With his hand still firmly yet gently holding mine, he leads me to the palace.

Every attendant we pass watches us with wide, astonished eyes. I can see the immediate shift in their demeanor; by personally escorting me and holding my hand he silently signaling to the court that I am an honored guest, instantly securing my status in the palace.

But despite the safety his shadow provides, a cold wall remains locked around my heart. I still don't believe him. I cannot afford to trust his gentle gestures. In my past life, I trusted the smiles of the Arcadian court, and it cost me my life and my brother's future. I shouldn't believe anyone ever again if I want to avoid being betrayed a second time.

He stops at the base of a grand, curving staircase and turns to a head maid standing nearby.

"Bella, take the Princess to her room," he commands.

Bella steps forward with a respectful bow, ready to lead me away. But I have a lot  to discuss. I cannot go to sleep in an unfamiliar room without knowing his true motives. I need to know why he came to the border. I need to know what game he is playing.

Before he can turn around. I reach out and tightly hold the cuff of his sleeve.

"I want to talk, Your….."

The words catch in my throat as he instantly stops.
He stops instantly, the fabric of his sleeve pulling tight under my grip. For a second, the entire hallway goes dead silent, but his expression doesn't harden. He slowly turns his head, his piercing gaze dropping to my fingers on his cuff before rising to meet my eyes.

"Come with me, Princess," he says softly.

He turns and begins to walk, and I immediately release his sleeve, stepping forward to follow behind him. As I walk in his shadow, I can't help but study him. He has such remarkably broad shoulders and the unmistakable, disciplined posture of a true warrior. Standing behind him, I feel as though I look like such a weak human a fragile, delicate princess wrapped in layers of silk even though I am a seasoned warrior myself, a commander who has survived blood and betrayal.

A fierce spark of pride flares up in my chest. No. I cannot let him think I am weak. I have to make it absolutely clear to him that I am not afraid of him. I am strong. I am not a person he can simply use as a pawn on his chessboard; instead, I am going to use him to get my revenge on Arcadia. I know that he also knows this is nothing more than a  political marriage. We both have our motives.

"We are here, Princess," he says, his deep voice breaking the silence.

He steps forward and opens the heavy, double oak doors to his private office. The room is vast, lined with towering bookshelves and radiating the heavy, comforting scent of cedar and rich mana.

His right-hand man is already standing inside, waiting with a stack of documents. He steps into the room and immediately looks at his attendant.

"Rahert, give us some space," and "And bring something to eat for the Princess."

His office is impeccably tidy and clean. Every book on the towering shelves is perfectly aligned, the desk is clear of clutter.In the center of the room sit two large, luxurious sofas facing each other, separated only by a low, polished wooden coffee table. He waits for me to take my place on one of them, and then, with effortless grace, he takes a seat on the sofa directly in front of me. Being at eye level with him across the narrow table only makes his intense gaze feel more overwhelming.

"Please, Princess," he says, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "What is it you want to talk to me about?"

"Your Majesty," I begin, my voice cool and even. "As we both know, this is a political marriage. Therefore, we should be……"

"Princess," he interrupts, his smooth, deep voice cutting me off completely. He leans forward slightly across the table, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression softening just a fraction. "I think you should rest for now. How about we talk about it tomorrow? Now that you are here, we have a lot of time before our marriage."

I blink, caught completely off guard. While I try to discuss political plans, he is casually throwing my strategy out the window. Before I can even process his words, he speaks again, his voice dropping to a low..

"For now, let's talk about when you want me to hold our marriage ceremony."

What... what is he talking about?!

My mind entirely blanks out. I stare at him across the table. We are supposed to be discussing a transactional alliance, and he is asking me about wedding dates?

"About the marriage ceremony... Your Majesty, whenever you are okay with it, I don't mind."

I expect him to accept my indifferent answer. After all, a political bride from a defeated faction does not get a say. But his brow furrows, a flicker of genuine dissatisfaction crossing his face. He leans just a bit closer across the table.

"Princess," he says, "I am asking this because it is our marriage, not just mine."

His words echo through the quiet office, striking a chord deep within my chest.

I stare back at him, completely frozen. It is the first time someone is asking what I want...

A strange, unfamiliar emotion swells in my throat, choking back my words. Why is he being so nice to me? It makes no sense. In my past life, I was merely a weapon for the royal family, a shield for the borders, and a tool for the Empress. No one ever asked for my opinion about anything. I was just told where to march and who to kill.

Faced with his genuine question, I genuinely don't know what to say. No one has ever asked me for my opinion, ever.

"Your Majesty, I am okay with whatever decision you make.He studies my face for a quiet moment, as if reading the unspoken walls I've built around myself. A soft, unreadable glint passes through his dark eyes.

"Okay, let's do this," he says, leaning back slightly against the sofa. "I will choose our ceremony date, and you will choose our wedding dresses."

I sit there, completely speechless. Huh? My mind struggles to process the trade-off. "Okay... Your Majesty."

Why is he so eager to involve me in these details? I wonder, trying to analyze his strategy. He is a strange man. In the stories of political alliances, the groom usually dictates terms or ignores the bride entirely. But he is practically forcing me to have a voice.

"Let me escort you to your room, Princess," he says, rising from the sofa with that effortless, powerful grace.

I stand up and follow him out of the office. We walk through a sunlit, beautifully decorated corridor of the inner palace until he stops before a pair of heavy, white-and-gold double doors.

"This is your room, Princess."

When I push the doors open and step inside, my breath completely catches in my throat. It is a true princess's room the kind of room I could only have imagined back in Arcadia. My mind flashes back to my quarters in the Arcadian imperial palace; it was a plain, austere room filled with nothing but simple wooden furniture and my armor. There was absolutely no luxury there, only the bare necessities of a soldier.

But this room is a masterpiece of soft silks, intricate gold leaf, and elegant, plush furnishings that feel deeply welcoming.

"Is it to your liking?" his deep voice rumbles from just behind me. "If you don't like anything, change it entirely to your liking."

"No, it's beautiful," I blurt out, the sheer awe breaking through my carefully schooled mask. "I have never seen such a beautiful room... it is really like a princess's room."

The moment the words leave my mouth, a wave of regret hits me. Oh... what have I just said? To admit I've never seen luxury like this is practically exposing how poorly my own family treated me back home.

But instead of questioning me or mocking my reaction, his gaze softens with a profound, quiet intensity.

"You are a princess, so it is obvious you will have a room like this," he says smoothly. He steps closer, closing the distance between us, and reaches out to gently clasp my fingers. "And in just a few days, you will be the Empress."

Before I can pull away, he lowers his head, his warm lips brushing against the back of my hand for the second time today. A now-familiar shiver streaks beneath my skin.

I think I am never going to get used to this.

He releases my hand gently, giving me space. "I should go so you can rest. See you at dinner."

With a final, lingering look, he turns and leaves, closing the doors quietly behind him.

Once I am entirely alone, I walk over to the massive canopy bed and let myself sink into the mattress. It is incredibly soft, wrapping around me like a cloud. I stare up at the silk drapery, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.

I came all this way to interrogate him, to find out his hidden motives, and to lay down my terms . Yet, between his strange kindness, the wedding dress arrangement, and this breathtaking room... I didn't even get the chance to talk to him about any of it.

Meanwhile, outside in the imperial corridor.

The heavy oak doors of the princess's chambers click shut, leaving the Emperor standing in the quiet hallway. The soft, gentle expression he had worn just moments ago vanishes instantly, replaced by the cold.

Rahert steps out from the shadows of the adjacent hallway, falling into pace behind the Emperor as he begins walking back toward the grand office.

"Your Majesty," Rahert begins, his voice low and laced with caution. "What did the Princess want to talk to you about?"

"Nothing," the Emperor replies smoothly, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Sire... I thought she might try to threaten you. Everyone knows her reputation in Arcadia. She is a ruthless warrior. But no matter her past, she has to accept this marriage. She is in our territory now."

The Emperor stops dead in his tracks. He turns his head slightly, his piercing eyes locking onto his right-hand man with a dangerous, icy intensity that makes Rahert instantly lower his head.

"She is not like that,"

He turns back and continues walking, but his mind is suddenly racing, consumed by the words Charlotte had spoken . Why did she suddenly say this is just a political marriage?

A dark, suffocating frustration twists in his chest. Did she want to talk about a future divorce? Or perhaps she intended to set strict boundaries and restrictions between us?

The mere thought of her trying to draw a line between them makes his jaw tighten. He remembers the warmth of her hand against his sleeve, the fierce, guarded spark in her eyes, and the way she looked completely lost when he asked for her opinion.

I don't want a political alliance, he thinks, his gaze filled with a dangerous obsession. And I will never give her a chance to leave me.