[The Eshkaran Empire — Imperial Palace — Throne Room]
The corridors leading toward the Imperial Throne Room were silent beneath the golden afternoon light. Azram Vaerun Veyrath walked through them with Seyra in his arms, followed by Captain Kharzen and several knights of House Veyrath.
The moment they appeared, conversations along the corridor quieted. Imperial knights stepped aside, and nobles lowered their heads, but their eyes inevitably drifted toward the little girl resting comfortably in the Azram’s arms, and whispers followed them.
"Is that the adopted daughter of the Azram?"
"He truly adopted a child?"
"Look at the way he carries her..."
"She seems very comfortable with him."
"Is that really Azram Veyrath holding a child?"
Kharzen heard every word; his expression remained perfectly disciplined, though inwardly he wondered how many times he would have to hear the same question before the Empire accepted that their terrifying Azram had, in fact, become a father.
Vaerun ignored the whispers completely. Seyra, however, quietly listened; she rested her cheek against his shoulder and looked from one noble to another. Some stared at her with curiosity, and others with suspicion.
A few looked at her as though they were trying to understand what kind of child could possibly make the Silent Tempest carry her through the Imperial Palace.
Seyra simply stared back; one of the nobles met her gaze for barely a heartbeat before immediately looking away. Seyra’s lips curled into a small, pleased smile and mumbled, "I like how people are scared of you."
Vaerun glanced down at her, then his eyes moved toward the nobles surrounding them. Most were pretending very hard not to be seen by him.
Seyra’s smile widened wickedly.
"I will take a good tutorial from you."
Vaerum’s silver eyes returned to her.
"A tutorial?"
Seyra nodded enthusiastically.
"A Tutorial: How to Make People Fear You."
. . .
. . .
There was a brief silence. Captain Kharzen, walking behind them, didn’t even react; he had long since accepted that this was simply his life now. Vaerun studied his daughter for several seconds, then, with complete calm, he said,
"Just kill them...if they are troubling you."
Seyra’s smile became suspiciously innocent. Kharzen quietly smiled like a man who has all the patience.
Vaerun’s expression remained unreadable. They finally reached the enormous doors of the throne room, two imperial guards stood on either side of the entrance, their bronze armor gleaming beneath the lamps.
Before the doors stood the Imperial Palace’s chief chamberlain, who bowed deeply.
"Azram Veyrath."
Vaerun stopped as the chamberlain straightened slightly. "The Malik has been awaiting your arrival."
Vaerun gave a single nod, and the chamberlain turned toward the enormous doors.
"Open the gates."
The guards stepped forward.
CREAAAAK...
The ancient bronze doors slowly parted; beyond them lay the Imperial Throne Room. Seyra’s eyes widened as the chamber was vast enough to swallow an entire noble court.
Massive sandstone pillars rose toward the vaulted ceiling, each carved with ancient scenes of the Twin Divine Dragons. Bronze braziers burned along the walls, their flames casting golden light across polished black stone.
Seven enormous banners hung behind the throne, each bearing the symbol of one elemental spirit, and at the far end of the chamber stood the Imperial Throne. It was carved from dark stone and plated with gold, its back shaped like the spreading wings of an ancient celestial beast.
Yet the throne itself was not what captured Seyra’s attention; there was only one person sitting upon it.
The Malik.
Malik Zayrakh Azrath.
For a moment, Seyra forgot to breathe; the emperor looked nothing like the crude image her imagination had once created from reading the novel.
He was beautiful, dangerously so.
Zayrakh possessed a tall, powerful physique, his body carrying the controlled strength of a man who had been trained not merely to sit upon a throne but to command armies from it. His broad shoulders were covered by a long imperial robe of deep crimson and black, embroidered with intricate golden patterns resembling ancient celestial constellations.
A heavy golden collar rested against his neck, while layered ornaments of bronze and gold framed his chest. His dark hair fell past his shoulders in smooth strands, partially bound behind his head with a golden clasp.
But it was his face that made the room feel colder: sharp features, a straight nose, and a defined jaw and lips curved into the faintest suggestion of amusement.
And his eyes—
Amber.
Deep amber eyes, bright beneath the golden light of the throne room, beautiful. Warm at first glance, yet there was something terribly wrong hidden behind that warmth. His gaze was too calm and too observant.
It was the gaze of a man who could smile while deciding whether someone should live or die.
There was no visible weapon in his hands; it did not feel like he needed one. The entire throne room seemed to understand that.
Zayrakh rested one arm against the throne while his fingers lightly touched his cheek; he looked relaxed and almost bored but the aura surrounding him was unmistakably that of a predator sitting comfortably at the highest point of the world.
The emperor’s gaze moved toward Vaerum, then toward the little girl in his arms. Seyra stared back, her violet eyes widened.
And then—
"Wow...~~~"
The single word echoed through the enormous throne room. Kharzen’s eyes widened, the chamberlain’s face twitched, and Vaerun slowly looked down at his daughter.
Seyra continued staring, and she couldn’t help herself.
’So this is Malik Zayrakh Azrath...’
The villain, the emperor, and the man whose name had once appeared countless times across the pages of the novel.
And, annoyingly...he was exactly as beautiful as the author had described, perhaps even worse because no written page could properly capture the dangerous elegance of the man sitting upon that throne.
Zayrakh’s amber eyes narrowed slightly as he had heard the little girl’s voice, and a faint smile touched his lips.
"Is something amusing, little one?"
Seyra blinked, and she immediately shook her head.
"No."
Vaerun glanced at her and lowered her carefully to the ground and stepped forward. Seyra hurried to stand beside him, and Vaerun’s expression became formal as he bowed.
"I, Vaerun Veyrath, Azram of House Veyrath, with my daughter, Seyra Vaerun Veyrath, offer our greetings to the Malik of Eshkaran."
Seyra watched him for half a second before hurriedly copying his gesture. "I...Seyra Vaerun Veyrath...greet the Malik."
Her little voice echoed through the enormous throne room, and silence followed. Zayrakh did not answer immediately, and his amber eyes remained fixed upon them.
His gaze was calm, almost lazy, yet there was something predatory hidden beneath it like a lion watching something unfamiliar enter its territory.
Seyra slowly raised her head, and their eyes met.
Amber eyes that never revealed what their owner was thinking, the beautiful emperor who could smile while destroying someone’s entire future. The man who is in love with her papa and the villain.
He really was unfairly handsome.
His dark hair framed his face perfectly. The golden ornaments resting against his imperial robes only emphasized the sharpness of his features. Even seated upon the throne, he possessed the presence of a warrior rather than a ruler who merely inherited a crown.
Seyra’s eyes quietly travelled over him, then she glanced at Vaerun and then back at Zayrakh, and suddenly her expression became serious.
Zayrakh’s lips curved faintly.
"You may rise, Azram."
Vaerun straightened. Seyra followed him a moment later, her eyes once again drifting toward the throne. Zayrakh rested one arm against the golden armrest as his amber gaze settled upon the little girl.
"So this is the child."
Vaerun’s expression remained calm. "My daughter."
The words were simple, but the slight emphasis in his voice made the meaning unmistakable. Zayrakh’s gaze lingered on Seyra.
"Your daughter, huh?"
. . .
. . .
The atmosphere suddenly felt strange as Malik stared at her like a hunter staring at its prey, but for Seyra, it’s entirely different. Her tiny fingers slowly curled into her dress as her eyes began to sparkle.
Why should she simply watch the story happen? Why should she stand aside while two absurdly beautiful men became involved in the most complicated relationship in the novel?
She was here now, she had access, she had opportunities, and she had absolutely no reason to behave sensibly. Seyra’s little face became utterly serious as she looked at Zayrakh and then at Vaerun and finally whispered to herself with complete conviction—
"I. HAVE. TO. MAKE. HIM. MY. OTHER. PARENT."