Mikhail makes his entrance descending the royal stairs, immediately drawing the attention of the vast hall. A low murmur of cheer greets him, a sound of deference mixed with intense curiosity. He walks directly toward Miyako, who stands alone in the corner, and without a word, slips his arm confidently through hers. He begins pulling her gently but firmly toward the high platform and central dais of the banquet hall.
"My lord, what are you..." she begins, her stoic composure momentarily cracked by confusion.
"I'm showing you off to the world," Mikhail whispers, his eyes fixed on the crowd.
Reaching the central platform, he turns to face the hundreds of assembled nobles and foreign delegates. His voice is strong, commanding attention. "Ladies and gentlemen. I personally thank you all for gathering here on this special occasion, as my own marriage is finalized. And I want to introduce you to my soon-to-be wife. The daughter of Queen Yuehua, the beautiful princess of Eldrath. Miyako! Let's celebrate everyone!"
The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, though the discerning ear can still pick up subtle murmurs—the court gossiping over the change in fiancée and the sudden, brutal elimination of a rival.
Mikhail leans down to Miyako, the noise of the applause covering his words. "See this? Miyako, you're no longer just a shadow. You're now someone, and that's a start."
She keeps her eyes downward, still uncomfortable with the spotlight. "I don't understand, My Lord. Why would you stand by my side? I'll only make you feel ashamed."
He places a finger gently over her lips, silencing her self-deprecation. His whisper is intense and utterly possessive. "Shh. I don't care what you thought when you came here with me. An agreement? A punishment? A payment to Queen Yuehua for adopting you? But I brought you here to marry me, to make you mine. To give you a place that you deserve."
She looks up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, the cold facade momentarily melting into fragile comprehension. "I understand, My Lord," she whispers.
Mikhail wipes the tears from her eyes with his thumb—a brief, public display of tenderness that solidifies her position to the crowd. "Come, stay by my side. I have to go talk to others."
For the next few hours, Mikhail systematically works the room, moving from one noble to the next, talking politics and power, establishing his cold competence. Miyako follows him, a small, dark shadow clinging to the edge of his sleeve, her fingers tightly holding the fabric. He doesn't shake it away, allowing her the small comfort and tether.
Finally, he approaches his strategic target: Thulgar.
Thulgar, a literal giant, extends a massive hand, his grip firm and honest. "Crown Prince, it's an honor. I have heard a lot about you."
Mikhail returns a genuinely warm smile, the kind he reserves for potential allies. "Haha, Brother Thulgar, I have heard a lot about you as well. And I know when I see a strong person." He shakes his hand firmly, meeting the giant's eyes. "It's an honor to meet you too, as well."
They talk for over an hour, bypassing court pleasantries for a frank discussion of battle strategy and the love for combat, finding common ground in the brutal, honest world of the warrior.
As the banquet begins to wind down, Miyako, displaying a sliver of her former independence, tells Mikhail she'll leave and walks away from his side. In a moment of terrible misfortune, a drunk noble stumbles, colliding heavily with her. Before she can react, he violently shoves her back, slurring, "You bitch, are you blind?"
The entire room turns toward the commotion. Mikhail spots the scene instantly.
Before the noble can take another step, a brutal impact strikes the back of his head. The noble is forced violently down onto his knees directly in front of Miyako, his composure entirely gone. It's Mikhail, moving with lightning speed.
"My Lord, please, I apologize!" the noble pleads, terror overriding his intoxication. "I didn't notice it was her Majesty, please, I'm begging you!"
Mikhail ignores his pleas, drawing his blade and placing the icy steel directly against the noble's throat. "You dare to disrespect my wife and beg for forgiveness?" Without another word, he delivers a sharp kick to the back of the noble's head, driving the man forward and slitting his throat on the blade.
A wave of gasps sweeps through the hall as the noble slumps, bleeding onto the floor. Mikhail withdraws the blade, his eyes cold and dangerous as they scan the witnesses. "Whoever disrespects her, you'll only get death and death alone."
The message is complete. Everyone in the hall is shocked but also terrified to say anything against the Crown Prince. He takes Miyako's hand and, without looking back, walks out of the banquet hall.
The Emperor watches them from above, unnoticed, with a smirk on his face.
Later, back in his private chamber, Mikhail releases her hand and checks her state. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she replies, her voice steady despite the execution she'd just witnessed on her behalf.
They enter the chamber to find Maria waiting, a knowing smirk on her face. "Young Lord, and Mistress. Welcome. I have set up the bed for both of you."
Mikhail looks at Miyako, concerned about her comfort. "Maria, can you set her bed differently? I don't want to force her to sleep here with me."
Maria merely smiles. With a teasing smirk. "No, no, young lord. It's a tradition of ours. You should sleep together; it's a must." With a final, meaningful look, she steps out and closes the door, leaving them alone.
Mikhail and Miyako glance at each other, then at the massive golden bed.
"It's fine, My Lord," she says quietly. "I can sleep on the floor. I don't mind."
"No, you're not sleeping on the floor," he counters firmly. "You're sleeping on the bed."
She softly and shyly asks, "Then are you going to sleep on the floor?"
"No," he laughs and replies, shaking his head. "We are both going to sleep on this bed. It's big enough for us." He lays down on his side of the immense mattress, leaving a vast space between them. Miyako still stands, uncertain.
He offers her a lifeline of trust. "Okay, fine. How about this: keep your blade within arm's reach. If I touch you, you have permission to kill me. Okay?"
She gives him a slow nod, her hand hovering near her waist, and finally, tentatively, lays down on her side of the bed.
After a long period of awkward stillness, Mikhail's exhaustion from the long night finally overcomes him, and he falls asleep.
The next morning, the room is bathed in natural light. Mikhail awakens to the familiar sensation of the luxurious sheets. He quickly realizes he's no longer alone in his space on the bed.
He shoots up to a sitting position, his heart momentarily pounding. Miyako is still sleeping on her side, completely untouched. But the massive space between them is gone. He's on her side of the bed, and he's hugging her tightly in his sleep, his arms wrapped around her waist. The entire portion of the bed where he'd originally laid is completely empty.
Mikhail freezes, looking at his arms. Nothing. Did she not notice it, or did she tolerate me?
He realizes the warrior, who had permission to kill him, had simply allowed the close contact. Second one looks more possible. The warrior had seen a sign of weakness in his subconscious need for comfort, and out of respect or perhaps curiosity, had allowed the heir of the Empire to hold her through the night.