The Thalruk Empire, famed for its rigid etiquette and nobles as cunning as they are cultured, had descended into war. What began five years ago as a covert assassination plot orchestrated by Thalruk's court spiraled into a full-scale conflict with the Valdran Empire. The plan failed, the blame was deflected, and blood answered blood.
Now, in the heart of the Thalruk Palace, the throne room stood steeped in icy silence.
Velvet carpets stretched across cold marble, muffling the whispers of assembled nobles. They huddled in glistening silks and fur-trimmed robes, murmuring behind jeweled hands, their eyes flicking nervously toward the throne. And there, seated high above them all, was Emperor James Thalruk—a man carved from frost and silence.
His white hair flowed like a frozen river down his shoulders, and violet eyes colder than winter skies stared across the room, daring anyone to meet his gaze. Few did.
The whispers grew bolder.
The topic was the same: the Princess.
Displeasure flared in the Emperor's brow—a slight crease, but enough to shatter the murmurs. Fear swept the room like a chill wind.
Then he raised a hand, his voice slicing the air like a blade.
"Summon the Princess to the throne room."
The servants bowed deeply and swept from the room, their departure swift and wordless.
Moments passed—heavy, dragging.
Then the grand doors groaned open, and a figure in white stepped into the chamber.
She wore a wedding gown, simple yet hauntingly beautiful, as if mourning her own fate. Princess Althea. The nobles gasped softly, stunned by her beauty—or perhaps by the courage it took to walk toward exile draped in bridal white.
To the Emperor, however, she was no symbol of grace.
She was a curse.
A living reminder of the woman he once loved... and lost.
[Althea – First Person POV]
The doors loomed behind me as I stepped inside.
So this is it—my final farewell to the room where I'd spent so many years dreaming of a father's love that never came. As I walked into the throne room, the place felt colder than ever. Not because of the marble. Because of him.
Emperor James Thalruk. My father.
He sat atop his throne like a god carved from ice, his gaze skimming past me as if I were a shadow cast by someone long gone. Once, I thought that if I tried hard enough—if I studied court etiquette, smiled politely, never faltered—he might finally look at me and see his daughter.
But he never did.
I hadn't known, back then, that it was my stepmother and stepsister feeding him lies, twisting his heart against me with poisoned words. I was the unwanted ghost of my mother, they told him. And he believed them.
The night I stopped loving him came suddenly—when he stood silent as I was accused of pushing my stepsister down the stairs. No evidence. No truth. Just silence... and judgment.
He didn't defend me.
He never did.
The nobles whispered again as I walked further into the hall, their words pricking like thorns against my skin. Somewhere in my heart, I imagined my mother's voice rising against them—soft and protective, shielding me from their spite.
But she was gone.
And I was alone.
Then his voice cut through the air again.
"Althea," he said coldly, "you are to be sent to the Valdran Empire as a symbol of peace. You will become their Crown Princess. There must be no error. You will fulfill your duty."
I looked up—just once.
Searching for regret.
Searching for anything.
But all I saw was the same emotionless stare. There was no sorrow. No hesitation. No love.
A hollow smile curled at my lips. It was almost funny. If he had smiled... if he had softened even a little, I think my heart might've broken all over again.
But he didn't.
He never smiled at me. Not once.
I turned and walked away, the sound of my footsteps lost in the silence of the court.
Behind me, Emperor James sat unmoving—yet for the briefest flicker of time, something passed over his face. A flicker. A tightening of the jaw. A flicker of guilt? Regret?
But it vanished.
And I didn't look back.
Later...
The carriage wheels began to roll, carrying me toward a future I hadn't chosen.
I leaned slightly out the window, taking in the final sight of the place I had once called home.
There, standing by the upper balcony, was her.
My stepsister.
Her golden hair shimmered in the sun, her blue eyes glinting with malice. She waved delicately, her expression the picture of sweet cruelty. A smile danced on her lips—a smile that said, I won.
I stared at her, unflinching.
Let her think she won.
Let them all think they've rid themselves of me.
Because one day, the girl they threw away...
...will return.