out her duties.
"Welcome, Your Majesty. We have prepared your chamber for rest."
She then signalled to her maids to ready a separate room for Medeya. They all quietly obeyed. Harold, however, offered Celistine not even a glance—his full attention remained fixed on the mistress he cherished more than his wife.
—
Hours passed. The sting of the morning's events still clung to Celistine's heart. Around the palace, rumours had begun to spread.
Will the Emperor cast aside the Empress?
What will happen next?
No one wants an Empress who only lives for duty and work, some whispered.
Celistine heard it all—but dismissed every word. She drowned herself in state affairs, the very weight of the Empire resting on her shoulders. While Harold negotiated foreign deals, she alone kept Zerifia's heart beating.
Then, just as she was deep in her work, a knock sounded at her door.
It was Baron—the Emperor's trusted secretary. Celistine had never seen him as an ally. He knew too many of Harold's secrets… secrets she herself was never told.
"Lady, the Emperor wishes to see you. He's in the drawing room," said the servant.
The drawing room, the space often reserved for high-level guests and negotiations, carried with it an unspoken weight. Yet Baron — a brown-haired man in his forties — never once addressed or treated Celestine as the Empress, unlike Harold. She offered no response, her face calm as ever, but deep within, irritation brewed.
"Bastard," she muttered silently in her thoughts.
When Celestine entered the drawing room, she saw Harold wearing a simple linen shirt — the kind he wore when he wasn't dealing with political matters or simply resting. He was seated comfortably on the sofa beside Medeya, both of them laughing happily, nibbling on sweet confections. Celestine, keeping a perfect poker face, stood before them. Though the titles meant little now, she bowed and offered the customary greeting.
"Greetings, Your Majesty."
The moment Harold heard her words, he and Medeya ended their little moment and looked toward Celestine, who now sat calmly in front of them as if nothing had happened. In truth, she was seething inside — wounded by the rumors and recent reports spreading across the realm.
"I assume you already know why I summoned you?"
Harold spoke with sarcasm laced in his voice.
Celestine noticed Medeya smiling faintly — but there was something in that smile that whispered, "Outcast." She couldn't tell if it was sincere or meant as mockery.
"I suppose, Your Majesty," Celestine replied coldly.
"May you recall the reason you summoned me in the middle of my state affairs?"
"It concerns my relationship with Medeya."
"May I request to speak with you in private, Your Majesty?" Celestine asked, her tone icy.
"And what is there to discuss?" Harold replied.
"Why must Medeya be excluded?"
"This is between the Emperor's sudden decision to take a mistress without the Empress's knowledge or presence."
"Ha! And who are you for me to ask permission from? You're just the Empress by title — a mere woman from the Northern Kingdom."
It was an insult from Harold to Celestine, though it wasn't anything new. From the very beginning of their marriage, Harold had always treated her coldly. Celestine once tried to seduce him — hoping to spark even the faintest warmth — but instead of being drawn to her, Harold turned away and threw cruel words at her.
After that painful encounter, Celestine chose to embrace her role — not as a wife, but as the Empress of Zerefia's nation.
"I won't say another word—nor will I leave this room—unless you agree to my decision as Empress."
With no other choice, Harold gently dismissed Medeya. Once the doors closed and they were alone, the air between them grew heavy. Celestine could no longer hold back. Her emotions erupted, and the argument began.
"What have I done for you to suddenly decide to take a mistress? Tell me properly—where did you even meet that woman? And what would the late Emperor say about this?!" she snapped, her voice laced with frustration and pain. She could no longer make sense of what she was feeling, no longer control the fury building inside her.
"Ha! My father is bedridden—he can't even stand, let alone rule. So why should I consult him? I am the emperor now. The decisions are mine to make!"
"Your Majesty! You know the royal law—you can't simply marry without approval from the other nations! You're the Emperor of the Four Kingdoms. You don't get to act alone!" Celestine's voice rose in defense of tradition, of the order they were sworn to protect.
She was right. Every imperial decision had to be brought before the rulers of the Four Kingdoms. It was law.
Harold laughed, cold and mocking. Celestine stared at him, heart twisting in confusion. Why? What was driving him to take a mistress? What had changed?
"Look at you—pathetic and desperate. Just like your father."
"The Eastern and Southern Kingdoms already know about her. Including your father," he said with a smirk.
Celestine's breath caught. "Even my father?" The thought raced through her mind. She'd been sending letters to him, and the replies had always been warm. They were doing fine, he wrote. They kept sending food and supplies to the Northern Kingdom—something that used to bring her comfort.
But now... everything felt like a lie.
But the truth was far from what Celestine had once dreamed. Her husband—cold and indifferent—had never shown her even the slightest warmth.
"I want a divorce," Harold declared, without hesitation.
The words hit her like a slap. Celestine froze. The decision she feared the most had finally come true. Divorce. The title of Empress slipping from her hands would mean more than just personal shame—it would be the downfall of the Northern Kingdom.
She couldn't afford to lose her position.
The North relied entirely on the Western Kingdom's support. Since Harold took the throne, he held the reins of power across all four realms. He had full control of trade, alliances, and military force. Even the Eastern and Southern Kingdoms funneled their aid through him. The Northern Kingdom, her homeland, had nothing left of its own. Without him—they would collapse.
"Your Majesty, please… I'm sorry," Celestine said softly, her voice trembling as she tried to calm his rage.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him—not as a ruler, but as a woman in love. Her heart still belonged to Harold, despite everything.
But Harold pushed her away, his voice cruel and sharp.
"Then kneel. Beg me not to divorce you."
There was nothing left for her to do.
Swallowing her pride, Celestine sank to her knees before him—just as he demanded. Her dignity shattered, but she obeyed.
After the fight, Celestine left the drawing room without a word. Her face was tight with frustration and silent fury. There was no peace in her heart—only fire.
"Something's not right," she whispered to herself.
And she knew then—she would set things right, no matter what it took.