“Flowers,” the emperor declared, tilting his head ever so slightly to the right, making him appear rather endearing to emphasize his tender words, “for my beautiful, new queen.”

Scorpiyon’s eyes glistened like two round cuts of flawless sapphire, as he gracefully extended an arm to present a large bundle of flowers. Historia had never seen such a deep violet before. They were ominously alluring, making the pit of her stomach begin to burn with anxiety. Historia peered up at the man towering before her, his strangely sweet gesture stunning her into silence. His little grin was terribly tempting, and she nearly let her guard down despite her reservations.

Scorpiyon was as majestic as the day of the imperial wedding, which was also the last day she had even caught a glimpse of his face. He’d supposedly been busy catching up on all the paperwork he’d left sitting in his office, wrought with distress caused by his dear betrothed’s  unexpected coma. 

The very first time Historia had ever seen this stranger was on the day they were wed. She’d never even spoken to him before, let alone shared any time with him. He was as unknown to her as the guests sitting in the pews, and she’d been forced into a union with him, sealed with an empty kiss.

When she entered the cathedral clad in the gossemary, white bridal gown and had first laid eyes on the tall figure standing confidently at the end of the petal-strewn pathway, her first thought had been to question the verity of the ethereal being that had instantly seized her attention by force. There was no one in this world who could possibly look as he did through mere biology alone. She had internally adjudicated that very moment that it wasn’t necessarily the features he’d happen to inherit in the womb or the toned physique he’d carefully sculpted through some sort of intensive physical activity that were appealing; it was the luxurious regal attire he’d donned in order to properly pledge himself to her under the gaze of the High Priest.

But seeing him now strolling casually through the lavishly adorned imperial gardens, her initial judgment from that day had begun to change entirely. For it mattered not what he wore, whether it was the finest threads or tattered rags; Scorpiyon Hellkalla Grandeltas, the odious, young emperor, was simply just beautiful.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Scorpiyon remarked, a smirk twitching at a corner of his lips. “I picked these especially for you. With my own bare hands, no less.”

Historia pressed her lips together, turning her attention to the makeshift bouquet hovering in her face. Scorpiyon watched the various emotions flash across her face with a hint of delight. Something about his intense examination further roused the uneasiness in her stomach.

At last, Historia managed a feeble response, parting her lips only enough to mutter a brief reply. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Historia still did not move to accept his small treat. An insurmountably dense veil of reluctant unrest weighed heavily around her body, rendering her immobile as the cogs in the survival part of her mind began to screech to life.

“Won’t you take them then, Eternalli?” 

Again, Scorpiyon gently propelled his hand forward, urging her to accept. Historia narrowed her eyes, noting the odd way in which Scorpiyon clutched the thorny stems in his fist. She gasped faintly, unnerved by the sight of blood forming thin trickles down his hand as tiny droplets plipped to the ground. It shouldn’t have been possible to see, but the whites of his knuckles popped vividly against his snow-white skin, his vice so tight that lines of veins burst from the smooth flesh on his forearm. 

Why was this man presenting a gift to her now, of all times, and covered in blood, no less? He hadn’t once sought her out in the two weeks since their wedding, as if he’d forgotten her existence entirely. He’d trapped her like a pet, abandoning her to obediently wait upon his return. On their wedding night, he’d even—much to Historia’s relief—refused to sleep in the same room, let alone perform the marital duty that would have officially entwined their fates as one. Again, she had to question the agenda the king had in mind that involved flowers whose stems lacerated the precious hand of the nation’s mighty sovereign.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Historia began, staring at crimson leaking from his grip. “I am terribly allergic to plants and flowers.”

“Ah.” The first genuine emotion since they’d first stumbled upon each other surfaced on Scorpiyon’s face. He seemed oddly surprised by her claim. “I was unaware you had any allergies. That didn’t come up in any of our conversations, and I’d sent flowers multiple times to your estate during the engagement period.”

Historia’s heart stopped, her body growing stiff. “I-I–” she stuttered, tossing her nervous gaze to the ground. “I did not wish to offend Your Majesty, so I said nothing of the gifts, as much as I appreciated them…”

She had the vague sense her explanation was rather pathetic, not anything near solid enough to even slightly sway the emperor. She expected some backlash, for the man to call her out.

Instead, however, he simply said: “What a pity.”

Determined to be done, Historia settled on humoring the vexatious man in the hopes he’d finally free her from this agonizing exchange. She swallowed hard, saliva painfully pushing against the rock-hard lump formed in her throat. Historia opened her mouth, preparing to somehow appease the emperor.

“Your Majesty!”

The urgent cry made both king and queen turn, gazes connecting with the breathless maid scrambling from the south entrance of the gardens. Historia recognized one of her ladies-in-waiting, Ezebette, scurrying toward them, waving her arms frantically. Historia peeked at the ice-king through the corners of her eyes, gauging his expression upon the interruption from a mere attendant. A deep scowl twisted his expression.

“Why are you being so loud?” Scorpiyon snapped, the sight of the lady-in-waiting stirring up waves of animosity. “You’re in the presence of your king and queen. How dare you yell like that.”

Ezabette dropped to the ground on her knees, burying her forehead in the stone of the garden pathway. “Please, forgive my insolence, Your Majesty!” she pleaded into the earth. “But you are in danger!”

Something flashed in Scorpiyon’s glare, igniting like bright blue flames in his irises. “Are you threatening me?” 

Ezabette shook her head fiercely, ensuring her eyes never left the ground. “Never, Your Majesty! The plant in your hand. It is called Nightleaf. It’s extremely toxic due to the substances it produces.”

“You know of this plant?” Scorpion muttered. His hostility vanished in an instant, replaced with something that appeared to Historia to be disappointment.

“A single sniff or touch can cause one terrible suffering like headaches, bodily pain, and even unconsciousness,” Ezabette continued. “It’s even more dangerous when it tastes blood, which is why its stems are covered in sharp thorns. When Nightleaf comes into contact with blood, it releases lethal pollen. That pollen may put you in a deep sleep with no end in sight.”

Historia’s eyes snapped back to the plant in Scorpiyon’s hand. He’d been bleeding all over the damn thing, seeming completely unaffected by the supposed hazards of the plant. In fact, he seemed wholly unperturbed by the revelation, staring almost thoughtfully at the bundle in his bleeding hand. After several moments of disquiet, he pitched the Nightleaf to the earth, muttering unintelligible curses under his breath.

“Oh dear.” Scorpiyon’s melodic voice reverberated in the pulsating void of Historia’s anxious mind. “I guess that could have been bad.”

“Your Majesty,” Ezabette panted, still winded from her run, “Her Majesty had no contact with the flower, correct? Only you, and you’ve hurt your hand. The flower has tasted blood. You must see the royal physician immediately!”

Scorpiyon held his other hand up to quiet her. “I am fine, but I do appreciate the concern. What a dedicated servant you are.”

Splotches of pink blossomed brightly on Ezabette’s cheeks. Historia closed her eyes, fighting the urge to roll them. Charmed by the emperor. The people of this empire’s ultimate weakness. It was no wonder despite his blatant tyranny and cruel, public acts that Scorpiyon still managed to maintain a hold on every one of his people. Whether through fear or charm, his iron-grip wound tightly around their necks like a leash.

“Your Majesty, are you sure–”

“I said,” Scorpiyon intervened, pushing words through his teeth, “I’m fine.”

His blue gemstone eyes blazed with annoyance, sealing Ezabette’s voice deep in her throat. She shrank back, bowing her head in silence. Historia watched her from the corners of her eyes, the quivering of Ezabette’s slight frame nearly imperceptible. Scorpiyon brought his attention to the quiet queen, who’d barely spoken throughout that entire exchange. 

“You’re so quiet, Eternalli.” Scorpiyon crossed his arms over his broad chest, scrutinizing the girl standing before him. She was so terribly small, like a tiny, red ember dying out in a raging, white blizzard. “Aren’t you worried for your husband?”

“You said it yourself, Your Majesty,” Historia whispered, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’re fine.” 

Despite what Ezabette had stated, Scorpiyon was unscathed and unfazed. Historia found it peculiar he’d been bleeding to begin with when he’d tried to give her those flowers, failing to mention or acknowledge his wound in any way. And for an even stranger reason she could not fathom, the so-called dangerous pollen of the Nightleaf invoked by human blood had not caused the emperor even a hint of harm.

There was just something unnerving about the circumstances, where nothing seemed to add up if the emperor was completely innocent. To Historia, it felt as if the man had a plan, which was unexpectedly ruined by a combination of her wariness and hesitation as well as her attendant’s interruption. 

Something deep within the girl screamed at the sense of foreboding she felt. Was it simply the influence of the contempt in her heart that cultivated an unfavorable bias against the king? She could not seem to read her own feelings, but was fully aware of the disdain the mere proximity of this man instilled in her without any obvious reason.

Scorpiyon was not merely a mischievous husband who sought to antagonize his new wife with minor inconveniences. His calculated actions and malicious intentions bred something far more sinister, and the only thing Historia was sure of was that Scorpiyon’s sole purpose was to ensure that the former duchess, Eternalli Novelina Von Schayer, suffered in any way possible.