The announcement of the forthcoming marriage had not yet been made public, yet Cerena experienced it as a dagger plunged deep into her heart. In appearance, nothing had fundamentally changed in her position at the palace; she remained a captive of a force that had long surpassed her. Yet she knew that the symbolic weight of this union was immeasurable—for herself, certainly, but above all for Owen, should he ever learn of it.

  The mere thought was enough to make her sick. A dull, persistent nausea haunted her day and night.

  Back in her room, she did not leave it for several days. There she found neither rest nor comfort, only the illusion of reassuring constancy. She no longer even rose in the presence of the Emperor. Curiously, he seemed not to hold it against her: he continued to speak to her on trivial matters, in that same calm, measured voice, as if nothing had changed—before taking his leave, without ever mentioning the essential.

  A week after the announcement, a man knocked at her door. He introduced himself as an instructor sent by the Emperor and led her to a vast room, sparsely furnished with a few chairs and whose pale walls were lined with large bronze mirrors.

  He began by explaining the protocol: that of the engagement, the forthcoming marriage, and what would henceforth be expected of her as an imperial wife. His explanations were brief, almost mechanical. Very quickly, he moved on to practice.

  He corrected her posture, the tilt of her head, the position of her hands. He taught her to control her breathing, to mask any emotion deemed inappropriate, to compose a face suitable for each occasion.

  Cerena had already learned, over the course of her time at the palace, how to hold herself before the Emperor. Circumstance had forced her. Yet, according to the instructor, it was not enough: she lacked precision, and the proper bearing. She must now learn to disappear entirely in his presence, to speak only when permitted. In time, she would also have to master the arts of dance and music.

  Henceforth, these lessons took place daily, without exception. Cerena submitted out of obligation, finding neither pleasure nor true will in them.

  They were always conducted one-on-one with the instructor—a man both understanding and firm, unyielding when it came to etiquette. The Emperor never attended.

  “Let us conduct a scenario,” he said. “You are present at an audience. His Majesty is there, along with several dignitaries.”

  He paused.

  “The discussion concerns matters of importance. Borders, alliances, balances of power. Voices rise, opinions clash… then a silence falls. All eyes turn to the Emperor. What do you do?”

  Cerena remained silent, her gaze vacant.

  “Good,” he concluded after a moment, nodding slowly.

  He continued:

  “His Majesty will value a woman who knows how to remain silent. Effacement is a virtue. You must embody it.”

  He circled her without looking at her.

  “Be beyond reproach. You now bear a responsibility that exceeds you.”

  He paused, then added:

  “If only you had received this instruction earlier… Perhaps the Prince would not have found it necessary to vanish.”

  Cerena clenched her fists, ready to speak, but he cut her off.

  “No,” he said calmly. “You were not invited to speak.”

  Finally, he fixed his gaze upon her.

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  “Emotions have no place here. Let us begin again.”

  She sighed, closed her eyes, and braced herself to endure what would follow.

  ???

  On the day of her twenty-sixth birthday, after nearly three months of intensive lessons she had come to internalize, Cerena was prepared and escorted into the reception hall for an official ceremony.

  She wore a sky-blue wrap dress with a wide belt tied around her waist. Delicate embroidery adorned the edges of her attire. Her hair was perfectly styled into a low chignon, held in place by an ivory comb.

  Long tables were set on either side of the entrance, a third connecting them at the far end. All the guests—high dignitaries, counselors, and the Empire’s senior representatives—were seated, drinking and conversing. The Emperor himself was already seated at the table, facing the entrance, slightly elevated.

  As she entered, all eyes turned toward her in unison, and a leaden silence fell. Her heart pounded, her temples burned lightly, and her hands clenched against her stomach. Yet she maintained an impassive face, controlling each breath.

  She advanced, each step echoing through the silence. Gradually, the whispers ceased, and all eyes fixed upon her, as if time itself had suspended. She bowed deeply and waited to be invited to rise, as protocol demanded.

  Then, someone clapped. She straightened and saw that the Emperor—his lips curved in a faint smile—had risen. She slowly circled the tables to reach his side, never once raising her eyes from the floor. Tension mounted with each step, as if the onlookers awaited the slightest misstep to judge her.

  Arriving at his side, she stood to his right, a step back. The Emperor reseated himself, and the dinner resumed. Cerena, her gaze fixed straight ahead, remained still, her hands trembling slightly against her stomach, every muscle tense to conceal her apprehension.

  After a long while, as the banquet reached its peak, the Emperor rose with measured grace and turned toward Cerena, holding something in his hand. Without a word, he fixed his gaze upon hers and slowly lifted his hands to place the object around her neck, watching her intently. The weight of his stare pinned her in place, each breath a painful effort.

  She felt the cold contact of the object brush against her chest, metal grazing her skin, both chill and light, and shivered. A necklace fell into place, suspended around her neck, and an even deeper silence seemed to settle over the hall.

  The Emperor stepped back, a gentle smile on his lips, allowing Cerena a few moments to take in the delicately wrought piece: a chain and pendant of pure gold, set with a white moonstone.

  He observed her calmly, studying her reaction without pressing.

  Then, he turned toward the table and took a cup of tea. Every motion was slow, deliberate. He sipped, then brought the cup to Cerena’s lips so that it might be drunk in turn. Her heart raced as he continued to fix her with his intense gaze, not a word spoken.

  This gesture formalized their engagement, a bond now sealed beneath the eyes of the Empire, reminding Cerena of the full weight it would carry for her future.

  ???

  Later, in the audience chamber, a messenger was received by the Emperor.

  “Your Majesty, I bring news. Rumors circulate… they report your presence in several cities.”

  The Emperor remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed upon the messenger as he weighed the information.

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, but… the rumors date back several months. They seem to have faded; very little remains today.”

  “And what of that?”

  “This indicates two things, Your Majesty: the Prince is indeed alive, and his route from the village can be roughly traced. However, it appears he has found a way to evade our spies.”

  The Emperor smiled and inquired:

  “And what of the other?”

  “She departed the village some time ago with another. For now, they do not pose a threat, but her abilities could become problematic in the longer term.”

  Listening in silence, the Emperor made no comment on this intelligence, but concluded:

  “Let the proclamation of the forthcoming marriage be made known throughout the Empire, and let the tidings reach them as well, wheresoever they may dwell.”

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” replied the messenger. “It shall be done according to your will.”