The empire of Lowë trembled, its golden throne more a curse than a symbol of power. For centuries, Lowë had been ruled by bloodshed and ambition, and now, as whispers of rebellion echoed through the court and streets alike, the kingdom teetered on the edge of another collapse. Amidst this turmoil, one man stood at the crossroads of destiny: Prince Alexis. 

He lingered on the royal balcony, the jagged horizon framed by the deep reds of the setting sun. The colors bled across the sky, a reminder of Lowë’s violent legacy. Alexis’s dark orange-red hair caught the light, but his golden amber eyes remained shadowed by the weight of his thoughts. The throne, coveted by so many, felt more like a poisoned chalice than a prize. 

The emperor, his father, had left the empire adrift, unable to choose between his sons. Damascus, the empress’s son and firstborn had the legitimacy of birth and the backing of tradition. But Alexis, the second prince born of a mistress, carried the hopes of the common people and a handful of bold nobles who dreamed of change. 

Alexis had no illusions about the battles ahead. The court was rife with intrigue, and the empress was relentless in her schemes to ensure Damascus’s ascension. Damascus himself had learned the art of deception well. Yet it was neither Damascus nor the empress that stirred the greatest unease in Alexis’s heart—it was something far simpler. 

Or rather, someone. 

Mariette. 

She was Esmeralda’s maid—a quiet, dutiful presence in the palace halls. In Familia, she had been called Maria, a name stripped of beauty to match her station, for the nobility believed a commoner had no right to carry a name of grace. It was Alexis who had intervened when the guards had raised their fists against her, saving her from a punishment she didn’t deserve. 

At the time, it had seemed like a simple act, a brief flicker of his distaste for injustice. Yet now, her presence lingered in ways he couldn’t fully explain. She was not part of the court’s games, not a player in the intricate dance of politics and power. And yet, there she was, a thorn in his mind. 

He didn’t like her. Not really. She was defiant in ways that unsettled him, her quiet courage and sharp tongue clashing with her position. She reminded him of the world outside the palace walls—a world he claimed to fight for but rarely allowed himself to see. 

He told himself she was irrelevant. Mariette could have no bearing on the path he had chosen, the fight for the throne that demanded his focus. He couldn’t afford distractions, least of all from a maid whose very existence challenged the walls he had built around himself. 

And yet, deep down, Alexis knew that even the smallest threads could unravel an empire. 

This world, this timeline, was not the one Esmeralda had envisioned. In Familia, she had fought to protect her family and empire, her struggles shaped by her own sacrifices. Now, in Tyranny’s Heir, Alexis grappled with a different fate. He was not merely caught in Lowë’s descent but at its heart, where his choices would determine not only the kingdom’s survival but also the man he would become. 

As Lowë edged closer to chaos, Alexis stood on the brink of a path he had not yet chosen. The throne awaited him, cold and unyielding, but the cost of claiming it would be greater than he could imagine. 

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the palace, as if foreshadowing the choices yet to come. Alexis’s fight was not just for power. It was for the soul of the empire—and perhaps, unknowingly, for the pieces of his heart that would soon be tested.