The Emperor's obsession

Serenya turned slightly, stealing a glance at Zareth. He stood tall beneath the burning torches, his crimson eyes glowing with amusement, his lips curved in a crooked smile that dared her to hesitate. The soft wind teased the ends of his black cloak, making it billow like smoke behind him. For once, he didn't speak—just nodded at the hanging bedsheets with that infuriating air of arrogance.

She turned back toward the makeshift rope and stared at it with a new awareness of its height and instability. Now that her adrenaline had faded, her stomach twisted in dread. The knotted sheets hung like a limp, mocking trail from the window she had once escaped from. A lump formed in her throat.

What was I thinking? she thought, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the fabric.

She took a deep breath, tasting the coolness of the night air—tinged with the scent of burning torches and the faint musk of the palace garden's jasmine vines. Her hands gripped the sheet tightly. The coarse fabric scraped against her palms, and as she placed one foot against the wall, she winced. It was far more difficult now that her body was trembling, not with resolve, but fear.

Still, she climbed. Her muscles strained. Her arms ached. Each motion upward sent prickles of heat through her skin. Her slipper scraped against the rough stone wall, and her body swayed dangerously. Her breath hitched, but she pushed up again, ignoring the stinging in her palms and the slow burn of her thighs.

Then—suddenly—her foot slipped. She lost her grip.

A startled gasp escaped her lips, followed by a small cry as she plummeted downward. Wind rushed past her ears.

And then—

Warmth.

Firm arms caught her mid-fall, halting her descent with a jarring thud into a solid chest. She gasped in disbelief, clutching instinctively at the lapels of his robe. Her wide eyes blinked up at crimson ones that gleamed with mischief.

"Got you," Zareth murmured near her ear, his voice a lazy whisper that wrapped around her like velvet and heat.

Her heart hammered against his chest, her cheeks flushed a fierce pink. She turned her face away, mortified. She'd just fallen. Into the Emperor's arms. Again.

"I-I think you can put me down now, Your Imperial Majesty," she stammered, her voice a fragile whisper.

Zareth didn't even slow his stride. He began walking back toward the palace, still carrying her like a prize. "Mm," he hummed, completely ignoring her request.

Serenya wriggled slightly, attempting to free herself from his hold, when he leaned in close to her ear, voice sharp and silk-slick.

"Keep pressing your chest against mine, little dove, and I swear I'll take you right here."

Her entire body froze.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, scandalized, as her face turned an even deeper shade of crimson. "W-What?!"

Zareth chuckled darkly, the sound low and unapologetic. "Exactly. Now behave."

She stilled instantly, cheeks burning, hands awkwardly gripping the fabric of his cloak to keep from slipping. Her fingers trembled.

"I can walk just fine," she mumbled, face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. She could feel the eyes of the palace servants trailing them. Though it was late, the torches lining the stone corridors made everything visible. A few guards respectfully looked away, but she could see the smirks tugging at their mouths.

"This is… highly inappropriate," she whispered harshly. "You can't carry an unmarried woman in your arms! People will talk."

Zareth finally paused, tilting his head as if considering her point. "Hmm. Then let's get married now. Your family's here, aren't they? We'll have a grand ceremony. Problem solved."

Her jaw dropped. "No!" she blurted, horrified.

A slow, smug smile spread across his lips. He didn't even look at her when he said, "Adorable."

She glared at his profile, teeth clenched. He was impossibly handsome—dark hair, sculpted jawline, sinful eyes that held the kind of power one both feared and respected. But that didn't make him right. Or decent. Or anything close to reasonable.

He didn't return to the ceremony.

Instead, he strode through the grand archway leading into the inner palace, then down the elegant, marbled halls of his private wing. When they reached her room, he kicked open the heavy doors without ceremony and walked straight to the bed.

With a smooth motion, he dropped her onto the mattress.

Serenya scrambled back like a startled cat, her breath ragged. But before she could react further, he caught her ankle.

Her eyes widened.

"What are you doing?" she asked, startled, tugging her leg back.

He didn't answer. Instead, he applied light pressure to her ankle, and she let out an involuntary hiss.

"I thought so," he said coldly. "You injured yourself falling from the horse earlier. Naughty little dove. What were you thinking?"

She flushed, looking away in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to…"

He stood and walked across the room to a tall cabinet. She watched him rummage for a moment before he returned with a small jar of ointment. He sat beside her on the bed with infuriating ease.

"I can apply it myself," she said quickly, reaching for the jar.

Zareth caught her leg again and pulled it toward him. She gasped, tugging on her dress in an attempt to maintain modesty.

He raised a brow, clearly entertained. "Relax, Serenya. I won't eat you. At least… not right now."

She gave him a horrified look, her cheeks flaming. Not comforting at all!

His gloved fingers dipped into the ointment and began applying it gently to her ankle. His touch was surprisingly careful, and yet possessive. She could feel his thumb brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her heart pound.

She had tried to run.The thought clawed its way back into his mind.

His jaw clenched.

She nearly escaped. On another man's horse.

The image had haunted him since the moment she had climbed behind Kael. The gall of it. The sight of her clinging to someone else—another waist, arms around his waist—made something inside him snap.

She's mine. No one touches what belongs to me.He pressed the ointment a little harder.

She winced.Good. This should teach her a lesson.

He capped the ointment and stood, brushing his hands together. The firelight danced across his broad back and the dark fall of his hair. He was a looming figure—one she couldn't ignore even if she tried.

"Good night, princess," he said, walking to the cabinet to return the jar.

Serenya stared at him, her heart still racing. The man was twisted. Powerful. Infuriating.

And... disarmingly gentle when he wanted to be.

He paused at the doorway, then turned with a smirk that sent warning bells ringing in her head.

"My bad. I forgot to tuck you in."

She groaned inwardly. "I'm not a child. I can tuck myself in."

"Says who?" Zareth returned to her side and pulled the duvet up to her neck with a flourish. "You're my future wife. You deserve to be pampered."

He leaned in close, too close, and she turned her face away quickly. He chuckled, then pressed a light kiss to her hair.

Before she could protest, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Serenya lay frozen under the covers, her face burning. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—dark spices and sandalwood—and her mind was a storm of confusion. What kind of Emperor was he?

She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily.

Twisted. Unpredictable. Impossible.

And somewhere in the palace, she prayed that the Councill would arrive quickly.

She prayed—truly prayed—that they would come through for her soon.

Because living under the same roof as Emperor Zareth Ravaryn was starting to feel like playing with fire.

And she wasn't sure how much longer she would loose her mind.