Emilia Syrene burst through the Emperor’s door.

The room was scattered with broken bottles and potent liquid, a counter tipped over and papers trailing all over the floor. It looked as if a brawl had broken out.

Or a passionate tumble.

Slowly, Emilia turned to the slumped form of the Emperor with wide, crazed eyes. Sitting in a puddle of liquor, with his head bowed and his arms resting limply against his bent knees, his face was hidden from her. Uncontrollable delusions shook her whole body.

“W-what happened in here?” she bit out in an unsteady voice.

Richard’s head remained lowered and unresponsive.

Fisting her hands, a sharp sting of bitter insecurity burned through her veins.

“What did you do?” she accused, charging through the room towards the rumpled bed. Any sense of logic would have explained that it was still early in the morning to account for the unmade sheets or even the clear indication that only a single side of the comforter was slept on. But all Emilia could see was the flush that had painted Jovine’s face. Her tousled locks, unfastened gown, smeared lips, heaving breaths. No amount of reason could rid of that image.

Emilia overturned the heavy sheets, frantically searching for any sign that Jovine had laid here. She searched every corner of the room, as if a confirmation would be written in the walls.

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You’ve lost him.

A wind of manic frenzy took over her small frame. “WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HER?!” she shrieked, raging through the room until all that was left to dissect was the Emperor himself.

Emilia threw herself down before him. The very fact that he had no words to offer or explanations to placate her petrified spirits struck a blow to her chest.

This doesn’t make sense. He’s mine. He can’t leave me.

Wildly running her hands across his body, she examined his clothes. No piece was undone or carelessly put together. She harshly grasped his face, eyes running over every inch of skin to find that damn rouge she saw smudged across his Empress’s lips. Nothing met her gaze except for his clean, golden skin.

Just as a brief relief of doubt settled her nerves, she noticed Richard squeezing his eyes shut as if he were in pain. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked in a high pitch. “Richard?”

Wrenching himself away from her touch, he blindly shoved her away. Emilia’s lips parted in shock as she watched him cradle his head with trembling hands.

“Get out,” he gritted out in a low voice.

She froze.

Reaching out a hesitant hand, she touched his arm to find him shivering. “R-Richard…what’s wrong?”

When he released a painful groan, she clutched his face again, tilting his glued eyes up to her panicked face. “Richard, look at me,” she urged in a manic voice. “Look at me!”

Slowly opening his eyes, he muttered, “Get out.”

Emilia watched in horror as the glazed, hazy gleam in his eyes stared back at her in hollow measures.

“Richard, how long —”

“MAXIMUS,” he bellowed, knocking her touch off his skin. He massaged his temples with an aggravated frown. As soon as Lord Maximus rushed into the room, he ordered, “Escort her out. I need a moment alone.”

No…

As she was pulled away, a taste of real fear tainted her tongue.

Her grip was slipping.

But, how…