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

chatper 12

The heavy, rhythmic thud of metal-shod boots echoed sharply against the marble floors of the hallway, a sound that sliced through the lingering, electrified silence of the Empress’s bedchamber. Diana sat rigidly at her vanity, her amethyst eyes wide and reflecting the dim, flickering candlelight. Behind her, Yuna moved with frantic efficiency, her hands trembling as she adjusted the silk of Diana’s modest robe to hide the flushed warmth of her skin. On the balcony, the heavy velvet curtains swayed ever so slightly as Alistair slipped into the shadows of the ivy, his presence now nothing more than a ghost in the night air.

Yuna grabbed the silver tray she had left on the side table, her knuckles white as she stepped toward the center of the room just as the double doors burst open without so much as a perfunctory knock. Three imperial guards, dressed in the silver-and-blue livery of Emperor Caspian’s personal unit, marched into the room, their expressions grim and their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

The intrusion was a blatant violation of imperial protocol, a clear sign of how little respect remained for Diana’s position now that the dancer Daphne held the Emperor's ear.

"Your Majesty," the lead guard began, his voice devoid of the customary bow or deference. "We have orders to search the East Wing. There were reports of a shadow on the balconies, and the Emperor has commanded us to ensure the security of—"

"How dare you!" Yuna’s voice rang out, sharp and piercing as a whip-c***k. She stepped directly into the path of the lead guard, her small frame vibrating with a protective, righteous fury. She held the tray before her like a shield, her eyes flashing. "You march into the Empress’s private sanctum at this hour, without a summons, without a knock, and without the grace to bow? Have you forgotten whose chambers these are, or has the air in the dancer’s wing rotted your brains?"

The guard balked, surprised by the audacity of a mere maid. "We are under the Emperor's direct—"

"I do not care if you were sent by the heavens themselves!" Yuna hissed, stepping closer until she was inches from his chest plate. "Her Majesty is retiring for the night. She is in a state of undress and mourning the disrespect shown to her at tonight's banquet, and you think it is acceptable to barge in like common thieves? If there is a 'shadow' on the balcony, go find it from the gardens like competent soldiers! Do not bring your muddy boots and your lack of manners into this room!"

From her vanity, Diana finally spoke. Her voice was low, melodic, and carried the weight of a winter frost. She didn't turn around; she simply stared at the guards through the reflection in her silver-framed mirror. "Yuna is correct," Diana said, her amethyst eyes locking onto the lead guard’s reflection. "If my husband wishes to search my rooms, he may come himself and ask. Until then, you are trespassing. Is it the new policy of the Northern Empire to treat the Empress like a prisoner in her own home?"

The lead guard shifted uncomfortably, the fire in Yuna’s gaze and the ice in Diana’s voice finally making him realize the gravity of his disrespect. He looked toward the balcony curtains—the very spot where Alistair lay hidden—but Yuna stepped further into his line of sight, blocking his view with the tray.

"Out!" Yuna commanded, her voice lower now but twice as dangerous. "Before I personally report your names to the Head of the Household for the violation of the Empress’s privacy. If you want to play hero, go guard the dancer’s door. I’m sure she has more 'shadows' to worry about than we do."

Defeated by the combined weight of Yuna’s scolding and Diana’s chilling authority, the guards offered a stiff, hurried bow. "Our apologies, Your Majesty," the leader muttered, though his tone was still clipped. They retreated, the heavy doors closing with a thud that seemed to vibrate through the floor.

The moment the latch clicked, Yuna let out a long, shuddering breath, her knees nearly buckling. She set the tray down on the vanity with a clatter. Diana didn't move; she remained staring at the curtains on the balcony. For a long minute, neither woman spoke, the terror of what had almost happened hanging between them like a bared blade. Then, slowly, the curtains parted, and Alistair stepped back into the room, his blue eyes fixed on Diana with a look of intense, smoldering resolve.