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Chapter One ‎ ‎ ♮ ‎ ‎ The Blood of Astraea

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     An heir is not simply born.

     They are forged, piece by piece, in the crucible of duty and expectation. From the first breath they draw within gilded walls, their life becomes a tapestry woven by hands not their own. The threads are spun from the ambitions of kings and queens, stitched together by the hopes of a thousand generations. Every glance, every whispered word, every bow of a subject bears the weight of what they are meant to become—not a person, but a symbol.

     From the moment she first opened her eyes beneath the crystal domes of the Imperial Palace, she was marked by destiny. Her presence was luminous, as if the stars themselves had left their imprint upon her. A cascade of midnight hair framed her sharp, striking features, while her golden eyes burned with the intensity of a flame that could never be extinguished. She carried herself with a grace that was not merely learned but innate, as if the weight of her birthright had shaped her even in the womb. Her voice, measured and resolute, could command the attention of a crowded throne room, yet held the warmth to soothe a frightened child. Beneath the fine silks and ceremonial armor, there was a core of steel, forged through years of relentless training in both strategy and combat.

     Her name, bestowed upon her by an empire that worshiped stars, carried the weight of celestial expectations. ASTERIA: the name of light eternal, of constellations immortalized in the ink-black skies. Yet, beneath the glittering veneer of her title, Asteria felt the crushing weight of the name, as if she were a fragile bloom forced to thrive in winter's harsh embrace. The court called her the Jewel of Astraea, a rose in full bloom. But roses, no matter how beautiful, carried thorns, and hers pierced deeply into her soul. 

      As the eldest child of an Emperor and an Empress, she was expected to be perfect — a spring eternal, full of promise and renewal. But the truth was something far less polished. Asteria was not the spring. She was the autumn: fierce and fiery, her heart burning with a restless yearning to shed the gilded leaves of her childhood. The frost of duty had crept into her marrow, threatening to bury her under layers of ice. 

     Yet, for all her brilliance, Lady Asteria Zevros was no stranger to doubt. The expectations placed upon her were immense, the shadows of her ancestors looming large in every decision she made. The whispers of the court were constant, questioning her every move, scrutinizing her every word.

It was on the dawn of her twenty-first year, as the first hands of Spring kissed the earth, that Asteria made her decision. Her feet carried her to the heart of the garden, where a wild patch of flowers grew untamed. Daisies and lavender tangled with wild roses; their blossoms untouched by the hands of gardeners. Here — she found solace, far from the watchful eyes of courtiers and the whispers of duty. It was here, amid the untamed beauty of nature, that she realized what had been missing.

     Her name.

     It was not hers — not truly. Asteria belonged to the stars, to the empire's history, to the unyielding weight of tradition. She wanted a name that was hers alone, a name that would reflect the woman she would become, and not the child she had been. 

The seasons of Astraea turned in her mind as she thought of what she might become. She was not the eternal spring the court desired. She was the fire of summer storms, the harvest gold of autumn fields, the quiet strength of winter's frost. She whispered her choice to the garden first, as though seeking its blessing: Adira. A name rooted in strength and courage, one that spoke of resilience rather than perfection. It felt like the opening of a door, the shedding of an old skin. 

     The garden seemed to sigh in response, a gentle breeze rustling through the untamed blossoms as though nature itself approved of her defiance. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe that this place, this moment, belonged to her alone. No courtly expectations, no ancestral shadows — just a girl and her whispered rebellion. But beyond the garden did not wait for whispers. 

     The world — her empire — demanded declarations.

     The first light of morning had begun to bathe the ethereal land of Astraea, casting the palace grounds in an aureate glow, when the voice of her governess pierced the tranquility. "Your Highness, the council awaits."

     Her words were a summons, not a request. 

     Duty never asked; it commanded.

      And though she bore it all with unflinching resolve, there were nights when the weight of the crown she would one day wear felt insurmountable.

✵

     The path from the garden to the council chamber was lined with towering marble columns, each carved with ancient memories from Astraea's storied past. Golden light spilled through the latticework of crystal domes above, painting the white stone in hues of amber and rose. The palace was beautiful, almost painfully so, a testament to the empire's wealth and power. Yet to Adira, it often felt like a gilded cage than a sanctuary. 

     Beside her walked Alaris Khan, her closest friend and sworn ward. His tall, muscular frame moved with the easy grace of a warrior; his dark hair tied back neatly, though a few strands fell loose to frame his sharp features. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, were always watchful, missing nothing. Dressed in a simple but finely tailored black attire, Alaris was a stark contrast to the opulence around him, a shadow at her side. He was a constant presence in her life, one she relied on more than she would ever admit aloud. 

     "Did you need that moment in the garden, or were you simply avoiding the council?" Alaris asked, his tone light but edge with knowing. 

     Adira gave him a sidelong glance, her lips curving into the faintest smile. "Perhaps a bit of both."

     He chuckled softly; his voice low enough that it would not carry to the guards stationed at intervals along the hall. "Wise," he said. "I've heard the council is particularly venomous today. Something about border skirmishes and trade routes."

     "Always something," she murmured with a sigh. "And yet, never the right thing."

     Alaris tilted his head, studying er. "Do you have a plan?"

     "I have thoughts," she replied cryptically. "Whether they'll amount to a plan depends on how much the council tries to undermine me."

     "They'll try," he said without hesitation, turning his head to face her. "But they'll fail."

     The daughter-heir of Astraea's gaze softened as she looked ahead. Alaris had always believed in her, even when she doubted herself. Comfortingly so, it was a quiet, unshakable faith that had carried her through more than one dark moment — even more so than prayers. 

     "Thank you, Alaris."

     His brows furrowed between his forehead as he said, "For what?"

     "For being here."

     Alaris smirked as he matched his walking pace with hers. "Where else would I be? Someone has to make sure you don't throttle Kairos."

     She laughed, a soft and fleeting sound that echoed briefly in the grand hall. "I'd never throttle Kairos."

     "Not with witnesses," he teased. 

     By the time they reached the council chamber, Adira felt the weight of her role settle over her like a cloak. The grand double doors loomed ahead, carved with the sigil of the empire: a phoenix rising from the flames, its wings spread wide. Two guards pushed them open, and the murmurs of the council reached her ears, a low hum of tension and debate. 

     The council chamber was a vast, echoing expanse of marble and gold, designed to awe as much as to serve its purpose. High above, a dome painted with the constellations of Astraea shimmered faintly in the light of a thousand crystal lanterns. The room was a testament to the empire's power, its wealth, its eternity — or so it wanted to appear.

     Adira stepped through the towering double doors, her footsteps ringing sharply against the polished floor. Alaris stepped back as she entered, taking his place along the wall with the other attendants and guards. Though he was silent now, his presence was a comfort, a steadying force as the guards outside closed the doors with a resounding thud, sealing her and her ward within the chamber. 

     Before her, the semicircular council table curved like a crescent moon, its dark wood inlaid with veins of silver. Behind it sat the empire's most powerful figures, their gazes sharp and expectant. The councilors sat in their usual places, each a figure of power and influence. Lord Adriyan Tommen, the High Chancellor, occupied the central seat, his robes of deep crimson trimmed with gold. To his right sat his lady-wife Lady Naiara Veres, the Mistress of Trade, her silver-streaked hair gleaming in the light. Beside her was Ser Kairos Sataris, the Master of Coin, his perpetually furrowed a brow a testament to his stress and obsession with the empire's finances. 

     To Adriyan's left was Lord Aegon Drakos, the idealistic Minister of Foreign Affairs, and beyond him Lady Dianna Galanis, the Mistress of Allegiance.

     "Your Imperial Highness," intoned Lord Adriyan, rising from his seat. His voice was smooth as silk, yet it carried the weight of authority. He was an older man, his face a map of wrinkles carved by years of political maneuvering. "We are honored by your presence."

      Adira inclined her head, the gesture as precise as she had practiced. "The honor is mine, my lords and ladies," she replied, her voice steady, though her heart raced beneath her ceremonial skills. 

     Her eyes drifted to her father's place at the end of the room and heaved a barely noticeable small sigh. Her father's presence was palpable. The Emperor rarely attended these meetings anymore, preferring to leave the minutiae of governance to the council. It was his was of preparing her for the throne — or so he claimed. She always suspected it was more than that. His health had been declining, his once-mighty frame diminished, his mind sharp but weary. The empire was in a flux, and every member of the council knew it. They watched her now, weighing her, measuring her, deciding if she was strong enough to wield the power they sought to influence.

     "Please, have a seat." Adriyan continued, gesturing for her to take the seat reserved for the heir. It was at the center of the crescent, a place of prominence — and exposure. "The agenda for this morning's session is critical."

     The heir of Astraea motioned for the High Chancellor to continue.

     "The border skirmishes with Dalkor have escalated," implored the High Chancellor, placing his elbows atop the table as he looks to Adira. "Their raiders grow bolder with each passing moon."

     A murmur rippled through the room, voices low and clipped. Dalkor was a neighboring kingdom, a thorn in Astraea's side for decades. Their aggression was no surprise, but their timing was deliberate. 

     "What do they want?" Adira asked, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. She met Adriyan's gaze, her golden-brown eyes unflinching. "Resources? Territory? Or are they merely trying to provoke us?"

     Lord Adriyan smiled faintly, though it did not reach his eyes. "Perhaps all three, Your Imperial Highness." He suggested. "They are opportunists, after all."

     "Opportunists can be managed," she responded. "But if we react without strategy, we risk giving them what they want — a war we cannot afford."

     Across the table, Lady Naiara, the Mistress of Trade, leaned forward. She was striking woman with beautiful silver-streaked curls that were styled elegantly, framing her face and had eyes as sharp as daggers. "A war may be costly, but so is inaction."

     Adira momentarily looked to Alaris upon Lady Naiara's words before she meets her gaze this time and said, "Elaborate, Lady Naiara."

     "Dalkor's raids are already disrupting trade routes," Lady Naiara explained, visualizing her point using her hands. "Our merchants are demanding protection."

     "And our coffers," added Ser Kairos, the Master of Coin, his voice heavy with irritation, "are bleeding dry from the cost of fortifying the border. If we do not act decisively, we risk more than just trade. We risk losing the trust of our allies."

     Adira's gaze flicked to Kairos. He was a shrewd man, more concerned with numbers than people, but he was not wrong. Astraea's strength lay not just in its armies but in the alliances, it had forged over centuries. If the empire appeared weak, those alliances could fracture.

     "What do you propose, Ser Kairos?" she asked, her tone measured.

     Kairos hesitated, glancing at Adriyan before speaking. "A show of force. A swift, decisive strike to remind Dalkor of their place."

     "And risk an all-out war?" Lady Naiara countered; her tone veiled with skepticism. "That would be playing into their hands."

     "Perhaps a diplomatic envoy," suggested Lord Aegon, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. He was a younger man, idealistic and soft-spoken, his idealism often mistaken for naivety. "If we can negotiate —"

     "They will see it as weakness," Adriyan interrupted, his voice cold. "Diplomacy is a luxury we cannot afford."

     Adira listened, her expression impassive, as the council descended into a cacophony of arguments. Each voice clamored for dominance; each opinion laced with its own agenda. She let them talk, sifting through their words for truth, for motive, for opportunity. Finally, tired of their soundless arguments — she raised her hand and the room fell silent. The power of her gesture was not in its force but in its precision, a command that brooked no defiance.

     "Enough," she stated. "This is not a decision to be made in haste. We must understand our enemy's true intentions before we act."

     "What do you propose then, your Imperial Highness?" Adriyan interjects, his tone probing through her command. "We've already reinforced the border with additional troops as per your father's request."

      "But it's a temporary measure." His wife added, folding her hands atop the table. "Dalkor is testing us, probing for weakness."

     "Then we must show them none," Adira answered as a matter-of-factly, her eyes flicking towards all the other council members seated around her. "Brute force alone won't solve this — we need to understand their motives."

     Kairos raised his hand and Adira motioned for him to speak, "With all due respect, your Imperial Highness, motives are irrelevant in cases like these." He interjected, looking around the table, as if hoping to gain traction from his fellow council members. "What matters is maintaining our strength. If we don't strike back decisively, we risk appearing weak."

     "Appearing weak and being weak are not the same," The daughter-heir of Astraea countered, her voice sharp and calculated. "A poorly timed strike could stretch our resources thin and invite other opportunists."

     "And what do you suggest, your Highness?" Lady Dianna Galanis, the Mistress of Allegiance, finally spoke from the other end of the title. 

     "Leverage," Adira answered. "Dalkor's aggression isn't random. They are after something. We find out what it is and use it against them."

     Adriyan nodded thoughtfully. "Lady Dianna, do we have any intelligence on their leadership?" He asked, looking to the woman in front of him across the table. "Their movements?"

     The Mistress of Allegiance was a dangerously beautiful woman, her sharp features framed by a veil of dark lace. "Some, your Lordship. But our operatives have been hindered by the chaos at the border. It would take time to gather actionable intelligence."

     "Time is not a luxury we may not have," Adriyan implored, his gaze fixed on Adira. "Your Highness, we need a — somewhat — decisive action. What course do you propose?"

     Adira met his gaze, unflinching, and stated, "A two-pronged approach." She smiled faintly, calculated and precise, as she looked around the table. "Strengthen the border to protect our people but also send an envoy to Dalkor."

     This raised a brow from Lord Adriyan as he spoke, "A diplomat?"

     "Not a diplomat—a shadow." Adira corrected. "Someone who can gather intelligence and determine their true intentions."

     "And who would you send, your Highness?" Diana asked, her tone laced with skepticism. 

     At this, Adira hesitated, her mind racing. She needed someone capable, someone she could trust. Her gaze flicked briefly to Alaris, standing silent and watchful by the wall. He caught her look and have the barest nod, a silent promise. 

     "I have someone in mind," she said at last, her voice unfaltering. "A scout skilled in discretion and resourcefulness. They'll move unseen and return with the answers we need."

     The council exchanged glances. Some approving, others wary. Finally, Adriyan inclined his head. "A prudent course, your Highness. Let us hope it yields results."

     Adira sat back, her golden eyes scanning the room. The council had given her this moment, but she knew it was far from a victory. Every decision she made would be scrutinized, as always, every step tested. But as she glanced towards Alaris once more, she felt the flicker of resolve within her. 

✵

     The after-morning light streamed through the high, arched windows of the Citadel of Astraea, illuminating the grand hall with a celestial glow. Golden rays poured across the polished marble floors, turning them into a mirror that reflected the splendor of the room above. Dust motes swirled lazily in the light, suspended in the stillness like tiny stars adrift in an unseen galaxy, their movement a subtle reminder of life within the ancient space.

     The towering tapestry that dominated the far wall seemed to breathe under the daylight's touch, its intricate embroidery catching the sun's warmth and casting faint, colorful reflections onto the stone walls. A thousand threads of crimson and gold wove together a story of triumph and tragedy, each figure upon it stitched with painstaking care. The kings stood tall, their postures commanding as if even the weight of death could not diminish their authority. Queens draped in flowing robes gazed out with inscrutable expressions, their jeweled crowns glinting as though they held echoes of power long since passed.

     Above them all loomed the conquerors—warriors immortalized in the act of victory. Their fierce eyes burned even in the morning's gentle light, their expressions carved into the fabric as though they sought to challenge any who entered the hall. It was as if the thread itself carried their indomitable will, whispering tales of glory and sacrifice to those who dared to stand beneath their gaze.

     The room held a profound silence, broken only by the faint hum of the world beyond the stone walls—the distant murmur of courtiers in the corridors, the occasional trill of a songbird alighting near the window. Here, beneath the watchful eyes of history's titans, the air was heavy with a sense of permanence, a feeling that the past was never truly gone but lingered, woven into the very heart of the Citadel.

     Adira Zevros stood before it, her shadow stretching long and thin across the polished stone floor. The air was warm, but the weight in her chest was as cold as the northern winds. Each thread in the tapestry seemed to hum with the legacy it carried, and the eyes of her ancestors followed her every movement, their silent judgment cutting deeper than any blade.

     To her right, Alaris Khan remained silent, his sharp eyes studying her as always. Though he was still as a shadow, there was something in his stance — something in the slight tension of his shoulders — that suggested he was waiting for her to speak, to break the silence. The soft sound of his boots against the marble floor was the second to the only thing that punctuated the stillness as he stepped closer to her.

     Her fingers brushed the surface of the fabric, tracing the lines of a crown stitched in silver. The threads beneath her touch felt rough, like bark stripped from an ancient tree, and she imagined she could feel the pulse of history beneath them—a rhythm older than she could comprehend. 

     This was Astraea, her empire, her inheritance. Every inch of this hall whispered of its power, its triumphs, and the blood it had demanded.

     His voice, when it came, was quiet but steady, like the whisper of a storm on the horizon. "You've been quiet today, Asteria," he said, his words lingering in the air. "Have you made your choice?"

     Her gaze shifted, slowly, to him. She had not spoken of it to anyone, not even to him, though he had known her long enough to understand the unspoken. Alaris knew when she carried a burden, when the weight of something unseen bore down on her. But this — this was something different. This was a decision that could change everything.

     "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned back to the tapestry, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the stone pedestal. "I don't know if I could choose it, Alaris."

     Alaris stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face. "You've been given a name by the empire, Adira," he said softly, the name itself almost a reverence on his tongue. "A name that speaks of the stars. But when you take your oath, when you stand before the people of Astraea and swear to carry their legacy forward, will you still be Asteria? Or will you be something else?"

     Her heart skipped a beat. His question was simple, yet it felt like an entire universe had opened before her, a void that demanded an answer. She could feel the pull of her birthright, the gravity of the name Asteria that had been bestowed upon her since her first breath. But it was a name that did not fit her—did not feel like her.

     She let out a breath, her eyes tracing the golden threads of the tapestry once more. "Asteria is the name of a princess," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the echoing silence of the hall. "It's the name of an heir, of someone who is supposed to follow the path laid before her." Her lips curled slightly, a faint, bitter smile. "But I don't want to follow a path. I want to carve my own."

     Alaris nodded, understanding in his eyes. He had always understood. "Then you have already made your choice," he said, his voice steady. "Asteria is a name given to you by others. But Adira—Adira is the name you choose. It's the name of the woman who will stand in this hall one day, when you swear your oath and take the throne."

     The word "Adira" hung in the air between them, like a whisper of wind that could not be ignored. The name felt foreign on her lips, but in a way that was freeing, not restrictive. It was a name that could belong to her, that could encompass everything she had fought for—and everything she was yet to become.

     She closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of the decision settling deep within her chest. The past—the legacy of her ancestors—would always be a part of her. But she was no longer just a vessel to carry it forward. She was a force unto herself. And Adira was the name that would carry that force.

    "Do you feel it?" Katarina's voice sliced through the stillness like a blade through silk. It was calm, measured, yet carrying the sharpness of a storm about to break.

    As Empress Katarina's presence filled the hall, the atmosphere seemed to shift, as though the very air around them grew heavier, more intense. Adira and Alaris turned, startled by her sudden appearance, her form emerging from the shadows as if she had always been there, watching from the edges. The sunlight, streaming through the tall windows, caught the edge of her dark robes, making them appear almost like smoke, as though she carried the very weight of the empire with her.

     For a moment, Alaris was caught off guard, his brow furrowing as his sharp eyes scanned the empress. He had been with Adira long enough to understand the weight of the room when Katarina entered, but even he couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. There was no announcing her arrival, no heralding her presence. 

     She simply was, and the world bent around her.

     Alaris paused, casting a quick glance at the tapestry before stepping back slightly. He gave Adira a small nod, acknowledging her strength. "I'll be right here," he said quietly, his voice low enough not to disturb the air between them. He stepped back, but not too far, his presence a quiet support as Adira turned once more toward the tapestry. The weight of the empire's history pressed on her, but she would bear it—just as those before her had done.

     Adira stiffened slightly, her pulse quickening, though she masked it with a steady breath. The Empress always had this effect on her. She had spent her life under the woman's watchful eye, first as a stepmother, now as a ruler. There was no escaping the sense of power that radiated from her.

     "I feel... something," Adira replied, her voice steady despite the wariness that tugged at her chest. "It's heavy."

     Katarina's gaze lingered on her, sharp as ever, before her eyes drifted to the tapestry. "It is the weight of expectation," she said, her voice carrying a quiet gravity. "The same weight I felt when I first stood here, not much older than you are now. And the same weight your ancestors bore when they carved Astraea out of chaos."

     The words settled between them, heavy with the resonance of centuries of history. Adira's thoughts swirled, the oppressive weight of her lineage threatening to suffocate her. Yet, despite the pressure, she remained rooted in place. Her eyes, though uncertain, held Katarina's gaze, unwavering.

     "Did it ever feel... too heavy for you?" Adira asked, her voice small, yet yearning for some truth she could cling to.

     Katarina's lips quirked, a bitter smile playing at the edges. "Every day," she replied. "But an empress does not have the luxury of weakness. This empire was not built by those who faltered under its demands."

     The words stung, but Adira swallowed them down. The sunlight shifted slightly, dimming the room as clouds passed overhead. For a brief moment, it felt as if the entire hall held its breath. Adira glanced once more at the tapestry, her eyes locking onto the figure at the center. The one with the jagged iron crown. His gaze seemed to pierce through the fabric, drilling into her with an intensity that was almost palpable.

     "What if I can't do it?" Adira asked, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop it. It was a whisper, yet it hung in the air like a cry for help.

     Katarina's expression softened slightly, her eyes narrowing as if considering the weight of the question. She turned fully toward Adira, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, grounding her. The touch was unyielding, the weight of it a reminder that the empress's presence could not be ignored. 

     "Then you must become someone who can," the Empress of Astraea said, her voice firm but with a quiet intensity. "An heir is not simply born, Asteria. They are forged. Every scar, every failure, every triumph—it all shapes you into the ruler this empire needs. But you must be willing to pay the price."

     The daughter-heir's throat tightened, and she felt the cold weight of uncertainty pressing against her chest. "And what is that price?"

     "Everything," Katarina replied bluntly, her gaze unwavering.

     The word hung between them, an iron chain that clinked with finality. Adira shuddered, but before she could speak, Katarina's grip tightened, a silent command to listen.

     "Do you know why the first Empress chose this hall for the tapestry?" Katarina asked, her voice now softening, almost wistful.

     Adira shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know, but she could feel the question was leading her somewhere.

     "Because this is where she made her oath," Katarina explained, her eyes lifting toward the far end of the hall. "On the battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of those who opposed her, she swore that Astraea would rise from the ashes and never fall again. She vowed that her bloodline would guard it until the stars burned out. This tapestry is her promise woven into eternity. Every thread is a reminder of what she—and all of us—have sacrificed to keep that promise."

     The words were heavy, laden with centuries of blood and sacrifice. Adira felt her breath catch in her throat as the weight of those promises pressed down on her. Could she live up to this? Could she carry the mantle her ancestors had left behind?

     "What if I fail?" Adira asked, her voice barely a whisper, but it echoed in the hollow space of the hall.

     Her stepmother's eyes narrowed, the sharpness of them cutting through the hesitation in Adira's words. "Then Astraea falls," she said simply, her tone unforgiving. "There is no middle ground, no safety net. This empire demands all of you or nothing at all."

     With her words, the room seemed to grow colder, the sunlight momentarily vanishing as clouds shifted. Adira's heart thundered in her chest, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she was truly ready for this. 

     Would she crumble under the weight of it all?

     "You don't have to decide today," Katarina said, her voice softening just a fraction, a glimmer of something almost maternal in her eyes. "But know this—when the time comes, hesitation will be your enemy. Strength is not just in action but in conviction."

     Adira nodded slowly, though the storm inside her had yet to calm. Her gaze drifted back to the tapestry, to the faces of those who had come before her. They stared back, unblinking, as if daring her to prove herself worthy.

     Katarina stepped back, but not before giving her shoulder one last firm squeeze. "I know you won't let Astraea fall," she said, her voice filled with quiet pride. "But remember, my daughter—this is only the beginning. The fire will come, and when it does, you must be ready to stand in its heart and emerge stronger."

     As the Empress turned and walked away, her robes whispering against the stone floor, Adira remained standing, the weight of the moment settling over her like a cloak of iron.

     Alaris, who had been standing a respectful distance away, took a step forward as Katarina moved toward the exit. His eyes flicked to Adira, then back to the retreating figure of the Empress. He gave her a look that was both reassuring and uncertain. He knew the woman who had raised Adira was not one to show weakness, but he also knew that Adira needed her, in some way, even as she stood under the weight of her expectations.

     "Empress," Alaris said quietly, his voice respectful but never subservient. His eyes never left her, his posture unyielding despite the undercurrent of surprise in his gaze. He had not expected her presence here, nor the sharpness of her words.

     Katarina gave him a fleeting glance, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Khan," she acknowledged, her voice carrying the weight of years of authority. She did not linger long, her footsteps echoing as she made her way down the hall, leaving the two of them alone once more.

     Adira stood in silence for a moment longer, the room still heavy with the remnants of the Empress's presence. Alaris, ever the protector, stepped closer but kept a careful distance, allowing Adira her space. He gave her a knowing look, his voice low but firm.

    "You've made your choice," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "And now, you must live with it."

     Adira's breath caught in her throat, the fire in her chest rekindling, fiercer than before. She had made her choice, yes. And she would see it through, no matter the cost. Whatever it takes.

     "I will," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

     I have to.

author's note: super long chapter !!! also yes, adira is not her first name.
also alaris and adira my babies — i love them so much

* in the lore of her empire, before she is crowned as empress, the heir is given a choice whether to proceed with their birth-given name as the title is passed down to them or use their chosen name for it. it is basically them being reborn with another name — another life. this in, other ancient texts, is depicted as a sign of rebellion though scholars and researchers have already dropped the subject. teehee — i will explain this lore further down as the book progresses.