[Imperial Palace — Corridor — Near Midnight]
Seyra’s little hands went still against Vaerun’s shoulder.
The moment her violet eyes settled on Malik Zayrakh Azrath, the indignation on her face faded. She stopped tugging at her father’s hair and quietly smoothed the rumpled strands she had messed up, as though nothing had happened.
Then, with Vaerun still holding her in his arms, she straightened her small back and bowed.
"Greetings, Malik."
Her voice was polite, respectful, and painfully distant. Malik’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
The little girl who had once looked at him with curiosity and barely concealed excitement now avoided his gaze as soon as she finished greeting him. She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, her tiny hand reached down and clutched Vaerun’s hand where it rested against her waist.
"Let’s go, Papa...I am tired."
Vaerun looked at her.
Only moments ago, she had been scolding him loudly enough to echo through the corridor. Now, she barely spoke above a whisper.
His silver eyes shifted toward Malik, but he said nothing. Seyra nestled closer to her father, her fingers tightening around his hand.
Malik watched her for a moment before taking a small step forward.
"Lady Seyra."
She paused but didn’t turn her head.
Malik hesitated.
The Malik, who could silence an entire council with a single word, seemed strangely uncertain about what to say to a four-year-old girl. His fingers curled at his side before relaxing again.
"Can I have a talk with you Lady Seyra...?"
The request came out more hesitantly than Malik intended.
Seyra’s grip on Vaerun’s hand tightened, and for a brief moment, nobody spoke.
Captain Ishtar lowered her gaze. Captain Nareza remained still, her expression carefully composed, while Vaerun looked down at his daughter, allowing her to decide for herself.
Malik stood before them, his imperial robes of crimson and black falling in heavy folds around his boots. The golden ornaments at his collar caught the light of the bronze lamps, but for once, the splendor of his crown seemed to offer him little comfort.
Seyra stared at him, her small fingers curled more tightly around Vaerun’s hand.
"Is that an order?"
The question was quiet, but it struck the corridor with the force of a drawn blade. Ishtar’s expression changed. Nareza’s gaze flickered toward the emperor. Vaerun said nothing, though his silver eyes settled on Malik with renewed attention.
Malik looked at Seyra for a long moment.
An order.
He had given thousands of them. Men had marched to war at his command, noble houses had fallen at his decree, and even the highest priests of Eshkaran had bowed their heads when his voice thundered through the temple halls.
It would have been easy to command the child before him to stay, but the little girl was already holding tightly to her father’s hand, and there was a guardedness in her violet eyes that had not been there before.
Malik took a step closer, and then, to everyone’s astonishment, he lowered himself onto one knee.
The hem of his imperial robes spread across the polished stone. The golden ornaments at his collar shifted softly as he brought himself to Seyra’s height.
A sharp gasp escaped Captain Ishtar.
Even Captain Nareza’s composure faltered. Vaerun’s silver eyes widened ever so slightly.
The Malik of Eshkaran had knelt before no noble, bowed to no rival, and lowered his head to no man who had challenged his throne. Yet here he was, kneeling before a four-year-old girl in the middle of a palace corridor.
Seyra stared at him, momentarily forgetting to clutch Vaerun’s hair or complain about his terrible ideas concerning friendship.
Malik did not reach for her; he kept his hands resting upon his raised knee, leaving the small distance between them untouched.
"It’s a request, Lady Seyra, not an order." He said as his amber eyes held hers, stripped of their usual imperial sharpness.
"You may refuse me."
The words seemed to surprise even those who heard them.
Seyra searched his face. The emperor who had once spoken to her so cruelly was now kneeling before her, asking permission to speak.
She did not suddenly forget what he had said; the hurt remained, tucked away where a little girl could hide it from everyone but herself, but he had asked, and he had given her the choice.
Her violet eyes lifted to meet his amber ones. Slowly, she loosened her grip on Vaerun’s hand, though she continued holding it.
"Okay..." she murmured. "I will talk."
For the first time since stopping in the corridor, Malik smiled.
It was a small, restrained smile, nothing like the cold curve that sometimes appeared when he passed judgment upon his enemies. There was relief in it, though he was careful not to let that relief become expectation.
"Thank you, Lady Seyra."
He rose, smoothing the front of his robes.
Then he glanced toward the open courtyard beyond the colonnade, where moonlight silvered the carved stone lions and illuminated the blue-and-gold mosaics beneath the night sky.
"It is nearly midnight," Malik observed. "Would you care for a little supper beneath the stars?"
Seyra blinked.
Supper? At midnight?
Her gaze travelled briefly toward Vaerun, as though checking whether emperors were permitted to offer food at such an unreasonable hour.
Then she gave a small nod.
Malik’s smile lingered.
"Very well. Let us see what the imperial kitchens have left."
He turned and began walking toward the courtyard, his crimson cloak trailing behind him. Seyra remained in Vaerun’s arms, watching the emperor’s retreating figure.
Vaerun adjusted her against his chest and glanced down at her, and for once, his daughter had no immediate complaint. That, perhaps, was more astonishing than the Malik kneeling before her.
***
[Imperial Palace — Courtyard — Later]
The moon shone brightly above the imperial courtyard, bathing the sandstone pillars and carved stone lions in silver light. Bronze lamps flickered beneath the cedar eaves, illuminating the blue-and-gold mosaics that adorned the walls. Somewhere beyond the courtyard, a night breeze stirred the leaves of a sacred date palm.
Seyra sat on a low diwan beside Vaerun, close enough that her little shoulder pressed against his arm. One hand remained curled around his fingers, as though she had no intention of letting him wander off again.
Across from them, Malik occupied the imperial diwan, his crimson-and-gold robes catching the warm lamplight.
Captain Ishtar, Captain Nareza, and the others remained at a respectful distance, near the courtyard entrance. They were close enough to respond if summoned, but far enough to give the emperor and the little girl some privacy.
A tray of midnight refreshments had been brought from the imperial kitchens, filled with honey cakes, dates, figs, roasted nuts, and small cups of warm milk.
Seyra’s violet eyes were fixed on the tray, and for several moments, the imperial conversation appeared to have encountered a formidable obstacle.
Dessert.
However, even the promise of honey cakes could not entirely dispel the tension gathering beneath the moonlit courtyard.
Malik watched Seyra reach for a date. Her little fingers hesitated before taking one, and she drew her hand back toward her lap, glancing briefly at him as though she were uncertain whether she ought to accept anything from him.
The movement was small; Vaerun noticed, and so did Malik. The emperor’s fingers tightened around his cup before he set it aside.
"Are the refreshments not to your liking, Lady Seyra?"
Seyra shook her head.
"They look delicious."
"Then please, have as much as you wish."
Yet she did not reach for them.
The little girl sat close to Vaerun, her fingers curled around the edge of his sleeve. Before her lay a plate of honey cakes, dates, and figs, more than enough to tempt any child her age. But Seyra merely stared at the sweets, as though accepting them might somehow mean accepting something else along with them.
Malik noticed, and he set his cup aside.
"Is it because I offered them to you?"
Seyra’s fingers tightened around Vaerun’s sleeve; she did not answer.
Malik remained silent for a moment. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms upon his knees. The golden ornaments at his collar glimmered beneath the bronze lamps, but his voice, when he spoke again, held none of the authority that usually commanded the imperial court.
"Lady Seyra, I did not bring you here to make you forgive me."
Her violet eyes lifted a fraction.
"I brought you here because I wanted to speak to you properly. I have no right to demand that you listen, but you have already agreed to give me a little of your time. I will not waste it by pretending I did nothing wrong."
Vaerun’s gaze shifted toward Malik as he continued, "At dinner, I told you to remember your place. I told you not to become a burden to House Veyrath." He paused, his jaw tightening briefly. "I spoke as though you had done something wrong simply by being there."
The courtyard remained quiet; even the distant footsteps of the imperial guards seemed to fade beneath the weight of his words.
"You were a child sitting at a table," Malik said. "You had done nothing to deserve my cruelty."
Seyra lowered her gaze; her little thumb rubbed against the fabric of Vaerun’s sleeve, tracing the same spot again and again. Malik watched her, but he did not reach for her or attempt to make her look at him.
"I could tell you that I was angry. I could tell you that I had other matters troubling me, or that I did not intend to hurt you as much as I did."
His amber eyes grew solemn.
"But those would only be explanations; they would not excuse what I said."
For a moment, he looked every inch the emperor he was, an absolute ruler accustomed to making decisions that changed the lives of thousands. Yet there was no decree he could issue to undo a child’s hurt, no treasury large enough to purchase the words he should have spoken instead.
"I was wrong, Lady Seyra."
The admission came quietly, without hesitation.
"And I apologise."
Seyra went very still. Malik drew a slow breath before continuing.
"I will not ask you to forget what happened, nor will I tell you that you must forgive me because I am the Malik of Eshkaran."
A faint, humourless smile touched his lips.
"My crown gives me authority over this empire. It does not give me the right to decide what you must feel."
Vaerun watched him with a guarded expression. He had expected the emperor to offer some elaborate justification, perhaps even to disguise an order as an apology. Instead, Malik sat beneath the moonlight and admitted his fault without demanding anything in return.
Malik’s gaze returned to Seyra.
"You may forgive me one day and you may never forgive me at all...that choice belongs to you."
Seyra’s lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged.
"And if you never forgive me," Malik continued gently, "then the guilt will remain mine to carry. Not yours."
Her little fingers stopped moving.
"I will have to live knowing that I hurt a child who had done nothing to me. I will have to remember that I was given the chance to treat you kindly and chose not to."
For the first time, a crack appeared in his composure. It was slight, visible only in the way his fingers curled against his knee.
"I cannot promise that I will never make another mistake. I am not a good man simply because I have apologised to you tonight." He held her gaze. "But I can promise that I will not use my position to force your forgiveness."
The moonlight fell across Seyra’s face.
She had imagined many things since arriving in this world. She had imagined becoming rich, living comfortably, escaping every terrible fate that awaited the nameless characters in the novel. She had even imagined making the frightening emperor her other parent, because surely a child with two powerful fathers would never have to worry about being abandoned again.
But she had not imagined this.
She had not imagined that the same man whose words had made her feel small would sit before her and admit that he had been wrong and he was apologising because he had hurt her.
And somehow, that made it harder to keep the hurt hidden. Seyra lowered her head quickly, her lower lip trembled.
She pressed it between her teeth, trying desperately to stop it. Her little shoulders stiffened, and she clutched Vaerun’s sleeve with both hands, twisting the fabric between her fingers.
Vaerun looked down at her.
"Seyra?"
"I’m fine," she whispered.
But her voice had betrayed her.
She tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. She was four years old in this world, but somewhere inside her lived the memories of a life in which she had worked until exhaustion, swallowed insults from people who considered her replaceable, and learned that being useful was often the closest thing to being valued.
She had told herself that none of it mattered anymore, she had a Papa now.
So why did those words still hurt so much? Why had she carried them inside her for all this time, as though she had secretly believed Malik might be right?
Vaerun’s arm settled more securely around her small shoulders. He did not question her further, he simply drew her closer, allowing her to hide her face against him.
Malik remained where he was.
He did not reach across the space between them and when Seyra’s first tear slipped down her cheek, Malik finally understood the weight of what he had done.
The little girl was crying, because his words had reached a place in her heart that she had been trying so desperately to protect.
Seyra pressed her face into Vaerun’s chest.
A tiny, broken sound escaped her and beneath the ancient date palms, with the moon shining over the imperial courtyard, the emperor sat motionless as the child he had hurt finally let herself cry.