Shellia followed Allen through the gilded archway, the morning light spilling through the high windows and casting a gentle glow across the marble floor. Every step she took echoed softly behind his, her dark hair swaying with the rhythm of her hesitant movements. The faint scent of lilies filled the corridor, blending with the crisp fragrance of morning dew carried in from the palace gardens.
When they reached the dining hall, two long rows of sunlight cut through the air, painting everything gold. Allen pulled out a chair for her — not a servant, not a knight, but the emperor himself. "Please," he said, his voice low and smooth, almost reverent. "Sit, my empress."
Her heart skipped a beat. My empress… He said it again, just as naturally as breathing. Shellia lowered herself into the seat, her fingers brushing the edge of the polished table. She tried to steady her heart, but it only beat faster.
