Night rolled across the capital like a blanket of ink, swallowing the last traces of sunlight. The breeze was cool, brushing gently against rooftops and rustling the lanterns that hung from shops preparing to close. The Emperor walked among these streets disguised as a commoner, yet every stride he took carried the weight of a ruler whose heart had become a battlefield.
His chest felt tight.
Not from exhaustion. Not from anger. But from something far more dangerous — something he refused to admit even to himself.
He saw her today.
His Empress.
Not lying sick in bed.
Not pale and weak under blankets.
Not suffering from the plague as he had been told.
No.
He saw her standing in the street… in commoner clothes… laughing.
Laughing with another man.
That laughter echoed in his skull, refusing to fade.
Why does it bother me so much?
He tightened his fists at his sides.
She should be laughing with him — her husband.
Not with strangers.
