Chapter Text
During your years as a princess, of course your husband would need to come from a strong clan to provide you better supporters in your campaign to become crown princess and later Empress. At the age of 9, your father had already gotten to work and convinced your mother, the then Empress, to betroth to the Oak Family's young son who was close in age to yourself.
You met the 10 year old only weeks later, he was as gentle and man-like as you'd expect from a son of a noble family. You easily sensed his tense demeanor around you, he made it his mission to make sure you were pleased the entire time you both were together.
"I will ask the maidservant to give us treats. What do you like?" You took the Oak clan's son for an outing in the Southernmost Imperial Gardens, it was closest to your father's palace as he would've liked it anyway.
"Ah, are you a fan of treats? What treats do you usually like getting?" He stood quite straight with a hand behind his back, as he should be.
You blinked, "Treats are okay. I usually end up eating Honey Cakes I suppose."
"Honey Cakes are sweet, I think I'd like to have one too."
When you asked him why his face scrunched up a bit while taking a bite, he simply brushed it off and said it was sweeter than he was used to. You assumed the maidservant had messed something up in his cake and asked your father to replace her later on.
Either way, Sunday was your personally chosen future royal consort by the former Empress, your own mother, so naturally you held him to high regard.
He was then and now, the very epitome of a perfect consort. He was given praises by both your mother and father quite often for his etiquette and behavior whenever he came by the Imperial Palace. It was enough his family received praises for their efforts in kingdom management by your mother, also with your father praising his family's influence, seeing you as set in stone for the throne being already favored well by your mother.
You married him as soon as the age was appropriate. On the wedding night, he had frigidly arranged old husbands' tales, from using plants said to boost fertility to saying prayers to placing down objects rumored to be favored by the aeons. He had kneeled before the bed after the priestesses and servants had left the private chambers, his hands clasped in prayer.
"The priestesses gave us enough blessings, no?" You jested. You were not surprised of course, years of being together with him had shown you his sweet devout heart towards the aeons. You found it an entertainment to tease him over the years.
"It is good to show the gods your own faith as well, to ask them personally shows your trust in them and pleases them more after all.." you felt almost bad for interrupting his prayer, with the way he glanced up at you afterwards, "perhaps you should join me, we could give honor to Ena for a stable marriage."
It was not uncommon for you both to spend your leisure time praying. Maybe your fondness for him came from the fact he didn't only run to the gods when something went wry. You remembered the first time, when you were but 11 and had visited the Oak's residence without much of an announcement due to having been passing by and decided to stop to visit him, you had been told the young lord was praying as he usually did around his hour. Your better manners told you to wait but in the moment you had made your way to the family's temple and easily made your way inside, as no one would stop an imperial heir so easily.
You found him on his knees, offerings before him as a painting of Ena laid before him on the wall. He was focused, not noticing your entrance. You observed him from where you stood, the relaxed look on his face wasn't normal for you. He was always at attention and the image of sophistication every man wanted to be, composed at all times. The gentleness of him this time wasn't the expected one of his stature, something about the moment almost felt intrusive. You were quiet in your strides towards him, having a closer look at his face now, you assumed it was the dim lighting of the candles but he looked like a different person. You looked forward at the image of Ena then kneeled next to him and clasped your hands together as well. It just felt right.
Praying with the other became something shared between you two when you both found time together.
You shrugged, "I don't see why not."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The hour of nine had been made known by the echoes of the bells some time earlier. Now, the private dining chamber of the current reigning Lord Consort’s palace was silent, save for the patter and clink of porcelain under the fork of the Empress. The room was warmed by candle light and scented by the presence of delicacies but you could not force a comfortable atmosphere with ease.
You sat at the round, filled table but your appetite has never been more empty. Next to you, Sunday stood rigidly, one hand behind his back, his head slightly bowed in deference.
“A little man like yourself shouldn't be standing so long,” You twirled the wine cup in your hand, watching the liquid dance. “But you will stand there all night, won't you?”
It is tradition,” Sunday replied, his voice steady, as if the phrase were a shield against any argument. “At the hour of nine, the Empress dines, and her husband ensures her safety and comfort. To sit would be…”
“A break in tradition, yes.” You hoped you sounded mocking enough.
Sunday didn’t rise to the bait, his posture unwavering. “It is not my place to question what has been done for centuries, Your Majesty.”
You huffed and leaned back in your seat, swirling the wine in your hand once more. Just imagine nagging your wife at such a young age.
“Your Majesty,” Sunday said after a long pause, his voice low but measured. “You haven’t drunk your wine. Should I request a different vintage?”
You looked up at him, your eyes scanning his face for a crack in the mask of composure he always wore. He was as handsome as ever, his bright hair neatly combed, his ceremonial tunic perfectly pressed. But there was a special stiffness in him now that hadn’t been there when they were children. Always the rigid boy he was but these days it felt different.
Always a keen observer, he must've noticed you would rather swirl the wine than drink it, “The wine is fine.”
The silence resumed and you stared back at the filled table in front of you, you didn't look up until you saw a plate held before you. Sunday kneeled before you in the appropriate fashion and offered the plate to you, “I asked this to be made for you, it's good for relaxing the body after a long day.” It was possibly Barley Porridge, or not. You didn't have all the energy to care or bother.
If this was some other night, you would just thank him and drink it, just so he would not pester you about your health until you give in.
“Isn't kneeling almost the same as sitting.”
Sunday’s expression shifted then reverted back to its usual status of composed, “Kneeling before one's wife to offer her the meal is part of custom.”
You didn't hold back the tch sound from leaving your lips and you turned away from him, reaching for the other bowl before you. You didn't even bother to check what you were eating. Whatever it was, it made you feel hotter.
Sunday's brow furrowed, but he didn’t move. “It is my duty, my Empress. My role. I was raised to honor these traditions, to uphold the sacred customs, to respect you above all. It was never hidden in my intent to displease you by this.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“You’ve been busy,” you said after a moment, your voice soft but laced with something unspoken. “I hardly see you anymore.”
Sunday paused, his fork hovering in the air. “There is much to manage, Your Majesty. As your husband, I must ensure the household remains in order, oversee the petitions regarding your harem, and maintain the harmony of the court on your behalf.”
“Yes,” you said, leaning back in your hair, you dropped your fork onto the plate loudly. You made sure your tone was cool, “You’re always managing something, aren’t you? Always working.” If you heard his whine about tradition and duty one more time you would surely throw the fork at him next time.
He looked up, his amber eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—but it was quickly buried under the calm veneer he had perfected over years of training. “It is my duty. I was raised for this, my lady. Groomed to be the husband of an Empress. To support you. To bring balance to your reign”
It's good you put the fork down beforehand then, “It's always about your damned Empress, do you think for me anymore?”
Sunday flinched, just barely, but enough for you to notice. He set his fork down carefully, his movements deliberate. “You are the Empress. My wife. My highest priority. Everything I do is for you.”
“You can't even make a woman happy. I come here after slaving all day for this Empire and you make me feel like I'm still sitting in a council meeting.”
You weren't aware of your tone or manners anymore. You stood up. You were tired. You didn't have the energy for one more debate this evening.
His jaw tightened, and he looked down at his plate. For a moment, he seemed to falter, the weight of your words pressing against the walls he had built around himself. “I only wish to be what you need,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.
He wanted to turn, to take your hand, to pull you close. But the voice of his upbringing rang in his head: An Empress deserves a husband who is steady, composed, unyielding.