Chapter 5

• The following day, Myriella requested an audience with the Emperor.
• She wore a modest gray gown, high-necked and fully covered, almost monastic in its simplicity. Her long black hair hung loose down her back.
• Myriella was the very embodiment of submission.
• She wanted Corvo—and especially the northern witch—to believe that she had surrendered.
• She seemed to fade into the walls, stripping herself of every advantage, hiding behind a plain, colorless dress and concealing her luxurious black hair.
• This was not surrender.
• It was camouflage.
• Let the savage believe she was no threat.
• Let her see only a discarded bride, and nothing more.
• That would set Ankreta at ease. It would make her careless.
• And while Ankreta believed herself safe, Myriella would begin to move.
• She entered Corvo’s study and curtsied.
• Ankreta was perched on the arm of his chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her fur dress concealed very little.
• “My Emperor. Lady Ankreta…”
• Myriella was impeccably polite, though anyone in the room could see that Ankreta was no lady.
• She inclined her head.
• “The chambers prepared for Lady Ankreta are ready. In the eastern wing, overlooking the sea. Our finest guest apartments—the ones reserved for foreign ambassadors.”
• She curtsied again.
• “My Emperor. My dear cousin…”
• Her voice remained calm.
• “I wish to congratulate you on finding true love. And since such a miracle has occurred, I believe our childhood betrothal no longer serves any purpose.”
• She paused.
• “When our parents arranged it, we were children who barely understood what the word ‘love’ meant. I humbly ask that you release me from our engagement and from my position as your future bride.”
• Silence filled the study, thick as tar.
• Corvo remained motionless. His fingers tightened around the carved wooden arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.
• The headache struck with renewed force.
• A sharp ringing pierced his temples at the exact moment she said true love.
• Then Ankreta's hand settled gently on his shoulder.
• The pain vanished.
• In its place came the familiar, languid calm.
• “Eastern wing,” Corvo said at last, his voice even but dull. “For ambassadors. Sensible.”
• He did not look at Myriella. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond her.
• “Your… foresight is impeccable, as always.”
• Ankreta gave a soft laugh, light and musical.
• “How generous of you, Your Majesty. I am touched.”
• She tossed her fiery hair over one shoulder.
• Slowly, Corvo turned his gaze toward Myriella.
• She stood straight and motionless, like one of the marble columns in the throne room.
• The gray dress. Her loose black hair.
• Everything about her suddenly seemed strange to him. Deliberately distant.
• “Childhood obligations,” he repeated.
• The words stirred something in his mind.
• For a fleeting instant, he saw a garden.
• Laughter.
• Stolen apples.
• Her hand in his.
• Then it all vanished.
• Nothing remained but emptiness and a faint wave of nausea.
• “You are right,” he said.
• His voice was colder now.
• “They were foolishness. A childish game played by children who had no idea what they were promising.”
• He leaned back in his chair with the weary authority of a man accustomed to having the final word.
• “Very well. Effective today, our betrothal is dissolved. You are free of that burden.”
• He paused.
• Then his next words came like ice.
• “But your position at court remains. You are a princess of the blood, and you will continue to fulfill your duties to the Crown. As you always have.”
• Myriella bowed deeply.
• “Of course, My Emperor. I have not forgotten my obligations.”
• She straightened.
• “May I take my leave? I have duties to the Crown to attend to.”
• Corvo gave a silent nod.
• His gaze followed her gray silhouette as she turned and walked toward the door.
• It closed behind her with a quiet, final click.
• Silence returned to the study, broken only by the crackling logs in the fireplace.
• “What a restrained princess,” Ankreta murmured.
• Her fingers returned to his temples, tracing slow circles against his skin.
• The headache had only just begun to pulse at the edge of his consciousness.
• It disappeared at once.
• A pleasant heaviness replaced it.
• Corvo closed his eyes.
• “Not at all like the girl you used to tell me about.”
• He frowned faintly.
• “What did I tell you about?”
• “The girl who laughed in the gardens. Who used to steal apples from the kitchens.”
• Her voice was soft.
• Almost hypnotic.
• “But that was a long time ago. Children change. They grow into… proper adults.”
• Her fingers continued their slow, soothing motion.
• “Dull ones.”
• Corvo tried to summon the memory of that laughter.
• He heard only a distant echo, distorted as though it came from behind thick glass.
• Instead, another image appeared in his mind.
• Myriella kneeling in the throne room during his coronation.
• Her back perfectly straight.
• Her lashes lowered.
• Cold. Proper. Distant.
• “Yes,” he murmured, opening his eyes.
• His gaze fell upon the empty space beside the door where she had stood moments ago.
• “Dull.”
• Ankreta gently drew his head toward her.
• His cheek brushed against the fabric of her dress.
• That same sweet scent of wormwood surrounded him.
• “Don't think about her.”
• Her fingers continued their slow circles.
• “Think about the world we will build. About power.”
• She paused.
• “About… us.”
• He let himself relax, sinking deeper into the sensation.
• The emptiness by the door no longer seemed important.