The sun had barely risen over the frost-covered peaks of the North when the preparation for the victory banquet began. The Emperor, now thirty years old, had decreed a grand celebration to honor the successful mission led by the North. For most, it was a party. For me, it was a battlefield.
"My Lady, please stay still," Anne pleaded as she tightened the laces of my corset.
I looked at my reflection. My skin was still pale from the poison, but the silk gown—a deep, royal blue—made me look like a Duchess of the North rather than a frail girl from the South. I had dressed myself as much as I could, but today required the help of three maids to manage the heavy embroidery. It was more torchures , but not as the feeling of going to meet my father for like um after coming here to the north .
Liam walked into the room, already dressed in his black-and-gold military uniform. He looked stoic, his golden eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. He froze for a second when he saw , then returned to his usual deminer .
"The carriage is ready," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Remember the plan, Alina. We are a loving couple today. If you feel faint, you lean on me. If anyone asks about your health, I am the one who answers."
"I know the business, Liam," I replied, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my chest. "I can pretend." , I had a pit feeling in my stomach that i couldn't yet ignore .
The Imperial Palace was a sea of gold and light. As we stepped out of the carriage, Liam immediately wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. It felt strange—warm and protective, yet entirely a performance.
Leo and Louise followed behind us, looking remarkably handsome in their formal suits. They were on their best behavior, though I could see Leo's eyes darting around, looking for any sign of trouble.
As we entered the ballroom, a hush fell over the crowd. Then, I saw him.
My father stood near the center of the room, looking arrogant as he spoke to a group of Southern nobles. Beside him stood Violet and Charoline. When his eyes met mine, his glass nearly slipped from his hand. He looked shocked—he had expected me to be bedridden or dead, not standing tall on the arm of the Duke of the North.
"Smile, Alina," Liam whispered against my ear, his breath warm.
I forced a radiant smile and leaned my head slightly toward Liam's shoulder. "Of course, dear." . viotet and charoline looked shocked , it must have been for two reasons , one was that i was fine and second that the duke they thought was ugly and old was the exact opposite of thier imaginations.
I ignored them , we went to pay our respects to the king and the queen , the king was very different ,
The Imperial Palace was a suffocating sea of gold and light, but the private alcove felt like a different world. We had come to pay our respects to the King and Queen, and I had prepared myself for the worst. I thought the King would be like all the others I'd met—controlling, cold, and obsessed with power.
But as the velvet curtains closed behind us, the King's regal posture simply... evaporated.
"Gods, Liam, my neck is killing me," King Julian groaned, reaching up to tilt his heavy golden crown back. He looked at Liam and let out a mischievous snort. "If I have to nod at one more ancient Duke, I'm going to declare war on my own furniture just for the excitement."
I stood there, frozen in a curtsy, until the Queen stepped forward with a warm smile. "Oh, hush, Julian. You've been complaining since the first carriage arrived." She turned to me, her eyes kind. "Welcome, Duchess Alina. Ignore him; he's just being dramatic."
Behind her, a small girl with golden curls and a shimmering silk ribbon peeked out. "Leo! Loise!" Princess Elara squealed, running toward the boys.
Leo stood guard like a miniature knight, but even his stoic face softened as the little Princess handed him a ribbon. Loise, still trapped in his silent trauma, stiffened at first. But Elara didn't care about his silence; she simply grabbed his hand and led him toward a pile of cushions in the corner. For a moment, watching them play, a real, honest smile broke across my face.
Julian laughed, a bright, booming sound. He stepped toward Liam, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "And look at you! I've known this wolf since we were kids at the military academy, and I've never seen him so... attentive. Usually, Liam is hiding in the corner counting the exits, but tonight? He's staring at you like you're the most important map in his War Room."
Liam stayed stoic, but I felt his hand tighten slightly on my waist. "Julian, if you're finished embarrassing me..."
"Trade routes! See, Alina?" Julian teased. "I try to talk about his stunning wife and his sudden transformation into a 'doting husband,' and he wants to talk about dirt. I'd almost believe this wasn't just a business contract and that he actually had a heart."
The laughter of the children filled the small space like music. It felt like a sanctuary, a place where the heavy masks of the court could finally be dropped. But the peace was shattered when the velvet curtain was pulled back with a sharp, decisive snap.
My father, the Count, stepped in. The shift in the room was instantaneous. The King and Queen immediately straightened, their warm expressions freezing into masks of cold, distant majesty. The children stopped playing mid-laugh; Loise's eyes went wide, and he instinctively retreated, hiding himself behind Leo's shoulder.
"Your Majesties, forgive the intrusion," the Count said, his voice smooth and oily. He walked straight toward me, ignoring the King's frown of disapproval.
He reached out and gripped my shoulder. The moment his skin touched mine, I stiffened so violently it felt like my bones might snap. The blood drained from my head in a cold rush, and my face turned a ghostly, waxen pale.
The King and Queen's eyes drifted from the Count to me. Their expressions shifted from annoyance to sharp, visible shock as they watched the light die out of my eyes. They saw the way my hands began to shake uncontrollably.
"Alina, dear, you look... unwell," the Count murmured, leaning in close under the guise of fatherly concern. He pretended to adjust a stray hair near my ear, but his voice was a jagged blade. "Smile, Alina. Don't think these people can protect you. You're still my student. One word from me about your 'instability,' and you'll be back in that cellar before the sun rises. Do you understand?"
"I... I..." I tried to speak, but the words were broken shards. I began to stammer, my jaw trembling so hard I couldn't form a syllable. "P-please... n-no..."
The air in the alcove suddenly felt like thick, hot lead. It was suffocating. The walls felt like they were closing in, the gold trim of the room turning into the bars of a cage. I was overwhelmed by a wave of pure, primal terror that drowned out everything else.
"Alina?" Liam's voice was a low roar of alarm, his hand reaching for me, but it was too late.
The panic snapped. I wrenched myself away from the Count's grip with a desperate cry. I didn't see the King's reaching hand or the Queen's worried face. I bolted through the curtains, my vision tunneling as I sprinted through the ballroom and out into the freezing night.
I didn't stop until I reached the deepest part of the garden.
The moment the curtain fell shut after Alina's desperate flight, a suffocating silence gripped the alcove. For a heartbeat, the most powerful people in the Empire stood stunned, their faces frozen in a mask of pure disbelief. They had just seen a poised Duchess crumble into a ghost in a matter of seconds.
Liam was the first to break. His hands were still curled into fists, his knuckles white as he stared at the spot where Alina had vanished. A low, turbulent growl vibrated in his chest—a sound more animal than human.
The Count, remarkably, tried to smooth his vest, his face twisted into a smug, arrogant sneer. "As I said, Your Majesties, she is a delicate girl. The excitement of the North has clearly—"
"Silence."
The King's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the air like a guillotine. Julian stepped forward, his eyes burning with a cold, absolute malice directed solely at the Count. The "best friend" was gone; only the Sovereign remained.
The King's eyes burned with a cold, absolute malice, but as he opened his mouth to strip the Count of his titles, a flicker of something—a memory of a treaty or a hidden threat—crossed his face. He didn't call for the dungeon. He couldn't.
"You are excused, Count," Julian hissed, his voice trembling with a rare, suppressed fury. "You are to leave the palace grounds immediately. But do not think this is over. Your presence is no longer welcome in the capital."
The Count didn't look defeated. He smoothed his vest, a slow, arrogant sneer returning to his lips. He had survived. His power was intact. With a mocking bow to the Sovereigns, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing like a death knell.
As soon as the Count retreated, Liam bolted. He didn't offer a polite excuse; he simply tore through the velvet curtains, his heavy boots thundering against the marble as he raced toward the garden doors.
Julian and the Queen were right behind him. They ignored the gasps of the noble guests as they bypassed the ballroom and sprinted into the freezing night.
"Alina!" Liam's voice echoed through the dark trees, raw and filled with a suspicion that was rapidly turning into terror.
They found her by the weeping willow, her figure a pale blur against the dark trunk. She had collapsed, her body slumped in a way that looked like a bird with broken wings. Her breathing was ragged, each gasp sounding like a struggle against an invisible weight.
Liam dropped to the dirt, his stoic composure completely shattered. He pulled her into his lap, his large hands trembling as they cupped her face. "Alina? Alina, look at me!"
The Queen knelt in the frost beside them, her silk gown ruined as she helped Liam wrap her shawl around Alina's shivering frame. She looked at the way Alina's eyes were squeezed shut, her face still twisted in a mask of lingering trauma.
The King and Liam stood like statues, their faces pale with a mix of confusion and sheer, helpless fury. They were men of action—men who understood swords, taxes, and battlefields. They didn't understand how a few whispered words could turn a living woman into a ghost.
"I... I don't understand," Liam rasped, his voice cracking. "He didn't touch her. He didn't even raise his voice. Julian, why did she look at him like he was an executioner?"
Julian shook his head, his eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. "I've never seen a reaction like that. It was as if she stopped breathing the moment he leaned in. Is she... is there a poison that works on the mind, Liam?"
The Queen, however, wasn't confused. She had seen the way Alina's eyes had gone hollow. She saw the minute tremor in her hands that mirrored the victims of the worst kind of invisible wars. She knew exactly what was happening, but she saw the way Liam was looking for a physical enemy to fight.
"It doesn't matter 'why' right now," the Queen interrupted, her voice sharp and commanding. She looked at the two men, realizing that if she told them the truth now—that Alina was a victim of long-term trauma—it would strip away the last bit of dignity the Duchess was clinging to.
She made a choice. She would protect Alina's privacy, even from her husband.
"Julian, stop theorizing about poisons," the Queen snapped gently. "And Liam, stop looking for someone to stab. She is exhausted and overwhelmed. The Northern winter and the Southern pressure have collided. She needs a doctor, not an interrogation."
"Her heart is thundering," Liam said, looking up at the Queen with a desperate, stoic plea for help. "What do I do? Should I wake her?"
"No," the Queen said firmly, wrapping her shawl over Alina's frozen hands. "She has retreated into herself to survive the shock. Liam, carry her to the West Wing. You are staying at the palace tonight. I won't have her jolted around in a carriage."
Julian looked at his wife, sensing she knew more than she was letting on. "Is she going to be alright, Elena?"
"She will be," the Queen said, casting a protective look at Alina's pale face. "But only if we give her the space to breathe without the world watching."
Liam didn't ask another question. He stood up, his arms locked around Alina with a fierce, possessive grip. He followed the Queen toward the palace, his mind a turbulent mess of questions, while the Queen walked beside them—the only one who truly understood the war Alina was fighting.