The marriage discussions ended with polite smiles, formal bows, and carefully measured promises.

  __________________________________

  (In Front of Delyss House)

  The royal carriage stood ready. Horses shifted impatiently. Servants waited.

  Yet Emperor Eyan Lucian Therald did not move.

  He stood beside the carriage, tall and unmoving, his eyes locked on the grand doors of Delyss Manor.

  Waiting.

  Luca stepped beside him and exhaled slowly. “Eyan… what are you doing? Let’s return to the palace.”

  “Just wait a little longer,” Eyan replied quietly. “I'm waiting for Eva.”

  Luca gave him a sideways look and chuckled softly. “You expect sister-in-law to come bid you farewell when she’s angry with you?”

  Eyan frowned. “She’s not angry. Why would she be angry?” His voice held stubborn certainty. “She will come.”

  He turned his gaze back to the door, unwavering. The courtyard fell into silence.

  Then—

  The doors opened.

  Eyan immediately straightened. His eyes lit up. A genuine smile formed on his face, soft and hopeful.

  “I told you,” he said under his breath. “She will come.”

  But the figure that stepped out was not Eva. It was Aranel.

  Alone.

  Eyan’s smile faded instantly.

  Aranel walked toward him slowly and stopped a few steps away.

  Eyan’s eyes searched behind her, as if Eva might still appear.

  “Lady Aranel,” he said, trying to sound calm, “where is Eva?”

  Aranel hesitated. Her silence was answer enough.

  “Brother-in-law…” she said gently, “Eva said she does not wish to see you right now.”

  For a moment, Eyan did not respond. His expression didn’t change. But something in his eyes dimmed.

  “…Is she truly angry?” he asked, quieter now.

  “Yes,” Aranel answered honestly. “She is.”

  Eyan took a step toward the house. “Then I will go speak to her.”

  He began walking.

  “Your Majesty.” Aranel’s voice stopped him.

  He froze mid-step and turned back.

  Aranel met his gaze with seriousness. “It would be better if you do not speak to her right now. Things may only worsen. She is very hurt… and very angry. Please allow her time. You can speak to her at home when her anger has cooled.”

  Those words struck deeper than expected. Very hurt.

  Eyan’s shoulders subtly lowered. “I see…”

  The courtyard felt colder. Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the carriage. Each step felt heavier than the last. He climbed inside without looking back. Luca and Hans followed in silence. The door closed. The carriage began to roll away from Delyss Estate.

  Eyan stared out the window. The manor slowly grew smaller in the distance.

  __________________________________

  (Night — Royal Palace)

  (Eyan’s Chamber)

  A soft knock broke the silence.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and Leo stepped inside. The moment Eyan saw him, the stern weight on his face eased.

  “Father, you wanted to see me?”

  Eyan crouched down to his son’s height and placed his hands on Leo’s small shoulders.

  “Leo… I’m going to see your mother. Will you come with me?”

  Leo looked at him carefully — too carefully. “I can’t come.”

  Eyan frowned. “Why? Don’t you want to see your mother?”

  “I do,” Leo answered honestly. “But you’re asking me to come because Mother is angry with you… and you want me there so she won’t scold you. Right?”

  Eyan blinked. “…How did you know?”

  “Uncle Luca told me you two argued.”

  “We didn’t argue,” he muttered. “I just… said things I shouldn’t have.”

  Leo crossed his arms. “So apologize.”

  Eyan sighed. “I will. But it would be easier if you came with me.”

  Leo crossed his arms. “No.”

  Eyan blinked. “No?”

  “Father,” Leo said seriously, “act like a man.”

  Eyan stared at him in disbelief. “…Excuse me?”

  “If you know why Mother is angry, then go and say sorry. Don’t hide behind me.” Leo’s expression softened slightly. “Mother always forgives you when you speak honestly.”

  Eyan looked at his son for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly.

  “…Fine. I won’t drag you into this.”

  He leaned down and kissed Leo’s forehead. “Sleep early. Take care of yourself.”

  Leo smiled faintly. “Okay, Father.”

  Eyan straightened, pulled a dark hood over his head, and activated a disguise spell. Without another word, he left the chamber.

  Leo watched him disappear down the corridor.

  “Good luck, Father,” he whispered softly.

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  __________________________________

  (Eva and Eyan’s House)

  Night settled quietly around the small house.

  Kyel stood outside the wooden door, his hand hovering over the handle. His heartbeat was far louder than the rustling trees around him.

  For a moment, he almost turned back. Then he took a deep breath… and opened the door.

  He slipped inside and shut it gently behind him. The faint shimmer of magic faded as he deactivated the disguise spell. The familiar warmth of the house wrapped around him.

  From the kitchen came the steady rhythm of a knife against a chopping board.

  His eyes found her immediately.

  Eva stood by the counter, sleeves slightly rolled up, long hair tied loosely back, cutting vegetables with focused precision. A pot simmered softly on the stove, steam rising in delicate curls.

  For a second, he simply watched her.

  “Eva… I’m back.”

  She didn’t look at him. The knife kept moving.

  Eyan hesitated. He had faced battlefields without fear—yet standing before his angry wife felt far more terrifying.

  He stepped into the kitchen and stood beside her, glancing at the stove.

  “Why are you making dinner?” he asked softly. “Move. I’ll make it.”

  Her hand didn’t stop.

  “Why?” she said sharply. “Your Majesty thinks I can’t even cook by myself now?”

  “That’s not—”

  “You can go,” she cut him off. “I don’t need your help. I can do it myself.”

  The knife began moving faster.

  Too fast.

  “Eva,” he warned gently, “slow down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  She didn’t slow. Without hesitation, he reached out and took the knife from her hand.

  “Give it back,” she said, trying to grab it.

  He lifted it higher out of her reach.

  “No. I won’t. You shouldn’t be using a knife when you’re angry. What if you cut yourself?”

  She went still. Then she looked at him—eyes glossy, voice trembling but edged with bitterness.

  “Don’t worry. If I cut myself, only I will get hurt. child will be safe. Nothing will happen to him.”

  Eyan froze. “What?”

  “You don’t have to worry so much, Your Majesty,” she continued coldly. “I’ll make sure child doesn’t get hurt.”

  She took his hand and pressed it against her belly.

  “See?” she said with a strained smile. “I didn’t harm child today. He’s safe.”

  Something inside him cracked.

  “Eva,” he said hoarsely, “I’m not just worried about the child. I’m worried about you too.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “And why do you keep saying ‘your child’?” he continued. “It’s child.”

  She laughed softly. “Our child, you say…”

  Her eyes lifted to his. “But you behave as if he’s only yours… and I’m just the woman carrying him.”

  The accusation hit harder than any blade.

  “How can you say that?” he demanded quietly. “You are not just any woman. You are the mother of our child. You are my wife.”

  “But you act like I have nothing to do with him,” she said, voice rising. “Like only you care about him. And I don’t.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You called me careless,” she shot back. “You said everything I do is wrong. You raised your voice at me in front of everyone.”

  He reached for her shoulders, gripping them gently. “I know I shouldn’t have said those things. I apologize. I was wrong.”

  She removed his hands and turned her face away. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

  “I’m not making excuses,” he pleaded. “Let me explain.”

  She didn’t turn.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, voice softer now. “Please forgive me. Don’t be angry.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t turn your face away,” he whispered. “Please… look at me.”

  She remained still.

  His patience—finally broke. He gently turned her by the arm to face him and cupped her cheeks.

  Her lips trembled. Tears streamed down her face.

  Eyan’s heart shattered.

  “Eva…” His voice broke. “Are you crazy? Why are you crying? Don’t cry…”

  Her body shook. The tears wouldn’t stop.

  He pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as if she might disappear.

  When he drew back, her face was wet, eyes red, nose slightly flushed.

  And without thinking—

  The Emperor of the Empire dropped to his knees. He bowed his head until it touched the floor.

  “I apologize again,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You are not careless. I am careless. I hurt you with my words. Please forgive me… and stop crying.”

  Silence filled the kitchen.

  Then—

  A sound broke through it. Soft at first. A breathy hiccup.

  Then—

  Laughter.

  Eyan’s head jerked up.

  Eva stood in front of him, tears streaming down her cheeks—

  Laughing. Not a polite laugh. Not a restrained one. A full, uncontrollable laugh.

  He stared at her from his kneeling position, completely lost.

  “…Eva?”

  She tried to speak but only more laughter came out. She pressed her palm against her mouth, shoulders shaking.

  “Why are you laughing?” he asked, utterly bewildered.

  She pointed toward the chopping board. Eyan followed her trembling finger. On the wooden board lay several freshly sliced onions. The sharp scent hung heavily in the air.

  He blinked once. Twice. Slowly, painfully, realization dawned on him.

  “You…” he said carefully. “You’re not crying because of me?”

  She shook her head, still laughing, though tears continued to spill from her eyes.

  “I was cutting onions,” she managed between breaths. “Of course my eyes are watering!”

  Eyan remained frozen on the floor.

  “You mean,” he said slowly, “I just bowed… and begged forgiveness… while you were crying because of onions?”

  She nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “Yes.”

  The room fell into a stunned quiet.

  Then Eva burst into laughter again, unable to hold it in.

  “You looked so serious,” she said, trying to breathe. “You dropped to your knees so dramatically—”

  Eyan closed his eyes briefly. For the first time in his imperial life, he wished the ground would swallow him. He rose slowly to his feet, dignity in tatters.

  “I thought I had broken your heart beyond repair,” he muttered.

  She softened slightly at that.

  “I was angry,” she admitted softly. “Very angry.”

  Eyan didn’t wait another second.

  He pulled her into his arms again, holding her tightly.

  “Please forgive me,” he murmured against her hair.

  Eva’s arms slowly wrapped around his waist. She rested her cheek against his chest and smiled faintly.

  “I already forgave you,” she said gently. “The moment you dropped to your knees.”

  He leaned back slightly to look at her.

  “You are a king,” she continued, eyes teasing now. “How can you just kneel in front of anyone?”

  A quiet warmth entered his expression.

  “I didn’t kneel in front of just anyone,” he said softly. “I knelt in front of My Queen.”

  Color rushed to her cheeks instantly. Her fingers tightened slightly against his shirt.

  “…Say that again.”

  He blinked faintly. “Say what?”

  “My Queen.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. He pulled back just enough to cup her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her damp cheeks, wiping away the last trace of onion tears.

  “My Queen,” he repeated, voice lower this time—steadier, intimate.

  Her breath caught.

  She smiled shyly. “My king.”

  The words seemed to settle between them like something sacred.

  His thumb traced lightly along her lower lip, slow and deliberate. His gaze softened—no longer sharp, no longer stern—only filled with affection.

  Then he leaned down. He kissed her. Not hurried. Not desperate.

  A slow, deep kiss that carried apology, longing, and relief all at once.

  Eva closed her eyes instantly. Her arms slid up around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The familiar warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms—it grounded her.

  His fingers moved from her cheeks into her hair, threading through the soft strands, holding her gently but firmly as he deepened the kiss.

  The kitchen grew quiet except for the soft simmering of the pot on the stove.

  The world outside seemed distant.

  Eyan pulled back from the kiss slowly. Both of them were slightly breathless. His thumb lingered against her lower lip, brushing it gently as if memorizing the shape of her smile.

  “There’s something I understand now,” he said quietly.

  Eva looked at him, puzzled. “Understand what?”

  He exhaled, resting his forehead lightly against hers.

  “Since you told me you were pregnant… I haven’t had a single moment alone with you.” His voice was calm but honest. “Yesterday you left the palace without telling me. Then you stayed the night at Lady Aranel’s house.”

  A faint crease formed between his brows.

  “I was irritated all morning,” he admitted. “Not because of you. Because I missed you. I missed seeing your face.” His voice grew gentler.

  “The only thing I wanted,” he continued quietly, “was to hold you… to kiss you… and to thank you for carrying our child.”

  Her heart melted at the sincerity in his voice.

  She cupped his face tenderly and leaned forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips.

  “I’m here now,” she whispered against him. “Right in front of you. You can kiss me all you want.”

  A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Can I?”

  She nodded softly. “You can.”

  He leaned in again. This time slower. Eva closed her eyes, anticipating the warmth of his lips—but instead of the kiss, he surprised her.

  With an easy motion, he lifted her gently by the waist and sat her carefully on the kitchen counter. She opened her eyes in surprise, hands instinctively resting on his shoulders.

  He smiled faintly at her expression. Then he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Another to her temple.

  Slowly, he lowered himself. One hand rested tenderly over her belly. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss there.

  Eva’s fingers slipped into his hair, her smile glowing with warmth.

  It wasn’t desire in that moment—

  It was gratitude.

  Reverence.

  Love.

  He lifted his head and looked at her stomach as if it held the most precious treasure in the world.

  “Thank you,” he whispered softly. “For carrying our child.”

  Her eyes shimmered, but this time not from onions.

  He rose again, brushing her hair behind her ear, fingers trailing softly along her skin.

  “Stay here,” he said gently. “I’ll make dinner. You must be hungry.”

  Eva nodded obediently, swinging her legs slightly where he had seated her. He turned toward the stove, rolling up his sleeves, taking over the chopping and stirring. For a while, the kitchen was filled only with the soft sounds of cooking.

  And Eva watched him quietly—

  Her king.

  Her husband.

  Her foolish, dramatic, deeply loving man—

  Making dinner with complete seriousness, as if it were the most important duty in the empire.

  .

  .

  To be continued—