My heart pounded at the thought of it.
The same man who had humiliated me before the entire court was now meant to teach me. Teach me.
It felt like being told to dance with a hungry lion — to step willingly into the creature's mouth and hope to come out whole.
I despised him.
Every word, every smirk, every look he'd ever given me burned in my memory.
Still, my mind betrayed me. It dragged me back to that morning in the gardens — when he'd found me alone among the lilies, when his hand brushed mine as if by accident, when he'd kissed my knuckles in front of the courtiers at breakfast and held my gaze too long. His eyes — that piercing, unnatural blue — haunted me more than I wanted to admit. There was fire in them, cold and cruel and captivating all at once.
I forced the memory down. I wasn't here for him. I was here to survive.
I dressed in deep violet robes — the kind used for training, elegant but built for movement — and made my way through the marble corridors to the Emperor's wing.
The hall was immense, lined with portraits of old rulers in gold frames, their painted eyes heavy with judgment. Sunlight cut through tall windows, slicing across racks of swords, spears, and ancient training gear. Everything smelled faintly of steel and dust.
At the far end stood a heavy door, locked tight with an iron seal. I hesitated before it, tracing the carved symbols with my eyes.
And then a voice broke the silence.
"Peeping where you shouldn't again, I see."
I froze. The sound of it — deep, smooth, threaded with mockery — rolled down my spine like thunder.
I turned slowly.
There he was. The Emperor.
He stood in the doorway, the light behind him outlining his figure in sharp gold. His expression was unreadable, except for the hint of amusement playing at his mouth. Those same eyes — blue, sharp, merciless — fixed on me as if he could read my every thought.
"Your Majesty," I said, bowing, every muscle tight, forcing my voice into calm.
For a brief, foolish moment, I felt proud of myself for not trembling.
He smiled faintly. "At least you remember protocol."
His tone made it sound like a challenge.
"Come here."
His voice cut through the air — calm, commanding, impossible to disobey.
I hesitated, then stepped closer. The marble floor was cold beneath my feet, my pulse louder than my footsteps.
He tilted his head slightly, watching me. "How would you hear me from over there?" His tone was almost teasing, almost cruel. "Come much closer."
I moved until the space between us was barely a breath.
"Good," he murmured. "Today's lesson will be simple. I only want to know what you can do."
"Should I show you?" I asked carefully.
He smiled — a sharp, knowing curve. "Show me everything."
So I did.
I reached inward, where the warmth of the golden flower still pulsed like a heartbeat. The air stirred; the scent of jasmine and rose unfurled. Vines crawled across the marble floor, and blossoms opened where there had been none.
The Emperor's eyes flicked over the scene, unimpressed. "Impressive," he said dryly. "But is that all? Party tricks and perfume?"
Before I could speak, his hand flashed. A knife whirled through the air toward me.
I gasped and flinched— but before the blade could touch me, a burst of petals erupted around me, forming a spiraling shield. The sound was like wind through silk. When the petals fell, the knife was gone.
He studied me, head slightly tilted. "Interesting."
Then he moved.
In a blink, he was coming straight at me — fast, fluid, like a predator testing its prey. Instinct took over. The vines at my feet snapped to life, thorns coiling up his legs and yanking him to the floor.
A small laugh escaped me — unexpected, bubbling up before I could stop it.
"That wasn't funny," he said, rising, brushing the dust from his robes.
"Oh, to see His Majesty on his royal back?" I said before I could stop myself. "Funny indeed."
My hand flew to my mouth in horror.
For a second, I thought I'd gone too far. But then —
he laughed.
Just a small, sharp sound, quick and real.
And in that moment, for the first time, I saw something dangerous and human in him — and I wasn't sure which unsettled me more.
———————————————————-
"Okay. Focus."
His words cut through the quiet, low and steady, carrying more weight than command — something rougher, almost personal.
I tried to steady my breathing. He watched me with those unreadable eyes, the kind that strip you bare without ever needing to move.
"You have no control," he said. "Your power flares when you feel too much. You must learn to feel everything — without letting it consume you."
"How?"
"Stand still."
He took a slow step forward, and another. I could feel the pull of him before I saw him — the heat of someone who shouldn't be near. The air between us was too still, too aware.
"Power comes from the heart," he said softly, circling me. "But it answers to the mind."
He moved until his shadow fell over mine. I could feel his breath on my shoulder, the faint scent of oud and iron.
"Do you feel that?"
"Yes," I breathed, not trusting my voice.
"That's where it begins. The moment between control and chaos."
I swallowed hard, eyes forward. "You shouldn't stand so close, Your Majesty."
He chuckled — not cruelly, but knowingly. "Perhaps. But you learn best under pressure."
His gaze caught mine, and for a heartbeat, the room felt too small.
He lifted his hand — not touching me, just hovering near my face, his power shimmering like heat. "Now," he murmured, "let it rise. Don't resist it."
Something inside me stirred, bright and alive, answering to him despite every reason it shouldn't.
Light rippled across the floor, coiling like a living flame. My heart raced. He didn't move.
"Good," he said quietly, eyes fixed on mine. "Now do you see what I see?"
I certainly did.
———————————————————
"Again," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time.
I groaned, wiping sweat from my brow. "You do realize that shouting 'focus' doesn't actually help me focus, right?"
"I'm not shouting."
"You're royally shouting," I muttered.
He gave me that half-smile — the one that looked too smug for someone who hadn't lifted a finger all morning. "You're easily distracted."
"Maybe because someone keeps talking."
He circled me like a hawk, hands clasped behind his back. "Perhaps someone keeps losing concentration."
"Oh, perhaps someone should stop breathing near my neck while I'm trying to conjure sunlight out of thin air!"
That earned a quiet laugh — the first time I'd ever heard him do it. "So it's my breathing that's the problem now?"
I turned, glaring. "Don't sound so pleased about it."
"I'm only observing, Iana."
"Observing?" I threw my hands up. "You threw a knife at me an hour ago."
"That was an experiment."
"That was attempted murder!"
He smiled again, maddeningly calm. "And yet, you're alive. I'd say the experiment succeeded."
The vines at my feet twitched — my temper showing itself again. "You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he said, tilting his head. "But you're finally starting to control your power when you're angry."
"I stared at him. "You did that on purpose."
"Of course."
I let out a long sigh, too tired to argue, too aware of how his eyes were still on me.
He looked smug, proud even. "We'll continue the day after tomorrow. Perhaps then, you'll manage to concentrate without thinking about my breathing."
I threw him a glare sharp enough to cut marble. "I despise you."
He smiled faintly. "Excellent. Hatred is a strong motivator."
I stormed off — and he let me — but I caught his reflection in the mirror on my way out.
He was still smiling.