“Your, Your Majesty…?”
The words barely escaped Mayhen’s lips, a mere whisper against the sudden chill that filled the grand chamber.
His aura was palpable, thick with an anger she rarely witnessed, a stark contrast to his usual composed, almost aloof demeanor.
He was clearly furious at a glance, his eyes, usually deep pools of indifference, now burned with an intensity that made her instinctively recoil.
It was the first time since her twelfth request—a difficult one involving a rebellious noble and a stolen royal artifact, an affair that had pushed even his formidable patience to its limits—that she’d seen him so utterly enraged.
This time, however, the target of his wrath felt disturbingly close, directed, it seemed, at her.
A cold dread seeped into her bones.
“What kind of mischief are you stirring up this time?”
His voice was low, dangerous, like a growl from a predatory beast.
It wasn’t a question seeking an answer, but a declaration, a judgment.
Mayhen’s heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
She instinctively wanted to defend herself, to explain, but the words caught in her throat.
Then, the old man, the head priest, looked at the emperor, his gaze unwavering despite the palpable tension.
There was a strange glint in his ancient eyes, a flicker of something almost triumphant that Mayhen couldn’t quite decipher.
His eyes held excited anticipation, a stark contrast to the emperor’s fury.
His voice was full of joy, an almost manic delight that seemed entirely inappropriate for the gravity of the situation.
He gestured towards the large parchment, its ancient surface glowing softly with a faint, otherworldly light.
“Look there. New content has finally been written in the oracle. And it’s been thousands of years!”
The priest’s voice trembled with awe, a sound that should have resonated with wonder but instead, in this charged atmosphere, felt like a catalyst for further conflict.
Mayhen glanced at the parchment, then back at the Emperor, whose face remained a mask of stony displeasure.
The idea of new divine prophecy, after millennia of silence, should have been momentous, a cause for universal celebration.
Yet, here, it only served to deepen the chasm between the two powerful figures.
The emperor’s indifferent gaze fell upon the parchment, seemingly devoid of any curiosity or reverence.
He stared at it for a moment, his perfect features etched with a profound weariness, as if the weight of millennia of such pronouncements had long since crushed any hope or belief within him.
Then, a slow, cold smile, devoid of warmth or genuine amusement, curved his lips into a chilling grimace. It was a smile that promised ice, not comfort.
“The god I believed in is already dead. So now, I don’t care what happens.”
His words hung heavy in the air, a blasphemous pronouncement that shocked Mayhen to her core.
For a ruler to declare such a thing, especially in the very heart of the temple, was unfathomable.
It spoke of a deep-seated cynicism, a profound disillusionment that was far more disturbing than his outward anger.
“But Your Majesty…!” the old priest interjected, his voice laced with desperation, perhaps even fear, for his emperor’s soul.
“If you pull a stunt like this again. Even if you’re a priest serving Wisid, I won’t let you get away with it.”
The emperor’s voice was laced with an undeniable threat, his eyes, still radiating coldness, sweeping over the assembled priests.
His gaze seemed to physically pierce them, causing the priests to flinch, their bodies instinctively recoiling from his sheer force of will.
A shiver ran down Mayhen’s spine.
The air grew heavy, almost suffocating, with the unspoken tension.
He sighed deeply, a sound of profound frustration, then grabbed Mayhen’s arm, his grip firm and possessive, and pulled her abruptly out of the sacred space.
The sudden movement startled Mayhen, but she didn’t resist.
The warmth of his hand, even through her sleeve, was a strange anchor in the tumultuous emotional storm that had just unfolded.
The temple, once a place of quiet reverence, now felt oppressive, tainted by the Emperor’s harsh words and the priests’ fearful silence.
As they exited the grand entrance, the cool night air brushed against her face, a welcome relief.
As we left the temple, the grand, imposing architecture faded behind them.
In front of the temple, rather than a magnificent royal carriage befitting the Emperor’s status, there was a shabby, unassuming carriage, its wooden wheels caked with dust, its paint faded and peeling.
It seemed deliberately chosen for its anonymity, a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace.
Mayhen, still trying to process the rapid turn of events, got into the carriage with the emperor’s help, his hand briefly supporting her as she ascended the small step.
The interior, though plain, offered a sense of confinement, a small, enclosed world after the vastness of the temple.
As soon as she sat down on the hard, worn seat, a stern voice, low and uncompromising, was lowered.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
His question was curt, almost a command, lacking any discernible warmth, yet the underlying concern was unmistakable to Mayhen.
It was typical of him, she thought, to express care in such an unyielding manner.
“Not at all. In fact, they even prepared vegetables on the table to welcome me?”
Mayhen replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, a small lie to ease the tension.
The priests had indeed been surprisingly kind, offering not just a meal but a genuine attempt at hospitality, albeit with an ulterior motive.
“The old man is doing something utterly useless.”
A dismissive huff followed his words, a clear indication of his disdain for the priest’s attempts at diplomacy.
The emperor still seemed to be in a bad mood, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Perhaps he was displeased by the fact that stories about him were being carelessly exchanged, even by those who professed to serve the divine.
The idea of his past, his beliefs, being discussed so freely must have grated on his deeply private nature.
Mayhen observed him cautiously, trying to gauge the depth of his irritation.
His profile remained unyielding, a sculpted image of displeasure.
After a moment of careful thought, she risked a question, her voice soft, tentative.
“By the way, how did you know to come here?”
“That amulet.”
He replied, his answer short and to the point, leaving no room for elaboration.
“The amulet? What about the amulet?”
Mayhen pressed, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
The amulet had been a simple, unassuming trinket, given to her long ago.
She’d always assumed it was merely a good luck charm.
“Only someone like a god can make the impossible a reality.”
His words were delivered with a harsh finality, yet they also held a hint of weary resignation.
He wasn’t speaking of grand miracles, but of something far more personal and unsettling.
“Ah….”
Mayhen breathed, a sudden realization dawning on her.
The amulet, she recalled now with a clearer mind, had glowed with an unusual light just before it had brought her to the temple, a mysterious force pulling her there.
No matter how much she thought about it, such an impossible feat was hard to see as the ability of an ordinary person.
It transcended simple magic or human skill.
Thinking about it further, the return stones used by the troubleshooters in Mederland were also given by Tabiren, a name whispered with reverence and awe among those who understood the arcane.
A stone of extraordinary power that only those who could hear the voice of God could create.
It was a stark reminder of the deeper, mystical currents that ran beneath the surface of their world.
‘It seems the priests of Hamilon can also use mysterious abilities like Tabiren,’ Mayhen mused internally, a new piece of the puzzle falling into place.
The implications were vast, unsettling, and yet, in a strange way, exhilarating.
It suggested a hidden depth to her own connection to these divine forces.
Just then, a stern voice, sharp as an arrow, shot out, cutting through her thoughts.
It was the Emperor’s, his tone regaining its earlier severity.
“Don’t be swayed by their words. It’s all nonsense. Entirely without basis or truth.”
His voice was laced with a dismissive contempt that left no room for argument.
“What if it’s true, though? Even if it were, what could you possibly do?”
Mayhen countered, her voice surprisingly firm despite the tremor in her heart.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a truth to the oracle, a deeper meaning that the Emperor, in his cynicism, was choosing to ignore.
The gaze directed at Mayhen was chillingly cold, an icy blue that seemed to penetrate her very soul.
He didn’t just look at her; he seemed to weigh her, to judge her capabilities in the face of such a vast, potentially dangerous truth.
There were many parts of what the priests said that Mayhen also found hard to understand, concepts that stretched the limits of her comprehension.
Especially in Mederland, her home, she hadn’t heard much about the mark of sin or the consequences related to it in detail.
These were ancient, almost forgotten concepts, spoken only in hushed tones, if at all.
Moreover, she had never truly exercised that divine power they spoke of, never felt its full force surge through her.
It was a theoretical ability, a potential that remained dormant within her.
However, if Mayhen truly was some kind of being from that oracle, a prophesied figure, and if she could genuinely help people with the power they attributed to her, she would willingly do anything for them.
The thought ignited a spark of purpose within her, a desire to alleviate suffering, no matter the personal cost.
“I have to help them,” she stated, her voice unwavering.
“They say there are people suffering.
I think not doing what you can’t do and turning away from what you can do are different issues.
One is a limitation; the other is a choice, and a cruel one at that.”
“That’s an unnecessary intervention. You don’t even properly know what the curse of the wolf-beasts is.”
His voice was sharp, a cutting dismissal of her idealism.
He spoke of the curse as if it were a common, well-understood truth, yet it was certainly an unfamiliar phrase to Mayhen.
The very mention of it brought a prickle of unease.
It implied a depth of suffering, a dangerous reality she was oblivious to.
But even so, would it really be right to ignore it, to turn away from the pain simply because she lacked understanding?
A knot formed in her stomach.
After that, no more words were exchanged between them.
The conversation, fraught with tension and conflicting beliefs, simply died out.
It was because each of them was lost in their own thoughts, grappling with the weight of the prophecy and the divergent paths they believed were right.
Unlike during the day, when the carriage had been filled with the ordinary sounds of travel, a heavy, almost suffocating silence settled inside the carriage, amplifying the unspoken thoughts that churned between them.
The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves against the road was the only sound, a monotonous backdrop to Mayhen’s churning mind.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ she wondered, replaying her words, searching for a misstep.
‘But it wasn’t wrong, was it? To want to help?’
The thought of her own perceived weakness and the Emperor’s cutting words still stung.
She felt like a small, insignificant pebble caught in a storm, unable to control the immense forces at play.
She tried to think of a topic to change the conversation, anything to break the oppressive silence, but nothing came to mind.
Her mind felt blank, heavy with unspoken anxieties.
The journey seemed to stretch endlessly, each passing moment amplifying the chasm between them.
In the end, she couldn’t find anything suitable to say, no light remark or clever diversion, until the carriage finally, mercifully, arrived at the imperial palace.
The grand gates loomed before them, a towering monument to power and authority.
As Mayhen was getting off the carriage with the emperor’s escort, the air still thick with tension, he commanded her in a high-handed, autocratic tone, leaving no room for debate.
“Starting today, you’ll move rooms.”
“Yes? Where to?”
Mayhen asked, her voice tinged with surprise, trying to make sense of the sudden directive.
She half-expected him to banish her to some secluded, forgotten corner of the palace.
“To my chambers.”
His words struck her like a physical blow, leaving her stunned, speechless.
Her mind reeled, trying to reconcile his previous anger and harsh words with this unexpected, intimate command.
“…So suddenly?” she managed to stammer, her eyes widening in disbelief.
As Mayhen blinked in bewilderment, the emperor’s expression hardened, a deep frown creasing his brow.
The sudden shift in his demeanor, from sternness to an almost pained frustration, was perplexing.
This was not a whim.
Soon, with a low sigh, a sound of profound weariness, he opened his mouth, his voice softer, but still resolute.
“Even though I was by your side today, I couldn’t protect you. Not to mention what happened during the hunting festival. If things continue like this, something worse might happen.”
His words carried the weight of past failures, a self-reproach that surprised Mayhen.
He was referring to the ambush during the hunting festival, an event that had nearly cost her her life.
The realization that he saw her vulnerability as a direct reflection of his own protective capabilities was a revelation.
It wasn’t just about her safety; it was about his duty, his power.
“Your Majesty is right,” Mayhen conceded, acknowledging the truth in his concern.
“But… it doesn’t matter if I’m in danger.”
Her voice was soft, yet resolute, echoing her earlier conviction.
She had accepted the risks, the potential for harm, the moment she stepped into this life.
Her life, she believed, was now tied to a greater purpose, a destiny she was only just beginning to understand.
“What…?”
The single word was sharp, a crack in the façade of his composure.
The emperor’s expression grew darker, his eyes narrowing, his lips thinning into a grim line.
Mayhen, for her part, couldn’t understand why his face was like that.
From her perspective, she had simply stated an obvious truth.
She had started this journey, this strange dance with destiny and power, with her eyes wide open to all the potential dangers.
“From the beginning, I started this knowing all the risks,” she explained, her voice gaining strength.
“Besides, nothing that serious happened today. The priests weren’t truly violent; they were… persuasive.”
That was the truth.
The priests of Wisid hadn’t threatened Mayhen in a frightening way.
They hadn’t resorted to brute force or overt menace.
Instead, they had approached her with a disconcerting politeness, a gentle yet firm pressure that had been more disarming than any overt aggression.
Rather, they were as kind as possible, considering she must have been surprised by the sudden summons to the temple.
They had treated her with a curious reverence, almost an eagerness, that had put her slightly at ease despite the gravity of their message.
As if mocking her naive thoughts, the emperor’s sarcastic voice cut through the silence, his tone dripping with disdain.
“Conversely, if the priests had tried to take you away with bad intentions, it would have been entirely possible.”
His words were a cold splash of reality, highlighting the insidious nature of potential threats.
He saw the danger lurking beneath their seemingly benign approach.
“But the priests didn’t seem like bad people at all?”
Mayhen countered, her voice still holding a hint of bewilderment.
Their demeanor had been too welcoming, too earnest for her to truly believe they harbored ill will.
“You’re still saying such carefree things,” he scoffed, an edge of exasperation in his voice.
“I clearly told you to wake up from your dream.”
His words were a direct assault on her idealism, a demand for her to face the harsh realities of their world, where good intentions could easily mask dangerous schemes.
***
His expression was terrifying, beyond anything Mayhen had ever seen before.
It was a mask of cold, unyielding power, laced with a frustration that bordered on fury.
He looked down at her, his gaze piercing, and said in a voice mixed with anger, each word a carefully aimed dart.
“Most importantly, you’re too weak. At this rate, you’re not even worth using as bait.”
The words struck Mayhen like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.
“Bait.”
The cold, utilitarian word reduced her to a mere object, stripped of her agency, her worth measured only by her usefulness in his grand schemes.
“What? But…!”
Mayhen started, her voice a fractured whisper, desperately searching for a counter-argument.
The accusation of weakness, delivered with such blunt force, wounded her deeply.
“What can you actually do?” he pressed, his voice relentless, unforgiving.
“Can you even fight assassins with that body? When the next threat comes, and it will, how will you protect yourself? How will you survive? What will you do if something like this happens again?”
His questions were rhetorical, designed not to elicit an answer, but to hammer home his point, to expose her vulnerability.
The corner of his mouth twisted crookedly, a cruel, mocking curve.
His eyes, full of reproach, were fierce, unwavering in their harsh assessment.
But what hurt Mayhen more than the sharp edge of his voice, more than the intense, scrutinizing glare, was the truly cutting nature of his thorny words directed at her.
They were designed to sting, to diminish, to emphasize her perceived inadequacy.
For a moment, Mayhen felt a profound sense of insignificance.
In the depths of the emperor’s eyes, reflected back at her, her own image seemed to shrink, becoming utterly insubstantial, completely meaningless, insignificant.
The raw truth of his assessment, however brutal, felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her.
“At that time…,” Mayhen began, her voice trailing off, becoming softer and softer, lost in the vastness of the imperial chambers.
Sadly, agonizingly, she couldn’t find a single word, a single argument, to refute his harsh pronouncements.
She was, in many ways, reliant.
The bitter truth was that for all her desire to help, she possessed little tangible power to protect herself, let alone others, in this dangerous world.
The reason she had been able to move freely around the imperial palace, to exist in this protected bubble, was precisely because there were people here, like the Emperor and his knights, guarding her, shielding her from the dangers that lurked beyond these walls.
She already knew very well, in the quiet, honest chambers of her own heart, that she couldn’t do anything truly significant on her own.
She was a pawn, a potential asset, but in a physical confrontation, she was tragically vulnerable.
“Perhaps my mistake was even deciding to bring you along,” he muttered, almost to himself, the words filled with a low, regretful tone.
This soft, almost whispered lament struck Mayhen like a dagger, twisting in the wound his previous words had inflicted.
To be seen as a burden, a miscalculation, rather than a valuable ally, was a profound disappointment.
She couldn’t respond, her throat tight, only clenching her fists, her nails digging into her palms as if to anchor herself against the emotional pain.
His words, however, were not finished.
“I’ll be thinking about what to do with you for a while.”
He said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, a pronouncement rather than a discussion.
It suggested a temporary suspension, a judgment yet to be fully passed.
“Does that mean… you don’t need me anymore?”
Mayhen managed to ask, her voice barely audible, the cold dread seeping deeper into her heart.
The implications of his words were devastating.
“Perhaps.”
His single word answer, delivered without hesitation, sealed her fears.
It wasn’t a definitive “no,” but the “perhaps” was worse, a cruel ambiguity that left her dangling, uncertain of her fate.
Mayhen felt a wave of injustice and anger wash over her.
It was unfair, agonizingly so. Yet, she found she couldn’t challenge him.
His logic, however cutting, was undeniable.
She truly was weak in the way he described.
“Then I suppose you’ve understood enough, then.”
His dismissal was complete, the conversation closed.
After that, Mayhen was guided by the attendants, a phalanx of silent, efficient figures, to the emperor’s chambers.
The journey felt surreal, a blur of polished floors and hushed corridors.
The atmosphere of his personal sleeping quarters was completely different from the smaller, more functional bedroom attached to his office.
This was a sanctuary, a statement of power and luxury.
It was much wider, truly vast, and exquisitely more lavish.
Ornate tapestries adorned the walls, soft, rich carpets muffled every step, and the air was subtly perfumed with expensive incense.
Before, her own room had offered only a limited view; in stark contrast, the window in this new chamber offered a panoramic view of an exquisitely beautiful, meticulously kept garden that stretched out beneath a clear, star-dusted sky.
Surely, this place was clearly meant to be a much better, more comfortable place to live.
It was grander, safer, undoubtedly the epitome of comfort.
‘Then why do I feel this way?’ a small, despondent voice whispered in Mayhen’s mind.
Someone was pricking her heart, a constant, dull ache, as if with tiny needles.
Every beat was a fresh prick of pain.
Was it because she had been confirmed as a useless existence once again, her vulnerability thrown so starkly into her face?
Perhaps.
But that alone felt insufficient to fully explain the overwhelming wave of emotion.
To be brutally honest, this feeling was closer to disappointment, a deep, bitter sadness.
‘Disappointment with whom? Surely not the emperor?’ she questioned herself, surprised by the very thought. It was illogical, given his coldness.
Recently, having been constantly attached to him, thrown into close proximity by circumstance, she must have deluded herself into thinking they had grown quite close, perhaps even formed some kind of bond.
After all, despite his gruffness, she had clearly seen him caring for her, looking out for her in his own stern way. He had saved her multiple times, offered her protection.
However, the cruel reality of their dynamic, the cold, stark truth, now resurfaced with a painful clarity.
He could keep her when she was needed, when she served a purpose, but once she was deemed unnecessary or a liability, he could discard her like a consumable, a broken tool.
This brutal reality, this sudden, stark revelation of her expendability, unexpectedly wounded her anew.
It was a fresh cut on an already bruised heart.
If he had just said he was worried about her, if his decision had been framed as genuine concern for her safety, she wouldn’t have felt so profoundly depressed.
It would have softened the blow, offered a crumb of solace.
‘What were you expecting, Mayhen?’ she chastised herself, her inner voice tinged with self-reproach.
‘We’re not even anything to each other to begin with. He’s the Emperor, and I’m… just me.’
Their relationship was transactional, defined by utility, not affection.
With just one command from him, she would be back in a labyrinthine prison, a cold, forgotten cell, her brief taste of freedom and purpose cruelly snatched away.
The thought was a chilling reminder of her precarious position.
As Mayhen was sighing deeply, the sound escaping her lips in heavy, deflated puffs, the door to the grand chamber opened.
Unfamiliar servants, dressed in pristine imperial livery, entered the room.
Their faces were polite, their movements precise, clearly well-trained for the highest echelons of service.
They hadn’t been present before.
They approached her and, with synchronized bows, greeted her.
“We are the First Imperial Palace maids assigned to serve you from today. We look forward to your kind cooperation.”
Their voices were soft, respectful, almost deferential.
“What? What about the previous people?”
Mayhen asked, bewildered. The sudden change was disorienting.
“Those servants have had their assigned areas changed, so you won’t see them anymore. First, we’ll help you prepare for bed.”
They answered, their explanation smooth and professional, leaving no room for further questions.
The new servants the emperor had called for treated Mayhen with even more deference and politeness than the previous ones.
They moved with an almost ethereal grace, anticipating her every need before she could even voice it.
Their service was impeccable, lacking no detail, no touch of comfort.
No, in fact, it was almost overwhelming, too much, leaving Mayhen feeling utterly overwhelmed.
She wasn’t used to such meticulous care, such constant attendance.
“What kind of oil would you like for your massage?” one maid inquired, her voice soft and soothing.
“We have a relaxing oil brought in recently from abroad that calms the mind and body, and an aroma oil made from golden lilies steeped for a month. If you don’t like either of these… we have many more options available in the inner chambers, all carefully selected for their therapeutic properties and exquisite fragrances.”
“No, no, it’s really fine,” Mayhen stammered, feeling awkward and out of place under such intense scrutiny.
“You can really leave now. I… I’m fine on my own for a bit.”
“But… are you sure, miss? We are here to serve your every need. There’s no rush,” another maid gently pressed, her concern genuine.
“I just want to be alone for a bit,” Mayhen insisted, her voice firmer this time, hoping to convey the depth of her desire for solitude.
After repeated rejections, the servants hesitated, exchanging brief, concerned glances among themselves.
They seemed reluctant, as if leaving her alone was somehow a dereliction of duty.
But eventually, they bowed once more, gracefully, and then exited the room, leaving Mayhen alone in the vast, luxurious space.
She could still sense their lingering presence, their silent, watchful attention from just beyond the door.
It was clear they were trying hard to impress her, to fulfill their new role with utmost perfection.
This situation was not just burdensome but deeply perplexing.
The meticulous attention, the opulence, it all felt out of step with the Emperor’s earlier harsh words.
‘Come to think of it, if the emperor was contemplating what to do with me, why did he send me to his own chambers?’
Mayhen mused, the question swirling in her mind.
‘He could have just left me in the room I was already using, or sent me to any other room in the palace. This particular choice makes no sense given his stated intentions.’
Unresolved questions floated through Mayhen’s mind, like persistent dust motes in a shaft of sunlight, refusing to settle.
Alone in the room, she tried to sort out her thoughts, to find some coherence in the bewildering turn of events.
But she felt restless, adrift.
She didn’t know where to settle, how to be.
She sat demurely on one side of the vast, ornate bed, then, moments later, shifted uncomfortably to the very edge, as if the bed itself was too large, too overwhelming.
Then she’d rise, pace a few steps, and sit down again, repeating this restless cycle several times.
All of this felt strange and profoundly uncomfortable.
The luxury, the silence, the lingering questions – it was all a heavy weight.
But if she were to encounter the emperor entering the room, that would be even more agonizing, a fresh wave of discomfort.
She didn’t want to see his angry face again, or face his piercing gaze.
And more than anything, she worried he might immediately tell her to go to the underground dungeon, a fate that loomed like a dark shadow in her mind.
“Should I just pretend to be asleep?” she wondered, a fleeting thought of evasion.
It was a childish notion, perhaps, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The emperor, she knew, usually didn’t sleep much, often working through the night.
So, he might not even come to the chambers.
No, she desperately hoped that would be the case, that he would leave her to her solitary, uncomfortable peace.
However, contrary to Mayhen’s fervent wish, after only a short while, the distinct sound of the door opening, creaking softly on its well-oiled hinges, echoed through the large chamber.
Her heart lurched.