The study felt colder now, even with the fire casting long shadows across the room. The faint crackle of burning logs was the only sound, yet it did nothing to settle the turmoil raging within me. My conversation with the Empress had ended, but her venomous words lingered like a ghost, haunting every corner of my mind. 

Her presence in the study had been oppressive, as it always was. Even as she stood with her back to me, gazing out at the imperial gardens with feigned detachment, I had felt her control, her unyielding grip on every thread of this empire. She spoke with velvet tones, yet her words cut like glass. 

“You still think you can challenge me, Alexis?” she had said, turning from the window to face me. Her posture was flawless, regal, but the chill in her eyes betrayed her calculated malice. “Your little victories mean nothing. In the end, Lowë will follow me and my son. Not you.” 

The mention of Damascus—her son, the first prince, the so-called rightful heir—had ignited a fire within me. I had always despised how she wielded him like a sword, positioning him as a weapon to cut me down. Damascus might have been born first, but the people saw through his façade. They knew who could truly lead the empire to greatness. 

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to lash out. “The empire will follow whoever ensures its survival, Empress. And that’s not Damascus.” 

Her laugh was soft, almost pitying, yet it carried a dangerous edge. “Such arrogance. You think you’ve won because of a treaty? Because you prevented one war? You don’t understand the throne you covet, Alexis. It’s not a reward for noble intentions. It’s a game of power, blood, and sacrifice. And you, dear prince, are far too sentimental to win.” 

She stepped closer, her perfume—a sickly-sweet concoction—filling the space between us. It was suffocating, cloying, and I hated it. The Empress had chosen that fragrance deliberately. It masked her true scent, the one I could detect faintly beneath the layers of oil: a mix of sharp iron and wilting flowers, like decay hidden beneath a gilded surface. 

“You think you’re above me, but you’re no different,” she whispered, her voice low and venomous. “You hide behind diplomacy and charm, pretending to care for the people. But when the time comes, Alexis, you’ll make the same ruthless choices I have. Because that’s what it takes to rule.” 

Her words had lingered long after she left the study. I sat in silence now, staring at the fire as her voice replayed in my mind. The worst part wasn’t her manipulation—it was the fear that she might be right. 

With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet. There was no point dwelling on her games tonight. There were more pressing matters. My sister Esmeralda had told me about Maria, the maid who had been punished for assisting Esme in attending a dinner where her presence had been deemed “unacceptable.” Maria had done nothing wrong, yet she bore the brunt of the court’s wrath. 

If I hadn’t intervened when I did, I shuddered to think what would have become of her. 

I made my way to my chambers, my boots echoing softly against the marble floor. When I entered, the sight of Maria sleeping peacefully caught me off guard. The dim firelight illuminated her delicate features, her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath. 

I moved closer, intending only to check that she was warm enough. The capital had grown colder in my absence, and I’d noticed how thin her garments were when I carried her earlier. But as I approached, I found myself pausing, my gaze drawn to her face. 

Maria had always been in the background of my life—a constant presence as Esmeralda’s maid, loyal and unassuming. I had never given her much thought. Yet now, in this quiet moment, I found myself truly seeing her for the first time. 

Her brown hair caught the light, shimmering in soft waves that framed her face. Her skin was smooth, luminous even in the faint glow of the fire. Her lashes rested like feathers against her cheeks, long and dark, and her lips— 

My breath hitched. Her lips were full, naturally red, and unreasonably distracting. A strange, unwelcome urge flickered within me, an impulse to reach out, to touch them, to feel their softness against my own. 

I turned away abruptly, running a hand through my hair. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t some lust-stricken boy unable to control his desires. I’d spent years on battlefields and courtrooms, mastering discipline and restraint. This wasn’t who I was. 

I forced myself to sit by the fire, deliberately keeping my back to her. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. I had been away from the capital for months, surrounded by soldiers and foreign diplomats. Maybe this sudden attraction was nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me, a result of being too long without meaningful companionship. 

But deep down, I knew it was more than that. 

Maria wasn’t like the other servants. Even bruised and trembling from her punishment, there had been a quiet strength in her eyes, a defiance that reminded me of Esme. She hadn’t cowered before me when I’d found her in the servants’ quarters. Instead, she had met my gaze, her chin lifted as if daring me to judge her. 

That courage unsettled me. It made her different. Dangerous. 

Yet it wasn’t just her defiance that lingered in my thoughts. It was the way she had looked at me when I carried her to my chambers, her eyes filled not with fear, but with trust. It was the way she thanked me, her voice soft but firm, as if she didn’t expect kindness but wouldn’t refuse it either. 

I exhaled slowly, trying to banish the image of her lips from my mind. Nothing could come of this. Nothing would come of this. I had seen too many nobles ruin themselves over affairs with servants, blinded by lust or infatuation. 

And I wasn’t like them. I wouldn’t take advantage of someone who couldn’t say no. 

It wasn’t like me to notice things like this, especially about a maid. I had never been one to look twice at a servant, not because of their station but because of the imbalance of power. As a prince, I could never be certain if their interest—or refusal—was genuine. To take advantage of someone like that, someone who couldn’t freely say no, would be abhorrent. 

But as I glanced over my shoulder at Maria, still sleeping peacefully, I couldn’t shake the sense that this moment, this night, would mark the beginning of something I wasn’t ready to face. 

The empire demanded my focus. The throne was my destiny. 

Yet, for the first time, I wondered if I could ever truly ignore the way Maria made me feel.