Emilia Syrene, Concubine of the Theolos Empire, simmered in pure fury.

As Empress Jovine’s elegant form disappeared behind the corners of the lush gardens, she looked down at the blood-stained, embroidered handkerchief. The pattern was familiar. It was one she had seen the Emperor carry countless time.

Why did Jovine have it?

She bit her lips, an ugly rush of envy spreading through her veins. The Emperor loved her, not the wife he cast aside. She was the one he spent his nights worshipping. She was the one he cared for every second of each passing day. Not Jovine. Her. Seeing a single speck of interest thrown in Jovine’s direction enraged her.

Crumbling the fabric in her fist, she flung it hard at one of her maids. The young girl flinched, hurrying to catch the floating cloth.

“Burn it,” Emilia coldly ordered.

“But, Your Highness —”

Emilia threw a scathing glare at the cowering girl before her. She was newer to her service but timid enough to conform with a bit of scolding. “Are you questioning my order?”

The girl clamped her lips shut, shaking her head vehemently. “N-no, Your Highness.”

“Burn it. Rip it to shreds. Do whatever to make sure it’s utterly ruined,” she snapped.

The girl bowed her head in understanding.

“Pay no mind to the Empress’s words, Your Highness. She merely wishes to provoke you.” Lady Abigail’s soothing voice penetrated her fog of anger. She was an older court lady sent by Lord Ballio when she ascended to the status of Concubine, and although her air of noble arrogance sometimes vexed her, Emilia was wise enough to take advantage of her talents. The woman was almost as conniving as she was.

“Of course she’s trying to provoke me,” Emilia scoffed, freeing a few buttons from her gown to better highlight her spilling cleavage. Her voice feigned a casual air of superiority, but inside her mind, a thread of trepidation weaved through her. The Empress had been a distant annoyance, a pest and device to play for her ego. She couldn’t explain just how pleasurable it was to watch Richard rebuke his wife for her gain. And every single time, Jovine had been a submissive puppet, dancing to the strings of her husband’s ire. The Empress’s blind love for her unfaithful husband was so pathetic it was humorous to watch such a beautiful, powerful woman shrink in surrender to someone like her

But the woman who asserted her authority just now was different. She was strong and unflinching and…catching the eye of the Emperor. At the Birthday Banquet, she watched as Richard’s gaze followed his fleeing wife, his dismayed hand still outstretched from the grasp Jovine escaped. When she had heard from one of the passing maids that he was out in the Gardens looking close and cozy in front of the Grand Duke, she had rushed out without a second thought. Lady Abigail was right. The Empress was nothing. She had to find Richard.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Emilia instructed her ladies to prepare a bath and fresh sheets in her chambers, expecting another tumble with her lover soon. As they departed, she passed through the vast Gardens, impatiently trampling across the overwhelming foliage barricading her sights as she looked for the Emperor. When she found him near a bush of yellow roses, her heart galloped in anticipation. But as she neared, she slowed her steps and observed the Emperor’s troubled, frowning stare. His face was lined in puzzlement and distress as his fingers gently stroked the yellow petals. Emilia didn’t know where his thoughts could have possibly wandered off to, but a sense of unease prickled her.

She scrunched her face in anguish and harshly pinched her thighs until tears swelled up in her eyes. Crying out in a trembling voice, she ran towards the Emperor. “Richard!”

He turned his head, finally noticing her presence. His eyebrows stayed knitted as she slammed into his body and circled her arms around his waist.

“Emilia?” his muddled voice called, automatically taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

She burrowed deeper into his embrace, dramatically sniffling into his powerful chest. “T-the E-Empress…she…” Emilia cried harder.

Richard clutched her shoulders and leaned her away until their eyes met. “What did you do?”

Her theatrical blubbers stopped.

What?

Her temper bubbled up to the surface, but she suppressed it. “What did I do?”

Richard wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Jovine is not one to retort unless she’s evoked to. What did you say to her?”

Emilia’s heart skipped a beat and not in the way she had wanted it to. Why did it sound like he was defending her? All the times in the past, he had solely appeased her. “Nothing!” she protested, her voice high-pitched and whining. “She was the one who looked down on me and demanded I bow down to her like some sort of servant!”

He raised a brow, tilting his head. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“She did,” Emilia insisted, fisting the lapels of his suit. “She demanded I recognize her dominance over me. How could she —”

“Jovine is the Empress, Emilia. You would do well to remember that.”

This time, genuine tears ran down her face. “Why are you taking her side? You know how difficult it’s been for me in the Palace. You know everyone looks down on me. The last thing I need is someone like her making me feel lower than the dirt on her shoes!”

Richard’s frown deepened as her sobs grew louder. “Emilia —”

She looped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down until their noses touched. “Kiss me,” she whispered urgently.

“What?”

Emilia clawed at his nape and pressed her body into him. “Hold me. Take me. Now.”

Surging into him, she trapped his lips in hers. She poked her tongue against his mouth and waited until he opened and kissed her back.

Her surroundings blurred and their bodies heated as things took a passionate turn. As the Emperor’s hands traveled through the curved crevices of her body, Emilia couldn’t stop her relieved smile from spreading against the skin of his neck.

Do you see, Jovine? He’s mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.