───── ❝ Chapter Twenty ❞ ─────

As the night wore on, Henry was notified that his wife awaited him for the consummation. He stared into his nearly empty glass, watching the last remnants of wine swirl. The noise of the ballroom faded, replaced by the dull roar of his thoughts. The weight of expectation pressed down on him, a familiar burden. He sighed, raising the glass to his lips one last time, savoring the fleeting solace.

Memories of Adieya surged unbidden into his mind. He could almost see her, fierce and unyielding, leading her armies against the Ottoman threat. The image of her on the battlefield, her commands sharp and unwavering, filled his thoughts. He recalled the night they had shared beneath the star-strewn sky, her laughter mingling with the distant sounds of the sea. Her touch, tender yet powerful, had left an indelible mark on his soul. How could he ever forget the strength and grace with which she had ruled?

Henry rose to his feet, surveying the room. The lively ballroom hushed, eyes brimming with anticipation. With a smirk that masked a blend of amusement and dread, he raised his empty glass. The court erupted in cheers as he exited, their voices echoing off the ancient stone walls.

Entering the room, Henry was met by lingering scents of incense and parchment. Jane stood nervously in the corner, her small frame dwarfed by the opulent furnishings. Pausing at the threshold, Henry glanced at Jane's wide, uncertain eyes, and his heart clenched with guilt.

"Everyone out," he commanded, his voice steady but low. The murmurs of protest began, but he silenced them with a sharp look. Slowly, they shuffled out, casting confused and scandalized glances. Charles lingered, meeting Henry's gaze with a knowing nod before leaving.

Henry approached Jane, who looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. She hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her nightgown, her gaze darting around the room as if seeking an escape. He sighed deeply, his own heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

"Lie down and get some sleep, Jane."

Jane's eyes widened further, confusion and fear mingling in her expression. "But Your Majesty, we must—"

"Sleep," Henry repeated, more gently this time. "Tonight is not as it should be."

Jane hesitated, then climbed into the bed. Henry joined her, fully clothed, turning his back. As Jane's breathing evened out, Henry lay awake, staring into the darkness, longing for the woman who haunted his dreams.

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The pale light of dawn crept through the heavy curtains, finding Henry already awake, his eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling above. Beside him, Jane slumbered peacefully, her golden hair splayed across the pillow. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above her hair, but he pulled back, his heart aching with the weight of what could never be.

With a quiet sigh, Henry slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb his new bride. He lingered for a moment, watching her sleep, before walking out of the room and down the hall to his audience chambers. The cold stone floor chilled his bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth he yearned for. Once inside, he pushed aside the curtains to look out over the misty grounds of Windsor Castle. The weight of his decisions pressed down upon him like a physical force. His mind drifted to Adieya, fierce and determined, leading her armies against the Ottoman threat. The memory of her strength and grace haunted him, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

"What kind of king am I," he muttered, "to be so torn between duty and desire?" He clenched his fist, remembering the feel of Adieya's hand in his. "And what kind of man?"

A soft knock at the door broke through his reverie. "Enter," he called softly, not turning from the window.

The door creaked open, and Charles Brandon's reflection appeared in the glass. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice low. "I trust you slept well?"

Henry turned, a wry smile twisting his lips. "As well as can be expected, old friend." He gestured for Charles to pour them both a goblet of wine from the nearby decanter.

As Charles handed him the drink, he asked carefully, "And the Queen? Is she... well?"

Henry's fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet, his knuckles turning white. "She is untouched, if that's what you're asking."

Charles's eyebrows rose slightly, but he schooled his features quickly. "I see."

"Do you?" Henry challenged, his voice sharp. He began to pace, the words spilling out as if they had been held back for too long. "Do you see the impossible position I'm in? Married to a woman I do not love, expected to sire an heir, all while my heart..." He trailed off, taking a long drink of wine, the liquid burning a path down his throat.

Charles stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your Majesty, I understand your feelings for the Empress run deep, but—"

"But what?" Henry interrupted, turning to face him. "But I have a duty to England? To my new wife? Don't you think I know that?" He set the goblet down with more force than necessary, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Henry," Charles said softly, dropping formalities. "I know this isn't easy. But you must think of the consequences. The court will whisper about the unconsummated marriage. If word spreads beyond these walls..."

Henry ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I know, Charles. God help me, I know." He turned back to the window, his shoulders slumping. "But when I look at Jane, all I see is what I've lost. How can I be the king England needs when I feel so... incomplete?"

Charles was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. "Perhaps, Henry, it's not about feeling complete. Perhaps it's about finding a way to move forward, to be the king England needs despite feeling incomplete."

Henry turned, meeting his friend's gaze. The weight of the crown, invisible but ever-present, seemed to settle more firmly on his brow. "And how do I do that, Charles?"

"One day at a time, Henry," Charles replied. "One decision at a time."

As the sun rose higher, casting long shadows across the room, Henry nodded slowly. The path ahead was unclear, but he knew he had no choice but to walk it. For England. For his people. Even if every step felt like a betrayal of his heart.

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As the morning sun crested over the horizon, tendrils of light filtered into the bedchamber, caressing Jane's face and gently stirring her from sleep. As her eyes fluttered open, she rolled over hopefully, seeking the warm body that should have been next to her. But her heart sank at finding only an expanse of cold sheets, indicating her new husband had risen hours before. She released a melancholy sigh, tears springing unbidden to her eyes.

Jane had envisioned a storybook wedding night, sealing her destiny as Henry's true queen and securing the Seymours' influence. Instead, she was dismissed to a cold, empty bed while raucous celebrations carried on without them.

This man was not the charming prince she had envisioned. He was detached and conflicted, still pining for a lost love. It was humiliating, both to her and her ambitious family. The two of them were married now, bound together before God. Jane and Henry. Not Empress Adieya and Henry. She was the Queen of England now, not some foreign royal.

Suddenly the heavy door banged open violently, jolting Jane from her brooding. Her brothers appeared, followed hurriedly by her new principal lady-in-waiting.

The heavy door banged open, jolting Jane. Her brothers appeared, followed by her lady-in-waiting.

"Please, My Lords, allow Her Majesty a moment to dress!" the lady implored.

"Thomas, give Jane a moment until she is decent!" Edward demanded.

"Come, your Majesty, let us make you presentable," the lady requested.

Jane was swiftly dressed in a stately purple gown, styled in the English manner. It was simpler than the Empress's exotic attire, which she had thought Henry appreciated about her—plain and uncomplicated. But clearly, his tastes had evolved after meeting the alluring foreign Empress. The women's gowns were unlike anything seen at the English court, showing more bare skin and lacking restrictive corsets. Scandalous by English standards, but undeniably alluring.

Squaring her shoulders, Jane allowed herself to be guided into the audience chamber where her brothers awaited, no doubt hungry for information. Upon her entrance, they ceased their hushed conversation, eyes locking onto her intensely. After a weighty pause, Edward sighed and closed the ledger in his lap. Rising, he gave a perfunctory bow and mumbled a proper greeting to the new queen. Thomas simply stared at Jane calculatingly until his brother shot him a reproachful glare. With exaggerated slowness, Thomas joined Edward in a shallow bow. Jane silently motioned for them to rise and take their seats so they could begin their inquisition.

"Anya, you are dismissed," Jane said absently to her lady.

With a deep curtsy, Anya intoned deferentially, "Of course, Your Majesty." She quickly made her exit, closing the heavy doors behind her and ordering the guards that the queen was not to be disturbed.

Edward leaned forward to refill his goblet, the crimson liquid sloshing audibly in the silent room.

"Well?" Thomas asked eagerly, unable to restrain himself any longer.

Jane arched a delicate brow. "Well what, brother? You must be more specific."

Thomas exhaled in exasperation. "Why are you being intentionally daft? Did you consummate your marriage or not?"

Jane released a derisive laugh. "What do you expect? I am wed to a man who cannot look upon me without first drowning himself in drink."

"So in plain speech, His Majesty has not yet finalized your union through consummation," Edward concluded solemnly.

"Yes!" Jane exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration.

Thomas accused, "Why did you not entice him? You are leaving the door open for annulment. Even now he could be drafting dissolution papers."

Jane's eyes flashed with indignation. "He loves that Russian whore, not me! All she's done is ruin everything!"

Edward slammed his goblet down. "How many times must I warn you against speaking of the Empress in such a manner! She wants nothing to do with his advances."

Jane laughed derisively. "Oh yes, of course. He pines for the Empress who spurned him. Meanwhile, I am his wife and queen by law, not your precious Adieya."

Edward's jaw twitched, his voice low and dangerous. "Take care, sister. From whence did you glean such confidential information about the Empress? Knowledge that by rights should never have left Russia or passed any lips but the king's?"

Jane shrank back, properly chastened. "I-I know not exactly. Just idle whispers here and there."

Edward advanced on her, his presence suddenly imposing. "You mean to confess you have been giving ear to potential spies and traitors?"

"Yes, alright!" Jane admitted reluctantly. "I was desperate. My husband's heart belongs to another and I needed to know why. What sorcery has she used to bewitch the king and country so?"

Edwards's expression darkened as Jane let slip the confidential details about Adieya and Henry. That his loose-lipped sister had pieced together such politically sensitive information was alarming. Either English spies had infiltrated the deepest circles of the Russian court, or traitors whispered treason here at home. Edward vowed to discover the source and silence them, lest more damaging intelligence leak out, jeopardizing the kingdom. Adieya was a worthy ally - wise, discerning, and just. She deserved Edwards's utmost loyalty, both as subject and friend. He would protect her interests with the same fervor as England's. He knew that with subtle inquiries and coded letters, he could set a web to catch informants and prevent further betrayals. The King's trust had been broken once; Edward refused to let that wound deepen.

For long moments Edward simply stared at his sister as if seeing her clearly for the first time. "How quickly power corrupts if one lacks wisdom and grace. Think carefully about your actions, sister. For now, you are but a woman, and your influence is fleeting. You rule no part of England, despite your lofty marriage. That authority belongs singularly to King Henry. Your purpose is simply to provide an heir to continue his lineage."

Bristling at the blunt truths, Jane shot back "And you speak so freely against female monarchs! Yet praise that foreign Empress."

"I acknowledge her skill as a ruler. You currently wield no power except that which might come between your thighs. And judging by your empty marital bed, even that weapon has failed you."

Jane gasped, outrage etching her features. But before she could lose the vitriol on her tongue, Edward took his leave, promising with a silent look that he would root out the source of the dangerous rumors. Internally Edward bristled with quiet fury as he considered Jane's careless gossip. Such intelligence about Adieya's affairs should never have reached English ears. Either spies had infiltrated Russia's inner political circles, or traitors whispered sedition at home.

Edward refused to let more damaging secrets escape to endanger his beloved empress and her rule. He carefully extended feelers through back channels and coded letters, fishing for sources that could identify the informants. Once uncovered, Edward would silence them permanently, staunching the bleeding of Adieya's trust. She had shown only wisdom and grace toward England and deserved his staunch loyalty in return. He would not let idle tongues without honor erode that bond.

After Edward's retreating footsteps faded, Thomas turned to his sister. "You must bed the king, and swiftly, else our family's ambitions will crumble." With those final blunt words, he too left the room...

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Timed turned and the war with the Ottomans had raged for over a year now, leaving scorched earth and piles of bodies in its wake. Edward and Charles both arrived in Russia once the early battles started becoming important strategists. Because of them, Adieya's forces had won early victories, seizing supply routes and coastal towns from the invaders. But the previous summer saw crushing defeats at the Battles of Astrakhan and Saratov, opening the door for the enemy to surge north unchecked. Now they crept ever closer to St. Petersburg, emboldened by the chance to depose Russia's upstart empress. Adieya was determined not to cede another inch of ground if it meant the destruction of all she held dear. She would rally her remaining armies and defend the motherland no matter the cost.

"The Ottomans grow bolder by the day," General Rostov growled, his finger tracing the line of their advance on the map. "They seek to exploit the instability left in the wake of the Red Dawn's attacks."

Adieya's eyes narrowed. "They underestimate us if they think internal strife has weakened our resolve. We've rooted out the cult's influence in our ranks, and now we stand united against this external threat."

Charles, ever the voice of caution, interjected with concern. "The toll of the cult's betrayal weighs heavily on our forces," he remarked, his brow furrowed.

Adieya nodded grimly. "All the more reason to end this war swiftly and decisively. We cannot afford a prolonged conflict, not when we're still healing from the wounds of treachery."

Adieya studied maps and reports late into the night before the pivotal battle. Despite her generals' cautious advice, she was determined to crush the invading forces, driven by a righteous fury for her suffering people. She reviewed countless provisions lists, inspected gear and weapons, and hand-selected the units for the vanguard.

Adieya stood tall on the brink of battle, projecting an image of unshakable resolve. Yet, behind her steely facade, doubts clawed at her mind. She recalled the faces of fallen comrades and the weight of their expectations, wondering if she could truly lead them to victory. She steeled herself against paralyzing uncertainty - better to seem the infallible warrior empress than reveal her dread. If she must sacrifice herself to secure Russia's future, so be it. She only prayed their faith in her was not misplaced, and that triumph could yet be wrested from calamity's jaws.

Tension thickened in the war room, where ink and parchment filled the heavy air. Maps covered every surface, their edges curling from constant use.

"What news from the front?" she asked, her voice cutting through the murmured conversations.

General Rostov stepped forward, his weathered face etched with new lines of worry. "Your Majesty, our scouts report that the Ottoman forces are massing just beyond the Volga. They seem to be preparing for a major offensive."

Adieya's jaw tightened. "Numbers?"

"At least thirty thousand, Empress. Possibly more."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. Adieya felt the weight of every eye upon her, waiting for her reaction, her plan. She took a deep breath, centering herself.

"And our own forces?"

Her chief strategist spoke up. "We have twenty-five thousand troops ready for immediate deployment, Your Majesty. Another ten thousand can be mobilized within a fortnight, but they would be largely inexperienced conscripts."

Adieya nodded, her mind racing through possibilities. "What of our supply lines? Can we sustain a prolonged engagement?"

"For now, yes," the quartermaster replied. "But if the fighting stretches on for more than a month, we may face shortages, especially in medical supplies."

The room fell silent as Adieya contemplated the information. She could feel the fear and uncertainty radiating from her advisors, mixed with a desperate hope that she would somehow produce a miracle.

"Your Majesty," Charles spoke up, his voice gentle but firm. "Perhaps it's time to consider seeking aid from our allies. England—"

"No," Adieya cut him off, more sharply than she intended. She saw Charles flinch slightly and softened her tone. "Forgive me, old friend. But we cannot rely on outside help. This is our fight, and we must win it on our own."

She turned back to the maps, her fingers tracing the contours of her beloved homeland. "We may be outnumbered," she said, her voice growing stronger with each word, "but we have the advantage of fighting on our own soil. We know every hill, every river, every hidden path."

Adieya looked up, meeting the eyes of each person in the room. "We will not meet them in open battle. Instead, we will draw them in, and let them overextend their supply lines. We'll harass their flanks, and cut off their foraging parties. Make them fight a war of attrition they cannot win."

She could see the spark of hope rekindling in the eyes of her advisors. But there was more, a hard decision she knew she had to make.

"I will lead our forces personally," she declared.

The room erupted in protests. Charles stepped forward, his face pale. "Empress, I beg you to reconsider. The risk—"

"Is necessary," Adieya finished for him. She held up a hand, silencing the room. "I cannot ask our people to fight and die while I remain safe behind castle walls. They need to see their Empress fighting alongside them, sharing their hardships, their dangers."

She paused, letting her words sink in. "But more than that, I need to be there. To see with my own eyes, to make decisions in the moment. This war will shape the future of our empire. I must be there to guide it."

The room was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, General Rostov stepped forward and knelt before her. "We are with you, Empress. To victory or death."

One by one, the others followed suit, kneeling before their sovereign. Adieya felt the weight of their loyalty, their trust. It was a heavier burden than any crown.

"Rise," she said softly. "We have much to prepare. Let us make ready to defend our home."

Three days later Adieya and her advisors leaned over a maps table, strategizing attacks both offensive and defensive. Suddenly the doors burst open violently and a general rushed in, thrusting a parchment into the Empress's hand. Her dark eyes scanned the missive rapidly as the color drained from her face.

"My lords, there has been another raid mere miles north of the castle walls!" She announced, stabbing a painted fingernail at the large town's location on the map.

"Impossible!" a councilman bellowed. "How could they have breached our forces?"

"Somehow they slipped behind our ranks, but our soldiers converge even now to cut off their escape," the Empress informed them confidently. Turning to the general she commanded, "Take some alive for interrogation. I must know how they evaded our patrols and if treachery festers among our men."

The general bowed briskly and left to carry out his orders as Adieya sank wearily into her chair. Months of endless fighting passed in a blur, both sides suffered losses great and small. Four months now since she had banished Henry from her kingdom. Three months of intensifying bloodshed. And two months since Henry had taken Jane Seymour as his new queen, though by all accounts he still refused to crown her.

"Might this next battle end the war if we prevail?" Adieya questioned her advisors hopefully.

"Our spies uniformly report depleted enemy forces with few experienced men left standing," one elder councilman offered. "Some even defect now rather than die upon your swords."

Charles spoke up grimly, "This will be their desperate last stand then. But cornered beasts fight with heightened ferocity."

Adieya stared pensively at the battle markers, contemplating her next decision. As her advisors spoke among themselves, a daring plan took shape in her mind. "I want to be there," she declared abruptly.

The room lapsed into stunned silence at her pronouncement until one man echoed incredulously "At the battlefield itself, Empress?"

She lifted her chin. "Yes, I intend to go. I must be with them," she insisted, her voice steady despite the roiling uncertainty within her. "To lead from the front and share their burdens."

"Adieya..." Edward chided gently. "Is that prudent given the ever-shifting dangers upon the field? If separated from your guard, injured or taken captive..."

She gave his hand a conciliatory pat. "You needn't fret so. I'll not take any undue risks."

Edward pressed his mouth in a grim line, worry clouding his eyes. "Nonetheless, it poses grave peril were you to fall into enemy hands. We cannot afford to lose you, the kingdom's beating heart."

Something in his sincere pleadings gave her pause. "You speak wisdom, dear Leo. We shall travel to the outskirts where I may safely relay orders to the general. Once the battle concludes, we can assist the wounded and question prisoners."

Relief washed over Edward's features as he nodded gratefully. Adieya turned her gaze to each man in turn for their approval. Receiving only assent, she proclaimed, "My lords, ready yourselves to depart soon and end this war!"

Their cheers echoed through the hall as the men filed out eagerly, leaving Adieya alone with a triumphant smile teasing her lips. Victory was imminent and with it, irrefutable proof of her might as a ruler. Soon none would question her authority, not even those across the sea.

As Adieya prepared to leave for the battlefield, she caught sight of her reflection in a polished shield. For a moment, she saw not the Empress of Russia, but simply Adieya – the woman who had dared to love an English king.

She thought of Henry, now married to another, and felt a familiar ache in her chest. How easy it would be to give in to that pain, to let it consume her as it had almost consumed him. But she was more than her heart's desires. She was the protector of her people, the shield of her nation.

"We all have our duties," she murmured, straightening her armor. "And some loves are not meant to be."

With a final, determined nod at her reflection, she turned away. The battlefield awaited, and with it, the fate of her empire.

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The battlefield erupted into chaos, the acrid scent of gunpowder mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Screams of the wounded pierced the air, while smoke obscured the horizon.

Adieya watched as Galina expertly bandaged a soldier's wound, her hands steady despite the chaos around them. A nearby explosion caused Galina to flinch, her eyes momentarily distant.

Galina kissed her husband Askalon on the lips just before he went out for battle. Her husband, Lord General Askalon Vasiliev, Duke of Estrerteira, was one of Adieya's most trusted men. He always did what was asked of him to the best of his ability, and more—he was the best soldier the Russian army had in a long time.

A few hundred men could complete the training necessary for a coveted spot in the Russian army, but even fewer could keep up with the hardcore training of the General. At times, he would take on an apprentice in even more specific training focused on their skills, ranging from spying and infiltration to poison making and everything in between.

Those who could survive that training were even more coveted and placed within the Empress's immediate protection or sent on missions based on their skill set. With a spy in the ranks of the Red Dawn, they were able to infiltrate a meeting place where a high-stakes meeting was said to take place that night.

"When I return, I promise we will celebrate with a drink, and then I will have my wife in bed with me tonight!" Galina laughed when Askalon picked her up. "Kal!" He spun her around for a moment, laughing along with her. When he put her down, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a heated kiss like it was the last time they would touch.

Galina's heart pounded fiercely as she pulled her husband Askalon into a searing kiss, wishing she could freeze time and keep him here with her forever. She committed every detail to memory - the sandalwood scent of his skin, the rough brush of his beard against her cheek, the firm pressure of his calloused hands at her waist.

This could be their last embrace for a long while, and the thought made her cling tighter. Finally breaking away breathless, Galina smoothed her trembling hands over the cool metal of his armor, eyes desperately tracing his rugged features.

"Promise you'll come back to me, my captain. Promise this isn't farewell," she implored, hating the pleading note in her voice. Askalon pressed his forehead to hers, his usual stoicism cracking. "Not even death could keep me from you, my lady love. We have so many more memories yet to create."

Despite the conviction in his tone, they both heard the unspoken "if" hanging in the air. With a forced cheer, he spun her around the room in an impromptu dance, coaxing peals of laughter from her that sounded too shrill and hollow.

As the dance ended, his mouth claimed hers hungrily, with an air of finality that made her heart seize. "I love you with all that I am," he rasped. "Never forget." Then he was striding away without a backward glance, shoulders squared, the very image of warrior nobility.

"Galina?" Adieya touched her friend's shoulder gently.

Galina blinked, returning to the present. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. For a moment, I was... elsewhere."

Adieya nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Askalon?"

Galina's lips tightened, but she continued her work. "Always. Especially here, amidst..." She gestured to the wounded around them.

"If you need to step away—"

"No," Galina said firmly. "Askalon gave everything for Russia. I can do no less."

Hours passed with devastation until the battle was won. Adieya walked the ravaged streets with her retinue, the wails of the wounded and dying reverberating around her. Crimson blood mingled sickeningly with muddy earth, the cloying metallic scent threatening to choke her. General Rostov approached swiftly, pounding a fist over his heart in a salute.

"Empress, the enemy is vanquished. Those who yet draw breath are bound for questioning. We've established a hospital tent to treat wounded loyalists. And the dead..." His words seemed to fail him momentarily. "Those beyond aid are gathered respectfully so you may give them proper honoring before they are returned home for burial."

Adieya nodded solemnly, grief sitting heavily upon her shoulders. "You have done well this day, General. Let us attend now to the grim rituals of war's aftermath."

As she moved toward one of the makeshift hospitals, her mind turned to the unpleasant task of penning missives of consolation to the families of the fallen. It was her self-imposed duty to ensure each received personalized words of empathy, and their loved ones were treated with gentle reverence. Those closest to her knew such losses pained Adieya deeply. She considered each death a personal failing - a friend lost, a vital piece of her kingdom severed forever. There would be no celebration that night, only stoic resolution to mask the churning sorrow.

Within the cramped canvas tent, moans of suffering carried on the thick, coppery air. Adieya's stomach twisted at the ceaseless agony, but she schooled her features to impartiality, exuding calm authority. She had little stomach for gore, but needs must. Moving through the dismal rows, she paused to offer quiet words of comfort or thanks, receipting each sacrifice.

In a far corner, Galina worked methodically, brow furrowed in concentration as she tended groaning men. Something about her tender ministrations plucked at Adieya's memory until realization struck her. Galina had not treated battle wounds since her husband's death many years ago. Watching her work now, Adieya recognized the barely concealed grief etched upon her friend's face as she struggled against the painful memories.

Approaching softly so as not to startle, Adieya laid a gentle hand on Galina's shoulder. The woman turned sharply, eyes overly bright with anguish long buried.

The days crept by agonizingly slow. Food lost its flavor and the sun its warmth as Galina waited desperately for word of her husband's fate. The knock at the door, when it finally came, felt like a physical blow.

A servant who heard the knock got Galina to see who it was. When she got to the door, she was greeted by a somber-looking man with a helmet with her husband's unit marking. She immediately knew why the man was there, and her eyes started to fill with tears.

"Duchess Estrerteira, I have come with the duty to inform you that your husband, Lord General Askalon Vasiliev, Duke of Estrerteira, was killed in battle from an explosion that occurred during the siege of a known Cult's Headquarters. Everyone within our ranks expresses their sympathy. Your husband was known as the best General within the ranks and has made great contributions to the country and army through his teachings. We ask you to set a funeral date for him, but we were unable to bring home his body. Instead, while it will not replace his body, we have brought home the helm that he wore in battle. He asked before the battle if he died that day or his death was before yours, that I tell you he would have given everything to be with you morning, day, and night. He also requested on the night of the Rose's Remembrance that you set an extra rose out for him."

Finally, when she got the courage to respond she said, "Of course, my thanks and sorrow for you and your fellow soldier in this difficult time. You have lost a great teacher. Thank you for bringing a piece of him home." The man nodded and left. As soon as Galina closed the door, she couldn't contain her tears any longer. She sank to the floor with a scream as the pain of losing the one she knew was her soulmate took hold.

When the door closed, Galina collapsed to the floor with an anguished wail, clenching the helmet to her chest. Sobs wracked her body violently as she fully grasped the cruel permanence of his loss.

They would never dance again or speak of future plans. She would never again hear his rich laughter or wake beside his slumbering form. The raw injustice clawed inside her until she thought her heart would shatter from grief. Rocking back and forth, Galina wept until no more tears would come, then lay spent and hollow, staring into nothingness.

She had no sense of how much time passed as she existed in a grey fog, wishing she could sink into oblivion and join her husband. But some flicker of life still sputtered inside her, keeping her tethered.

Finally, Galina looked down at the helmet in her hands, now wet with tears. Hesitantly she raised it to her face, inhaling the scent still clinging to it - sweat, metal, and beneath it all, Askalon. New tears slipped down her cheeks, but this time they held a note of acceptance.

He was truly gone, but she would honor him by continuing to live and serve their homeland, the country he willingly sacrificed everything for. Rising on shaky legs, Galina placed the helmet on a shelf of honor. She would mourn him every day but keep striving forward. It was what he would have wanted - for the wife he loved so fiercely to embrace life and find joy once more.

"I-I cannot...Please, take this duty from me!" Galina entreated brokenly as she came away from the memories.

Adieya's heart fractured at her suffering. "Dearest friend, you owe us nothing this day. None would fault you for abstaining from such difficult work."

Charles materialized behind them, face awash with understanding. "Dieya speaks truth. If the memories yet torment you, do not force yourself on our account."

Galina roughly dashed the tears from her cheeks. "I wish to help, yet when I try, thoughts of him drown out all else. The pain is still so raw...I miss him desperately." A small sob escaped her lips as she sagged against Charles's sturdy frame.

Enfolding her in a fierce embrace, he murmured, "I know, I know. Askalon was a great man, the best of us. But he would not want you to wither in grief forever. Honor him by living fully once more."

Galina clung to him for a long moment before straightening with a tremulous sigh. "You speak wisdom, old friend. I shall try."

Charles smiled encouragingly. "Come, there are prisoners who require your special talent for loosening tongues." He guided her outside into the crisp air, the sights and sounds of suffering fading behind them.

Adieya watched them go, heart buoyed to see Galina taking tentative steps to rejoin the living. Perhaps there was hope for them all.

Adieya stood alone on the battlefield as dusk fell, the smoke of victory mingling with the last rays of sunlight. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the day's triumphs and losses.

"Dieya?" Charles's voice broke through her reverie.

She turned, seeing concern in his eyes. "I was just thinking, Charles. About the cost of victory. About the choices that led us here."

Charles nodded solemnly. "And what conclusions have you drawn?"

Adieya's gaze turned distant. "That the game of thrones is never truly won, only survived. That love and duty are often at odds." Her eyes hardened with resolve. "And that while we may have won this battle, the war is far from over."

As darkness fell, Adieya stood tall, the silhouette of an empress poised on the brink of an uncertain future, caught between the echoes of war and the whispers of a love she thought she'd left behind.