Chapter Text
The crimson scent of betrayal still lingered in the grand corridors of the Obelian Imperial Palace long after the coup had ended. Claude de Alger Obelia sat upon the throne, a crown of gold resting heavily upon locks of spun sunshine, but his eyes Those chilling, brilliant jeweled blue depths carried no joy. He had killed his older half-brother, Anastacius, dragging the tyrant down from the pedestal of power and throwing his bloodied legacy into the dirt. To the world, Claude was a merciless usurper; to the empire, he was a terrifying necessity.
But a throne won by blood could not be maintained by stagnation. Claude did not rest. To solidify his grip on a fractured empire and silence the whispers of dissent, he turned his gaze outward.
Under his absolute command, Obelia began to expand its borders at a terrifying pace. Whether through brutal, calculated warfare or sharp, suffocating diplomatic alignments, Claude achieved total victory every single time. Neighboring territories fell like dominoes. Some chose to kneel before the golden tyrant's blade, while others signed away their autonomy in desperate peace treaties. The Obelian Empire was growing grander, richer, and more formidable by the day, fueled entirely by the cold efficiency of its new Emperor.
It was during one of these relentless campaigns of expansion that the neighboring kingdom of Sunder—a wealthy, mountainous realm whose borders pushed directly against Obelia’s newest territories—realized they could not win a war against Claude. Desperate to protect his sovereignty, the King of Sunder sent an envoy to the Obelian capital with a grand, final offering: a permanent alliance sealed by the hand of his only daughter, Princess Lira.
The rumors of Princess Lira had traveled across the seas long before her name was officially brought to Claude's desk. She was said to possess a breathtaking, otherworldly beauty capable of bringing kingdoms to their knees. However, accompanying the praise of her visage was a sharp warning: the princess possessed a vicious, untamable, and volatile bad temper. She was a woman who tolerated no slights, fiercely proud and prone to icy rages.
When the formal marriage proposal landed in the imperial study, Claude didn't even look up from his paperwork.
"Send it back," he commanded Felix Robane, his voice cutting through the quiet room like ice. "I have no need for a foreign woman taking up space in my palace. Tell the King of Sunder that if he wishes for peace, he will sign the trade treaties I gave him. I am not looking for a wife."
But the news of the rejection leaked, and the high nobles of Obelia—who had been trembling in fear of Claude’s absolute power—saw a golden opportunity. A political marriage with Sunder would stabilize the eastern border without costing a single drop of Obelian blood, and more importantly, it would force the solitary Emperor to produce an heir to secure the line of succession.
The grand council chamber was suffocatingly tense. Claude sat at the head of the long marble table, propping his chin on his hand, his jeweled eyes fixed on the assembly of nobles with absolute boredom and unvarnished annoyance.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Duke Alpheus stepped forward, bowing low, his voice smooth and dripping with calculated reverence. "We implore you to reconsider the proposal from the Kingdom of Sunder. Princess Lira's hand in marriage is not merely a domestic matter; it is the ultimate anchor for our eastern expansion. To reject it out of hand is to invite unnecessary tension with a powerful neighbor."
"Unnecessary tension?" Claude repeated, his voice dangerously soft. He shifted slightly, the silk of his robes rustling in the dead silence. "Are you implying, Duke Alpheus, that Obelia is incapable of crushing Sunder if they dare to raise their swords against us?"
"Of course not, Your Majesty!" a fat Marquis stammered, sweating profusely as Claude’s gaze swept over him. "But... but a war costs gold, and it costs lives! Princess Lira is a woman of immaculate royal blood. A marriage alliance would bind Sunder’s military to ours. It is vastly beneficial for the empire."
"I have heard she has a temper that matches a rabid beast," Claude sneered, his lips curling in disdain. "I have enough nuisances to deal with in this court. I do not need to import a beautiful headache from a neighboring kingdom."
Duke Alpheus stepped closer, his expression grave. "Your Majesty, the empire requires stability. You have successfully cleansed the throne of the... previous rot," he chose his words carefully, avoiding Anastacius's name. "But the throne stands alone. The high nobility and the common people alike need to see the start of a new imperial dynasty. An Empress would soothe the anxieties of the public. If her temper is wild, she can be contained within the inner palace. But her bloodline, her dowry, and her father’s allegiance are assets we cannot afford to throw away."
"The Duke is correct, Your Majesty!" another elderly count chimed in, gaining courage. "A political marriage is the duty of every ruler. You must take an Empress for the future of Obelia!"
Duty, Claude thought, a wave of profound disgust washing over him. They speak of duty as if they aren't merely terrified of my absolute authority. They want an Empress so they can try to plant their own roots in my court. They want a lineage they can predict.
Claude closed his eyes. The constant clacking of the nobles' tongues was grating against his patience. He didn't care about Princess Lira, nor did he care about the future of Sunder. But he recognized that a prolonged refusal would only cause these sniveling politicians to continuously waste his time with petitions. If marrying a foreign princess would shut them up and solidify the borders so he could focus on restructuring the military, so be it.
When he opened his eyes, the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"Fine," Claude stated, his voice clipping their frantic murmurs short. "If the nobility is so eager to see a foreign woman paraded around the Ruby Palace, I will grant your wish. Arrange the wedding. But remember this—if her fabled temper disrupts the peace of my palace, I will hold every single one of you personally responsible for her behavior."
The nobles shivered, bowing rapidly in a mixture of profound relief and lingering terror. "We thank you for your immense wisdom, Your Imperial Majesty!"