The Emperor's obsession

Chapter 18: Velvet Chains



Zareth fed Serenya until he was satisfied—not her. No, never her. Every bite was a display, every touch of the silver fork against her lips another way to mark his claim on her in front of the entire imperial court. The tension at the table had grown thick and unbearable, but Zareth seemed to drink it in like wine. He only stopped feeding her when he had his fill of her reactions—the way her lips pressed together in silent defiance, the pink flush blooming on her cheeks, and her trembling fingers clutched tight beneath the table.

Wiping his lips slowly with his napkin, his movements languid and controlled, Zareth leaned back in his obsidian chair, gaze never straying from Serenya. His red eyes gleamed with something dark and calculating.

"Today marks the final day of the ceremony," he began, voice cutting through the hall like sharpened steel. Every conversation died immediately. "And during it, I will make a rather important announcement." He paused, letting the silence drag out with cruel satisfaction before continuing. "It concerns my future Empress."

His eyes, sharp as blades, turned to Serenya.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. The blood drained from her face as a cold wave washed over her. That crooked smile appeared on his lips again, the kind that made her knees weaken for all the wrong reasons—not from desire, but dread.

"I will see you at the ceremony," he muttered smoothly, turning with regal ease and exiting the dining hall, his long dark cloak brushing the marble floor like smoke trailing behind him.

Serenya's wide eyes met her father's, panic fluttering in her chest like a caged bird. He gave her a single nod, firm yet subtle. She returned it, though her legs felt like lead as she rose from her seat.

The truth was she had no idea where the servants' quarters were. But if she wanted any chance of slipping out unnoticed when the time came, she had to act now—and she had to pretend it was merely curiosity.

She left the dining hall, the hush of footsteps echoing behind her as the three ever-present servants followed like obedient shadows.

After a while of walking through the gilded corridors, she paused and turned around.

"Show me where the servants' quarters are," she said softly but firmly.

The three women blinked, exchanging glances.

"Did you say... the servants' quarters, Your Highness?" one asked, puzzled.

Serenya nodded.

Reluctantly, one of them stepped forward and led the way.

They walked past lush tapestries embroidered with the history of Nytheris, through colder, quieter wings of the palace where the opulence began to dim. Eventually, they reached the servants' section—humble in comparison, but still clean and sturdy. The air was filled with the faint scent of herbs, soap, and freshly baked bread.

She scanned the space until she found Zelda standing near a column, eyes widening as she spotted Serenya.

Zelda bowed and moved toward her.

"Leave us," Serenya instructed the servants.

"Forgive us, Your Highness, but His Imperial Majesty ordered us not to leave your side," one of them said, head bowed low.

Serenya clenched her fist but kept her tone even. "Then give us space unless the Emperor ordered you to disobey me."

That got their attention. They hesitated, then nodded and stepped back.

Zelda's eyes brimmed with unshed relief. "I'm very happy you're alright, milady."

Serenya smiled faintly. "When will the procession be leaving?"

Zelda pulled out a neatly wrapped bundle of cloth and handed it over. "In six hours, Your Highness. This is for you to change into. You must slip away when the sun dips, and the shadows grow."

Serenya took it and nodded. Her eyes flicked toward the corridor, heart pounding.

"Even if I do escape," she whispered, "won't the Emperor come after me?"

Zelda's eyes darkened slightly. "Prince Kael will be waiting outside the palace. His Majesty has written to the Head Council. They will protect you by the law—laws written by the Emperor himself."

There was hope in that. A sliver.

Zelda leaned in, voice low. "Will you be able to come here, or should I find a way into your chambers?"

Serenya's gaze shifted to a thick marble pillar with faded ivy carvings near the edge of the servant hall.

"I'll meet you there," she whispered.

Zelda gave a small bow and disappeared, blending into the quiet busyness of the quarters.

Serenya lingered, pretending to inspect the area before making her way back toward her room. Her pulse quickened as she climbed the steps and slipped through the quieter halls. When she reached her chamber, she exhaled and turned to shut the door—only to freeze.

The door clicked shut behind her.

There he was.

Zareth Ravaryn. The Emperor. The nightmare dressed in velvet black and dominance.

Lounging on her bed like it was his throne.

His hair was pushed back, though a few strands clung to his forehead, a single ruby earring glinting faintly in the soft glow of her chamber's candles. His long legs were crossed at the ankles, one hand behind his head, the other resting on the silken bedspread like he owned the room. Like he owned her.

His crimson eyes lifted to meet hers, slow and unhurried.

"You look flushed, my little dove," he said, voice like honey poured over blades. "Did you enjoy your little excursion?"

Serenya's heart skipped violently. Her fingers tightened on the bundle of cloth in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" Serenya asked, her voice a little breathless, before quickly adding, "Your Imperial Majesty," trying not to sound disrespectful.

Zareth didn't answer immediately. He sat poised on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, fingers steepled in thought. When he finally stood, he moved with the kind of effortless grace that made it impossible to ignore his presence. The moment he moved toward her, the atmosphere of the room shifted—charged, heavy, impossible to breathe through.

A crooked, almost amused smile formed on his lips as he approached her with measured steps, the way a predator circles its prey.

"I came to check up on you," Zareth said in a velvety voice laced with arrogance. "But upon seeing the room my future Empress would be sleeping in, I realized it is—how do I put it? Cramped. Unfitting. An insult to your station and to mine."

He cast a disdainful look around the room, as though the gold trimmings and velvet cushions were straw and ash.

Serenya's brows furrowed. Her fingers curled tightly around the bundle of fabric she still held. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the room—lavish even by noble standards. "I'm very honored that Your Imperial Majesty is concerned about my well-being," she said politely, every syllable measured. "But I'm happy with this room and love everything in it."

He stepped closer, brushing his hand through her soft hair, fingers ghosting past her temple like a promise and a threat. "But I am not," Zareth murmured, his voice low and possessive. "This room isn't fitting for the future Empress of this great empire."

Her heart skipped. Panic pressed against her chest. This couldn't be happening.

"I never accepted to be your Empress," she whispered, her voice trembling, "and I'm very comfortable with this room."

Zareth's chuckle was dark and amused. He brought a hand to his chest mockingly, eyes gleaming with condescension. "There's no need for you to accept. I accept." His words were silk wrapped in steel. "And that's all that matters."

She clenched her fists, her innocent expression struggling not to morph into fury. His audacity knew no bounds.

"Come inside and move the princess to the room opposite mine," Zareth commanded, his voice slicing through the room like a blade.

The three servants who had lingered outside the door rushed in, obedient and silent. They bowed quickly and began gathering her things without question. Serenya's blood ran cold.

Her escape. How was she supposed to flee now? That room was tucked into the center of the palace—she wouldn't make it past the door.

She turned to Zareth, trembling but not backing down. "Why are you doing this, Your Imperial Majesty, when you clearly know I like someone else?" Her voice was small, but firm.

Zareth's eyes darkened. In a flash, he was in front of her, towering, suffocating in proximity.

"It seems you're not only innocent with a sprinkle of defiance," he whispered coldly, "but also sharp-tongued. I'll enjoy taming that with mine."

She gasped and took a step back, her face burning at his brazen words. But before she could retreat any farther, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"Like," he scoffed, "is something that can be changed. And I will make sure you forget you were ever betrothed to another."

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Zareth's gaze drifted down, catching the fabric bundle she still held tightly to her chest. In a swift motion, he plucked it from her fingers, unfolding it slowly.

Silence fell in the room.

His eyes narrowed, the crooked smirk on his lips fading into a dangerous line. He held up the simple servant garment between two fingers like it was filth. "Looks like someone wants to play servant."

Serenya froze. Her heart pounded so violently that she was sure he could hear it.

He studied her with that unnerving stillness, before casually handing the clothing back to her.

"Don't do anything stupid, little dove," he whispered, his voice dipping so low it sent a chill down her spine. He leaned closer, his lips hovering by hers. "Because I will never let you go."

Then he stepped back, the tension momentarily broken.

Without a word more, he seized her wrist in a firm grip—not bruising, but unrelenting. Serenya barely had time to react before he turned, pulling her behind him as he stormed out of the chamber like a man claiming what was his.


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