The first light of dawn filtered over the silk sheets, and Seraphina's crimson hair blazed across the pillow like fire. She awoke with a weary but contented smile, her body still heavy with the sweet weight of the night's passionate moments.
Elmond had always been more than enough for her in bed, but last night, he had surpassed even himself. After the first round, they had barely paused for a few minutes before beginning again, and throughout the night, her beloved husband had filled her over and over, determined to leave her with child.
She opened her eyes slowly, feeling Elmond's strong arms enveloping her. As the prince's deep breaths rose and fell with the peaceful rhythm of sleep, Seraphina felt, for a fleeting moment, removed from the burdens of the world.
The scent filled her senses, deepening the smile on her lips. She leaned against his chest, her fingers tracing the muscular curves of his arms as if she wanted to etch this moment into eternity.
"Good morning, my love," Seraphina whispered, her voice soft yet still infused with the heat of the night.
Elmond's eyes opened slowly, taking in his wife with that stern but tender gaze. For a moment, it was just the two of them — no intrigues, no power games, no dangers looming in the shadow of the empire. Just Elmond and Seraphina, entwined like a fortress against the rest of the world.
But the prince's expression soon darkened. Seraphina noticed immediately; those green eyes captured the storm raging in his soul. Elmond sat upright in bed, one hand pressing to his forehead as he drew a deep breath. Seraphina, pulling the silk sheet to her chest, looked at him anxiously.
"What is it, my love? Your face… did something happen?"
Elmond remained silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting toward the gray clouds forming on the horizon. The fireplace's ashes had cooled, but the air in the room remained heavy, as if a tense silence, foretelling a coming storm, had replaced the passion of the night. Finally, the prince turned to his wife, his voice firm yet tinged with sorrow.
"Dark days are approaching for the Empire. You must leave early tomorrow. I've prepared everything for you."
Seraphina's heart tightened like a fist. Her lips trembled, tears welling in her eyes. She pressed her hand more tightly against the sheet, as if using it like armor to shield herself from Elmond's words.
"What do you mean, leave?!" she demanded, her voice splitting between anger and pain. "Was that why last night… that passion, that fire… was it a farewell to me?"
Tears ran down her cheeks, yet her gaze remained defiant. She was not broken. She was furious.
"Elmond, you can't do this to me," she continued, her voice a mixture of love and rebellion. "I am your wife! Even if the Empire burns, I must stand by you. Do you think sending me away is protecting me? I lived with you, I fought with you, I laughed with you. And if necessary, I will die with you too!"
Shaking hands, gripping his, she refused to let go. "If I am to leave, I will not go alone. We either escape together, or we fall together. There is no other path for me."
Elmond's jaw muscles tensed, shadows deepening in his eyes. He felt her hands holding his, but he did not relent. He loved her, and that was precisely why he was ready to harden his heart to save her.
"Get your hands off, Seraphina," he said in a voice as sharp as steel, a command leaving no room for love.
Seraphina shook her head, tears streaming faster now. "No… no, Elmond! Whatever you say, I will not leave. Even if you chain me to this bed, I will stay with you!"
The prince clenched his teeth and gripped her wrist. There was no trace of tenderness in his hold, only the iron of will. "I do not deny your love," he said, voice icy. "But when love mixes with folly, it brings only death. I will not bury you on a battlefield."
Seraphina gasped in pain but did not retreat. "Then let me die by your side, if that must be!" she shouted.
Elmond closed his eyes, as if the storm within him might break free. Then, he pulled her to him suddenly and pressed a hard, painful kiss to her lips. This was no act of affection, more a seal, a finality. When he parted his lips, he whispered:
"That is why you must go. Because I love you and our daughter."
He rose quickly, moving toward the door with heavy steps. At the corridor's end, he signaled the waiting maids. At the threshold, he turned to look at his wife one last time.
"You will take the carriage I prepared north. Your father is the Empire's strongest vassal. Even the current emperor cannot easily strike him. You will be safe there, with our daughter. Should you object, I will not hesitate to send you by force."
A knife of pain struck Seraphina's heart. There was no doubt in his voice. She understood then that this was not a threat; this was the husband last command.
"Then come with me… let us live free of all these burdens. Let our peaceful life be only you, me, and our children."
A small, fleeting smile appeared on Elmond's face, but it was not warm. It carried the shadow of merciless mockery.
"Your cunning father would sell me to the Empire or try to have me killed. I cannot come. I must stay here."
His steps were heavy, unyielding as a soldier's. Hand on the door, he turned, locking eyes with her. Seraphina saw then that his resolve was harder than stone. She could not convince him; her pleas only wounded her own heart.
Yet she did not step back.
"Why risk your life? For your brother, who does not value you, or your mother, who raised you in his shadow?"
Elmond narrowed his eyes, fists clenching for a moment. Standing at the doorway with his broad shoulders, her words pierced him like daggers, but his face remained unbroken.
"No. This time, I act only for myself," he said, closing the door behind him.
Silence filled the room. Only Seraphina's sobs and the faint crackle of the cold fireplace remained.
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In the Empire, every prince has a tutor. Someone who assists them not only in governing their lands but also in learning languages, arts of interest, and the fundamentals of poetry. If a prince seeks knowledge the tutor does not possess, it is the tutor's duty to employ other teachers on the prince's behalf.
In short, these tutors are more active in a prince's growth than even the Emperor. Often, they desire their prince to ascend the throne, securing themselves a position as vizier.
But Elmond's tutor was not such a man. He was the son of the man who had tutored the current emperor during his princely years. Therefore, he was loyal to the Emperor.
Elmond knew that if he did not want every move, he made from now on to be reported in detail to the Emperor, he would have to eliminate the tutor.
As he returned to his room, Elmond ran through pages of possible outcomes in his mind. Killing the tutor outright would draw the Emperor's attention; documents, witnesses, a suddenly missing secluded man, all would raise questions.
Yet leaving him alive carried the same risk: reports, lines smelling of betrayal, and, perhaps most importantly, the safety of Seraphina and their daughter. His choices could not be summed up in a single sentence.
Soon, Elmond sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his fingers. He would act not from love, but from calculation. First step: learn the tutor's routines, safeguards, which guards were close to him, and who visited him. Second step: if he were to be removed, prepare a scenario making it appear an accident.
He was a thousand miles from the capital, a distance he had never thought would work to his advantage when he was appointed governor. News of the tutor's death would take time to reach the capital. Meanwhile, the aging Emperor, already busy mobilizing his army, would not concern himself with trivial matters.
Yes, the Turall Empire was finally going to march under the Emperor himself. The unfortunate reality: the campaign was directed toward a kingdom neighboring Elmond's territories. The Emperor would likely move from the north, through Elmond's lands, southward.
But anyone with sense knew the real aim was to seize Prince Marcellion before he could rebel. No matter how much Elmond tried to explain this to his brother, it was futile.
The Emperor had already summoned Marcellion under the pretense of commanding the army's right flank. When his forces paused somewhere in the north, Marcellion would join them.
If the Emperor moved his army to control Marcellion, the most sensible move for Elmond was not just a military maneuver, but one that disrupted timing and information flow. The tutor's disappearance, executed at the precise moment, could distract the Emperor and obscure Marcellion's movements. But the risks were high: a misstep could brand Elmond a traitor or ruin all plans.
He could have waged war more efficiently. But he did not want to harm the Empire's army. The eastern kingdom surely knew the Empire was marching against them and had already mobilized. Elmond did not want them to win.
Elmond would never be the Empire's enemy. On the contrary, his heart was loyal to it. After all, his full name was Elmond son of Tural.
The early night chill drifted through the corridors; the damp between the stones felt like the first awakening after a long march. Elmond closed his eyes briefly, thinking of the promise he had made to Seraphina: the limits imposed for safety, the cold face of sacrifice. His resolve in that moment was not the trembling of a heart, but the calm calculation of plans. Even when motivated by love, his actions were drawn with precision.
At that moment, the click of a door latch sounded. Faint at first, then sharper. A shadow slipped through the gap. Elmond initially thought it was an early guard, but the figure did not bear the rustle of armor. The intruder was slender, the black coat gliding silently over the stones, the face hidden in the hood's shadow. Elmond rose to command, but the speed of his movement alone changed the room's air.
The man drew a long, thin implement from his pocket: a spring-loaded steel dagger, the handle carved from olive wood, its tip glinting with remnants of poison.
When the dagger struck Elmond's chest, time seemed to slow. Steel had pierced a weak point in his armor, its tip coated in a fine poisonous sheen. The first strike brought shock and pain; Elmond momentarily lost his breath, his world blurring. Then his reflexes, honed as a prince, took over.
He faced the shadow emerging from the darkness. The face beneath the hood froze for a moment, then Elmond struck the hilt of the dagger with his hand, sparks flying like fire in the air. The clash was not silent: the echo of metal on stone, labored breaths, and the cold strike of steel against steel filled the chamber.
Elmond pushed the dagger back, breaking the intruder's wrist, then slashed across the hooded face. The assassin staggered back, letting out a strange sound as the dagger clattered to the floor. Despite the unusual pain in his chest, Elmond delivered a crushing kick to the intruder's skull. The head was pulverized, and at the same time, Elmond, massive and unsteady, fell back with a thunderous crash.
"This is... hurts…" These were the last words of the young prince, spoken as he exhaled his final breath in the struggle.