He stared at his dead wife with a tearful face. She looked like a wooden doll placed inside a glass case.
Her silver hair was tied up neatly. She was as pale as the first frost of the empire. Her frame was weak and tiny, even though she had once been tall.
Her cheeks weren't flushed—there was no life in her. A stoic, lifeless doll, her eyes closed peacefully.
He wished this had never happened. All he had ever wished for was to be with her… and live a long life together.
Everyone wore black suits. The hall was decorated with daisy flowers, because the lady had loved them. Even the maids carried brochures stamped with a daisy symbol.
Some women were gossiping about the dead lady's origin.
"I heard no one knows where she came from," Lady Jenny whispered.
The other lady jolted.
"She's not a noble for sure!"
"She trapped the duke with her charms. His power is only second to the emperor—maybe even equal. That's why society approved the marriage."
"All men are the same," the woman scoffed. "He'll marry another beauty in no time."
The duke heard none of it. He was drowning in his grief.
"Eli," he murmured, tracing her face with his eyes. What did power even mean, when he couldn't protect his wife… or the ones he loved?
To him, she was beautiful—though many believed she was far too ordinary to stand beside a duke.
Their lives had been filled with contempt, even if they were never perfect for each other.
"The emperor is here, my lord," his secretary, Rufus, whispered.
"…."
"My lord?"
"Shh," the duke said quietly. "I wish to speak with no one. I'll be leaving to my room. You shall accommodate His Majesty."
"But sir—"
"I shall leave now."
He walked slowly. His suit fit him perfectly, the rich fabric tracing his pale, muscular frame.
His eyes were tired.
Just as he reached the doorway, his steps stopped.
A sound—so faint it could've been imagined—echoed behind him.
A soft tap.
Reynold's breath caught.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling back on the glass case.
Eli lay there, peaceful. Unmoving.
Yet… something didn't feel right.
His fingers tightened into a fist.
Tap.
The sound came again.
From inside the coffin.
---
The emperor arrived with his favourite concubine. The empress had long turned mad, and the palace had become a place without solace.
Everyone bowed perfectly. The emperor's gaze swept across the hall as he searched for the duke.
"Where is Reynold?" he asked.
His tone was dry—less a question, more a command.
Rufus stepped forward and bowed.
"Your Majesty… my lord wishes to be alone."
Whispers rose immediately.
The duke refuses to meet the emperor?
What an extraordinary thing to witness.
The concubine snickered softly, amused. The emperor noticed—and his gaze sharpened.
He glared at every noble present until the room fell silent, as if the heart of the empire itself had demanded obedience.
Then the emperor turned toward the glass case.
The young woman looked peaceful. It was tragic… that such a life ended so early.
The emperor's thoughts wandered, as they always did when he looked at Reynold.
Reynold was his illegitimate child, born from an affair with a dancer.
She had been a poor woman, yet exceptional in her skills. Charmed by her wit and the way she spoke, the emperor had loved her more than any other woman. Back then, he had been only the ninth prince-unbound by duty.
Then his brothers died from a deadly plague, and he was forced to shoulder the empire.
The dancer was stripped of her title as his fiancée, and her child was taken away from her.
No money was given to her. The previous emperor believed she was a stain on his perfect son.
She had no choice but to dance in foreign lands to survive—until the plague claimed her too.
The emperor spoiled all his children except Reynold.
As the firstborn, Reynold was raised with one brutal truth: the fate of royalty was bound to the empire.
The emperor believed he had ruined his own youth by loving the wrong woman. He refused to let his son make the same mistake.
Reynold had once been a happy, sensitive child. He loved his mother deeply, even if he was only allowed to meet her once in a while.
Later, His Majesty reflected on his actions… but it was far too late.
The child had grown to hate him. He became ambitious, sharp, and distant—someone the emperor could no longer reach.
And then Reynold did the unthinkable.
He founded his own house.
The emperor continued to observe his daughter-in-law.
She had been a sweet child—one who smiled even when he was a grumpy old man, a man who struggled to show love even to his own son.
She used to call him Father and made sure tea was served on time.
And now… she was gone.
Reynold was truly unlucky.
Everyone he gave his heart to… always left him.
---
The emperor barged into his son's room. The hallways were quiet; the door stood open.
Reynold was crying like a child. A soaked handkerchief lay abandoned on the table.
Seeing him like that made the emperor uneasy.
When his mother had died, Reynold hadn't shed a single tear.
"Son—" the emperor called.
"Your Majesty?" Reynold straightened at once.
Reynold's senses were sharp. He should have known the moment someone entered his room.
And yet… somehow, he hadn't sensed his father.
He hated the fact that he'd been caught in weakness, so he stopped immediately.
"I wish you could help me with a few documents," the emperor lied. He didn't know what else to say.
"Alright," Reynold replied.
He wiped his face with the ragged handkerchief and stood up out of respect.
Such a stupid father.
"What documents?"
---
Back in the funeral hall, the emperor stared at the woman in the glass case once more.
For a moment, he could almost pretend she was his daughter.
Then…
Her thumb moved.
Just slightly.
The emperor froze.
He shook his head and turned toward the concubine—
in disbelief.