The weeks turned into months.
By the time spring began to melt the snow from the palace gardens, Himeka had grown accustomed to the rhythm of her new life.
It was a life of luxury, far greater than anything she had known in Barmouth. Her wardrobe overflowed with silks and velvets. Jewel-studded combs and golden hairpins filled her dressing table. Her meals were prepared by the empire's finest chefs—dishes rich with spices, tender meats, and delicate sweets.
And yet, for all the grandeur, she felt strangely hollow.
The people of Cyrillic called her Empress. They bowed when she passed, their respect almost overwhelming. Her every wish was granted without hesitation.
If she desired to stroll through the gardens, the gates were opened.
If she wished to visit the libraries, shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes were laid bare before her.
If she longed for music, musicians were summoned to play.
The world bent around her like a dream.
She was, in every sense, more free than she had ever been.
But freedom without affection was nothing more than gilded solitude.
One afternoon, as she reclined on the balcony of her chambers, Himeka watched the clouds drifting across the pale blue sky.
She remembered her first weeks in the palace, when every night she had braced herself for the Emperor's touch. Her heart had pounded with dread, her body tense beneath the sheets.
But that touch had never come.
Not once.
The Emperor kept his distance, as though she were made of glass. He ate in silence, worked in silence, slept in silence.
Even when they shared the same bed, he made no move toward her.
It baffled her.
Why marry me at all… if he does not even acknowledge me?
Her father's words returned to her: "The Emperor is not like other men. He values power above all else. You will be his symbol of peace. Endure, and our kingdom will endure with you."
A symbol.
That was what she was. Not a wife. Not a woman. Merely a seal to bind two nations.
Himeka hugged her knees against her chest, the spring breeze carrying the faint scent of blossoms from the garden below.
She had resigned herself to cruelty. She had prepared to endure pain. But she had never considered that she might be abandoned without ever being touched.
And in a strange, bitter way… that neglect cut deeper than any chain could have.
Her handmaiden, a quiet woman named Lira, entered with a tray of tea.
"Your Majesty," she said softly, bowing low before setting the tray down.
Himeka glanced at her. The handmaiden's eyes remained carefully downcast, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her voice when she asked, "Will His Majesty be joining you today?"
Himeka's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "He never does."
Lira lowered her gaze further, wisely saying no more. But the silence that followed was louder than any words.
Later that evening, as Himeka prepared for bed, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
Her long black hair shimmered like silk under the candlelight. Her skin was pale, her lips tinged with rose. She was, by all accounts, beautiful—a princess turned empress, adored by her people, draped in the finest clothes.
Yet when she looked into her own eyes, she saw loneliness staring back.
And when she glanced at the man who shared her bed, she saw only a wall of ice.
The Emperor lay on his side, facing away, his white hair spilling across the pillow like threads of moonlight. His breathing was steady, untroubled, as if her presence made no difference at all.
Is this truly marriage? she thought bitterly.
She bit her lip, a wave of frustration bubbling in her chest. It wasn't that she wanted him to hurt her. No, she was grateful—grateful beyond words—that he had not forced himself upon her. That he had not treated her like an object.
But at the same time, she longed for something more.
For recognition.
For warmth.
For… anything.
The silence was suffocating.
The next day, she attended court at his side for the first time. The nobles and generals bowed deeply, their voices rising in unison:
"Glory to Their Majesties!"
She sat upon the throne beside him, her gown flowing like liquid silver. The Emperor listened to reports of trade routes, military patrols, and border disputes. His crimson eyes scanned documents, his cold voice issuing commands with effortless authority.
Not once did he glance at her.
Not once did he ask for her counsel.
She was there, resplendent as a queen, yet invisible.
The nobles looked at her with admiration, but she felt like a painted doll displayed for show.
And all the while, the Emperor remained the same—unmoving, unyielding, untouchable.
That night, when the palace was quiet once more, Himeka lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Her hand drifted across the sheets until it hovered just an inch from his.
So close.
She bit down on her lip, her chest tightening with a strange ache.
He has not touched me once… and yet, why does that make me feel this hollow?
The thought lingered as her eyes grew heavy.
And as sleep finally claimed her, the untouched bride dreamed of a warmth she had never known.
End of Chapter 3