The Emperor Exchanged Me for a Mistress, But I Found Another

Chatper 3

The Grand Ballroom of the Northern Palace was a sea of shimmering silk and clinking crystal, but tonight, the atmosphere felt suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and the sharper, more bitter scent of scandal. Empress Diana sat upon her peripheral throne, her posture as straight and unyielding as a blade of fine steel. She wore a gown of midnight-blue velvet, high-necked and adorned with nothing but a single silver brooch at her throat. It was modest, regal, and timeless—a stark contrast to the chaotic spectacle currently unfolding in the center of the dance floor.

Emperor Caspian stood there, his silver-white curls catching the light of a thousand candles, looking more animated than Diana had seen him in years. His arm was wrapped firmly around Daphne’s waist, parading her before the dukes and counts as if she were a conquered territory. Daphne was a vision of absolute excess. Her gown was a monstrously beautiful creation of tiered rose-gold lace, encrusted with so many raw diamonds and pink tourmalines that she shimmered like a fractured mirror with every breath. The skirt was so wide it required two maids to help her turn, and the bodice was heavy with gold embroidery that climbed up her neck to meet the massive, heart-shaped gold necklace Caspian had gifted her. Her long pink hair was piled high in a complex arrangement of curls, woven through with real pearls and fresh jasmine that wilted under the heat of the ballroom.

Daphne let out a melodic, high-pitched laugh, leaning her head against Caspian’s shoulder as she gestured toward a group of elderly marquises. "Oh, you flatter me, Lord Barlowe! I am but a simple girl, far too unaccustomed to such royal finery," she chirped, her golden eyes wide and brimming with a practiced, doe-like innocence.

Behind their fans, a group of young noblewomen gathered near the refreshment table, their whispers sharp enough to cut through the music. "It is truly eye-watering," Lady Isabella whispered, shielding her lips with a lace fan. "She looks like she fell into the royal treasury and decided to wear everything that stuck to her. Where is the elegance? It's so... loud." Her companion, a daughter of a Count, nodded in agreement. "It’s a bit much, isn’t it? She looks like a gilded bird in a cage. My mother says she has no class, only the Emperor’s coin. Look at how she clings to him; it’s desperate."

Diana watched this display from her seat, her amethyst eyes hooded and unreadable. She lifted a glass of deep red wine to her lips, the tart liquid providing a momentary distraction from the dull ache in her chest. To her, Daphne looked like a child playing dress-up—a stupid, manipulative child. Caspian’s laughter boomed across the hall, a sound that used to belong to their shared history, however rocky it had been. Now, he didn't even glance toward the throne where his wife sat in silence. He was completely enthralled by the lie Daphne had spun about her "abusive" past, treating her like a fragile glass doll he had rescued from the mud.

"The vintage is excellent, but I find the company in this corner of the room far more intoxicating," a smooth, melodic voice spoke from her side.

Diana didn't startle; she simply lowered her glass and turned her head. Standing there was Emperor Alistair of the Western Empire. He was a striking contrast to the cold, silver-hued men of the North. His light blonde hair was swept back effortlessly, and his blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and genuine warmth. He leaned against a marble pillar near her seat, his posture relaxed and flirty, ignoring the rigid etiquette of the Northern court.

"Emperor Alistair," Diana said, her voice a cool, steady melody. "I was not aware the Western Empire took such an interest in our minor banquets."

Alistair stepped closer, his gaze lingering on her face with an intensity that made the surrounding air feel warmer. "I find that I take a great interest in anything—or anyone—that possesses such quiet strength in the face of a circus," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the center of the room where Daphne was currently fluttering her eyelashes at Caspian. He leaned down, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You are far too brilliant a gem to be kept in such a dark, cold room, Empress Diana. Does your husband know that he is holding a pebble while his diamond sits alone?"

Diana felt a rare flutter of surprise, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her wine. "The Emperor chooses what he values, Alistair. I am merely the Empress. My value is in my duty, not in my husband's whims."

Alistair chuckled, a low, rich sound. "Duty is a cold bedfellow, Diana. Perhaps one day you’ll realize that there are kingdoms where the sun actually shines, and where an Empress is worshipped, not just tolerated." He winked at her, his blue eyes dancing, before bowing deeply and stepping back into the crowd, leaving Diana staring into her wine, the taste of it suddenly much sweeter than before.